May 16

May 16 Festival review: Big Ears 2023

Well, I had myself quite a day, which I guess is good since it came dangerously close to being my last.

Once again, I had the honor to attend (and review) the Big Ears Music Festival, which celebrated 10 years of gathering an impressive collection of eclectic music in a variety of choice venues over four days in downtown Knoxville, Tenn., this year March 30-April 3. As was true last year, my schedule and situation only allowed me to take in the full Friday lineup, wishing it were more.

In 2022, I wisely went with a friend who is much more versed in the experimental and culturally diverse music on display. He was as bummed as I was that he was unable to join me, having finally earned a press credential himself this year. If he had made it, he may have saved me from making a few forgivable mistakes in my see-as-much-as-you-can wherever-you-can approach: 1) don’t lose sight of the present situation chasing last year’s highlights, and 2) don’t give into the pull of celebrity appeal at a festival known for featuring the pinnacle of acts that you may not know yet but should.

And if he had been there, he could have calmly driven us back to the hotel at the end of the night, as was true in 2022, so that I never would have taken that terrifying Uber ride from hell that almost sent me there in a hurry. But as Tristram Shandy said, “I’m getting ahead of myself.”

This year’s Big Ears started much like last year, getting up early in Asheville on Friday morning to make the two-hour drive west to catch the first circled show on the schedule, shortly before noon. On this day, that was David Byrne’s Reasons To Be Cheerful at the landmark Tennessee Theatre. I made good time on my slightly dull solo drive and managed to make it to where I had picked up my press credentials one year previous with a few minutes to spare.

The only problem was that was not where one goes to get that this year. I was in the wrong place at the time not to be wrong. The person there saw the panic on my face and enlisted the services of a supervisor who found a way to get me checked in with one of the handful of media wristbands that had been made available for us geniuses of journalism who failed to read the most recent informational email. My wrist was now legit, and I bolted the few blocks to The Tennessee, barely stopping to soak in the glory of that gorgeous chandelier-strewn lobby, before sitting in one of the last remaining seats just as the lights went down. Nicely played, lonesome traveler.

Only a few minutes into the presentation, I knew I was in the wrong place. No, this was David Byrne, except not singing but speaking about his nonprofit online magazine, Reasons To Be Cheerful, that focuses on smart, proven, and (most importantly) replicable solutions to our most pressing problems. It was impressive and informative and if I had four days to drink in all that Big Ears has to offer, I would have probably been fine to sit and see him highlight a few women from the area that have made a commendable difference in their respective communities.

There was Cathy Jenkins, executive director of Nashville’s The Contributor, a bi-weekly newspaper bought and then sold by those seeking to climb out of homelessness. Her profile of a vendor who’d just been given the keys to his own home as proof of the empowering impact of the “Housing First” initiative was moving, but I did not have to leave Asheville at 8 a.m. to hear of such things. I could have stayed home and had lunch a few hours later with my friend who works for Homeward Bound.

And then there was Candy Carver, a North Carolina native and colorful abstract muralist, both in what she paints and who she is as a person. She had been commissioned in the Durham area to create visually vibrant crosswalks near schools and parks in an effort to get drivers to slow down and cut down on the rise in pedestrian injuries and fatalities. She was a delight but I did not set out that day, for only one day, to sit at a SXSW-style panel on ways to improve our world — not when someone somewhere close was playing some kind of music, which would improve my world.

It was Candy who gave me my marching orders when, in her closing, she encouraged people to use their creativity to contribute to their community in whatever way they can, and use what makes you happy to help make others happy. She used the phrase “whatever fills your joy cup.” That stuck with me. David Byrne is one of my favorite musical artists of all time. I was lucky enough to see him on The Talking Heads’ Stop Making Sense Tour, and a few other times along the way. I went to that event hoping that he would play some of his music, any of it, but anyone who took the time to read the menu knew that was not on it. So as soon as they got to the texted questions and answer session, I set off to find music I hoped would fill my joy cup, even if for just 15 minutes.

