To accurately capture Sturgill Simpson’s performance at Nashville’s Ryman Auditorium Saturday night, it’s almost easier to start with what the artist is not. Simpson isn’t theatric; the lighting throughout the show remains relatively consistent, warming a backdrop featuring two skeletons clutching a pitchfork and the other wielding a spear. He’s not much of a talker; he speaks only a handful of times over the course of the two-plus-hour show, mentioning his grandparents sitting side stage and imparting the hope that the crowd “live long enough to love something as much as I love hearing that dude play the saxophone.” He doesn’t fit easy expectations; he sounds like Waylon Jennings but dresses in denim and sneakers, draws alt-country labels but offers a set that replaces guitar solos with expansive musical movements, channeling New Orleans as much as Music Row.
He also isn’t much for smiling. The Kentucky native broke into a full grin just a handful of times throughout the set, each in response to an exceptionally impressive groove from his bassist or a member of his three-piece horn section. The set felt like one long, glorious groove – lengthy intros flowed into verse/chorus trades followed by even lengthier jam sessions. Simpson, who played an acoustic guitar for the majority of the set, was notably un-showy throughout; when he wasn’t at the microphone, he’d dance-walk – on tempo – over to his drummer or horn players, or stand to the side and leave the focus on the groove. There seemed to be a humility that pervaded Simpson’s set, as if he and the band were one, rather than an artist and his support, nodding cues at each other and feeding off their energy to create dynamic musical moments. The audience was thunderous, offering numerous standing ovations and thumping on the pews, but when it came time to receive praise, however, Simpson could often be found with his back to them, taking a sip from a styrofoam cup.
That’s not to say that the crowd wasn’t worthy of his smilings, or that he was an ungrateful recipient. The audience, which ranged from girls with waist-long dreadlocks to older men in button-ups, muscular men in ball caps to women in cowboy boots, was exceptionally vocal. Some songs received a cheer after each line of the first verse – after another, a man in the balcony yelled, “play it again!” And Simpson did acknowledge them – during a particularly long standing ovation halfway into the set, he stared out into the crowd and put his hand on his heart in thanks. But for Simpson, on-stage moments of bliss came from being a piece of a great musical groove and less so from being praised for it.
“I’ve been told you measure a man by how much he loves,” Simpson sings in “Welcome To Earth (Pollywog),” the lead track to his recent third studio album, A Sailor’s Guide to Earth. At the Ryman Saturday night, that love was in full display – a crowd for an artist, an artist for a sound.