Double Infinity is out September 5; the Somersault Slide 360 Tour starts September 17.

Left to right: James Krivchenia, Adrianne Lenker, Buck Meek.
Photo: Alexa Viscius

For more than a decade, Brooklyn- by-way-of-everywhere trio Big Thief have put out cosmic indie-rock albums to near-universal acclaim. Live, the band departs unexpectedly from the studio script, and performances of the same songs can turn out very different on a given night. During a ten- minute performance of “Not” at the Netherlands festival Best Kept Secret in 2022, singer-guitarist Adrianne Lenker forgets the lyrics early on, and drummer James Krivchenia begins to chant the missing words like a mantra. The verse resumes, and the band soldiers on, Lenker’s perseverant guitar solo howling with the weary relief of a shipwrecked sailor spotting land. It’s these precarious expeditions, where no one fully knows what will happen next, that drive this outfit creatively, they tell me over two recent conversations. “I don’t want to make records to keep a business going,” says Lenker. “I waited tables for ten years and enjoyed it, and I’d go back before I’d force a record.”

The band’s motivations have sparked intense debate lately. Since the unexpected 2023 TikTok virality of “Vampire Empire,” some fans have wondered if the sunny acoustics of recent singles are a ploy to replicate that success. And then there’s the matter of one bandmate’s departure. Big Thief drew harsh criticism from pro-Palestine groups and fans in 2022 for announcing two shows in Tel Aviv, home of longtime bassist Max Oleartchik, which they subsequently canceled, expressing opposition to “the illegal occupation and the systematic oppression of the Palestinian people.” Two years later, when Oleartchik left the band, many assumed that the trio had wanted to cut ties with him over his past IDF service and his presumed indifference to or support for the current war crimes in Gaza. “BDS win (Big Thief divested from their Israeli member)” became the most-favorited quote-tweet on the band’s post about his departure. This positioned Oleartchik, who could not be reached for comment, as an ideological foil to Lenker, who donated proceeds from last spring’s I Won’t Let Go of Your Hand solo EP to the Palestinian Children’s Relief Fund. But the speculation doesn’t align with the pro-cease-fire and anti-occupation statements currently on Oleartchik’s private Instagram page or with how the band tells the story.

Big Thief is not as active online as its supporters; in fact, its members seem philosophically and occasionally comically unplugged from many of the conversations circling them. For Double Infinity, their sixth album, the three remaining members — Lenker, Krivchenia, and singer-guitarist Buck Meek — paused their solo and session work to reunite in New York. The trio regrouped with nearly a dozen other musicians in the studio, fixating on improvisation. Big Thief hopes that time and restless evolution spell out what they’re really about.

I think the bustle of New York informs this album just as much as the more rustic locations you’ve recorded in are said to exert a country-rock influence on you. Why did Double Infinity happen where it did?
Buck Meek: We transitioned out of a relationship with our bass player of ten years and tried to make this album as a trio at our own little studio, called Double Infinity, in forest isolation, as we always have. But we felt stuck in the echo chamber of our thoughts. So we went to the opposite extreme — back to Manhattan where we started — to surround ourselves with community, old friends from Brooklyn, and new friends and heroes. We needed to be in community and in the midst of the city to have that stimulus. Originally we’d envisioned this fucking hardcore thing with lots of screaming. Double Infinity was a working concept for years. The songs emerged as whatever else they are, and we let them.

Adrianne Lenker: I want to make you dance while at the same time talking about heavy stuff. Maybe you could even be cry-dancing.

I’m curious what fans of a punchier Big Thief will make of electric guitars not being in the driver’s seat.
AL: That’s just what happens playing with 11 people in the studio. Everything has to be smaller to fit into a mix. Me and Buck’s guitars are normally at the forefront but became part of the texture of everything since there were so many sounds.

