Year of the Trombone

The Subdued Stringband Jamboree is among our favorite weekends of the year. This is my review of the 26th annual, August 2026.

If 25 is Silver, what is 26? The traditional anniversary lists don’t designate singles after 25, but indeed if Silver was Wildenhaus, Watson, Sally, Stovepipe and that indescribable Shrimp Street revival—what could be 26? What could top that?

How about 26: the Year of the Horn…

It’s not like there aren’t always horns at Jamboree. It aint like there’s not always trombones and pocket trumpets. Rather, it’s just that 26 seemed defined by them.

I personally do not always Thursday. Sunday noon comes around soon enough when one arrives sober and freshly shorn on Friday afternoon. So rolling tentatively in on Thursday at 3pm felt courageous and a little bit chancy. Ambitious and potentially self-sabotaging. The other Jamboree peoples were still erecting their various epics of sickness as I crept the van toward site H2020 under sunny if slightly smoky skies.

And whatta Thursday it was! Robert kicked off on the Slanted, as is traditional-- sporting an 11-piece Happy Hour Band and the first of many warm tributes to the late Glen Hansard. After the pre-season Square Dance, it was on to Louis & Nora singing about aging while Dream levitated. Cascade Cody chanced ‘Where Have All the Flowers Gone’ as the sun went down. Buddy Mac made a grinning, winking, crooning, extremely steadfast 10-gallon Librarians sandwich as the stars began to twinkle in the eastern sky and the bowl filled up. Then Hot Damn brought on the mischief, done up in a brocade of gold patina and pure evil-- playing mostly new songs from their A Life of Crime record.

It had already been such a filling night, the only way to sufficiently over-do it was by getting every player from every band on-stage for a Thurs-jam. I’m not sure every single player was up there, but there were many more than not. And the results were-- how you say—trombony?

“It’s not every night,” Robert declared amidst the melee, as the breakdown broke down “that you have a THREE-BONE NIGHT!”

And with that, the three bones (from Hot Damn, the Happy Hour Band and Mystery Bone) were ushered to the center of the stage for a trombone circle to end all trombone circles. The farty party carried on for a very satisfactory sequence before Pete emerged and transitioned into a stirring final finale of “Burn it Down” during which MC Karen Kunkel lost her motherfucking head and the String Gods smiled.

Some tenting was observed later on, but like I said: Sunday afternoon is still like 60 hours away at this point. Michael might have told a story, I don’t even know.

Did I think I was going to detail every band that played the whole Jamboree? That’s expecting quite a bit of oneself. I will say I loved Nathan & Jessie’s Friday morning Bueno onda and that Dirty Laundry made me soil own with his guitar player’s adam’s apple acrobatics and Tuna Can Juan on beats. It was wonderful to see Dana Lyons’ physical and spiritual energy, and Strangley’s song about his lute pedal was hysterical, since lute pedals aren’t even allowed at the Jamboree in the first place!!!!!   

But Friday’s highlight for me was the enchanting set spent with Primo Lara and the family band. This same clan romped triumphantly last year as Corazones de Cedro, with many of the same members. The strumming, the whooping, the dancing. The call and the response and the call again. The joy. My face ached from smiling so much that I had to turn in early.

I’d made it to Saturday morning without so much as a splinter, let alone a fat lip or a cauliflower ear. In fact, my face looked perfectly normal (even considering Friday’s smiling contest) and I decided to celebrate this Jamboree rarity by realizing a first: I actually attended a workshop! It is my earnest intent every year to workshop, but normally I am feeling (or looking) frightfully not OK till later in the day than the morning workshop allows. But I was feeling so strong and looking so normal that I strode resolutely to the Cauldron precisely at 10 o’clock for Primo Lara’s Son Jaracho singing hour. I’d get up early to hear this guy read the Bible (maybe the phonebook) and was delighted to find (almost) the whole family on-hand, strapping into their respective traditional instruments and smiling warmly. My Spanish is not great, but I took a seat in the front row and squinted at the lyric sheet, singing out loud and strong-- not worrying if it wasn’t good enough for anyone else to hear. It was lovely to be so close to this marvelous group and I’ll be damned if I didn’t blink out a tear (or two) as Primo expressed his love & gratitude for his family, the Jamboree, and the intersection of the two. I received an unexpected hug from him at the end, and floated back to H2020 to share news of my affirming adventure.