I headed to Jackson Terminal, the coolly converted train station now serving as festival merch central. I had enjoyed the vibe of a few lively shows there last year. Tank and the Bangas were slated to play an early afternoon show there. I had never seen them before, but I knew they just played a sold-out show at The Grey Eagle and remember when they won NPR’s Tiny Desk Concert competition back in 2017. They started a little late, but that is to be expected with the first few shows of the day. What was not expected was that it was just Tank and a Banga presenting a set of poetry by their frontwoman, Tarriona Ball, backed by keyboardist, Norman Spence. I have a soft spot for spoken word, having lived just a few blocks from its epicenter, The Nuyorican Poets Cafe, in New York City in the ’90s. I was charmed by Tank’s giddy demeanor as she delivered damning verses in her piece, “Boxes and Squares,” where she tells a former lover that she would have been so good for him if he had only been good to her.

I would have been your meats, your beans
Would have been your greens, your peas
Would have been your apple seeds
Would have been your greens and peas
Apple vines and leaves
Anything you need me to be

I was close but had not yet found the full joy to fill my cup that craved music and not just musical accompaniment. So I took in a Tank or two, bought a T-shirt, and took off to Mill & Mine. my favorite venue from my maiden voyage to the fest, dubbing it Knoxville’s version of The Orange Peel. And there I found Danielle Ponder, the R&B singer from Rochester, NY, with a great backstory (former district attorney who, in her 40s, is now following her musical dream) and an even better voice. Her stellar set of soulful-feeling rock songs backed by a solid band let me know I had finally landed. With her mighty voice and lion’s mane, she tore through slow and more uptempo songs, all the while sipping tea and apologizing for feeling poorly due to the high pollen count. She shared that her tea-bag tag read "The plants have enough spirit to transform our limited vision." This prompted her to perform a wonderful song she had written while under the influence of mushrooms. She then closed the set with her resonating rendition of Radiohead’s “Creep.” Other artists have covered that song but none have lifted it higher. My joy cup ranneth over.

After a quick detour to check into my affordable outskirts-of-town hotel, I headed back to The Tennessee to see music I knew was music because I had seen them before: Ibeyi, a French-Cuban musical duo made up of twin sisters, Lisa-Kaindé and Naomi Diaz. They impressively sing in French, English, Spanish, and Yarube. They’re a culturally diverse event, conveniently contained in one talented family tandem. Their set nicely suited the mid-afternoon energy and magnificent venue, with vocals that evoked Sade, along with Latin and jazz instrumental elements, frequently backed by electronic beats. They were able to do what I wish more Big Ears acts were able to, make some attendees dance some.

But as I sat in the balcony, I was slightly bothered by a change in their duo dynamic. When I had seen them originally at The Orange Peel in 2016, it was one of the oddest arrangements of entertainers that I had seen. The two sisters faced each other in profile at a tee-pipe mic stand and sang the entire show to each other, resulting in an unusual yet unforgettable night. But now, Lisa-Kaindé has been elevated to lead vocals with Naomi on box percussion and backup vocals — not always, but often. I wondered what had happened to have them shift the perspective of their performance. I missed the mirror twin image. And so, I made my first regrettable dip into being disappointed by something that wasn't what it had been before, but held out for the rush of ”River,” their beautifully haunting breakthrough single that originally brought them to my attention. There’s something undeniably special about sisters singing in unison. Sated, I set off in search of new experiences.

I stepped into The Bijou Theater — mainly because it was only a block away and because I could bypass the long line of non-press patrons. I knew from last year that I would find jazz on stage here and just hoped it would be the kind of jazz that I find compelling — more rhythmic than chaotic.

The festival fates were in my favor as I was treated to a fantastic set of stirring jazz by guitarist Mary Hallvorson and her brilliant band, playing her six-song suite, Amaryllis. Just the visual of this timid, tiny lady with big glasses and even bigger guitar leading this group of five formidable musicians was striking to see. And the music they made together was textured and toe-tapping, if not exactly masterfully mixed, wth many moments of inspired improvisation from each member, with Adam O'Farrill on trumpet, Jacob Garchik on trombone, Nick Dunston on bass, Tomas Fujiwara on drums, and the vivacious Patricia Brennan on vibraphone.

Plus, the Bijou is a legit luscious landmark theater. You can almost sense the thousands of scorching freeform sets that have set the air on fire there as you fall into one of its soft-fabric fold-down seats. I had read a little something somewhere on this show, but I did not know that it would be so satisfying. I had learned along the way at this festival that you can’t walk out happy unless you first walk in.

