Happy with you: big thief live at the barrowlands

By Eli Thayer

I’m sweaty, my feet are sore from standing, my throat is beginning to break down from overuse, and it’s because of these things that I know I’m alive. It’s the fallibility of our bodies--the little inconveniences--that makes us human. Nothing embodies this truth to me more than Big Thief, the Brooklyn-based indie quartet that is currently playing a run of shows in the UK and Ireland in support of their new album, Dragon New Warm Mountain I Believe In You. Twice during their set at the Barrowlands Ballroom in Glasgow, frontwoman Adrianne Lenker stopped in the middle of a song, citing a sonic environment that didn’t feel right. The second such instance occurred during the first encore, “Contact”, and inspired bassist Max Oleartchik to suggest that the band try playing the song badly instead. Lenker liked the idea, and the foursome launched into a “bad” version of the song (it sounded great). At its conclusion, she imparted some words of wisdom to the audience: “If you’re ever scared to not do something good, just do it bad.” 

The performance was littered with reminders like this one that Big Thief is both a single symbiotic organism and four individuals with their own distinct personalities and ideas. Drummer James Krivchenia often served as the band’s engine, using stark dynamic changes to lead songs to surprising places. His kick drum in particular boomed throughout the room, a powerful heartbeat that shifted the energy of the space when he chose to use it, which he did so remarkably sparingly. “Little Things”, which on Dragon is a nearly six-minute long psychedelic jam, in the live setting became a musical tug-of-war, with Lenker’s indefatigable guitar part acting as a bed over which Krivchenia was free to explore. His restraint was almost frustrating at points--dropping the volume back down after briefly exploding into the full beat provoked an audible sigh from the crowd--but it made for a brand-new, surprisingly tense version of what had been a warm, enveloping track.

Elsewhere, Krivchenia and Lenker collaborated to extract new life from the liveliest of tunes. “Red Moon”, a jumping country hoedown, lost some of its bounce when Lenker encountered guitar tuning issues mid-song. Reacting quickly, Krivchenia pulled Oleartchik and guitarist Buck Meek into a quieter, if not more relaxed, groove until Lenker returned and brought the volume back with her constant, pulsing strumming. Later in the song, Lenker turned to face her bandmates and entered a stop-time rhythm. Clearly surprised, her counterparts lagged for a moment but quickly embraced the idea. The four of them in a circle creating something out of nothing evoked some sort of nature ritual; people coming together as one to draw something fresh from the world around them. 

The climax of the set, the massive “Not” from 2019’s Two Hands, provided another one of these moments. During Lenker’s guitar solo, which consisted mostly of her furiously beating a single note into submission, she slowly crept backward until she was completely hidden from view, crouched behind a tower of amplifiers. Her note continued to scream, now left to exist solely as sound. On the other side of the stage, Meek, Oleartchik, and Krivchenia had formed another circle, and stared intently at one another while they created the night sky for Lenker’s fireworks. It felt intimate, like a moment the crowd wasn’t supposed to see. For the band, it may have been as if there was no one else in the room, at least for a few minutes.

Big Thief also shared moments of elation with the audience, nowhere more than on the raucous “Spud Infinity”, a joyous song that muses on our tiny place in the universe and everyday joys like potatoes and garlic bread side by side. The crowd was vocal throughout the performance, frequently singing along, but never did I hear voices louder than on the final verse of “Spud Infinity”, joining Lenker’s: “When I say infinity, I mean now // Kiss the one you are right now”. Lenker and the audience shouted these lines, coming together for an instant of triumphant exorcism, defiant in the face of all the terrors outside that this moment was a beautiful one. At the end of the song, Lenker reprised a relaxed, wordless variant of the chorus melody that she’d sung as an introduction while the rest of the band got set up. This time, a wave of her right arm invited the crowd to join in, and for a minute, the whole room was unified, as if to further emphasize the song’s simple message.

The simplest message of all, however, arrived alongside the one previously unheard song. Opening with a straightforward open chord progression, Lenker began to sing: “I’m happy with you, happy with you, happy with you, happy with you, happy with you, happy with you…,” and on, and on, and on until I began to wonder if she would ever sing another line. It became something akin to a mantra; a powerful phrase repeated ad nauseum in the hope that it can come to be understood and embraced. Suddenly, she broke the spell, snarling, “Why do I need to explain myself?” Although she subsequently returned to the original line, it was now delivered by one who had accepted and embraced the universe’s unknowns. Rather than telling us to question nothing, it felt as if Lenker was merely advocating for judiciousness, or realizing when to choose blissful ignorance over dangerously futile pursuits. Although the song dragged on somewhat, thanks to four identical verses, it provided an incredible release, and a lovely memory (as well as a persistent earworm). 

From long before Big Thief walked onto the stage, a plasma globe like one might find in a science classroom sat innocuously on top of Oleartchik’s amplifier. Curious fans snapped pictures of its violet glow, but the band never acknowledged its presence. Following “Happiness”, a gentle series of abstract-yet-comforting anecdotes, a loud buzz briefly emanated from the speakers. Heads turned to see Oleartchik standing the orb, his hand hovering immobile as if he’d just touched something hot. Cautiously, he extended a finger and brushed its edge, eliciting another angry noise. Lenker, noticing the commotion, wandered over toward the bass corner while Krivchenia peered over his cymbals to watch. For at least a minute, Oleartchik and Lenker took turns tapping, stroking, and palming the globe, each time overjoyed by the sounds it gave them in return. Eventually, they seemed to remember that they were in the middle of delivering a sold-out show, and Lenker returned to the front of the stage for U.F.O.F. standout “Cattails”, a pastoral song about Lenker’s great-grandmother featuring a swampy, jolting guitar riff. The concert continued, the plasma sphere forgotten as quickly as it was discovered. 

Big Thief played for almost two hours, ranging from peaceful folk guitar to blaring arena rock anthems, throughout displaying a looseness that some may have interpreted as a symptom of under-rehearsal, but that I took as evidence of both the fun they were having playing music together and their dedication to finding the proper environment for each song. The band’s set was heartwarming, inspiring, and triumphant, with enough moments of stunning clarity to turn any hesitant attendee into a fan. As the final chord of the night’s peak, “Not”, simmered down, no one in the stunned audience noticed Oleartchik sidling toward the back of the stage. As we began to regain our bearings, a harsh buzz shot through the air. The bassist grinned mischievously and looked to his bandmates, who nodded in silent understanding as Krivchenia counted off the next song.