The Ryman Auditorium is a sacred space. For bluegrass fans, it’s hallowed ground — the mother church of country music and a temple for the picking, plucking, and soul-baring sound that’s defined Tennessee for generations. So when Billy Strings brought his band to the Ryman in 2023 for a two-set night of deep-cut bluegrass standards, the setting alone gave the show a sense of gravity. The place was packed with devoted fans — wide-brimmed hats, denim jackets, tie-dye shirts, and banjos tattooed on forearms — the kind of crowd that treats every Billy Strings performance like a spiritual event.
Now, full disclosure: I’m a jam band guy. I love Phish, Dead & Company, Goose — the improvisational stuff that breathes and morphs in real time. I also like bluegrass, at least in moderation. But Billy Strings has always been a bit of a puzzle for me. I respect his talent — there’s no denying he’s a once-in-a-generation flatpicker — but his shows tend to blur together for me. It’s not that he’s bad; far from it. It’s just… not my cup of tea. That said, even with my reservations, this Ryman show was objectively impressive. It was disciplined, rooted in tradition, and a master class in musicianship — even if it occasionally felt like sitting through a two-hour history lecture with really, really good guitar solos.
Setlist:
Set 1:
Tennessee (Jimmy Martin cover)
These Old Blues ([traditional] cover)
The Old Home Place (The Dillards cover)
A Face in the Crowd (Larry Sparks cover)
Dark Hollow (Bill Browning and His Echo Valley Boys cover)
Air Mail Special on the Fly (Leon Rusk cover)
Somehow Tonight (Lester Flatt & Earl Scruggs cover)
White Dove (The Stanley Brothers cover)
Big Sandy River ([traditional] cover)
Freeborn Man (Keith Allison cover)
Eight More Miles to Louisville (Grandpa Jones cover) (with Rob McCoury)
Foggy Mountain Breakdown (Lester Flatt & Earl Scruggs cover) (with Rob McCoury)
Bringing Mary Home (Red Sovine cover) (with Rob McCoury)
Long Journey Home ([traditional] cover) (with Rob McCoury)
Down the Road (Lester Flatt & Earl Scruggs cover)
New Camptown Races (Marvin Cobb & Frank Wakefield & The Chain Mountain Boys cover)
Come Down the Mountain Katie Daly ([traditional] cover)
Set 2:
Ole Slew-Foot (Johnny Horton cover)
The Road to Columbus (Bill Monroe cover)
The Letter Edged in Black (Hattie Nevada cover)
Southern Flavor (Bill Monroe and the Bluegrass Boys cover)
Stone Walls and Steel Bars (The Stanley Brothers cover)
Sitting on Top of the World (Mississippi Sheiks cover)
John Deere Tractor (Larry Sparks cover)
Think of What You’ve Done (The Stanley Brothers & The Clinch Mountain Boys cover)
I’ve Just Seen the Rock of Ages (Larry Sparks and the Lonesome Ramblers cover)
Hello City Limits (Harley “Red” Allen cover)
Lonesome Moonlight Waltz (Bill Monroe cover)
Blues Stay Away From Me (The Delmore Brothers cover)
Peartree (Doc Watson cover)
Nobody’s Love Is Like Mine (The Stanley Brothers cover)
Rank Stranger (The Stanley Brothers cover)
Ashland Breakdown (Bill Monroe cover)
My Sweet Blue-Eyed Darlin’ (Bill Monroe and the Bluegrass Boys cover)
Roll On Buddy Roll On (Bill Monroe and the Bluegrass Boys cover)
A Night for the Purists
From the first strum of “Tennessee,” Billy Strings made it clear this wasn’t going to be a typical jam-heavy set — this was a bluegrass deep dive. It was like opening a time capsule and stepping straight into the golden era of the Grand Ole Opry. “Tennessee” rolled out with crisp harmonies and traditional pacing, the kind that could have easily been played on the Ryman stage in 1955.
“These Old Blues” and “The Old Home Place” followed, both executed flawlessly — tight, bright, and impeccably played. The crowd ate it up. You could feel the reverence in the air, people nodding along, mouthing every lyric. But for me, this was where that “Billy Strings effect” kicked in: technically perfect, emotionally distant. The songs blended into one another like variations of the same mountain tune.
What can’t be denied, though, is Billy’s skill. His right hand is a blur, his fretting hand seems to teleport, and his band — Jarrod Walker on mandolin, Billy Failing on banjo, Royal Masat on bass, and Alex Hargreaves on fiddle — are all virtuosos in their own right. They communicate telepathically, and at times, watching them trade solos was jaw-dropping.
By “A Face in the Crowd,” the show began to feel like a family reunion of bluegrass legends. Each tune honored a different forefather of the genre: Bill Monroe, Lester Flatt, Larry Sparks, the Stanley Brothers. It was part concert, part homage, part museum exhibition — with Billy acting as the curator.
Tradition Over Innovation
The first set leaned heavily on covers, and while that’s not unusual for Billy, it meant the set lacked the adventurous, psychedelic detours that sometimes sneak into his shows. Instead, we got traditional bluegrass through and through: “Dark Hollow,” “Air Mail Special on the Fly,” and “White Dove” each rendered with meticulous accuracy.
