Phish · Summer 2026

The Kohl Center is a hockey barn, all hard angles and low rafters, and the second that bass bomb drops on Free you feel the concrete floor go soft under five thousand people. Madison wanted a statement and got one. Set one is a clinic in composition, Guyute snarling through its movements, It's Ice gliding into that eerie middle section, Stash teasing the room with all that menace before Reba uncoils into one of those patient, glassy peaks that hangs in the air long after the notes stop. Trey is grinning. We are grinning. Set two is where the night detonates. Bathtub Gin starts as it always does, then refuses to land, the band climbing through a major-key plateau into something darker and looping, Page hammering the clav while Mike and Fish lock a groove that turns the whole arena into one swaying organism. Then the bustout. Scent of a Mule, a beautiful oddball nobody on the rail saw coming, and the place loses its mind. Fluffhead caps the suite, Antelope rips us apart, and Bug sends Wisconsin home wrecked and happy.

The Kohl Center is already loud before the lights drop, and when Martian Monster lurches out of the gate the floor in Madison goes feral, all that gnashing low-end bouncing off the upper deck. Back on the Train rides a clean groove, Horn is the little gift it always is, and Waste gets every phone in the building lifted. Foam is a clinic, Trey and Page trading the unison like it is 1993. Then Mexican Cousin, a bustout nobody on the rail saw coming, and the section around me loses it, grown phans hugging over a Trampled by Lambs deep cut. Possum slams set one shut. Set two opens on Everything's Right, and that jam is the whole night. It climbs past the song, Page on the Rhodes, Mike planting that fat root, the band finding a major-key plateau that lifts ten thousand people off the floor at once. Sneakin' Sally bleeds into Steam, Twist pours into 2001, Slave lands the peak. The Lizards and Julius send Wisconsin home glowing.

Ruoff is still steaming from the afternoon heat when the lights drop, and My Soul kicks the lawn into a holler before anyone has found their people. Maze coils up next, Page and Trey trading that paranoid climb, and Foam shows up later to remind you these four can still play composed lines clean enough to cut glass. Possum sends the first set home sweaty. Then set two. Tweezer lands early and refuses to leave, Mike planting a fat dirty root while Trey patiently builds a major-key shimmer over it, the whole pavilion swaying as the jam slides from menace into pure Indiana summer bliss, ten thousand arms up in the dark. The Mighty Quinn drops next and the bustout sends a roar through the crowd, longtime phans grabbing strangers, that ridiculous singalong filling the lawn. Quinn melts into Wingsuit, Steam hisses up through the rafters, Twist spins it out, and Antelope runs the room ragged. Rocky Top caps it, hometown-loud, everybody grinning, soaked, already counting down to night two.

The lawn at Ruoff is already a swamp of humidity when Llama tears out of the gate, Trey's guitar cutting clean through the wet Indiana air. Horn lands soft and pretty right behind it, and Water in the Sky cools the pavilion down a notch. Sparkle gets the whole place giggling and bouncing. Then Reba arrives, that long patient build paying off in a whistled coda the crowd holds its breath through. Stash struts dark and tense, hands clapping on the stops, and Cavern slams set one shut. Set two is where Noblesville earns its night. A Wave of Hope opens patient, then the band leans in and the jam goes somewhere genuinely strange, Page on the Rhodes, Mike pushing the bottom, Trey turning a riff over and over until the lawn is roaring and dancing in the dark. It melts into Limb By Limb, then Joy, and the real gift drops: Swept Away, a true bustout, the rare gentle thing that hushes twenty thousand people. Waves keeps the spell going before Slave to the Traffic Light peaks the night sky open. Character Zero sends us out sweaty and grinning.

Night three at Ruoff and the lawn is already a wall of humidity when "Kill Devil Falls" cracks open, Trey leaning into that scrappy major-key churn while the pavilion finds its feet. "Cities" keeps the room loose and funky, "Roggae" lets everybody exhale into the Indiana dark, and "Funky Bitch" turns the front rows into a sweat lodge. Then the moment nobody saw coming. "Alumni Blues" blows the dust off, a genuine bustout, and the old heads around me lose their minds, hugging strangers, screaming the changes. "Guyute" and a vicious "Split Open and Melt" close set one tight as a drum. Set two is where the night earns its legend. "Ghost" lands and the bassline starts to breathe, Mike pushing the pocket fat and deep, Page sliding in clav, and twelve minutes later the whole place is moving as one organism, hands up, eyes closed, gone. "Free" into "2001" reignites the floor, "Number Line" into "The Wedge" into "First Tube" sends us out grinning. "Suzy Greenberg" jolts the encore awake, and a tender "Squirming Coil" piano outro walks us home.

