Every music community has a handful of people who become bigger than the stages they play.
In Savannah, Eric “Big E” Moore was one of those people.
For more than two decades, Big E was a fixture of the local music scene, best known as the bassist, vocalist, and driving force behind the beloved funk-rock band VooDoo Soup. He was an extraordinary musician, a magnetic performer, a mentor to countless musicians, and a friend to seemingly everyone who crossed his path.
His passing leaves a tremendous void in Savannah’s music community and comes just days after the loss of fellow musician Oisín Daly. For many of us who have spent years following, supporting, and documenting local music, it has been an incredibly difficult week.
While every loss is different, some people leave a mark on a community that simply cannot be replaced.
Big E was one of those people.
For me, this isn’t just another story.
I’ve spent nearly a decade photographing and documenting Savannah’s live music scene through Savannah Jams, and over those years I had the privilege of getting to know Big E beyond the stage. Like so many people, I first admired him because of his incredible musicianship. Before long, I came to appreciate the person just as much.
As someone who grew up in Washington, D.C.—”Chocolate City”—I’ve been a lifelong Parliament-Funkadelic fan. George Clinton and P-Funk have always been my favorite band, and over the years I’ve seen them nineteen times. Big E knew that.
Whenever we’d see each other, our conversations almost always drifted toward George Clinton, Bootsy Collins, Parliament, Funkadelic, and the strange, wonderful mythology that surrounds funk music. It was something we both genuinely loved.
And every now and then, while VooDoo Soup was on stage, he’d catch my eye, grin, and work a P-Funk song into the set—or dedicate one to me.
Those little moments may have seemed insignificant to everyone else in the room, but they’re memories I’ll always carry with me.
They also said everything about who Big E was.
He paid attention.
He remembered people.
He made people feel special.
That quality defined him every bit as much as his music.
For many Savannah music fans, VooDoo Soup wasn’t simply another local band. It was one of the defining bands of the city’s live music scene. Blending funk, rock, blues, jazz, soul, and improvisation, every performance had an energy that was impossible to fake. At the center of it all stood Big E—bass slung over his shoulder, flashing that unmistakable smile, completely at home on stage.
He didn’t just play the bass.
He made people feel it.
His groove was deep, soulful, and effortlessly funky. His vocals carried the same warmth and personality that made him so memorable offstage. He understood something that can’t be taught: great musicians don’t simply play notes—they create a feeling.
Watching Big E perform always felt like watching someone exactly where he was meant to be.
Looking back through the thousands of photographs I’ve taken over the years, one thing immediately stands out.
He was always smiling.
Whether he was playing Congress Street Social Club, Collins Quarter, The Mansion, Molly MacPherson’s, World of Beer, Rachel’s Sports Bar, or any of the countless other venues he played throughout the region, he looked completely at home. Colorful shirts. Signature hats. Sunglasses. Bass in hand. It wasn’t an image he tried to create.
It was simply who he was.
Big E had presence.
Not the kind that demanded attention.
The kind that naturally earned it.
He was larger than life, both figuratively and literally. He had an infectious smile, effortless style, and the kind of confidence that never felt forced. Some people just have that rare ability to light up a room without saying a word.
He was one of those people.
If Big E was talking with you, he had a way of making you feel like you were the only person there. It didn’t matter whether you’d known him for twenty years or twenty minutes. He listened. He laughed. He remembered things about you. You walked away feeling better than you did before the conversation started.
That kind of authenticity is rare.
It’s also why his loss has hit so many people so deeply.
Over the past several days, social media has filled with tributes from fellow musicians, friends, and fans whose lives were changed simply by knowing him.
Longtime VooDoo Soup guitarist James Lee Smith remembered first seeing Big E perform more than twenty years ago at Mercury Lounge, now Barrelhouse South, and immediately realizing he was witnessing something special. Years later, James would become his bandmate, describing Big E as his “musical godfather” and crediting him with giving him confidence, guidance, and the freedom to grow as both a guitarist and performer.
Drummer Jon Proffitt reflected on more than fifteen years of sharing the stage with Big E, recalling how he taught him to truly lock in with a bass player and create grooves so powerful they seemed to take over the room. He thanked Big E for expanding his musical range and making him a better drummer.
Benjamin Keiser described Big E as “a force of nature” with an almost mythical presence on stage, praising not only his remarkable musicianship but his ability to know exactly when to showcase his incredible talent and when to simply serve the song. Benjamin ended his tribute with perhaps the highest compliment one musician can give another: “He was my favorite musician in Savannah.”
