Workhorse song goes huge, with Trey, just past the five-minute mark, riding rhythm effortlessly offset by an array of notes effects-laden and so "played," in equal measure, by his feet.

Wonderful. Page is grand on his piano. Mike's play is deft and sweet. And Fish. On full display, here, that ineffable quality that is a sort of lead drum, a perfect case in point for the man who, if Trey had to lay down money, would pay to see play.