It seems like only yesterday that parental organizations rose up to protest the explicit lyrics of performers like Frank Zappa and Quiet Riot. Rap music drew special attention and today society is far better informed about the dilemma of ghetto excess. Susan Baker testified before Congress that, “There certainly are many causes for the ills in our society, but it is our contention that the pervasive messages aimed at children which promote and glorify suicide, rape, sadomasochism, and so on, have to be numbered among the contributing factors.”
For The Phish, the graphic content of their songs is certainly worthy of regulatory attention. Whether it’s popular hits such as “Colonel Forbin’s Accent” (communist revolution), “Mighty Quinn” (LSD), “Meatstick” (homosexuality) or “Big Ball Jam” (schizophrenia), their agenda is reckless enough. Yet times have changed; album sales no longer drive the music industry. The advisory labels stickered on store products are ineffective when children are downloading songs directly from illegal websites. These issues are moot, however, when you consider the aggressive tactics of rock band The Phish.
More than any other group today, The Phish makes an active effort to skirt federal censorship laws by going out in the field to recruit young people into their disturbing lifestyle. With utmost delight, they have set their sights on the alluring, delicate men of our small towns. They ferret out the naïve, the innocent. They lust for those who do not know better. What makes this agenda all the more offensive is the focus on middle- and upper-middle-class suburban children of Caucasian descent who are particularly vulnerable to harsh urban cries. Asians and Africans are not drawn into this world. For all intents and purposes, this music does not exist in Europe or the Middle East. But here in America, fandom begins between the ages of 14 and 20 among non-partnered males. Females make up approximately 15-20% of this organization.
This questionable interest in single white teens is essential for a message that codifies barbaric rebellion into an easily-accessible and simplistic form. This is not Blank Panther activism, nor is it the depravity of the homosexual movement. Rather, it is a far more subtle form of subversion and hate. Irregardless, the results are just as terrifying.
Young men are normally drawn to the Phish out of an inability to properly socialize with their more popular peers. These are not your high school athletes or honor students, but rather those who may suffer from acne and an unfamiliarity with members of the opposite sex. To carry them through the crisis of puberty, they seek refuge in other outcasts, believing there is strength in their awkward numbers. Male friendship is passed around as easily as a marijuana bong hit in this community of “Phishheads.” Secretly, beneath all that camaraderie, there is an inexplicable desire to sneak away with a female who may be pliable to a young man’s harsh needs. Yes, these kids suffer from extremely active but misguided sexual libidos. They use inexpensive, loose clothing to cover the crude manifestations of their rising urges. Even in the concerts themselves, unplanned erections are common and not necessarily something they try to hide. To irritate those of the older generation, these people greet each other with a slow-witted slang that includes the words “brah” and “dude” in every sentence. Sadly, gangster hand gestures are also widespread.
As one progresses from a new person, or a “newbie,” to greater prominence in this community, long hair is grown. The length and odor of one’s dreadlocks is a sign of seniority. They become co-dependent on other Phishheads, meeting up on private websites where they trade implausible stories of conjugal conquests from the comfort of dormrooms at expensive liberal colleges. A fully committed fan becomes a “Lot Wookie,” someone so dedicated to this cult they need not enter the confines of the concert hall to claim the funky fruits of the The Phish world. The wookie is a veritable throwback to medieval man, toothless from addiction and covered in filthy rags and intense bodily smells. He will use far-fetched tales of swapping hugs with band members backstage to score baked goods and raunchy interactions behind port-o-johns. Newbies often fall for these tricks and turn their mother’s cars into sweaty, no-holds-barred “crash pads.”
A “Hippie Chick” is one of those rare females in this swarmy environment. She is highly prized, despite her promiscuous and thieving persona. She often goes into public without a bra and will intentionally brush her breasts against every man she meets. The tight tie-dye shirts and profuse sweat reveals the pert blossoming of her chest. This prideful exhibitionism can be used to lure the unsuspecting into assignations that may end in a lost wallet. Afterwards, she will return to the bejeweled arms of her older, jaded hippie mate. He will pimp her out from one parking lot to the next until he suspects she’s suffering from either pregnancy or sobriety. From there, she will easily feign an overdose to fall into some befuddled newbie’s embrace, thereby baptizing him into the nefarious ways of the wookie.
