Yes, there is all this foolish beauty,
borne beyond midnight,
that has no desire to go home,
especially now when everyone in the room
is watching the large man with the tenor sax
that hangs from his neck like a golden fish.
He moves forward to the edge of the stage
and hands the instrument down to me
and nods that I should play.
So I put the mouthpiece to my lips
and blow into it with all my living breath.
We are all so foolish,
my long bebop solo begins by saying,
so damn foolish
we have become beautiful without even knowing it.
– from “Nightclub” by Billy Collins
I don’t know about you and yours, but a big part of my cohort went into Big Ears 2025 with a lackadaisical attitude and a largely ill-formed schedule, happy to embrace the weekend and enjoy what came, but maybe with not as much enthusiasm as in the past. It wasn’t because of disappointment in the lineup or repeat performers or that we’ve finally, at long last, come to take Big Ears for granted. Rather, the recent death of a beloved community member, followed by word on the opening day of the festival that another person we cared about had passed away, had some of us in an even stranger daze than we’d been in for the past few months, what with the sheer amount of shit that’s been happening. So this year the FOMO stakes seemed a lot lower.
Given the nature of artists and musicians, especially ones tapped to perform at a festival like Big Ears, there was a sense that some comments about said shit might be made. This turned out not to be the case in general, a reminder that this festival remains unpredictable in unpredictable ways. It wasn’t until Alabaster DePlume’s late afternoon Friday set that I heard a performer acknowledge some of the shit. (DePlume rather enjoys using that vulgarity to refer to What’s Happening Now, and it’s as good a word as any, so I’ll go with it, too.) That’s kind of his whole thing, letting the audience know that he’s well aware of how difficult life can be, and we’re brave for just showing up and making it through another day. We are the right people for this moment because we are in this moment together.
I am generally allergic to such rhetoric, but there’s something about DePlume’s personality and delivery that wins me over. The music helps, too. As a saxophonist, he’s limited in his technique, or at least, limited in what he gives us. He doesn’t need elaborate chops for his conceptual conceit, playing repetitive, minimalist phrases that allow him to tour using pick-up bands in each city. It’s an effective strategy that not only produces different results every show and no doubt keeps him from getting bored, but also underscores the mutual aid aspect of his philosophy and aesthetic. It was instructive to watch his soundcheck with bassist Shazhad Ismaily, violinist Macie Stewart and drummer Tcheser Holmes. He actually uses his motivational speak (“If in doubt – then yes!”) in instructions to the band. He blew the roof off The Standard back in 2022 with Jaimie Branch’s Fly or Die quartet, and this year he wore a Fly or Die t-shirt and evoked the late trumpeter near the beginning of his set. It was not the least bit maudlin—quite celebratory, in fact—a welcome mood to experience. The set ended with a call for us all to go forth in the courage of our love. Pretty good rhetoric.
Obviously musicians don’t have to directly talk about current events to communicate an air of the times through their music. Thursday night had some of this air in a trio of performances that made for a perfect opening night at Big Ears: Yo La Tengo>Alan Sparhawk>William Tyler. They were all in their feels and got us in ours.
What to say about Yo La Tengo, who’ve been indie rock darlings for more than three decades, and are legendary for their multifaceted live shows? They can do old school pop, indie pop, classic rock, indie rock electronica, and nothing else hits quite like Ira Kaplan’s extended guitar sculptures that remain beautifully illogical after all these years. The trio was augmented by drummer John McEntire and guitarist William Tyler, both of whom added a lot of texture to the set, especially during the closing workout of “I Heard You Looking.” What a band, what a catalog of songs.
Later that evening, Tyler performed his epically transcendental upcoming album Time Indefinite at The Point. The former church has become one of my favorite venues, not just for the sound and atmosphere, but because the curation there is always, well, on point. It always seems like the right venue for the right artist, whereas Jackson Terminal or Regas Square or Old City PAC can kill the vibe from one of your favorite acts if the crowd or sound or lighting is a bit off.
Flanked by local cellist (and Big Ears’ Community Outreach Coordinator) Cecilia Blair and a keyboardist who also worked with electronics and live tape loops, Tyler patiently rendered a live recreation of Time Indefinite. The album is a remarkable statement by a musician who has been working with sound collage, samples and ambient electronics for a while now, though still best known for his tuneful solo guitar playing. The new album effectively marries these styles in an exploration of a psyche that is clearly going through something heavy, and the listener gets to come out the other side with him. I couldn’t see everything he was doing with and to his guitars, but the extended techniques and accessories he used turned his guitar into a pure sound machine as much as an instrument for fingerpicking. This live performance was more soothing than the album, by Tyler’s design or the softening effect of the church, I can’t say. He returned to The Point Saturday night for one of the Across the Horizon ambient Americana events, playing a set with harpist Mary Lattimore in which they swapped instruments for a time, to the bemusement and delight of the audience and curator Bob Holmes.
