If this city had a yearbook, I definitely would have voted for Brandon as Best All Around. He was friendly without being cheesy or fake; he was funny without being insulting or vulgar; he was intelligent without being condescending; and he was creative without being inaccessible. He truly lived the Golden Rule. He spoke up, he advocated and he asserted boundaries, but I never saw or heard him do so with a hint of malice – he just wanted to help make everything better for all of us. I’ll miss his boisterous laugh, his tender words and the zeal with which he embraced life. Our best tribute is to continue forward with the same balance of brains, humor, artfulness, beauty and conviction he lived each day on this earth. I’ll see you on the other side, my friend, and I’ll be wearing a sundress. Below are several tributes to one of Knoxville’s brightest stars.
– Jennifer Duncan-Rankin
There’s something very interesting about the photo that Brandon’s closest friends chose to adorn the handbill for his celebration of life. The expression on his face says so many things simultaneously, and it reminds me that Brandon was completely one of one.
The expression is inquisitive. It’s endearing. It’s regal. It’s comforting. And while it’s got Brandon’s signature lather of swag, it’s also almost apologetic in some way. It’s as if he’s saying, “I’m sorry that you all are having to go through this. I hope you understand that I’m gonna go kick it with my mom now. You’re gonna be OK, though. And yeah, I look good.”
I’ve stared at it a lot. It’s so many things at once, and that’s fitting. They say that you can’t be all things to all people, but Brandon taught me just how close you could get to bucking that ideology. I don’t know of anyone who met him who didn’t enjoy his company both immensely and immediately. When someone passes, the best memories of that human are represented in full, but I have never – and I mean never – known someone so universally appreciated by every person in their ethos. You knew you had a friend for life with Brandon, and you knew it quickly.
That’s a great thing to take from this: Don’t waste time. He certainly didn’t.
Brandon’s mother passed away unexpectedly on September 1, 2018, and as maternal loss does, her departure left a dent in his life. He didn’t let it stop him, though. Instead, it fueled his desire to accomplish as much as he could. And although he lived only 36 mortal years, his accomplishments were numerous, and he will live forever through the works of art he created and the enlightened approach to humanity that he brought to each and every interaction.
Plans of making a book comprised solely of his eloquent Facebook posts are being arranged. Brandon loved his birthday, too, so June 8 will be a day to remember in Knoxville for the years ahead for those who knew him and strangers alike.
As I look back at my personal time with him, I have to laugh through the tears. Most of the things we did together were somehow both ridiculous and philanthropic. He happened to be standing in the right place at the right time before one of the first BlankFests when I realized I had forgotten to get an emcee to host the festivities. He agreed on the spot, hit the stage and he was perfection.
He was my first call every time we needed a master of ceremonies from then on. Second Bell, Waynestock, the BLANK readers’ poll award ceremony … if I needed a voice, I could do no better. And then there was the Sofa Soiree.
It was March 2020, and the ‘rona had just hit the scene. JayJ Belk had hosted an online electronic music festival here in Knoxville, and I was intrigued. I hit him up to see how difficult the whole thing was, and with his help I decided to make the next phone call to Eli Hechmer at Loch & Key Productions. Eli went all in and set up the tech for the gig immediately. If I remember correctly, my next call was to Brandon.
If we were going to feature local artists on the stream, I knew we needed to engage the finest Knoxville had to offer in all facets. And in order to do that, we needed a host – the perfect host. Had Brandon said no, it probably wouldn’t have happened. But of course he stepped up to the plate, and together we hosted what is surely the coolest event of which I’ve ever been a part.
We didn’t have a plan. There was no script. I just followed his lead. His charm and patience were on full display that day. I was a complete idiot, and he just made me feel so comfortable. We laughed and laughed, and we raised a few thousand dollars for local bands, magicians and comedians, along with funds for businesses, bartenders and servers. I’m so proud and so happy that the spirit behind that event lives on today.
Brandon emceed the Monster Mash drive-in festival later that year at Baker Creek Bottoms. In typical BG fashion, he sang “Happy Birthday” to everyone who had not had a chance to properly celebrate their big day throughout the year due to the pandemic. What an incredibly kind gesture that was.