Enmarket Arena is barely settled when Kill Devil Falls comes barreling out, Trey shredding the opener like the building owes him money. Birds of a Feather slinks in funky and tight, Foam shows off the composed precision, and Wolfman's Brother gets the first real grease of the night. Rift and It's Ice keep everyone honest. Then Terrapin surfaces, a genuine bustout, and the Savannah crowd loses it for a song nobody had on their card. Bathtub Gin closes set one warm and triumphant. Set two is where the floor drops. Carini opens dark and patient, Mike prodding the low end while Trey weaves menacing patterns, and the jam tears loose into pure cosmic abandon, the whole arena roaring as the band careens into the void. Cities slides into a towering Also Sprach Zarathustra. Backwards Down the Number Line lifts the room, The Wedge bounces it, and First Tube sends everyone airborne. Possum stomps out the encore, sweaty and grinning, and Savannah pours into the July night already buzzing about night two.

Night two in Savannah opens with the Enmarket Arena already humming, and Chalk Dust Torture detonates the room before anyone has found their spot. Heavy Things keeps it bright, Roggae softens the air, and Reba threads its composed maze into a clean, whistled peak that the building rides all the way up. Then comes Uncle Pen, a bluegrass bustout that lights up the longtime phans and sends a ripple of disbelief through the floor. Weigh, Horn, and a patient Divided Sky carry the set, and Cavern slams it shut. Set two is the reason you drove down here. Mike's Song lands first and refuses to behave. Mike prods the low end into a dark, churning groove, Trey starts slicing overhead, Page layers organ swells, and Fish drives the whole thing into the void. The arena loses its mind as the jam peaks. Steam oozes in, Caspian lifts, 2001 funks the room out, and Split Open and Melt closes on a knife edge. Wading in the Velvet Sea breathes, then Slave to the Traffic Light climbs slow and sends everyone home glowing.

The Carolina pines hold the heat at Walnut Creek, the lawn already steaming, and the boys answer with Halley's Comet, a wink of an opener that gets the whole shed grinning before a note of weight lands. Birds of a Feather snaps it taut, Gumbo struts, and then the room goes feral when they drop Kung, the old Gamehendge chant nobody on the lawn expected, a bustout that sends a roar up the amphitheater bowl and down again. Stash teases, It's Ice glints, Bowie closes the frame with that patient stalk into chaos. Set two is the reason you drove all night. Wolfman's Brother uncoils slow, Mike fat and rubbery, Trey finding a clean ringing figure that the band locks behind, and for ten minutes the funk lifts off the ground and the lawn becomes one body moving. Mango breathes, The Wedge sways, Cities pops, and Limb By Limb hands straight into First Tube, raised arms everywhere. Then Bug, plain and aching, sends us out into the wet Raleigh night.

Columbia in July is a swamp, and Merriweather knows it. The pavilion fills, the lawn breathes, and the band ambles out and drops 555 like a wink. That fat Page bassline gets the crowd loose before a single jam lands. Wolfman's keeps the pocket greasy. Bouncing and It's Ice trade nimble for jagged, and Guyute lurches through its movements before More opens its arms wide and the whole lawn sings it back. Gin stretches its legs, Antelope rips the seam shut, and set one is already a keeper. Set two is where it tips. Piper coils up fast, Trey leaning in, and the band hits that gallop where the song stops being a song and becomes a room full of people leaning the same direction. It blooms into something gorgeous and slippery before sliding into Joy and Cities. Then Uncle Pen, the bustout nobody had on the bingo card, and the pavilion loses its mind. 2001 builds the launch, Hood lands the descent, and Show of Life sends us out into the wet Maryland night, grinning.

Merriweather under a thick July dusk, the lawn already a swamp of bare feet and glowsticks, and the band saunters out for night two and drops Punch You in the Eye to crack the whole pavilion open. That intro composition snaps tight, Sigma Oasis floats the room down off the adrenaline, and a chunky NICU keeps the early going loose. The Sloth struts, Rift threads its tricky changes clean, Ocelot stretches its legs into the trees. Dirt sits us all down in the grass for a minute. Then the gift, the first Curtis Loew since who can even remember, Trey leaning into the Lynyrd Skynyrd story like he wrote it, the veterans around me losing their minds. Waste turns the lawn into one swaying body, and Reba's whistle ending sends us to setbreak grinning. Set two means business. Down with Disease leaves the song behind and goes patient, type II, a long climbing build that has Columbia roaring before the peak even lands. Sneakin' Sally gets greasy, Caspian swells into a hot Twist, Possum gallops home. Character Zero, then Tweezer Reprise, and we are spent.

