The Note That Changed Everything

Picture a skinny kid in Princeton, New Jersey, 1970s, hunched over a drum kit in his basement. Ernest Joseph “Trey” Anastasio III is 14, banging out rhythms to Frank Zappa and Genesis records. His mom’s a musician, his dad’s a suit, but Trey’s hooked when he swaps sticks for a guitar and hears Jimi Hendrix’s “Purple Haze.” It’s 1983 at the University of Vermont when the real lightning strikes—he’s jamming with buddies in a dorm, and a riff spirals into something wild, free, alive. That night, Phish is born, and Trey’s not chasing fame; he’s chasing that feeling—the endless, electric chase of sound.

The Princeton Dreamer: A Biography

Born September 30, 1964, in Fort Worth, Texas, Trey moved to Princeton at three when his dad, Ernest Jr., took a job at Educational Testing Service. His mom, Dina, wrote songs and edited Sesame Street Magazine, planting music deep. Trey was a quirky kid—tall, red-haired, obsessed with prog rock and jazz. He picked up drums first, then guitar at 13, teaching himself by ear. Princeton High bored him; he’d rather noodle than study, though he shone in music class.

College at UVM was a detour—he transferred to Goddard College, chasing art over grades. Life’s been steady since: married to Susan Statesir in 1994, two daughters (Eliza and Isabella), a quiet home in Burlington. At 60, he’s a graying sage, still chasing the muse with a grin.

The Career That Rewrote Rock

Trey’s legacy is Phish, formed in ’83 with Jon Fishman (drums), Mike Gordon (bass), and Jeff Holdsworth (guitar, out by ’86). Page McConnell (keys) joined in ’85, sealing the quartet. Their debut, Junta (1989), was a cult hit—“You Enjoy Myself” a sprawling masterpiece. No label at first—they built a empire through tapes and tours, peaking with 1994’s Hoist (“Down with Disease”) and 1996’s Billy Breathes. Phish’s jams—improv-heavy, genre-blending—made them the Grateful Dead’s heirs. They split in 2000, reunited in 2009, and roll on today.

Beyond Phish, Trey’s prolific. The Trey Anastasio Band (TAB) launched in 1998—Russ Lawton (drums), Tony Markellis (bass, died 2021), Ray Paczkowski (keys)—cutting albums like Plasma (2003). He’s led Oysterhead (2000-2001) with Les Claypool and Stewart Copeland, a psychedelic romp, and guested with Dave Matthews Band, notably at 2018’s MSG shows. Solo, Trey Anastasio (2002) and Shine (2005) shine. Broadway? He scored Hands on a Hardbody (2013). TV includes The Simpsons (1996, as himself), film a bit part in Anastasio (2012 doc). Pals like Dave Matthews and Phil Lesh loom large—his Dead & Company fill-ins in 2016 made waves.

Awards? Phish nabbed a Grammy nod (1998, The Story of the Ghost), but Trey’s haul is light—his crown’s fan devotion, not trophies. A 2019 Rock and Roll Hall of Fame snub still rankles.

The Hits That Define Him

• “You Enjoy Myself” (1986) – Trey and Fishman’s Phish epic, a live juggernaut, never charted but rules jams.
• “Down with Disease” (1994) – Trey’s riff-driven Phish hit, peaked at No. 33 on Mainstream Rock.
• “Sample in a Jar” (1994) – Trey penned this tight Phish rocker, a radio rarity.
• “First Tube” (2000) – A TAB instrumental, Trey’s solo gem, live staple.

Controversy in the Jam

Trey’s stumbled hard. In 2006, a drug bust in Whitehall, New York—painkillers, heroin—landed him in rehab after a guilty plea. Phish’s 2000 hiatus stemmed from his burnout; fans blamed him when it stretched to ’04. His Dead gigs sparked purist grumbles—“He’s no Jerry!”—but he won most over. In 2020, he caught flak for playing maskless gigs mid-pandemic, though he later masked up, saying, “I misjudged it.” Trey’s flaws are human, not malicious—he’s just a guy who lives for the stage.

A Night Beyond Time

Let’s hit December 31, 1999, at Big Cypress Seminole Reservation, Florida. Phish’s millennium bash—80,000 fans, Everglades buzzing. Trey’s in a flannel shirt, red hair wild, leading a seven-hour set from midnight to dawn. At 3 a.m., “Heavy Things” morphs into a 40-minute jam—lights swirl, he trades licks with Page, Fishman’s drums thunder. A fan tosses a glowstick; Trey catches it mid-solo, twirls it, tosses it back—crowd erupts. Sunrise hits during “After Midnight,” and he’s grinning, sweat-soaked, as the world turns 2000. “We played the century out,” he says later. It’s Phish’s Everest, Trey’s magic distilled—a night fans STILL dissect.