LOS ANGELES, CA- The moon was out, full and bright, flooding the Greek Theatre with its chilled light. Two brothers stood at center stage bathed in a soft white glow. Their voices, strings, and decades of brotherhood took the air out of our lungs as we stood in rapture. It wasn’t loud or flashy. It was intimate. A moment where music becomes something more than sound—it becomes memory, shared breath, a kind of stillness you don’t forget.
The Avett Brothers are no strangers to this stage or this city. Formed over two decades ago in North Carolina, they’ve built a sprawling catalog of folk, rock, and Americana, anchored by raw vocals, poetic lyricism, and tight harmonies that could only come from blood. They’ve released everything from boot-stomping anthems to Broadway scores, and even a documentary film (*May It Last*). Their most recent album, *The Avett Brothers*, dropped last May via Ramseur Records, marking their first full-length release in five years. These days, the brothers are older—balancing solo projects, raising families—and while they’re still very much a band, this current tour feels like a chapter nearing its close. We may not get another run like this for a while.
Opening the night was West Virginia’s own Charles Wesley Godwin, who has steadily become one of the more exciting names in modern country. He opened for Zach Bryan in 2023 and is set to join Luke Combs on tour later this year. His latest EP, *Lonely Mountain Town*, arrived in February, and his Greek Theatre set revealed his true nature—a fun-loving son of a bitch.
Backed by a seven-piece band—including mandolin, upright bass, piano, steel guitar, and a whole lot of sweat—Godwin brought Appalachian stomp and holler to the amphitheater. Songs like “All Again” turned the Greek into a barn party, full of clapping, call-and-response, and spotlight-lit drama. Throughout the night, the band’s playful chemistry came through clearly. Like brothers playing backyard ball, they chased each other around the stage, tackling each other mid-song. And when the crowd was distracted by their antics, another band member sprinted to the top of the amphitheater to deliver a guitar solo during “Another Leaf.” Each musician was wildly talented and fully committed to the moment. They didn’t just play a show—they threw a party.
After a brief, heartfelt moment where Charles shared how the Avett Brothers inspired him to pick up a guitar in 2013—and thanked them for the opportunity—he tipped his cap to both his home state and an American icon with a cover of “Country Roads.” It’s one of my all-time favorite songs, one I sing loudly and unapologetically every time it plays. In my opinion, there was no better way they could’ve closed their set. Judging by the standing ovation, the rest of the Greek agreed.
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After a short intermission—and a hell of a lot of anticipation—the Avett Brothers took the stage. The moment Seth and Scott walked out, the crowd rose with them. Their seven-piece band brought a lush, full sound that wrapped around the venue like warm air. Their setup was simple: three Roman numerals—33, 68, and 105—lit in neon behind them, which, added together, spell “The Avett Brothers.” An old upright piano with peeling paint sat off to the side. A drum kit anchored the back, and the stage had just enough space for the band to roam and dance.
They opened with a well-loved favorite, “Head Full of Doubt/Road Full of Promise.” We were already on our feet, and the first few songs pushed us into motion. With such a deep discography, they pulled from multiple albums, switching out guitars almost every song (seriously, shout out to the techs). One of the night’s highlights was the sheer variety of instruments: violin solos, bass grooves, keys, harmonies—all woven together with precision and ease. It was a masterclass in dynamics.
What surprised me most was how little they spoke. Instead of filling the space with stories or banter, they let the music do the talking. The crowd didn’t seem to mind. We knew the words anyway. When they played “Paranoia in B Major,” the whole place erupted. It bled into “Ain’t No Man,” and the Greek turned electric. I watched a father step into the aisle with his young daughter, twirling her as the band sang, “She’s so pretty, he’s so fine.” Scott danced across the stage as the crowd howled. That moment—between father and daughter, performer and audience—was pure joy. One of those perfect flashes you’ll remember forever.
The Greek Theatre, with its pristine acoustics and glowing hillside lights, remains one of LA’s most magical venues. It felt especially right for the Avetts—artists who can make even the grandest setting feel like a living room concert. That’s what hit hardest: presence. Being there. Knowing it won’t last forever.
I don’t think this is the end of the Avett Brothers—not really. But if the road is calling them home more than onward, then all the more reason to show up. To stand. To sing. To hold on tight.
Because nights like this don’t come often.
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