Lakeview holds the lake light long into the evening, and the second the band saunters out the boat masts down past the lawn catch the last of it. Sample in a Jar cracks it open, all grin and singalong, and the pavilion answers back loud enough to shake the rafters. Reba earns its full whistled coda, Lawn Boy gets the lounge treatment, and then comes the night's first jaw-drop, Letter to Jimmy Page surfacing for the first time in ages, a real bustout that sends the rail into a frenzy of disbelief. Roggae floats, Maze burns hot, Cavern snaps the set shut clean. Set two is where the lake goes dark and the show goes deep. Carini opens the gate and refuses to close it, the jam sliding off its menacing groove into something patient and glittering, Trey and Page trading patient lines until the whole amphitheater is swaying as one body. Mango into What's the Use lands like a held breath. YEM caps it with the trampolines and the vocal jam. Antelope tears the encore wide and we spill out toward the marina grinning.

The Garden is sweat and roar before a note lands, twenty thousand people stacked to the rafters for the first of five. Rift drops the curtain, Trey threading those clean descending runs while the floor finds its feet. Fire is the first gut-punch, a bustout that hasn't surfaced in ages, and the room loses it on the opening lick. Funky Bitch struts, Back on the Train rolls, and Stash brings the first real tension, Fishman driving the woodblock under Trey's stabs. Reba lands its whistle clean. Guyute prowls. Split Open and Melt slams set one shut. Then Tweezer. They ride the groove out past its borders, Page laying down whole-tone clav while Trey climbs into a glassy, patient peak, and the whole building leans forward as one body. Waves cools it, Cities funks it sideways. Letter to Jimmy Page surfaces from the dust, a true rarity, and longtime heads grab their neighbors. 2001 lifts the roof into Fluffhead. Steam smolders, Antelope detonates. Backwards Down the Number Line softens us, Cavern sends us into the New York night.

The Garden is still buzzing from night one when the lights drop and Trey kicks straight into Kill Devil Falls, that backbeat shaking the lower bowl loose before anyone has found their row. The Curtain follows, a genuine gasp from the rafters, the composed intro snaking up through the seats and rewarding everybody who tracks the bustout board. If I Could keeps it tender, then Undermind and a gorgeous Velvet Sea let the room breathe. Weigh into Foam into Sparkle into Possum sends set one home loose and grinning. Set two opens with Light bleeding into Wingsuit, and the band is patient. The Wedge spills into Free, What's the Use casts its hush across twenty thousand people. Then Twist arrives. Trey peels off the lyrics and the jam goes somewhere weightless, Page laying down clavinet sparkle, Mike walking it sideways, the whole floor swaying as one organism until the peak detonates and MSG roars. Suzy slams the door. Bug opens the encore soft, Rocky Top sends us into the New York night.

The Garden is a sweatbox before a note lands, night three already feeling like the keystone of the run, and Trey leans into The Landlady to set the table. It is a tight, deliberate opener, all interlocking edges, and the crowd reads it as a promise. More glows, Horn is gentle, Dirt sits in the rafters like incense. The Divided Sky earns its long held silence, twenty thousand people frozen on a dime, then roaring back. Lawn Boy is the lounge act, Army of One the quiet ache, and Antelope detonates the close, ragged and gleeful and exactly right. Set two opens with Ruby Waves and the room understands what it is for. The jam slides off the composed section and goes patient, Page laying glassy Rhodes under Mike's round bottom end, Trey climbing in slow loops until the whole building is leaning the same direction. It crests into something euphoric and bright, hands up across every section. Then the bustout. Alumni Blues lands like a secret kept for years, old phans losing it. Sneakin' Sally struts, Hood floats us home. Character Zero and Julius send us out grinning.

The Garden is sticky and loud by the time the houselights drop, night four of five, and the room is running on no sleep and pure faith. Buried Alive cracks it open, Trey ripping that descending line clean, the floor already pogoing. Bathtub Gin lands early and the whole arena leans into the peak together. Scent of a Mule is the one nobody had on the bingo card, a genuine bustout, and the gallop of it sends a roar up to the rafters, Page and Trey trading the duel like old men who remembered the joke mid-sentence. Sigma Oasis returning later feels like a wink. Bowie closes set one taut and dark. Set two is the reason you came. Mike's Song detonates and refuses to resolve, the band steering it past the second verse into a patient, gauzy build that turns the MSG bowl into one breathing organism, hands up, jaws open. Theme From the Bottom soars. Weekapaug finally pays the rent. Wonderful drifts out soft, then Coil sends Page to the bench alone and the place just exhales.

