Exactly a century after the Grand Ole Opry went live for the first time, a fiddle again danced through the familiar melody of “Tennessee Wagoner” on Friday night in Nashville.
The performance was a homage to the Opry’s origins and a culmination of a year’s worth of festivities, honoring the radio show and cultural landmark that helped enshrine Nashville as a hub of country music. Through decades of national turmoil and shifts in musical trends, the show remains a fixture in a city that has changed just as much.
The question that lingered over the night, however, was a familiar one: How will the Opry balance its traditions with the changes of the next generation?
“The Opry has always been a reflection of Nashville,” said Dan Rogers, the Opry’s executive producer. “There’s a lot of forward progress, but we’re always going be here to also say, let’s remember the place from which we came.”
The Opry once catapulted musicians to stardom, as it brought its barn-dance style programming into homes in and outside of Nashville. George D. Hay, the inaugural founder, often gave a call to “Let ’er go, boys,” a clip of which played at the start of two shows Friday night before a crowd of thousands.
But long gone are the days of gathering around the radio, listening to soloists, groups and comedians. The show’s history of unwavering rules and reluctance to permanently bring newer, diverse voices into its cast — only three Black musicians have been inducted in a century — has led to pushback over the years. And some of its most devoted fans still bristle at a performer perceived as too removed from authentic country music.
Though its current building in the outskirts of Nashville can feel more like a tourist draw than a spot for locals, most musicians still step through the doors with a genuine air of reverence. Nearly two dozen members of the Opry — the rotating cast of devotees inducted over the years — performed.
“It has brought the gospel, it has brought joy, it has brought comedy — it has brought all the things that people need in tough times,” said Ricky Skaggs, a bluegrass musician who became an Opry member in 1982. “There’s not another entity that I know of that does that.”
It was Mr. Skaggs who opened the evening by playing the chestnut-hued fiddle believed to have belonged to Uncle Jimmy Thompson, the inaugural Opry fiddle player in 1925. Mr. Skaggs said he scoured through pictures to find a period-appropriate dress shirt, complete with armbands, to wear for the night.
“If I care that much about the look for this occasion, I care that much about the music that we make,” he said.
The Opry has leaned into the exuberance of a centennial, and Ringo Starr, Sabrina Carpenter and Ne-Yo were among those who made their debuts this year. The show was broadcast from London and starred in a Hallmark Christmas movie. (Opry staff have joked about the amount of cake cut over the past year.)
“The Opry’s an idea, just like America’s an idea,” said Pam Tillis, an Opry member who recalled watching her father, Mel Tillis, perform onstage. “People have to show up for that idea and hold it.”
Many of the performances on Friday focused on the fundamental strains of traditional country, bluegrass and gospel that helped shape what began as the WSM Barn Dance in 1925. The crowd inside navigated the snarls of Black Friday shopping at the nearby mall and gradually filled much of the auditorium.
“It feels like home,” said Marcia Campbell, 53, her cheeks flushed after performing with the Opry Square Dancers and jingle taps still clacking with each step she took. She just celebrated four decades as a dancer at the show and said that over the years, “There’s been something for everybody.”
The members onstage — Vince Gill, Scotty McCreery, Kathy Mattea among them — for the two Friday concerts mostly reflected an older cohort of country music artists. They chose familiar songs or the songs that defined their own histories of Opry performance, sharing memories of musicians long gone.
A rendition of George Jones’s song “Who’s Gonna Fill Their Shoes” seemed meant as both question and promise. (And, of course, there were renditions of the unofficial Opry anthem, “Will The Circle Be Unbroken,” made famous by the Carter family.)
“We just loved the music,” said Rebecca Knight, 37, who came with a co-worker, Danielle Sood, 39, from Nottingham, England, to experience the Opry for the first time. Standing in cowboy boots in front of the stage, Ms. Sood added, “You can just tell there’s so much history.”
The crowd rose to its feet when Whisperin’ Bill Anderson, the longest-serving member of the Opry, with more than six decades of performances, stepped on the stage. His eyes filled with tears as he blew a kiss to the worn wood under his feet — the circle of floorboard cut from the Opry’s home for decades at the Ryman Auditorium.
“Now how am I supposed to sing following that?” he asked the crowd. “What a journey.”
Backstage, dressing-room doors were flung open as artists warmed up and improvised harmonies together. An upright bass was left on its side in the hall. Russell Carson, a banjo player, was among those collecting signatures on a commemorative Hatch Show Print poster, so memories would be “frozen on paper.”
The first of two shows lasted well beyond its scheduled time frame. Over slices of apple pie and yet another cake, the artists and their guests gathered backstage for a toast in between shows.
“To 1925 and all that was, to 2025 and all that is,” Mr. Anderson said, his glass held high. “And to a hundred years from now for all that there may be. Long live the Grand Ole Opry.”
Glasses, coffee cups and water bottles clunked together. Then, they headed back onstage to do it again.
Emily Cochrane is a national reporter for The Times covering the American South, based in Nashville.
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