According to a post on August 1 of this year, Brandon had lived in Knoxville for 21 years. I can say with 100 percent certainty that I never would have attended an opera had I not gotten to know him during that time or had we not earned each other’s respect. Now I can say that I’ve gone to two.
He did so much with his time, and his accomplishments are not only his own; they belong to us all – just as he always had planned. We just didn’t know it at the time. These pieces of himself are woven inextricably deep into the fabric of Knoxville. They forever will be, and we can rest easier knowing that he is still with us via his art, his memory and his eternal influence.
– Rusty Odom
There are too many stories and not enough words to say everything there is to say about Brandon Gibson; after all, he was the one with the beautiful words. Brandon was many things to me: He was one of my best friends, he was my confidant and he was my business partner. He would take my ideas and put them into beautiful words to make them sing off the page, whether in a grant, a social media post, a fundraising letter, an opera or even the title of our staff meetings. He loved conversations that would come full circle, alliteration and fun titles. A personal favorite staff meeting note title was “Thin walls on a hot day.”
He had a way with words, but he was also an amazing listener, and there were many nights that the two of us would be on the phone for hours trying to figure out how to change the world and make it a better place. Brandon always had my back and would commonly say to me, “Here for you.” And he really was. Every day he was consistently in my corner. I have never had a friend like Brandon – someone who knew me so well and who was so loyal, so consistent, so funny and so good-hearted.
During the pandemic, Brandon and I would talk about how we could make a difference in the world and how we could use Marble City Opera to do it. Through those conversations and a shared passion, Brandon wrote the libretto for “I Can’t Breathe.” He always used to like to tell the story of how the opera came about. It was sort of in our usual fashion, talking about what we could do to make an impact and influence change, and I asked him if he would write an opera libretto. He said, “Well, I’ve never done that, but yeah, I could probably write something,” and a few hours later I had a poster and an announcement on Facebook. He said, “Oh, so we’re really doing this!”
A few months later he had finished the libretto, and it was the most moving and powerful thing I’d ever read. Brandon was a highly accomplished and cherished friend, singer, actor, administrator and writer, and his words will continue to live and breathe as his opera “I Can’t Breathe” travels around the country. His words, his spirit and his memory will continue on changing the world, and I know he wouldn’t have it any other way.
– Kathryn Frady
It was an amazing day today (at the memorial).
Amazing people spoke in such poetic ways about the nature of you. But perhaps that is just what you were: a poem. Something magical, rhythmic, giving and kind.
I shared some stories. I heard some stories.
Chris Weathers was brilliant. He has some of your ties, but other than that – brilliant.
When we got to the site, right as the pastor began to speak there was a hawk that flew into a tree, high up. It was to the northeast of the site (if my bearings were right). The hawk was so high up and just gazing down, it appeared as if it were bowing.
It never moved through the service. There were even crows flying around that could have pestered it, but … no movement.
When the doves were released, it finally moved its head, but only to watch them fly around the tree it was perched upon. It then returned to its bowed position.
I didn’t see exactly when it flew off, but it was at the end.
Now, as I told Chris, my vision isn’t what it used to be, but I assume, based on our region, it was a red-tailed hawk.
The Cherokee (Tsalagi) believe the red-tailed hawk to be the symbol of a warrior. The warrior is sacred, but not always just the physical warrior that many believe. Warriors are emotional, spiritual, dreamlike or even physical protectors.
Your spirit was all around everyone today.
My seeing that hawk today was a reminder – a reminder of the type of protector you were to so many.
Mitakuye Oyasin (Lakota, not Cherokee).
God bless.
And I’m looking at what I’m doing with my life.
Thank you for all the lessons.
– Dan Goss
The first time I went onto a stage after the hardest loss of my life, I was completely unsure how to navigate it. I was a mess. And standing there, wanting so badly to run away, my friend got up and introduced me in such a sweet and informed way, and all my worry just fell away. He calmly, effortlessly gave me enough peace to sing one for Ruthie when all I wanted to do was hide under my bed.
If you met Brandon Gibson, you loved him. You had no choice. His depth was balanced with a charm and humor that welcomed you to lean in.