BM: Going into the session, we wanted constant liquid sonic elements. We were drawn to Laraaji’s organic droning on zither. He brought an iPad with wild flute and violin patches. Our friend, the great New York musician Mikey Bushes, sampled things, making a loop with ten feet of tape around a mic stand.

James Krivchenia: We didn’t not order a six-foot Enya poster.

Last summer, you embarked on your first tour with a new lineup, unbeknownst to fans previewing most of the album. How’d it feel?
JK: It had a lot of feelings wrapped up in it. It was the first time we played without Max. There was also excitement playing with bassist Justin Felton and percussionist Jon Nellen. I’m really looking forward to this next one, where we have more time to prep. We always play new stuff. There’s lots of versions of things that only ever exist for one tour or that we forget about. That’s one of my favorite things about us as a live band: I know it’s gonna be great, but I don’t know how we’ll get there.

Fans have gotten territorial about these arrangements. How did it feel as a band that plays a song dozens of times in recording and touring to see people lash out when the studio version of “Vampire Empire” didn’t re-create everything in the demo that went viral?
AL: It’s not really our business. Not identifying with fluctuations of recognition or success keeps me grounded. I try to center myself and not what people are saying. I’m fortunate and blessed that I’ve felt enough fulfillment since our early days not to want anything other than to make music. I crave connection to the eternal and a higher power: God or our deepest self or each other. I don’t want to put out music if we don’t have anything to say. I don’t want to be in a band just about aesthetics. Not that there’s anything wrong with it. I want to bring people together in our deepest heart space. I don’t want to be a businessperson.

But there are people who do assume you’re careerists and think the singles are streamlined to plug into viral notoriety.
AL: Oh God. That’s funny. I just released a live album that’s super–ramshackle, using a handheld tape recorder. To me, our record is doing the opposite of streamlining. We got together in a room and jammed. Is that moneymaking? If it’s highly arranged, polished, poppy-sounding, high-def vocals, I’m more likely to think, Are they going mainstream? I play Double Infinity, and I hear a wild, maximal collage.

JK: I can safely say I don’t know what TikTok looks like. Never even been shown it.

BM: People have parasocial relationships and get hung up. We’re most excited when approaching the process shedding whatever dogma or method we had in the past. For us, trying to replicate something is usually futile. If we play a song one way in the studio and it goes well, and we try to repeat it onstage, it usually feels empty. Moments of discovery happen when we let the music be what it wants. The first “Vampire Empire” recording — we’d never played it like that before. Maybe that’s why people love it. Next time we do it, maybe it’ll be a very different trip. I hope that with time and iteration, people understand this.

AL: If you love a live one recorded on someone’s phone, it’s cool. Just listen to that.

I’ve read that Tyler Childers hasn’t been playing his new songs live until they’re released, so we don’t have an ideal sound to hold against the studio recording.
AL: I’ve had the thought. If I play a song, it exists everywhere. My grandfather is a big fan. When he says he loves a new one, I think he means a song that’s new only to him, but it’ll be something I played for the first time days ago. “I follow you on YouTube.” Everything we play live, people hear. You can’t do it under the radar. I don’t know what to make of it.

JK: There’s a scarcity mind-set in withholding a song. Doesn’t compute to me.

BM: Some people come to a show, and you can see expectations not being met and how they slowly start to accept. Younger kids who fell in love with one song on TikTok. You can see the ideas built from that world melt. Sometimes they fall in love with it in a new way.

AL: I might be angry one night and let it flow through me and scream and go a whole tour without feeling like it’s natural to do it again. The second I’m thinking, They like when I get angry, so I’m gonna do it every night, I lose the realness of it. That’s what I want people to know. It becomes an act when you try the same thing over and over.