I walked out happy and headed up the block to see Larry & Joe at St. John’s Cathedral, a divine setting for this unorthodox pairing. Hearing almost any music in that space — with its open altar brightly lit by daylight streaming through stained-glass windows — would have been a little taste of heaven, but it was especially so with their signature Appalachian/South American sound.

Joe Hopp is a lean and lanky banjo player from Winston-Salem who spent years in Argentina before being called back to the Piedmont by the pandemic. Larry Bellorin is a round and renowned musician from Venezuela who, with his cowboy hat and faded denim, looks like he should be strumming “Happy Trails'' from atop a wagon train, but instead is plucking a strangely shaped harp from his home country and spouting traditional folk songs in his native language, all with a smile as wide as the Rio Grande. The two together beautifully filled the cathedral with their distinct brand of azulgrass, answering the question, “What might it have sounded like if Doc Watson had taken an extended sabbatical south of the border?”

At one point, Joe announced that, if we didn’t mind, they would be playing the next few songs on guitar and upright bass. I did mind a little, because it made them a little more like a lot of other lesser acts, but only in appearance. They eventually returned to their original interesting instruments and concluded an incredible set of somehow both regional and international music that some would be surprised to know could come from a box on the schedule labeled “Larry & Joe.”

Big Ears added a bigger venue this year, Knoxville Civic Auditorium, to host some of the bigger names brought in for its 10-year celebration: Iron & Wine, Andrew Bird, and my next band, Calexico. A friend had recommended using the offered festival trolley to reach the somewhat more remote location but I was inspired to walk. The more you travel to your next circled set, the more pressure there is for it to be worth it. I knew that would not be a problem with this popular indie rock band, perfectly named for its blend of American and Mexican musical styles.

I had recently seen Calexico in Asheville this past October, but felt no guilt for granting myself a temporary reprieve from my pledge to choose the unknown over the well known. Larry & Joe had left me longing for more American Latin music, and I knew I could feed that craving at Calexico and then at Los Lobos a little later in the day. Calexico looks the part of a professional band who has been playing together for more than 25 years with their crisp western-style shirts, clean haircuts, and gorgeous guitars. And their sound comfortably steps back and forth, salsa-style, between Wilco-esque country post-rock and traditional Latin folk flavoring, heard especially in their mariachi-charged horns which definitely fill mi taza de alegria.

They pivoted from Spanish to English lyrics in the first few songs, “El Mirador” and “Cumbia El Polvo.” They then featured more straightforward English storytelling in “Harness the Wind” and "Across the Wire,” but still with a Tejano timbre. When Steve Berlin from Los Lobos stepped out to play soprano sax on “Stray,” I knew I was in the right place, although I wasn’t sure if I would come back to this spot.

KCA was certainly comfortable and could accommodate a good number of people, but that wood-paneled auditorium felt more like a first period assembly than a funky music festival. I half expected Principal Skinner from The Simpsons to walk out and announce the next number. But at that moment, I did not mind. I knew what I was getting and got what I knew was great music. Calexico was excellent, even if I didn’t discover them here. However, I did not dawdle in the auditorium as there was another cumbia act I wanted to catch.

What started as a walk turned into a light jog back to Jackson Terminal as it had now started to rain — the foil of venue-hopping music festivals. I was glad to get inside where it was dry but also where it was alive with the electrifying sound of syntho-roots salsa from Bogotá, Colombia’s Meridian Brothers, my favorite band of the festival.

I found one of my favorite sets of 2022 in this space by the band Dos Santos. This set was similar in swagger and spirit, where sitting seemed at odds with the invoked energy. Meridian Brothers are difficult to describe. If you were to get tipped off about an awesome underground party where you wandered through some abandoned warehouse space following the faint sound of muffled music, when you traced the source and slid open the large industrial door unveiling a swirling tempest of a good time, Meridian Brothers would be the band on stage.

They are a five-piece group lead by mastermind and multi-instrumentalist, Eblis Alvarez, who merges club-like electronic and Reggaeton instrumentals with traditional Mexican and South American rhythms, all performed with panache. He’s backed by Cesar Quevedo on bass, Damian Ponce on percussion, Alejandro Forero on additional electronics and synthesizers, and Maria Valencia on whatever else is needed — saxophone, clarinet, and percussion, which includes hitting the hi-hat cymbal with such zeal you would think she was calling an entire continent to dinner. Alvarez introduced her as Wa-len-cia and my heart was won. Their music is made to make us move and make us happy. And we did and we were. But even if they were playing funeral dirges, the undeniable delight that Alvarez and especially Walencia weave into their live performance would still flood my joy cup. I don’t typically stay ‘til the end of sets with so much to see, but I did here, wanting to savor every dripping drop.

