There's a wonderful piece in Vogue about what it's like being married to someone who really, really, really likes Phish. Of course, it's called Confessions Of A Phish Wife:
Phish and its music are polarizing—either you get it or you don’t. Katie is one of the partners who don’t. “I am constantly like, ‘When are they retiring?’” she wondered aloud one afternoon over coffee. “It’s this constant hope of, Will this be the last one?” Katie was a Phish fan in high school and simply outgrew their music (“The lyrics are like Dr. Seuss, except not as clever”), and she finds the Phish stoner stigma a little embarrassing. “It took me a year into dating Will to tell my parents that he was a Phish-head,” she said. “We did it over dinner one night. I was like, ‘Guys, I have something to tell you . . .’”
It took me years to “find out”—I say “find out” with mock solemnity; after all, Phish fan is better than Ashley Madison member—the depths of my husband’s love for Phish. I knew he was a fan, but when we first met, the band was broken up. By the time they reunited in 2009, we were living together, and his secret was laid bare.