If you walked through Market Square or sat in a darkened theater and heard his voice booming from the stage, you stopped to really experience it. You had no choice. As an actor and singer, he was a generational talent, balanced with an equally generational passion for the stage. And in true form, he used that talent and passion to try and make a better future. Hero behavior.
I will never forget the day he agreed to be featured on three tracks of the final LiL iFFy record. He just showed up, casual and fashionable as ever, to Thomas’ ATOPIA studio on the East Side and, without much conversation, just launched into his three songs and instantly made them feel massive and alive and so, so cool.
I will miss his posts about pivoting to sweater season. I will miss his easy way. I will miss the excitement of seeing him in the crowd and knowing I came to the right place. And I will mourn the projects we dreamed of doing together that time ruled out.
But I won’t have to miss his voice or goodness. He infused our town with it. I will never walk through Market Square and not hear the echoes of his mighty, beautiful voice bouncing off of the walls. I won’t pass a bustling brunch patio and not hear him laughing with us somewhere in the chatter. I will always hear him.
– William Wright
Every time someone asks me to write or tell stories about Brandon Gibson, I feel as though someone has just asked me to climb Mount Everest without any oxygen to assist me. To some that might sound dramatic, but if it does, I bet you didn’t know him.
If you did know him, you would understand how impossible the task of talking about him or memorializing him is. That’s the thing about Brandon: He was all that is good and pure and true about this world. Being in his presence was like being in the presence of the brightest, warmest light you can imagine. It was as if you were transported into a glass of bubbly champagne with a splash of orange juice at Sunday brunch. It was like you just ate the most perfect bite of food you’ve ever had. The glow, the effervescence, the buoyancy of his joy – he was magnetic.
He made even the most introverted people open up and feel safe to be who they are. You could share the darkest parts of yourself with Brandon, the parts you never showed others, and he just … accepted you. Exactly as you were. Exactly as you are. Every single interaction with him was memorable and meaningful. And I bet very few of you who read this and actually knew Brandon could pinpoint the moment you met him because, once you did, it felt like he’d always been there. It is impossible to explain or put into words what we have all lost, so I will leave you with some of the words he had after the passing of his mother.
“And so, in memory of you, I try my best to be wise. I cling as tightly as I can to my faith. I try to find excuses to laugh. I cry now, too. Sometimes at nothing in particular … I just cry. Never for long, because I remember you telling me that “weeping may endure for a night, but joy comes in the morning.” So I try not to linger too long in the night. Dark as it may be around me, I try to focus on that morning you always reminded me of. To turn my weeping into tears of joy. So today, I won’t weep. I’ll cry tears of joy. In sweetest memory of you.” Brandon, I will love you the rest of my life. Rest well, my beloved friend.
– April Hill
I met Brandon in undergrad at UT in 2005 or 2006. One of my first encounters was seeing him nail “The Impossible Dream” (which his friends sang so powerfully at the service) from “The Man of La Mancha.” I was floored that a fellow college student was so developed in their craft so early. It moved me.
We had a party house in a dilapidated quarter of the Fort called the Kindlewood Sanctuary that was frequented by All-Campus Theatre kids among other arts and progressive groups. He was often hanging there, and when many of us moved to 4th and Gill and North Knox after graduation and started to close down Sassy Ann’s nightclub, he was always there sweaty-dancing to retro records with everyone, hollering with the biggest smile on his face. We had many pregame and recovery meals at Señor Taco.
I moved back home for grad school from 2009-12 but started writing for BLANK during that time and from a distance saw him slowly begin to ascend the ranks of the local arts world. When I was back full-time, I started to see him in charge of many events and then eventually of the organizations putting on the events, from Rossini to Marble City Opera.
He started writing for BLANK and was eloquent and focused in his pieces, but I feel his biggest writing contribution (other than his amazing opera libretto “I Can’t Breathe”) is, honestly, his Facebook posts. He used the format more consistently and injected more passion, panache, effectiveness and hilarity into it than anyone I’ve known personally, whether he was waxing poetic about brunch or sundresses or providing important contextual commentary on racial equality or about social justice events as they unfolded.