This year, Big Ears moved its few free-to-all outside shows on Friday and Saturday from The World’s Fair Amphitheater to a stage set up on one end of the Southern Railway Station. I had already missed Adeem the Artist and Kylouris White there earlier in the day; I would not let myself miss Los Lobos, the final piece of my pieced-together Latin-flavored folk rock fiesta at the festival.

They were a little behind schedule as they waited for the water brought by the rain to be removed from the stage. That was fine as it gave me time to hit the food trucks, something history had shown me I would find parked near the outdoor stage. Once again, food trucks for the win! And as I ate my much-needed sustenance, I could see Los Lobos standing off stage, collectively waiting for the “all clear.” So while I was wishing that they would start, I could see them wanting that as much, if not more.

When they did finally take to the stage, they tore into a sensational set of all-Spanish songs, a nice nod to the cultural efforts of the festival, starting with “Maricela” and “Chuco’s Cambia.” Their vocals, lifting the Spanish lyrics across the open railyard, were on-point as always, so familiar and so perfectly paired with what they were playing. But even though I had seen them a handful of times before, I was still blown away by that sharp surf-rock sound they get from their guitars. They sounded great, and it was nice to stand and enjoy them with a more Knoxville-specific crowd, and not just with us music tourists. But I have seen Los Lobos before and I felt I should seek something more experimental, so I set off in search of an artist playing atmospheric music in front of projected images.

I stopped in to Jig & Reel for a second to hear BB Wisely, featuring the beautiful voice of Bridget Kearney (who many may know as a founding member of the supremely likable Lake Street Dive). I could see a situation where I could comfortably settle into listening to her lovely songs that, when she is BB Wisely, waft like a butterfly in flight. But the venue had too much of a “piano bar with your parents” feel for me to stay for more than a song and a half.

Then it was on to The Standard. I did like that Los Lobos playing outside meant I could still hear them as I headed a few blocks away to be in the crowd for Moor Mother, the vocalist, poet, visual artist, and activist from Philadelphia. Moor Mother was onstage at other times in the festival as part of a larger ensemble, Irreversible Entanglements, but here she performed as her solo self — which used to be just her and a laptop, but now includes vocalist Kyle Kidd and bassoonist Joy Wey.

While this may not be as palatable of what Los Lobos was playing to big applause down on the outdoor stage, this spoken word supported by abstract backup vocals and a bed of resonant bassoon felt immediate and important. As Moor Mother lent her powerful voice to shine a light on such issues as violence and injustice in our cities, she projected paired slides on the wall behind that showed her in similar but not identical stances. There was a claustrophobic feel to the positions taken in the political lyrics and the posed slides that had me thinking of Brittney Griner, the WNBA player who was wrongly detained in a Russian prison last year for nearly 10 months before finally being freed. This may not have been the music I sought when I first got here this morning, but this was the impactful experience I knew I should expose myself to while I’m here — and while it is here.

Motivated by the momentum from finding Moor Mother, I set off to find further acts that I was not familiar with but had piqued my interest. Next was Margaret Glaspy with the Julian Lage Trio at The Point, another church space providing sweet acoustics to its secular guests. Margaret was dressed for the part of a rising rock star with her black leather pants and textured black top, but her raspy and emotionally raw vocals don’t need a wardrobe to distract. She’s quite good, with a young Rickie Lee Jones quality to her. And the complement of the clean classical-country-jazz guitar licks laid underneath her lyrics by her husband, Lage, resulted in lovely listenable songs — not something to be overlooked. Glad I stopped. Gotta go.

Margaret Glaspy + Julian Lange Trio (Photo by Billie Wheeler)

Next stop was the Pilot Light, the least VIP of the performance venues. There is only one line, and when they are at capacity, which happens quickly because it only holds 100 people, you wait on the one-out/one-in ebb and flow for entry. And when you finally get past the gatekeeper, you push into the back of the crowd like a packed subway at rush hour, step lively, and watch the closing doors.