When Rob McCoury joined in for a four-song stretch (“Eight More Miles to Louisville,” “Foggy Mountain Breakdown,” “Bringing Mary Home,” and “Long Journey Home”), the energy finally kicked up a notch. The dueling banjos between McCoury and Billy Failing were worth the price of admission alone. “Foggy Mountain Breakdown” turned into a lightning-fast showdown — the kind that reminds you just how physically demanding bluegrass can be when it’s played at that speed.
Still, even during those highlights, I found myself admiring more than enjoying. Billy’s reverence for the old masters is admirable, but his precision sometimes replaces spontaneity. In a jam band setting, he can take songs into the stratosphere; here, he stayed grounded, methodical, reverent — almost too much so.
Set Two: Digging Deeper Into the Dusty Archives
The second set opened with “Ole Slew-Foot,” a Johnny Horton barnburner that brought some welcome bounce back into the mix. It’s one of those songs that’s almost impossible not to tap your foot to, and the crowd seemed to collectively wake up again.
Then came “The Road to Columbus,” another Bill Monroe tune, and by this point, it was clear that Billy intended to dedicate the entire night to Monroe and the Stanley Brothers’ legacy. The Ryman, of course, was the perfect venue for it — you could almost feel Monroe’s ghost nodding in approval.
Songs like “The Letter Edged in Black” and “Southern Flavor” showcased the band’s range — from mournful laments to breakneck instrumentals. “Stone Walls and Steel Bars” and “Sitting on Top of the World” were both beautifully rendered, the latter with a slow-burn groove that gave Hargreaves’ fiddle a moment to soar.
“John Deere Tractor” and “Think of What You’ve Done” brought things down to a more introspective level. Billy’s voice, while not as distinctive as his guitar work, carried genuine emotion in these moments. There’s a plaintive quality to his singing — a kind of worn-in ache that fits this material like an old denim jacket.
Still, for every emotional high point, there was a stretch that felt… monotonous. The pacing never really changed. You could admire the craftsmanship but not necessarily lose yourself in it.
Moments of Beauty in Repetition
Around the middle of the second set, with songs like “I’ve Just Seen the Rock of Ages” and “Hello City Limits,” the show began to feel like a meditation — repetitive but hypnotic. I started to understand what Billy’s most devoted fans see in him: it’s not about the fireworks, it’s about the trance. The repetition becomes the point, a steady pulse that pulls you into the tradition itself.
The band’s chemistry reached a peak during “Lonesome Moonlight Waltz,” a stunning Bill Monroe tune that gave everyone space to breathe. The fiddle took the lead, weaving slow, melancholic lines over Billy’s delicate picking. For the first time all night, the room felt truly still — reverent, almost hushed. It was easily one of the evening’s best moments.
The home stretch of the show leaned back into the Stanley Brothers with “Nobody’s Love Is Like Mine” and “Rank Stranger,” both performed with an almost churchlike sincerity. By the time “Ashland Breakdown” and “My Sweet Blue-Eyed Darlin’” rolled out, the crowd was fully back in barn-dance mode, clapping and stomping along.
Billy closed the night with “Roll On Buddy Roll On,” a Bill Monroe number that felt like a benediction — a final nod to the lineage he’s so devoted to preserving. It was a fitting end: respectful, skillful, and steeped in tradition.
Admiration Without Obsession
Here’s the thing about a Billy Strings show like this one: you can’t walk away unimpressed. The musicianship is staggering, the respect for tradition is unwavering, and the connection with the audience is genuine. But for me — as someone who likes a little more chaos, a little more improvisational fire — it all felt a bit too tidy.
Billy doesn’t make mistakes. Every note lands perfectly. Every solo fits exactly where it’s supposed to. And while that’s remarkable in its own right, it also removes a certain thrill. In the jam band world, the best moments happen when things almost fall apart — when risk turns into reward. Billy doesn’t take those kinds of risks very often anymore, at least not in a night like this one.
That said, I completely understand why people adore him. He’s carrying the torch for bluegrass in a way no one else is. He’s introduced the genre to younger audiences, brought it to major festivals, and given it a modern shine without diluting its roots. The Ryman show was living proof of that — a full house of fans singing along to songs written decades before they were born.
Final Thoughts
Billy Strings at the Ryman Auditorium in 2023 was an exercise in pure, unfiltered traditionalism — a bluegrass revival done with reverence and precision. For those who live and breathe this music, it was probably transcendent. For me, it was a display of incredible skill that never quite reached my soul.
The crowd adored him, the band was flawless, and the acoustics of the Ryman made every pluck and bow shimmer. Yet I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was watching a master craftsman more than an artist in flight. There’s a fine line between discipline and predictability, and this show sometimes teetered on the latter.
Still, walking out into the Nashville night, you couldn’t deny the power of what Billy’s doing. He’s keeping a form of music alive that might otherwise be fading, and he’s doing it on his own terms — with integrity, authenticity, and a jaw-dropping amount of talent. I may not be a Billy Strings convert after this show, but I left with a deeper appreciation for why so many people are.
Grade: C+