It was a burning ring of fire. A hot town, summer in the city. Americanafest 2026 will in part be remembered for coinciding with the planet’s strongest high pressure heat dome and temperatures 12 degrees above average. But through the power of air conditioning and the glory of songs, stories, and solos, Nashville’s annual congress of rootsy music made a mighty noise and pulled off a historic reunion of Tom Petty’s Heartbreakers.
You’d think after 26 years of this festival I’d have a sure fire plan for how to get the most out of it, but you know what they say about plans and contact with the real world. My priority, maybe more than ever, was to be surprised and discover some artists I had no idea about. So I made a list of new(ish)comers I was especially curious about and tried to bend my travels to its will. That led to mixed results, so I don’t have a notebook full of sequential showcase reviews this year. Instead I’ll start with my favorite ah-ha artist and talk about how he fits in an interesting trend in roots music. Then I’ll share some random moments I enjoyed.
Andrew Sa grew up in California with disconnected hints of a musical path emerging from his family, including his mom’s karaoke company. He mentioned it during his set at the 5 Spot on Thursday night, recalling how she’d coax him into singing to warm up the crowd, and that’s where he developed a taste for “sad Patsy Cline songs.” His big discovery later in life was Rufus Wainwright’s songs, which solidified his love of drama and encouraged him to embrace his queerness in a very public and musical way. The Old Town School of Folk Music in Chicago, where he lives now, was his finishing school, and now he’s out on the circuit, and his emotive country music earned a deal on Bloodshot Records.
His debut album American Rough, released in late June, is beautifully crafted and sung, even if his floating and tremulous voice isn’t in my usual wheelhouse. Then I saw the show and was totally sold, because the artist created a whole atmosphere up there on stage. A few minutes before the set, he began tuning himself into the sound of his band warming up. He closed his eyes and swayed and centered himself before launching the set. It was a noteworthy contrast to the usual low-key Americana entrance.
Sa (which sounds like an undiscovered note in our Do Re Mi scale) performed with a vivid confidence and sang in a soaring and dramatic tenor - a bit of Bowie mixed with what he called “Orbisonics.” He also took charge of the audience and told us a story with songs of love and lust and a stage rapport that was smoother and funnier than anything else I saw all week. At the set’s symbolic center was a cover of “Lavender Cowboy,” the gay country anthem introduced by Sa’s late friend and mentor Patrick Haggerty. He also sang my personal favorite Dolly Parton song, “Do I Ever Cross Your Mind,” in a melancholy a capella take, noting that Dolly’s mural was literally on the opposite side of the club wall.
And then there was the remarkably focused band he brought along from Chi-Town. I was transfixed by the rhythm section embrace of drummer Sarah Weddle and electric bass player Kelly Hannemann. Then Sa told us they’re married, and it all made sense! Also there was crafty, economical, and shredsville-on-command guitar player Sam Cantor, a true tone hound. This was very much an ensemble performance focused on a bold and unique singer, and it was my revelation of the week.
Also singing last week with old-school pathos was Austin-based country crooner Coleman Jennings, who made the Station Inn feel like a Texas saloon on Saturday night. I got swept up in his Dave Cobb-produced, Big Loud-released album Lead You Home, which opens like a western movie with low whistling over tremolo Spanish guitar. He whistled at the show as well, but when he sings, Coleman pours on the vibrato and eyes-closed passion, with overtones of Roger Miller and Willie Nelson’s silky jazz quality. His rendition of John Hartford’s “Gentle On My Mind” was deeply respectful, and I liked his original tunes too, though I had no guide to their titles. He’s not as much of a showman, but he brings heightened emotion, and some fine acoustic guitar picking, to the stage.
I’m not much of a fan of musical theater, but I’m ready for this surge of country and western drama in Americana, where a lot of guys sing through clenched teeth with a kind of distrust in their own voices. It’s rare to hear men sing in the full-throated and cinematic style of Marty Robbins, Elvis and Orbison. Colter Wall has been crooning in his cowpoke baritone for years, and maybe it’s catching on. I also saw Canadian showman Jake Vaadeland lead his Sturgeon River Boys in a true throwback set that matched early Opry stage banter with rich and mellifluous vocal artistry. And I sat down for an interview with highly-touted newcomer Theo Lawrence, who didn’t showcase at Americanafest but who was in town to open three nights (cancelled at the last minute unfortunately) at the Ryman for Alison Krauss and Union Station. Watch for his Warner Bros. debut in March of 2027.
Some of these singers will be polarizing or acquired tastes. But for fans, they hit the target precisely because of their unique tone and their bold vulnerability. They sing brazenly, as if in homage to the late Raul Malo. Mumble-core is so yesterday. And on the women’s side of the music, the fest had its share of larger-than-life vocal artistry as well - from Maggie Rose (working her classic pop album Half Moon) and Nicole Atkins, whose new Sun Records release is literally called Drama. Alas, I was not able to see either set.
As for the rest-ival of the festival, I found more to love and admire in the veterans than in many of the up-and-comers. The 75-year-old Louisiana titan Sonny Landreth truly moved me with his elaborate slide guitar solo on his 1990s song “South Of I-10.” Ruthie Foster and Robert Randolph played back-to-back stunners at the Sun Records party. Lanky folk star Langhorne Slim, in beautiful musical synergy with fiddler Omar Ruiz-Lopez, showed how to own an audience with cathartic political songs at the Dualtone Records 25th anniversary. And a satisfying Saturday night stretch at the Blue Room let me hear tart and poetic songs of Appalachian working life by Nathan Evans Fox, followed by the rich and enthralling neo-country of Texas songwriter Jess Williamson.
I deepened my feeling that Americanafest spreads too many showcasing artists too thin across too vast a stretch of Nashville. I continue to crave the close-knit community feeling of earlier decades. By comparison, I see World of Bluegrass, coming up this year in October in Chattanooga, to be more rigorously curated, giving more of the sector better chances to see the next class of hopefuls. Americana, due to its breadth, should never be that small. But I hope the board and leadership will ask itself if it’s throwing an industry convention or a giant slate of disconnected club shows. I still love the scene and the community, but I wonder if it’s possible to concentrate our attention on fewer, truly exceptional artists.