This space would be hard to endure — especially as a shorter person — if the music was manic, but luckily I found myself under the big comfy blanket of Big Kitty, my favorite find of the festival. It’s awesome that Big Ears features so many international acts, but I also like that they are not afraid to go local. Originally from Maryville and since relocated to Chattanooga, Big Kitty is a delightful southern folk singer/songwriter whose sound falls somewhere in between Beck and Jake Bugg, with shades of Sondre Lerche (for those who know the Norwegian songsmith). The worlds that Big Kitty creates in songs such as “The Boy Who Smelled Real Good” are wonderful to visit, and his vocals evoke a less-serious Hank Williams, Sr. He charmed that chock-full house and had us singing along and begging for one more, even if we barely had room to breathe. It may have been at one of the smaller venues, but Big Kitty was a big hit.

I then stopped in to OCPAC (Old City Performing Arts Center) to catch some of The Bad Plus bassist Reid Anderson’s set, trodding out some of his own music with a new electronic trio. I had caught a pop-up show by guitarist Marc Ribot in the space last year that was just far enough over the border to “enjoyable jazz” for me to come back. And while I was okay I wasn’t hearing Anderson’s complex compositions crammed tight at the Pilot Light, I was good moving and grooving to his band’s brand of more melodic rock jazz. I could have heard more and maybe should have heard more but thought I should be on my way to arrive early to a show that would start late and let me down for not being what I foolishly wished it would be.

I had finished off my 2022 full-day Friday with two terrific shows at Meek & Mill: Sons of Kemet and Animal Collective. I admit wanting this day to wind down at the same venue and with a similar vitality in 2023. I had circled Son Lux on the schedule, not knowing all that much about their music, other than they had provided the score to the supercool film Everything Everywhere All At Once, and they had performed with David Byrne at the Oscars this year. Surely, they would repeat that collaboration and call him out on stage to join them during their set. Sadly, that would not be true, and I would have to wait 45 minutes for them to appear and prove me wrong. Well, I didn’t have to wait, but I did like a dumdum.

Big Ears has an app that they encourage you to download to get the latest updates on festival events. I had downloaded it but failed to properly allow push notifications and therefore did not receive word that this show would now be starting at 10:30 p.m., and not at 9:45pm, sent out a few minutes after the originally promised start time. Now, I should have put myself in a better position to receive posts on any possible postponements, but staying on schedule is the gentlemen’s agreement we make with most music festivals. Yes, you will see bands at strange times for not as much time as you’d like, but they’ll be on time so you can leave on time to see other bands at strange times for not as much time as you’d like.

That did not happen and that was disappointing. But what was much more disappointing is I stayed put and pouted when there were several other impressive performances available to pass holders just a hop, skip, and a jump away. There was the popular Andrew Bird back at Principal Skinner's Civic Center. There was the swelling sound of the indie group Grouper up at The Point, elegant vocals hovering over electronic keys like wind over water. And then there was the return of Marc Ribot, this time with The Jazz Bins, that had already started over at The Standard. I really should have gone to that show, not just to be at a show that was in progress and not in a perpetual holding pattern, but because it was the kind of show I was seeking for my Friday evening. A friend I found later that night informed me that he “danced his ass off” at that show. Me want to have gone there.

But me stayed at Meek & Mill, my joy cup now mostly empty, waiting for a band I barely knew to come out and not announce one of my musical heroes. Son Lux did eventually show up, and they did call out some cool guests to come join them, including vocalist Aroof Aftab, trumpeter Adam O’Farrill, and Big Ears Hall-of-Famer, guitarist Bill Frisell — but not David Byrne, so stubbornly I mostly didn’t care at that point.

Son Lux deserves their recent success with their synthesizer, guitar, drum, and vocals combining to set a cinematic mood. But that was not my mood at that moment. Again, I was looking for music that would move me — not a movie score. I think I thought they would sound more like Sparks, the brilliant pop-rock duo of brothers that played many of their danceable gems at Big Ears last year. The names are somewhat similar but not enough to justify the confusion. Fatigue was clearly starting to be a factor, for I had been at this for close to 12 hours now.