Nationally touring artist Zach Deputy remembered knowing “Uncle E” since he was sixteen years old, thanking him for years of encouragement, positivity, and unforgettable musical experiences that helped shape him as both a musician and a person.
Reading those tributes, one thing becomes abundantly clear.
People weren’t simply mourning one of Savannah’s finest bass players.
They were mourning a mentor.
A teacher.
A friend.
A brother.
Someone who made everyone around him just a little bit better.
Outside of music, Big E and I shared another passion—sports.
He was a devoted New York Giants fan, and he never missed an opportunity to remind me that my Washington Redskins—now the Commanders—weren’t exactly his favorite team. We’d give each other a hard time, laugh about football, then somehow find ourselves right back where we always seemed to end up: talking about music.
Years ago, there were nights when I’d simply call him out of the blue to see what he was doing. Sometimes he’d be in Florida. Sometimes he’d be on the road. Sometimes he was just hanging out with friends, telling stories, laughing, and enjoying life. No matter where he happened to be, he always sounded like Big E.
Warm.
Funny.
Completely genuine.
Those conversations never felt forced. They felt like catching up with someone who was always happy to hear from you.
Like so many others, I also find myself wishing I had one more.
I honestly can’t remember the last time we talked. I believe it may have been a couple of years ago at a performance at The Mansion with James Lee Smith and Kyle Yardley. At the time, it felt like just another great night of live music.
None of us ever imagine that an ordinary conversation, a handshake between sets, or a quick “I’ll see you next time” will eventually become our last memory of someone.
That’s one of the hardest parts of losing people in a close-knit music community.
You never really think there won’t be another show.
After hearing the news of Big E’s passing, I shared one of my favorite photographs of him on the Savannah Jams Facebook page with four simple words:
“We’ve lost a giant.”
I wasn’t trying to write something profound.
I was simply writing what I felt.
The response that followed was unlike anything I’ve experienced in nearly nine years of running Savannah Jams.
Within days, the post had received well over 500 reactions, nearly 90 comments, and dozens of shares, making it the most engaged post in the history of the page.
But those numbers aren’t what matter.
What matters are the people behind them.
Every reaction represented someone who remembered him.
Every comment told another story.
Every share introduced Big E to someone else who wanted to celebrate his life.
Reading through those comments, it became obvious that my experience with Big E wasn’t unique at all.
Hundreds of other people had their own stories.
Their own memories.
Their own moments that made them smile.
That, more than anything else, says something about the kind of man he was.
Savannah has always been fortunate to have an incredible collection of talented musicians. There are amazing singers, gifted songwriters, phenomenal instrumentalists, and unforgettable bands performing across this city every week.
But every so often someone comes along who becomes more than simply another musician.
They become part of the city’s identity.
Big E was one of those people.
You can’t tell the story of Savannah’s funk, jam, soul, or groove-oriented music over the past two decades without his name being part of that conversation.
His influence wasn’t limited to the notes he played or the songs he sang.
It lives on in the musicians he mentored.
The bands he inspired.
The audiences he entertained.
The friendships he built.
And the countless people who walked away from one of his shows just a little happier than when they arrived.
A Celebration of Life honoring Eric “Big E” Moore is scheduled for Sunday, July 5, beginning at Eastern Wharf before continuing with a traditional New Orleans-style second line procession down River Street. Friends, family, fellow musicians, and fans will then gather at Congress Street Social Club for live music, including a performance by the Rachel Nelson Band, followed by a community jam hosted by Brock Butler—a fitting tribute for a man whose life revolved around bringing people together through music.
There will be other great bass players.
There will be other unforgettable bands.
There will be countless more nights filled with live music in Savannah.
But there will never be another Big E.
Some people are remembered because of what they accomplished.
Others are remembered because of how they made people feel.
Eric “Big E” Moore will be remembered for both.
His smile welcomed strangers.
His friendship lifted those around him.
His music filled dance floors, clubs, festivals, and stages throughout Savannah for more than twenty years.
And his legacy will continue every time a young musician steps onto a stage with confidence because Big E once encouraged them… every time someone hears a deep funk groove and thinks of VooDoo Soup… and every time friends gather to tell stories about one of the coolest people they’ve ever known.
Savannah didn’t just lose an incredible musician this week.
It lost one of its true originals.
Thank you, Big E.
For the music.
For the memories.
And for making Savannah a little funkier, a little brighter, and a whole lot better.
