The final day of Big Ears 2010 began in an anti-climactic manner, coming to work instead of heading directly to the epicenter of the concert action. After hurriedly preparing the week’s stories and getting the section together for Monday’s issues, it was a matter of burning rubber to get to the Bijou Theatre as soon as possible.
One small gripe about the complimentary pass which opened doors all weekend was that its journalist swag folder didn’t come with a schedule, likely a simple oversight. With over 30 individual shows, it can be a bit difficult to employ immediate total recall of the location and time of a specific show. Thus instead of parking near the Bijou as the rain began, it was Market Square garage. With no umbrella.
If you have never walked from Market Square to the Bijou, know this: while it is by no means a long haul, in a torrential pour, the trek is not pleasant.
After making the walk and wringing the mane, finding a seat at the Bijou was cake. After a few minutes of set up, self-styled “homoerotic piano duo” Nico Muhly and Doveman took the stage for what proved to be a mixture of classical cacophany, balladry befitting a no-fi record and a healthy amount of NPR hero worship. Their repertoire consisted of individual solo numbers by Muhly and Doveman leader Thomas Bartlett, selections from Bartlett’s cover of the “Footloose” soundtrack and transcriptions for two pianos of Indonesian ethnographic pieces by musicologist Colin McPhee.
Annie Clark, a former Polyphonic Spree robe-wearer who has toured as St. Vincent for the last four years, was the show’s main attraction. For those who have never seen Clark in person, she is the picture definition of a pixie powerhouse: physically unimposing, but a terrifying force when given her wonderfully distorted Harmony Bobcat. Clark emulated other instruments present, such as saxophone and violin, and sometimes abandoned melody for aural power. In “Your Lips Are Red” she dropped to her knees and pulled noise hither and dither from her effects pedals as the stage lights climaxed overhead.
After St. Vincent, a much needed break seemed in order. Unfortunately, no such luck prevailed.
The rain subsides; Big Ears bows out
The walk back was hellacious. Certainly not the worst rain ever experienced in Knoxville, but the timing could not have been worse. Refuge sought under eaves and storefronts gave a view of fellow concertgoers who were not so industrious, ducking into shops and fueling the tourist revenue which has lent a hand in “revitalizing” downtown in the last decade.
With no concrete plans for the next few hours, it was resolved to hit the Pilot Light and keep the noise mojo going.
KnoEars, which has since been recognized by out-of-town media as an anti-festival, stood on its own right and gave locals a chance do their own thing and expose their work to those outside the Knoxville scene. In between bands, new-old boutique Hot Horse provided a fun place to hang during soundchecks. Their consignments of rad, weird music gear and hipster-approved record selection warmed the soul after the rain.
By 9 p.m. it was time to go and spend the obligatory few songs with The National, whose set was much talked about in the vague sort of way that new initiates to a clandestine society speculate what their hazing ritual will be.
“Have you heard the National?” “No, man. I’ve heard I should, but I never know how to get into them.”
“Then you’ve got to see them live. They’ll completely change how you see them, and you’ll want to listen to them all the time.”
Such a promise was heartening but ultimately a bit unfounded.
Shara Worden’s My Brightest Diamond was winding down, which is not to say the band lost any of its fervor. In other words, anyone who shares a stage with Worden has a tough act to follow. In 2007 she outshone The Decemberists on their “Crane Wife” tour, prompting Colin Meloy to bring her in as the Queen on last year’s rock opera “The Hazards of Love.” As she took a stab at the standard “Tainted Love,” Worden danced about and wrung her own wails from her ES-335, before ceding the stage to Ashley Capps for closing remarks.
Capps is a charismatic and gracious host. He thanked everyone who could have feasibly put a hand into making the festival possible before promising that they were dreaming ahead for the next year.
Taking Clogs’ logistical level, the National took to the stage with no less than seven people in various auxiliary roles, taking adult alternative music to a more orchestral level than most in recent years. They played well but left a bit to be desired. Though theirs was the last set, it seemed alright to adjourn the festival at a high point instead of fighting to stay through a marginally enjoyable show.
Big Ears was over. All the incredible sights and sounds of the weekend are still sinking in, but this much is certain. For the righteous objections of some and the exaltations of others, Big Ears is the little festival that could, and did, utilize Knoxville’s classic movie palace showrooms and echo the past and foretell the future of the mighty Marble City.