While I had insisted on staying and staring at an empty stage, annoyed with no music, I chose not to linger with music that was not to my liking, even if mostly everyone around me was digging what they were doing. I wanted to catch some part of something else that was happening at the same time so that late-night slot did not feel entirely lost. Another friend I had found during the day who makes pretty music had recommended Makaya McCraven as a nightcap back at The Tennessee. If the schedule had held, I would have had more time to make it there, but now I was racing just to catch the encore.

I walked in to see the jazz drummer from Chicago on that sprawling stage with so many musicians mingling on gorgeously orchestrated songs. There were strings and horns and assorted instruments perfectly paired with his percussion. I can appreciate the pared-down performances in some of the smaller spaces, but when you fill a fabulous full-scale theater with the deliciously layered sounds of so many amazing musicians making harmonies, it is magnificent.

I probably should have ended the evening there on such a pleasant note, but I wanted one last rush of adrenaline. I stepped out of The Tennessee and made a beeline back to The Standard to see Billy Woods. I was excited to see some hip-hop at Big Ears, something I wish happened more. Woods is a raw and righteous rapper from Washington, D.C. and then NYC who has been doing his “damn right I’m mad” lyrical attack for over two decades, but with a discernible sense of humor. He does have a song called “Spongebob,” after all: “Spongebob, the whole operation under water.”

Woods doesn’t dispense particularly danceable hip-hop tracks. He reminds me of Jay-Z on the songs where he doesn’t feel the need to lay a catchy hook underneath his careening commentary — just letting the words do the work. Woods definitely made an impression on me, even if there could have been more like me as we made our way past midnight. I could maybe do one more show, not wanting to end on the stand-and-nod dynamic at The Standard.

So, I went back to Meek & Mill, my Waterloo. The captivating electronic music performer from Milan, Caterina Barbieri, was the final act of the night with a set that was to start at midnight. Except that she was late as well. More unamused standing around for me. I discovered that for these full-day festivals, I need to maintain momentum. I’m like a shark that sinks unless it keeps swimming. I fussily held out for this final show hoping for one last chance to hop around. My buddy who “danced his ass off” at Marc Ribot earlier bought me a beer to assuage my bad mood. I imbibed and bucked up a bit but the better choice would have been caffeine.

If I had come to this show to wind down watching some artist standing at a bank of synthesizers “twiddling knobs and moving cables around,'' as another reviewer put it, I would have headed back to the hotel relatively happy. Barbieri is a cool, confident synth wizard with a graceful way of manipulating her command module as if she were receiving signals from outer space. But I was looking for one last lift and not a languid electro laser-light show, so I left. I had an amazing run of music in my day, but then ran out of steam when I misread some situations, and, in a few instances, settled for stasis instead of recognizing and recalibrating. If I ever come back, I’ll be sure to bring a friend and be more proactive with my push notifications.

The problem with the last show running late is that it had me calling for an Uber sometime after 1:00 a.m. My offered driver was not just right downtown but coming from all the way across town. When I got in the car, he turned down his loud music and admitted to me that had been at it for over 12 hours that day. I laughed in alliance saying that so had I.

But the difference in our situations was very much not funny. It was OK for me to be sleepy at that point, not him. On the 20-minute or so drive out to my affordable outskirts-of-town hotel, he almost killed us a couple of times. At one point on the highway, he decelerated to maybe 20mph for no reason I could tell, other than he had clearly nodded off at the wheel. Luckily, there were not many cars on the road to ram into his mistake. Then he overcompensated and started going very fast, literally slapping himself awake while repeatedly almost ramming into the retaining wall when the far right light lane would split into turn off or fade left.

I leaned forward and shared in a full voice, “Sir, I’m scared!” I encouraged him to turn his music back up and said, “Let’s do whatever we can to just get me to the hotel safely.” I sang aloud loudly, drumming on the back of the seat to keep his drowsiness at bay. I had been hunting for some lively music, but not the kind to keep me alive.

Finally, he veered across a few lanes to lurch off the exit to my hotel. As soon as he turned into the parking lot at the bottom of the ramp, I leapt out of the car and shared a few swear words with him. He begged me not to report him, saying he couldn’t afford to lose his job — his financial situation the real-life reason why he was working the full 12-hour shift. Sadly, in shock, I gave him his stars and a decent tip on top of his surge-pricing fare.

I’ll never take an Uber alone that late at night again, especially in a city I’m visiting. But a LYFT? We’ll see.

(Ibeyi lead photo by Cora Wagoner)