The response to last year’s announcement that you parted ways with Max was riddled with overjoyed quote-tweets suggesting the band had just gotten rid of a Zionist. Many quickly assumed Big Thief was strategically trying to ditch a direct connection to Israel.
AL: Oh man. No, it’s purely personal. Of course, it’s unfortunate, the timing. But Max and us broke up for a plethora of reasons that are interpersonal, same as if you’re in a relationship and you can’t do it anymore. It’s just so not about that. We knew what it would be about to everyone else. Sure, there were challenges with him living in Israel, born and raised, having a different upbringing and perspective and proximity to things. We worked through it and talked about it together. We put so much time into lovingly talking. That wasn’t the reason for breaking up. Our breakup is because of a friendship. Sometimes it gets toxic for both of you. It’s definitely not politics. Characteristics of the relationship weren’t working for us as people.

Did you feel Max was mischaracterized?
JK: By the time everyone else heard, the three of us had made peace. And I knew Max would be hated on. We can’t control a nasty, toxic culture. I try to avoid social media. I don’t need people in my head. I knew where our decision came from. We knew. That was enough. People are gonna run with theories. Presenting ourselves in an honest way is all we can do.

AL: It’s strange how much time and energy went into characterizing someone they never met, knew nothing about. Don’t you have better things to put your energy into? I felt nauseated by the whole thing. Max is a person and was our bandmate for ten years. He’s our friend. Relationships are complicated. To have these other voices saying, “It’s this” — you have to turn them off. Responding is only going to make it worse. I had to turn off people’s assumptions and meanness based in no truth.

Double Infinity is full of threes. It’s 3:33 a.m. in “Los Angeles.” Adrianne talks about turning 33. Are you sticking with the trio-and-friends setup?
BM: We’re taking it slow. The three of us are the core of the band. But we made this record with Joshua Crumbly. The tours are all going to be as a four-piece with him. The moment we started playing with him, he lifted us up. He’s melodic but holds so much earth, so much root, as a bassist. Incredible spirit.

AL: We gel. Nothing can replace Max. There’ll never be anything like that again, like what we were. Sorry for so much romantic-partnership metaphor: We took a year alone and then started dating. We went on tour with Jon and Justin, and we made this record with Joshua. It’s effortless. It’s like there’s DNA coded into these songs, and he just sees it.

BM: He grew up playing jazz with his father, a beautiful sax player, went to Juilliard, and toured the world. His private instructor is Ron Carter to this day. Before hiring him, we asked for a bass part for a song.

AL: It was “Double Infinity.”

BM: He sent this beautiful solo rendition: the simplest possible thing, but there was so much space and intuition and depth in it.

There are always very different solo endeavors percolating in this crew. Is there a logic sorting out what song or idea goes where?
AL: I’m actually more into the band than my solo project. I need healthy doses of playing my own music. It’s something I’ve done since I was such a little kid that it feels like home. But I have found that I’m interested in being part of a whole, part of a band. So I tend to bring almost all the songs I write to the Big Thief bucket. Inevitably, there are songs that don’t end up on our records that I love.

James, what was it like playing drums on the Taylor Swift rerecordings of Speak Now and Red?
JK: It was just a mellow session with Aaron Dessner. Overdubbing.

AL: You don’t meet the person. It’s amazing but totally different. Seems like huge teams send out the track and pull in players. I’m not hating. It’s different, the infrastructure and scale, for me. When I think of making a song, we’re all in the room together jamming. I realize this is just my bubble, how I think music happens.

JK: I love the chop-shop approach. But the thing I love about Big Thief is that it can only happen when we’re together.

The 82-year-old outsider New Age–music pioneer is best known for drone and ambient compositions on zither, a centuries-old stringed instrument, and for periodically running a roving laugh workshop.

The L.A. musician has worked with singer Leon Bridges and trumpeter Christian Scott aTunde Adjuah and is credited as Double Infinity’s bassist-in-residence.

The 88-year-old Miles Davis Quintet alum and jazz-bass giant has appeared on indelible recordings that have been sampled by a succession of hip-hop vets.

The common practice of layering an existing recording with additional sounds. A “live” take, by contrast, documents the sound only of the musicians in the room at the time.