“Make your choices and be at peace with them.”
So said critic Nate Chinen during the Big Ears 2022 Pre-Festival Critics Roundtable, regarding the overstuffed schedule, which inevitably demands attendees make difficult decisions about which once-in-a-lifetime performance to see.
“There’s no FOMO at this festival,” Ann Powers added, encouraging audience members to embrace active listening during events at which they found themselves, and not dwell on what might be happening elsewhere.
It was easy to be at peace with Patti Smith, who took the stage at Mill and Mine with a calm and casual demeanor. She greeted the seated audience, making the first of the weekend’s many acknowledgments of the pandemic and the losses we all faced in the past few years. Backed by her son Jackson Smith and Tony Shanahan on guitar, Smith’ was emotional at times, particularly when speaking or singing of lost friends, reading a poem she wrote for Sam Shepard that led into a cover of Hank Williams’s “I’m So Lonesome I Could Cry.” The subdued set was not without inspirational moments and humor, however, and the crowd, obviously full of Smith fans, responded with gratitude that she finally made it to Knoxville after the 2020 edition of the festival was canceled.
I didn’t realize it until after the fact, but the rest of my Thursday was given to other strains of American music, starting at The Bijou, where the Knoxville Symphony Orchestra performed a wonderful Caroline Shaw piece, Entr’acte, before moving into Aaron Copland’s concerto for clarinet, strings, and harp, with London’s Shabaka Hutchings on clarinet. Ending with “Appalachian Spring,” the most traditional classical performance I attended.
Sparks are as uniquely American as Smith or Copland, their wry lyrics wrapped in catchy pop melodies that for this set leaned heavily into electropop. They played the hits, or what passes as such for Sparks, and if you’re a fan it was a dream set, and I spoke with a few Sparks newcomers who loved the show.
Joe Henry’s 115th Dream saw a staggeringly good band, featuring Jason Moran on piano and Bill Frisell and Marc Ribot on guitars, give subtle and complex touches to Henry’s song. There were a few outstanding solos, but mainly the music was serving the material, with no room for showboating.
I finished out Thursday night with Low at the Mill and Mine, though I must confess I spent most of their show outside, catching up with many people I haven’t seen since Big Ears 2019, or even longer. Seeing old friends and acquaintances is always a major highlight of this festival, though obviously even more poignant this year. Low likes to play loud, bless them, and their Midwestern songs of gloom and love were easily audible in the courtyard, providing an apt soundtrack to conversations about the last few strange, difficult years.
Of course a major attraction of the festival is its venues, which seem to always get a mention in national reviews. Knoxvillians know how fortunate we are to have the Bijou and Tennessee
Theatres, but this is made especially clear during Big Ears. St. John’s Cathedral has also emerged as a space where some of the most memorable performances occur, with unique and major organ works from John Zorn, Sarah Davachi, James McVinnie and Tristan Perich receiving ecstatic hosannas from those who were fortunate enough to witness them. Though organ works are unique to this space and for that reason alone worth attending, the atmosphere and acoustics of the church for any performance there can’t be duplicated in a traditional venue, and acts such as harpist Mary Lattimore, guitarist Marc Ribot and guitar duo Marisa Anderson and William Tyler all made the most of their time there.
The New Orleans-Haitian stream of the festival brought a lively, party spirit that has not always been present at the festival, which in its early years could draw suspicion and even gentle ridicule about the perceived pretentiousness of the programming. There were still plenty of avant garde and improv offerings, and one imagines there always will be as long as Big Ears continues, but those who still make jokes about chin-scratching music aren’t looking closely enough at the schedule.
On Saturday afternoon, the Krew du Cattywampus street parade marched through the Old City before launching up a two hour street part at Southern Railway Station. Locals joined with New Orleans musicians and other out of towners for this free event that brought our many families. All told, it’s possible it’s one of the best-attended events in Big Ears history, and certainly one of the more memorable.
Meanwhile, New Orleans trumpeter Christian Scott aTunde Adjuah and his band brought a more inside the Mill and Mine, allowing adventurous listeners to go back and forth between a street party and a more nuanced take on New Orleans and Black Indian music. Later that evening, Krew du Kanaval turned the Mill and Mine into a major four-hour party that spilled over into the courtyard and had most every attendee dancing at some point.
As usual, there was a wide variety of jazz on offer. One of the show’s I was most excited about was Jamie Branch’s Fly or Die quartet, with Jason Ajemian on bass, Chad Taylor on drums, and Lester St. Louis on cello. Branch is a charismatic bandleader, alternating between chants and songs and fiery trumpet playing, the band building on repetitive rhythms behind her. Their show on Saturday night at The Standard was an inspirational crowd pleaser, and it was a surprise and delight to see them turn up Sunday morning in the same venue to back British saxophonist Alabaster dePlum. While Branch’s lyrics for Fly or Die on songs such as “a prayer for amerikkka” offer hope through our shared righteous anger at an increasingly dire political landscape and those responsible for it. dePlum invites listeners to meet the often overwhelming challenges of life with love and kindness towards ourselves and our communities. It was a perfect pairing, a raucous Saturday night of dancing to resistance anthems followed by a Sunday morning of inspiration and fellowship. dePlume offered the band a rough outline of each song before they seamlessly found the groove and worked it, providing an aural model of the collaboration and cooperation dePlume offers in his lyrics.
This year I had less of a game plan and plotted schedule than ever, and ultimately I missed some of the acts I was most looking forward to. I ended up doing what I said I wasn’t going to do, venue hopping more than I expected to sample a lot of different experiences rather than selecting a few specific shows to see in their entirety. After three Big Earless years, many of us were concerned we might be out of “festival shape,” and sure, we were, but adrenaline and the hope for a performance we’d never forget helped us power through. Would I be so exhausted I wouldn’t be able to make it to John Zorn’s New Electric Masada at 9:00 p.m. on Sunday? I did, barely, getting in just before the show was at capacity, sitting in the very last row in the balcony. It was an incredible performance, the technical skill and imagination of the world-class musicians in the ensemble mind-boggling. You can listen to this strain of Zorn’s music for decades and still be nigh incredulous as it unfolds in real time, and seeing the band in action with Zorn directing it adds to the listening experience. Zorn is so prolific and wide-ranging we may take him for granted, but seeing several of his compositions throughout the weekend was an excellent reminder of how valuable he is to American music.
There’s little risk in taking Big Ears for granted, even for those of us who live in Knoxville and look forward to it every year like a kid looks forward to Christmas. For a few days during Big Ears, an alternate reality appears in the streets and buildings we already spend so much time in, offering us new perspectives on people and things we see every day. Throughout the weekend, I would see social media posts exclaiming certain performances were one of the greatest things the poster ever witnessed. But I was and am very much at peace with where I chose to be, because I heard so much incredible music, heard thoughtful talks, and most importantly, experienced the kind of uplift and shared aesthetic and experiences that only happen during Big Ears weekend. It would be going too far to suggest Big Ears isn’t really about the music, but the sense of community that is always part of the weekend felt much stronger this year, reminding us just how much we’d missed it, needed it, and will continue to need it.
