For me, Junta always felt like a bootleg. It’s strange—a double album, black-and-white artwork—and the songs are weird, man. This is Phish? In many ways, yes.
Junta is Phish’s first official studio release. Independently recorded at Euphoria Sound Studio in Revere, Massachusetts, this album was initially released on cassette tape in 1988, arriving in stores officially in May 1989. Elektra Records would re-release the album in October 1992.
The album is named for Phish’s first official manager and agent, Ben “Junta” Hunter, whose nickname is pronounced with a hard J and a short U, according to Wikipedia.
The album, clocking in at more than two hours, was released as a double cassette and double CD. At the time, bands like Nine Inch Nails, Pixies, The Beastie Boys, and The Cure had chart-topping albums. And it was unheard of for a band to premiere with a double album. To say this album, featuring black-and-white cover art by Jim Pollock, was esoteric or largely inaccessible is an understatement. But if nothing else, that’s what Junta was: a statement.
Elektra’s re-release in 1992 had the album on record store shelves next to albums by Bon Jovi, 10,000 Maniacs, Journey, R.E.M., and Amy Grant. It took five years for the album to be certified gold (October 1997) and another seven years for it to go platinum (July 2004).
Part prog, part prank, part epic chronicles of myth and fable—not to mention its three 11-minute tracks, each nearly completely instrumental performances—Junta stands alone as an unabashed, brazen collection of compositions and songs.
Steven McDonald writes in his review on AllMusic.com, “With great sound and better playing, Phish’s debut Junta is highly recommended whether you’re starting to discover Phish or are backing up to the beginning. It may be a bit long-winded and unfocused, yet it establishes their dedication to musical exploration effectively—not to mention the typical wild and woolly Phish humor spilling out all over the lengthy tracks.”
The Elektra re-release, with additional time available on the CD, added three “bonus” live tracks that did not previously appear on the album: “Union Federal,” “Sanity,” and “Icculus,” the latter two from July 25, 1988, at Nectar’s, though the “Union Federal” track comes directly from a private rehearsal session, aka an Oh Kee Pa Ceremony (see chapter 29).
A look back at Phish’s albums in a 2000 issue of Entertainment Weekly gave Junta a “C” grade. Will Hermes wrote, “The formula crystallizes: frat-hippie fantasias high-fiving folk-rock guitar heroics and iffy lite-jazz fusion grooves. Highlight: the gnarly 25-minute improv ‘Union Federal.’”
Disregarding The White Tape, this is Phish’s first release for the public. Many fans across the country would be introduced to the band via Anastasio’s megaphone-laced story of “Fee” the weasel or the dark carnival world of “Esther” or the six-part “Fluff’s Travels.”
And while fans may scoff at the idea of listening to the studio album versions of improvisation vehicles like “You Enjoy Myself” or “David Bowie,” the first stone-carved versions of these songs, forever preserved here in Junta, provide just a bit of context to the windy, winding origin story of this American band who called themselves Phish.
That “Icculus,” though? Yes, please.