Alan Sparhawk performed at The Bijou a few months ago, and I was so intrigued by his performance I wanted to dip into a bit of it again before heading to something else, which I can’t even remember now. I’m glad I stayed. After the first half where he worked his way through the Auto-Tuney electro-pop songs of his grief-driven album White Roses, My God, he delivered an amazing and much different second half. With Crazy Horse-style jammers, Low-haunted slowcore and a Roy Ayers cover, it was a versatile and moving set. And no matter what religious belief (or lack thereof) anyone there might hold, I doubt there was a person in the room that didn’t respond with a visceral thrill to Sparhawk repeatedly spitting “When Jesus comes back, all you motherfuckers gonna pay.” I certainly got chills, and teared up a bit, too.
It’s not that unusual for me to tear up during a concert, but I rarely openly weep. Midway through Irish folk band Lankum’s set Saturday night, I found myself doing just that. It was during their song about departed friends, “The Young People.” A friend standing behind me clasped his hand on my shoulder and I thought, “How did he know I was crying?” only to turn around and see him crying. They brought The Ache, and we leaned into it. Lankum has received no end of effusive praise, and fans speak of their performances with almost mystical reverence. I’ll spare you that, but I will say if you were in the packed Mill and Mine hearing those four voices blend together over drone-drenched folk songs, you hopefully felt something move through the room. Their rendition of traditional tune “The New York Trader,” a song Ian Lynch introduced as being about “the reason you don’t sail with murderers. Even illiterate peasants a thousand years ago knew that,” ended with their brief lament “The Rocks of Palestine,” got a “Free, Free Palestine!” chant going. Lankum closed with “Go Dig My Grave,” acknowledging the song’s writer, Kentucky folk singer Jean Ritchie, and underscoring the already obvious connection between Irish and Appalachian music.
The Appalachian music stream of Big Ears continues to grow, with Sam Bush, Wyatt Ellis, Edgar Meyer and other like minds appearing this year. I loved Magic Tuber Stringband’s set and it got me wondering, not for the first time, how old time players get into drone and minimalism, and vice versa. I know these elements are inherent in a lot of folk music, especially Scotch-Irish influenced Appalachian music, but most old time players don’t immediately cotton to Tony Conrad, and most drone heads don’t gravitate to Tommy Jarrell. There are plenty of great bands living in the center of the Venn diagram where traditional music meets the avant garde, some who have already appeared at Big Ears, but let this be a public request for a stream of Avant Old Time programming next year, in the style of Across the Horizon. Anybody have Henry Flynt’s contact info?
Water Damage brought the heavy drone this year. They played in The Standard, and I couldn’t help but think of Laurie Anderson sitting in on electric violin for the recently departed Tony Conrad during Faust’s performance of Outside the Dream Syndicate in 2016 in that same room. Water Damage cribbed a bit from that masterpiece, with two drummers, two violinists and nine guitarists riding one note for 45-minutes. Rather than a thoroughly rehearsed, precise execution of a minimalist piece à la Philip Glass’ Music in 12 Parts, performed over two days at the Tennessee Theatre this year, the varying instruments, tunings and slight variations between players created a howling guitar swarm. It’s about as zen as I got all weekend, the cacophony blowing all thoughts other than what was directly in front of me out of my mind.
A friend who comes from out of town every year likes to comment on the fact that we miss multiple once-in-a-lifetime shows over the weekend because we’re at another show, or it’s a bit of a walk, or we need to eat, or have a drink, or just take a break. I’ve missed a lot of once-in-a-lifetime shows, and missed a few more this year, but c’est la Big Ears. The jazz curation has been exceedingly good. Every March some of the greatest players in the history of the genre are in Knoxville for a weekend, and it’s impossible to hear them all. I made a point to catch [Ahmed], though, and I am so glad I did.