Brandon was one of the few people I have ever known that was just as fun to work with as he was to play with. He was a frequent opening act at our Knoxvollidays holiday benefits at Central Collective, and he brought my bandmate Matt Montgomery’s roof down when Matt hosted him for one of our From the Living Room house concerts. As a pure fan not really involved with the production aspects of Second Bell Festival, I saw how much he added as both an emcee and as a performer. He even brought the excitement to judging the International Biscuit Festival songwriting competition.
There was nobody in the arts world in Knoxville (or in most of my life experience in general) who I had more admiration or respect for. He always gave everyone his best self and worked and partied at the same feverish pace; I don’t know how that is even possible. Lord Crunkingham is one of the most apt handles ever to grace Instagram.
I will miss Brandon Gibson greatly, as will so many whose lives he touched. Thank you, Brandon, for all you did for this city, for this world and for me.
– Luke Brogden
Brandon Gibson. Where to begin.
It’s easy to be sad – and I will be, and I think any of us with the good fortune to know him will be sad for years to come – but there are two things I’ll share that give me some sense of ease during this time.
When I moved to New York with my best friends, we all asked Brandon if he wanted to move with us. He was such an insanely talented person that we knew he could “make it” there – anywhere, really – and he was also one of our favorite people to hang out with, so we wanted to keep good friends around us. He politely declined, right, and we all understood.
The thing I’ve realized over the years is that Brandon already “made it” in Knoxville, both in artistic opportunities and surrounding friendships. The appreciation people have for Brandon is such a rare one that we may never see it again, and I swear to this day he could have been the mayor of Knoxville. He was Knoxville’s, and Knoxville was his. Why move? That’s a great place to be. He knew he was where he needed to be.
Years later when Brandon’s mom Joy passed away, I visited her viewing. I couldn’t stay long due to the job at the time and these things being difficult to face. In my moment of weakness trying to support Brandon in HIS most difficult of times, however, he had a power and calmness about him as he comforted me instead. I always admired that grace about him and will try my best to carry that same strength forward for my friends, now with the silver-lining comfort of knowing Brandon will be with his mom again in the meanwhile.
Thank you for all the love, all the memories, all the wisdom, my first job out of college, my favorite nickname, those little cheesecakes you brought to my birthday party and that time you helped me move my couch (despite all the funny things you said about my couch). 11 p.m. will never be the same.
– Harrison Young
On November 16, 2022, at 2:24 p.m., I received a message from one of Brandon’s colleagues and friends that he had missed a Zoom meeting and had not given a heads up about it. This was out of character for him, and they were worried. With a twinge of apprehension, I immediately rushed to his apartment in hopes of loudly banging on his door to the beat of that Clipse song until he got annoyed and yelled at me from within like he would do.
“ChristopherStampsWeathersWhatAreYouDoing?!?!” he would bellow all in one word.
This all started half my life ago in 2004. At the time, Brandon and I were the duo of baritones for the legendary Love United Gospel Choir at the University of Tennessee. We both shared a deep love and appreciation for singing and music. We had no idea that we’d both become as close as we were. He, the King, and I, his Champion.
We shared a deep connection and love for objective things like Star Wars, sundresses, football, basketball, cooking, R&B, Neo Soul, Jill Scott, natural hair, neckties, video games and good stories. Brandon not only was an intellectual, but a warrior of justice. He was keenly aware and outspoken on all that is civil rights. He was my confidant, my therapist and my savior. Our conversations lasted HOURS.
He surrounded himself with only the BEST people, and for that I am honored. As should you be if you were close to him.
Brandon, I’m sure you’re up there painting a masterpiece with Beauford Delaney. You might just be up there learning guitar with Prince. Maybe you baked Trayvon and Ahmad one of your cheesecakes and y’all are sitting around discussing racial justice. And if you see Eartha Kitt up there … ask her if she likes tall guys.
I don’t know how or why you tolerated me for so long, Brandon Jovan Harrison Gibson. But I am thankful, and I love you dearly.
We all love you. We all miss you.
See you again soon, my friend.
– Chris Weathers
The team at Blank has compiled a database of sorts for Brandon’s adventures and a photo gallery here. In it you’ll find links to podcasts, performances, interviews and the like. It is a work in progress so if you’d like to see something added, please leave a comment.
Many photos by Bill Foster with many others submitted