There wasn’t time to steep too long, however, as the songwriters were circling on the Flat Stage. I loved Chris Acker’s song about Bill Buckner’s extra-inning boner in 1986 World Series, and it’s always a treat to sit at the feet of Petunia. The Tomatoes were hot and the Glass gallow—and before you knew it, here came Del and the Kids. Could it be mid-afternoon already?

Dean’s set was dreamy & melancholy as always, a combination that always makes me hungry. Evan’s delicious quinoa salad was honored at camp, along with some unexpected company. Suddenly it was dusk and we gladly traded the sun for the Sons—a wonderful set and setting. Nour Harkati seemed a little complicated after the ease of earlier acts, but there were plenty of hugs to receive and jokes get on the perimeter as the beat went on.

The end was in-sight and the wine within reach. My wife—normally the sensible one—got eye-shushed out of Clinton Davis’ silent retreat in the Corner Corral and we fled to Dogwood’s irresponsible beatdown in the Cauldron, lowering the average age of the gathering considerably by our mere arrival. The leader of that rag-tag rag-time mob of 20-somes had earned the nickname Cryin’ James only an hour before, and he was giving his new tag a rigorous workout, leading the guitar platoon of a dozen+ friends and friendlies through jam standard after standard jam. The Banksy of spoons was bouncing flatware off his shoulders and forehead, peeking out from under a thick hood while an interpretative dance contest took form in front of the band-- a curious combination of jig, float and slam. Both the band and the audience/participants were making this shit up as they went along. We’d never seen anything quite like it. A friend of Robert’s leaned over and crowed ‘this is what the kids are doing on a Saturday night!’

And she was right. It was a wiggy scene, like its own festival that had seceded from the greater Jamboree. We got so fucking high on these kids’ uninhibited brio! They were ignorant or at least indifferent to the fires burning beyond the festival gates. Come Sunday morning, they’d have to leave and start fighting them again in a world conspiring against them. But for the moment-- so late on Saturday night that it was actually Sunday morning-- they were wild and free and crying out—a beautiful racket that raged behind us as we staggered back toward 2020, stopping for a Yachter enroute.

But honestly: who’s not a friend of Robert’s, after all? Bird is. Bex too. Bryan and Buddy, sure. Joel’s a friend of Robert’s. Joel Ricci definitely gets my vote for Most Likely to Back a Brother Up for 2026. When pressed, he said later that he only sat in with a couple of friends. But in my recollection, he is nearly always in the wings of stage right, horn in-hand, waiting for a cue to offer a tastefully-chosen note of harmony or salty solo—just when the song needs it most. His work with Librarians on Thursday night was his most potent contribution to this year’s greater work, however. A stunning achievement. It’s a testament to the players that the songs can be so faithfully represented live. It’s hard to calculate getting that much sound out of 3.5 instruments that don’t seem to be getting played all that urgently. They make it look so easy. And sometimes it’s more like 3 instruments, when Joel is dancing instead of playing or singing. Their set was the musical highlight of the festival for me. Simple perfection, the stuff goosebumps are made of. A handful of Cranberries, a good snort of Sadies, some Chicago with a tasteful floater of Van Halen added for confusion and outrage. Not musically, of course, but Librarians are such a solid cube of sound with each member contributing precisely their quarter. Like the Beatles or KISS or Van Halen.

I’ll bet this is the first time anyone’s ever used Van Halen as a reference to anything Subdued Stringband Jamboree. Still, I am standing by it. See you next year!