[Ahmed] are a conceptual jazz group of sorts, playing the music of Ahmed Abdul-Malik in longform extended workouts. They played Friday and Saturday night sets and I caught Friday’s. For about 45-minutes, the bass/drums/piano/sax quartet worked its way through several repetitive minimalist phrases, interrupted by spurts of free, expressive playing. It was a marvel to witness, something like a group of ‘70s-era fire jazzers translating Philip Glass, worrying a phrase to death before kicking off into a spirited free work out,then delving back in to work another rhythm for a good five to ten minutes, then repeating this process. Hypnotic and ecstatic music, it was one of the best shows of the weekend.
Also glad to catch Mike Reed’s The Separatist Party performance. The drummer was joined by Ben LaMar Gay on cornet and Bithcin Bajas on synthesizers, laying down some spacey ambient jazz, before kicking into a funkier, noisier mode as poet and spoken word artist Marvin Tate took the stage. “Hold me! Hold me! Hold me!” Tate demanded and off the band went. You probably couldn’t make out every word of Tate’s, but didn’t need to, as the power of his delivery convinced you he believed every word of it.
Being in the same room as a voice you love is such a thrill, and Big Ears always hosts an astonishing array of unique vocalists. I knew I wanted to experience Still House Plants live mostly to hear Jess Hickie-Kallenbach’s voice in the flesh. She’s an ideal candidate for the old saw about singing the phone book, because I can hardly ever make out her words without reading the lyrics sheet. The emotional heft of her voice resonates so deeply, like Marvin Tate, I don’t need to know what she’s singing to be moved by it. The music is great too, of course, and it was equally thrilling to watch how the sounds from songs I’ve listened to over and over are made on just drums and guitar. Despite having experienced them live, this band retains some mystery, and I love them even more for that.
I knew I would attend Rufus Wainwright’s concert, but definitely took the idea for granted. “Oh, Rufus Wainwright is playing this year—I’ve seen him a few times but I like him so I guess I’ll go to that.” Maybe it was in part because it was my final concert of the festival, but I was unprepared for how emotionally affected I was by his performance. I’m sure half the audience was in tears during his encore of Leonard Cohen’s “Hallelujah” with Amber Martin, but why was I crying during “My Phone’s on Vibrate for You”? Rufus and I are the same age, and when he sang “I tried to dance Britney Spears / I guess I’m getting on in years” when we were 30, it was funny. Not so much now. The entire song once read as terribly clever to me, but two decades later, “My phone’s on vibrate for you / God knows what all these new drugs do / I guess to have no more fears / But still I always end up in tears” broke me. I think mostly, though, it was his voice. It’s always been a remarkable instrument and doesn’t seem to have changed at all. Other than a few songs with Martin, the concert was Wainwright alone with piano or guitar, and you couldn’t have asked for a lovelier way to end the weekend.
It’s a thrill to be outside with powerful voices, too, as this year’s most delightful surprise proved. An early Sunday morning notification let us know that DakhaBrakha would be performing at a pop up concert with free borscht on the Mill and Mine lawn. The group appeared in their street clothes rather than their elaborate costumes, the three women members – Olena Tsybulska, Iryna Kovalenko, Nina Harenetska – singing traditional Ukranian songs a cappella, between comments by fourth member Marko Halanevych about Ukranian culture and history. All the while, Potchke Deli founder Laurence Faber cooked a giant vat of borscht, interjecting with his own story of traveling to his family homeland in Ukraine and the inspiration for opening Potchke. I learned more about borscht and its importance to Ukranian culture than I ever thought I’d want to know, and it was a perfect way to spend the morning. Just before we all dug in to delicious steaming cups of soup, Halanevych said a few words about Russia’s ongoing assault on his nation. He wanted all of us to understand Ukraine’s history as an independent nation, and how cultural touchstones like food and music helped to shape its identity. He had every right to speak with anger, but instead spoke with affection for his home and his family and neighbors, emphasizing the shared values (can we please reclaim that word) that create a culture and community.
With so much general nastiness being spewed into the world right now, Big Ears was a welcome weekend of shared positive experiences, not just in the name of art and music, but also, to reference another Big Ears event, Our Common Nature. It’s telling that rather than raging against the machine, most artists who had anything to say about the state of the world kept leaning into love, compassion and community. The motherfuckers may or may not pay, they rarely do, but we can still hold those things sacred, and they can’t touch them.
As Luke Stewart said before his Silt Trio delivered a fantastic and energetic performance, Big Ears is a special event but let’s not escape into the music. Let’s use it as a means to keep us engaged with all we have to contend with right now. While the stakes for choosing the right entertainment or escapism might be low at the moment, the stakes for how we choose to live and engage with others have never been higher. This past weekend was a great reminder that art and music can be essential elements in shaping those choices. They can be as serious as your life.