For families, having such a child is a terrible badge of horror. These are offspring who have rebelled against the professionalism and morality of their parents. They have no desire for stable careers or Christian marriage. Mothers are pushed into shame as equally as fathers find outrage. Siblings of a Phishhead suffer as well. Brothers and sisters can be the target of mockery in their communities. Young children are bullied in school because of their older one’s queer habits. Yet the Phishhead will not care one bit for those left behind in his musky wake.
Phishheads avoid entry into adulthood as long as possible. They inhabit a prolonged adolescence fueled by socialist delusions and an obsession with anal sex. These lascivious lifestylists tend to find seasonal work as horticulturalists and camp counselors, or else in bakeries and circuses. If all else fails, you will see them pursuing felonious lives as smugglers or internet scammers. As has been discussed before, Phishheads are notoriously unreliable as employees and are hired at grave risk (see the column, “Should I Hire a Hippie?” for more information).
This crisis of The Phish highlights the conflict between art and degeneracy in America today. The group’s songs lack the soulfulness of gospel, the patriotism of country, the sophistication of Brahms and the ineffably sublime heights of Wagner. They can barely approach the discernable rhythms of pop sensations Dave Mathews and Katy Perry. Instead, they confuse the senses with paranoid drumming sessions (instigated by known transvestite John Fishman) and abrasive guitar jams (by lead perfumer Trey Pistachio). In a misguided attempt to hide this horrendous auditory assault, they employ cheap and gaudy light shows. The pastel greens and fluorescent orange beams flash out into the audience to shock one so intensely that any last remnant of common sense is lost.
From that exalted position up on the stage, The Phish promotes an egregious anti-American agenda that not only includes pot smoking and sloth, but socialism and political terrorism. They encourage a forced communalism, a saccharine notion of shared labor and easy women. Hardcore ecological ideologies are the basis for their food and purchasing habits. They consume an outrageous range of narcotics beyond marijuana, from hashish and mushroom hallucinogenics, to medical nitrous oxide and “roofies.” That frothy drug haze opens their mouths wide to the queer agenda next stuffed down their throats– false idol worship.
Yes, to maintain this lifestyle a Phishhead must submit fully to the cult of Trey worship. Ultimately, they get down on their knees before those false prophets up on the stage. They substitute faith in a higher God to the egotistical pursuit of the band’s next venue. Setlists are traded like sacred scrolls. Sleeping arrangements in the backs of old vans are open to one and all. Clearly, this leads to profound carnal violations, yet most will be too stoned to remember on whom they ejaculated last night.
Much like other celebrities today, such as the Kardashians and Lady Gaga, the band demands they you remake your life in their image. You must dress and act like them, eat and dance just like them. They want you to go down that dark alley no matter how dangerous it is. But are these children even aware of what the endgame is of these notorious predators? A group that so actively seeks to insert itself into the lives of children, plies them with drugs and asks them to undress into a new lifestyle is undoubtedly heinous.
Those of us who care about the future of America should surely take note of The Phish’s antics on the road. Do you even know if your town is next on their hit list? When and where will these felons strike again? They have an avowed dislike for the heartland and their current tour schedule shows an interest in coastal America. There, the hunting grounds are ripe. They have even taken aim at the traditions of the Fourth of July and the Super Bowl with their own offensively named concert series, “The Super Balls” which promises to outrage those of us who believe in American morality to the point of ethical delirium.
When you consider how a child’s life can be ruined by such an obsession, it is vital we make every effort possible to stop The Phish. Demanding that the FCC censor their music is surely a wise first step, but we need to do more. We need to organize and protest. We need to pressure our local governments and concert halls to deny them access. In the end, we cannot knowingly allow the young people of this nation engage in a lifestyle that forces them to be shunned by their former friends, disowned by their families and hunted by the police. It is a disturbing future and all effort should be made to prevent this great nation from falling prey to The Phish’s notorious agenda.