Night five at the Garden and the building knows it. Ya Mar floats out of the dark like an island breeze through a subway grate, loose and grinning, the upper bowl already swaying before Trey finishes the first lick. NICU keeps the legs moving, Gumbo struts, and Set Your Soul Free stretches the first set wider than anyone expected on a closer night. Wolfman's gets nasty in the pocket, Bouncing gives the floor a breather, Roggae turns the room gold, and Walls of the Cave lands the set with real weight. Set two opens on Blaze On and that is where the five nights pay off. The jam climbs past the song, Page moving to clav, Mike planting low bombs, Trey finding a major-key plateau that has twenty thousand people roaring with their arms up. Love You arrives as a bustout nobody saw coming, goofy and beloved, and Hello My Baby drops in a cappella for the first time in ages before Chalk Dust burns it down. Slave soars, Good Times Bad Times stomps, Sleeping Monkey sends the run home.

The lights at Fenway buzz on full just as the band hits the stage, and Runaway Jim takes off into the warm Boston night, the Green Monster looming over a crowd already up on its toes. Dirt settles the room into something tender before Maze cranks the tension, Page and Trey trading those frantic stair-climbs while the outfield turns into a maze of glowsticks. Guyute prowls through its movements, Sigma Oasis breathes, and then the lot wisdom proves true. Kung. The chant goes up, a genuine bustout, and longtime phans grab strangers by the shoulder because nobody saw it coming. Horn and Wading in the Velvet Sea slow the pulse, Possum closes set one with a grin. Set two is a freight train. Bathtub Gin pours into Caspian, Backwards Down the Number Line, Limb By Limb, Free, and the 2001 build hands off to Down with Disease. That jam is the night. It opens up, goes patient, goes huge, and the whole park is one body shaking against the brick. Bug and The Lizards send us into the streets glowing.

Night two under the Fenway lights, the Green Monster glowing behind the rig, and the band saunters out and drops Ass Handed like a wink to anybody who thought they had the night figured. Tube struts, Back on the Train chugs, and Stash turns the diamond tense and beautiful, Trey carving little serrated lines over a crowd that goes dead quiet on the stops. Sparkle and If I Could keep it warm, then the place loses its mind, because Bike shows up out of nowhere. A genuine bustout, that Syd Barrett oddity bouncing around a ballpark, ringing off the bleachers. Bouncing and Cavern close it tidy. Set two is where the night opens its chest. Plasma melts into Sneakin' Sally, Fluffhead stands tall, and then Twist. Oh, Twist. It uncoils slow, finds a major-key updraft, and lifts forty thousand people off the warning track into something weightless and grinning. Waves and Mercury ride the comedown, Character Zero slams the door. Wonderful softens us, then Antelope sends Boston sprinting into the August dark.

Labor Day at Dick's, night one, and the Colorado sky goes purple over the soccer pitch right as that Punch You in the Eye intro slinks out of the gates. The lot energy carries straight into Roggae, loose and grinning. If I Could and Train Song slow the heart rate down before Birds of a Feather kicks the dust up again. Reba lands the whistle clean, the whole bowl exhales, and Bouncing keeps it light before David Bowie shuts the set with that hi-hat tension we all know. Set two opens on Piper and the band lets it run. It builds from that breakneck count-up into something patient and roaring, Trey carving long lines while the field turns into one moving body, and by the peak ten thousand people are off the ground. The Wedge cools the burn, Number Line rides the comedown. Steam smolders, Twist spins, and then the bustout, The Curtain, a rarity that sends the vets into a shriek. Theme and Chalk Dust close it hot. First Tube and Coil send us into the mountain night, ears ringing.

The Commerce City sky goes purple over the soccer stadium and 555 drops in low and greasy, that bass line walking us straight into Saturday night. Set one is a clinic in left turns. Cities struts, The Sloth creeps, NICU snaps the field awake, and Strange Design lands like a slow exhale before Tube gets nasty and funky in the pocket. Stash closes it tense and twitchy, the whole crowd clapping the question back at the band. Set two is the reason you flew here. Down with Disease launches and refuses to land, Trey climbing while the rhythm section drops the floor out, the jam stretching ambient and patient until What's the Use? arrives like fog rolling off the Rockies, and twenty thousand people go dead silent and reverent. Caspian swells, then the bustout hits, The Ballad of Curtis Loew, rare and grinning, the lot buzzing about it for hours. Waves, 2001, Free, Character Zero to torch it. Tweezer Reprise and Good Times Bad Times send us into the Colorado dark, hoarse and grinning.

