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Judy Collins Enchants at Brown County Music Center: A Night to Remember, March 22, 2025

By Larry Philpot on March 28, 2025

The air was thick with anticipation on March 22, 2025, as the Brown County Music Center in Nashville, Indiana, celebrating its fifth year of bringing soul-stirring performances to this cozy corner of the Midwest. The wooden beams of the venue seemed to hum with the echoes of past shows, but tonight was special—a night where folk royalty, Judy Collins, would grace the stage.

File Photo: The legendary Judy Collins in concert at the Brown County Music Center in Nashville, IN, on March 22, 2025. (Photo Credit and Copyright; Larry Philpot/SoundstagePhotography.com)

Before her, though, the crowd was treated to a half-hour opening set by Oakland Rain, a duo of twin sisters hailing from Norway. Their voices intertwined like fjord winds, weaving haunting harmonies that set a reflective tone for the evening. With just thirty minutes, they were a perfect appetizer for the main course: ninety minutes of pure Judy Collins magic.

Judy Collins is a living thread in the tapestry of American music, a storyteller whose voice has carried the spirit of folk across decades.

Born in Seattle in 1939, she was a child prodigy on the piano before the guitar called her to Greenwich Village in the early ‘60s. There, she became a cornerstone of the folk revival, her crystalline soprano breathing life into traditional ballads and the works of emerging songwriters. Her interpretations of Bob Dylan’s “Mr. Tambourine Man,” Leonard Cohen’s “Suzanne,” and Joni Mitchell’s “Both Sides Now” didn’t just chart hits—they redefined how we hear those songs.

She’s shared stages with Joan Baez, harmonized with Peter, Paul and Mary, and inspired Arlo Guthrie’s gentle rebellion. John Denver’s mountain melodies found a kindred spirit in her, and her connection to the folk-to-mainstream pipeline is undeniable. All roads on that pipeline, it seems, lead through Judy.

Tonight, though, she was a storyteller, spinning tales with a wit as sharp as her high notes. The crowd leaned in as she recounted a night of revelry: too much wine, wandering upstairs to find a place to pass out, then waking at 3 a.m. to stumble downstairs. Behind a closed door, she heard the faint strumming of a guitar and Bob Dylan’s unmistakable voice, crafting “Mr. Tambourine Man” in real time.

Her stories wove a web of connections—Dylan, Mitchell, Baez, Denver—all orbiting her gravitational pull. But one relationship stood out: her romance with Stephen Stills.

She spoke of her long relationship with Stills in a lengthy story with a tender smirk just before launching into “Send in the Clowns,” her signature ballad.

Stephen Stills, of Crosby, Stills & Nash fame, honored his relationship with her in his song “Suite: Judy Blue Eyes,” a song that captured her blue-eyed mystique and their stormy love affair. Judy was already a star, but that track made her immortal. Their liaison was passionate, messy, and brief, yet it birthed a piece of music that still echoes through classic rock radio.

Alone on stage with only Daniel Mintseris, who was not her regular long-time pianist, Judy held the intimate crowd of a few hundred in her palm. The Brown County Music Center, with its rustic charm, felt like a living room, and Judy was the eccentric favorite aunt with the best stories. She told the audience that she never really wanted to do drugs, because she feared they would interfere with her drinking.

Her humor sparkled—dry one moment, self-deprecating the next. “I’ve outlived most of my bad decisions,” she quipped, earning a ripple of laughter. Then, with a nod to Mintseris, she launched into her setlist, a journey through time and emotion.

“Both Sides Now” opened the night, her voice soaring over Joni Mitchell’s meditation on life’s dualities. It was wistful yet wise, a reminder of her knack for finding new depth in familiar tunes. Next came “Diamonds and Rust,” a Joan Baez gem that tonight Judy made her own. Her rendition was raw, the memory of a lost love glinting like the titular stones.

“Born to the Breed” followed, a lesser-known track from her own catalog, pulsing with a quiet defiance that showcased her songwriting chops.

Then came a tribute to John Denver, an intertwining of “Take Me Home, Country Roads” and “Leavin’ On a Jet Plane.”. Judy’s affection for her late friend shone through, her voice catching slightly as she reminisced about their duets. “Girl in Colorado” was next, a newer piece that painted the Rockies with her signature poetic brushstrokes—simple, yet vivid. “John Riley,” a traditional ballad, brought out her folk roots, her voice lilting over pianist Mintseris’ sparse accompaniment like a breeze through an old oak on nearby Salt Creek.

The Dylan story prefaced “Mr. Tambourine Man,” and Judy delivered it with a playful reverence, as if she could still hear those 3 a.m. chords. She complained that the new Dylan documentary should have included her and a few of her friends. “I was there. All of us were there.”

“Since You’ve Asked,” an early hit, felt like a love letter to her younger self, delicate and introspective. Then “The Blizzard,” a sweeping narrative song from her 1990 album, unfolded like a winter epic—her voice rising and falling with the storm she described.

The night’s pinnacle was “Send in the Clowns.” After telling the audience a five minute story about Stephen Stills, how her husband and he were good friends until her husband’s passing just 3 months ago, she nodded to pianist Mintseris, who played only the four notes.

The cheers briefly erupted and the room fell silent. The Sondheim classic poured out of her, each note a fragile thread of regret and resilience. Her blue eyes—those Stills sang about—seemed to pierce the dim light, and the crowd held its breath until the final chord faded. She could’ve ended there, and we’d have been satisfied, but Judy had one more gift: an a cappella “Amazing Grace.” She invited the audience to “Please join me and sing along, if you know the words, sing along if you don’t know the words, or just sing another song entirely, but please join me.

No piano, no frills—just her voice, pure and unadorned, rising to the rafters. It was a hymn, a prayer, a benediction, and as the last note hung in the air, the room erupted in applause, sang along and gave her a well deserved standing ovation.

Judy Collins wove a spell tonight.. At 85, her stories were a bridge to a golden era of music. For us, she turned a small Indiana stage into a cathedral of sound and memory, knowing we witnessed a legend.

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