Rock music and religion have always been awkward roommates. Usually, one tries to kick the other out by 3:00 AM. But in the late 1990s, a band named Big Tent Revival managed to bridge that gap without sounding like they were trying too hard to be cool. They didn’t wear leather pants or pretend they were U2. They just played rootsy, blues-inflected rock and roll that felt like a dusty road trip through the American South.
Steve Wiggins was the engine behind the whole thing. He wasn't some polished pop star manufactured in a Nashville boardroom. He was a guy from Memphis. He had that grit. When you listen to their 1995 self-titled debut, you aren't hearing a synth-heavy anthem designed for a stadium. You're hearing a Hammond B3 organ, a harmonica, and lyrics that actually admitted to being a mess.
People loved it.
The mid-90s Christian Music (CCM) scene was a weird place. It was caught between the grunge explosion and the "Positive, Encouraging" radio format that eventually took over everything. Big Tent Revival sat right in the middle of that tension. They were nominated for Grammys and won Dove Awards, but they always felt like the band that would rather be playing a smoky club than a pristine church stage.
The Memphis Sound in a Cathedral
Most CCM bands back then were chasing a specific sound. Some wanted to be dc Talk; others wanted to be Jars of Clay. Big Tent Revival just wanted to be a garage band that loved Jesus. Honestly, that’s why they stood out. Wiggins brought a songwriting sensibility that leaned heavily on the blues traditions of his hometown.
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Think about "Two Sets of Jones'." It’s probably their most famous song. It isn't a happy-clappy worship tune. It’s a narrative song about two different couples—one building a life on faith and the other on worldly success—and what happens when the storms of life actually hit. It’s heavy. It’s melodic. It’s basically a folk story set to a rock beat.
The band's lineup was tight. You had Randy Williams on guitar, Steve Crawford on bass, and Spence Smith on drums. Later on, they added David Alan on keys. They were musicians' musicians. When they released Open All Night in 1996, the production got a little slicker, but that core soul was still there. They were the kind of band that could follow a blistering guitar solo with a song about the simplicity of grace without it feeling like whiplash.
Big Tent Revival and the Reality of the Road
The name wasn't just a gimmick. A "big tent revival" is a specific piece of American history—traveling preachers setting up shop in a field, inviting everyone in, and creating a temporary community. The band lived that. They toured relentlessly.
They weren't just playing "Christian" venues either. They were out there in the mainstream, trying to navigate the "crossover" dream that every religious band in the 90s had. It was a tightrope walk. If you’re too religious, the mainstream ignores you. If you’re too "secular," the church gets suspicious. Big Tent Revival dealt with that constant scrutiny from both sides.
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One thing that made them different was the humor. Steve Wiggins had this self-deprecating wit that popped up in songs like "What Would Jesus Do?"—which, despite the title, was a satirical look at how people turn a phrase into a fashion statement. They weren't afraid to poke fun at the culture they were a part of. That’s rare. Most bands in that niche take themselves way too seriously.
Why the Music Actually Lasted
We have to talk about the songwriting. Most 90s rock sounds incredibly dated now. The "Wall of Sound" guitars and the angst feel like a time capsule. But because Big Tent Revival used acoustic guitars, organs, and blues structures, their stuff aged better than most of their contemporaries.
Amplifier, released in 1998, showed a band that was getting more experimental. It was a bit darker. It had more of a "live" feel. Songs like "The Only Thing Variable" showed they were thinking about the philosophy of faith, not just the emotions of it. They were exploring the idea that while everything in life changes—relationships, health, jobs—the divine is the only constant. It was grown-up music.
They eventually called it quits in the early 2000s, though they’ve popped up for reunions and special projects since then. Steve Wiggins went on to work in various ministry roles and solo projects, but the shadow of Big Tent Revival remains long. They represent a specific era where "Christian Rock" didn't have to be a subgenre of pop. It could just be rock and roll with a different set of questions.
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The industry changed after they left. Radio became more homogenized. The "worship" movement took over, and the "band" format started to fade away in favor of solo artists and congregational leaders. In a way, Big Tent Revival was one of the last great guitar bands of that movement.
What You Can Learn From Their Trajectory
If you're a musician or a creator today, there’s a lot to take from how they handled their career. They didn't chase trends. When everyone was going electronic, they stayed acoustic. When everyone was being vague to get on the radio, they stayed specific.
- Authenticity over Polish: People can smell a fake. The reason fans still listen to The Best of Big Tent Revival isn't because the production is perfect—it’s because the songs feel honest.
- Master Your Roots: Wiggins knew Memphis music. He didn't try to sound like he was from Seattle or London. Lean into your local influences.
- Narrative Matters: People remember stories. "Two Sets of Jones'" is remembered 30 years later because it told a story that people could see themselves in.
- Don't Fear Humor: If you can't laugh at your own community, you're probably too deep in the bubble.
To really understand the impact of Big Tent Revival, you have to go back and listen to the Open All Night album from start to finish. It’s a masterclass in mid-tempo roots rock. It’s also a reminder that faith-based art doesn't have to be boring or predictable. It can have a groove. It can have some dirt under its fingernails.
The best way to experience them now is to dig into the deep cuts. Skip the radio hits for a second and find "Weight of the World" or "Someday." You'll hear a band that was wrestling with the same things we all wrestle with—doubt, exhaustion, and the hope that there’s something bigger than ourselves out there. That’s why they still matter. They weren't just a band in a tent; they were a band that invited everyone into the conversation.
Check out the Steve Wiggins "Groundwork" series if you want to see where that songwriting DNA went. It’s a deep dive into the scriptures that fueled those 90s hits, stripping away the rock band artifice to get to the core of the message. It’s the logical conclusion of a career built on trying to find the truth in the middle of a loud, messy world.
Taking Action with the Big Tent Revival Catalog
If you’re looking to rediscover this era of music or perhaps explore it for the first time, start with a focused listening session of their 1995 debut. Pay attention to the interaction between the B3 organ and the lead guitar; it’s a specific chemistry that defined the "Big Tent" sound. From there, compare the raw energy of their early live recordings to the polished maturity of Amplifier. This progression offers a blueprint for any artist trying to evolve without losing their soul. For those interested in the technical side, look into the production work of Peter York and how he balanced the "rootsy" feel with the commercial requirements of the 90s—it’s a fascinating study in creative compromise.