Night three at Dick's and the Colorado sky goes purple right as Kill Devil Falls kicks the door in, Trey leaning into that final solo while the whole bowl bounces. Foam is the surprise, clean and tricky, Page nailing the descending runs before Set Your Soul Free opens the throttle. Lawn Boy gets the lounge croon, Horn is a quick gift, Funky Bitch sweats, and Antelope sends Set 1 over the rail. Then Set 2. Bathtub Gin starts polite and turns into the night. The jam climbs out of the composed ending into a major-key gallop, Mike dropping bombs under Trey's looping figure, the field roaring as the lights strobe the grass green and gold. It peaks, drops to a whisper, and the place loses its mind. Swept Away into Demand is the bustout we drove here for, both songs dusted off and gleaming. Limb By Limb, Fluffhead, 2001, Split Open and Melt close it dark and heavy. Suzy Greenberg, then Loving Cup. We float out into the Commerce City night.

Night one and the stage sat right on the sand, palms leaning in, the Caribbean breathing behind the amps. Chalk Dust Torture tore the dusk open, and from there the boys went deep, The Sloth slinking, Wading in the Velvet Sea slowing the tide before Gumbo greased the whole beach down. Then Makisupa Policeman surfaced for the first time in ages, a real bustout, the crowd roaring at the keyword as Fire blazed up behind it, its own dusted rarity. Sigma Oasis felt written for this resort, Bouncing kept it light, and Bowie closed taut and dark. Set two opened on Down with Disease, Twist arriving like the tide turning. That jam unspooled past its changes into something liquid and starlit, Trey patient, Page glowing, the sand humming under ten thousand feet. Cities and the Number Line kept the air moving, Theme settled it, and Limb By Limb spilled into a Harry Hood that lit the palms gold. Suzy Greenberg sent us dancing, and the Squirming Coil left Page alone with the waves.

Night two and the Caribbean did the heavy lifting. Sun going down behind the stage, sand still warm under ten thousand bare feet, and Kill Devil Falls came barreling out like a wave that had been building all afternoon. Maze got dark and mean against all that turquoise, Guyute prowled the palms, and Foam, Sparkle, Back on the Train, Horn rolled by easy before Antelope sent the whole beach running into the dusk. Set two is where the salt air earned its keep. Bathtub Gin opened patient, the band reading the tide, and the jam unspooled into one of those liquid, major-key climbs that hung over the water and refused to land for ten gorgeous minutes. 2001 dropped us into Mango, then the night cracked open with Scent of a Mule, dusted off and grinning, a bustout that had the front rows screaming at the moon over the surf. Joy, What's the Use, then YEM spilled its vocal jam across the dark sand. Possum and Slave closed it, palm fronds clapping along.

Night three and the sand was still warm under us when the AC/DC Bag horns cut across the water. Set one stayed earthy, Dirt into a fat Tube, then Stash got dark and pointed before the whole beach went quiet. Glide. They had not pulled it out in ages, and grown men were grinning like kids, arms up under the palms, that goofy fanfare floating out over the surf. Rift and Wolfman's stayed in the pocket, Waste turned the tide line into a slow-dance floor, and My Friend, My Friend closed it sinister and gorgeous. Set two was where the ocean opened up. Blaze On did not just blaze, it dissolved. Trey found a shimmering major lift and the band built it patiently, layer by layer, until the lights pulsed off the water and nobody was standing still. Caspian sailed into Mercury, 2001 funked the beach hard, Steam hissed up through the dark, and Free into Weekapaug sent us sprinting in the sand. Julius and Tweezer Reprise sealed paradise.

Night four on the sand, and the band sent us home barefoot and ruined. The Wedge opened with the surf actually breaking behind Fish, Reba sprouting its precise composed lines into salt air, the whole beach holding its breath for that whistled landing. If I Could went tender under the palms. Then the gift everyone screamed for: Big Black Furry Creature from Mars detonated, a bustout off the shelf, Trey howling into the Caribbean dark, Avenu Malkenu following as the second buried treasure of the run. Cavern slammed set one shut. Set two is why we flew here. Simple unspooled past its lyric into open water, Mike prodding a fat oceanic groove, Page laying synth washes like phosphorescence on the tide, Trey weaving patient peaks until the jam dissolved into something ambient and cosmic and totally weightless. Fluffhead earlier had set the bar, Have Mercy into Waves rode the swell, Sneakin Sally got filthy, First Tube launched fireworks over the water. Sleeping Monkey and Bug sent four nights of paradise into memory.