Steve LaBate, Paste, 2 July 2004
THIS LATEST PHISHING TRIP begins as you'd expect a Tchad Blake-produced record would — in a fog of creepy, bone rattling Waits-ian gothic rambling, pinging metallic hammers and loping, percussive grooves that claw their way through your forehead. What is this fantastically ghoulish noise? Will this, the band's final record, be remembered as Phish's Wild Years?
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