As a guitar-toting musician from the South who does not get played on country radio, Jason Isbell faces a classification problem. Over the years, various names have been applied to the space he inhabits, including alt-country and Americana. But performing last night at the Beacon Theater in Manhattan, it was clear that his origins are really in the rock canon of the late ‘60s, ‘70s, and early ‘80s.
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The clues have been there all along. In his former group, the Drive-By Truckers, Isbell penned a track named after two members of The Band, Rick Danko and Richard Manuel. When Isbell bonded with Dave Cobb, who served as producer on his last two solo records, the pair discussed their love for Simon & Garfunkel’s Bridge Over Trouble Water. A reference point for the bass work on Isbell’s most recent album, Something More Than Free, was the low end on Elton John’s Tumbleweed Connection.
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Listening to the singer this way links him to a much larger reclamation project that spans several genres, as the mega rock acts of past decades — once seen as bombastic, self-indulgent relics of an era of excess — are embraced by a new generation. In indie rock, you find FM radio redux from Kurt Vile and The War On Drugs. In mainstream country, try Kip Moore, Eric Church, and Brothers Osborne. (Or Dierks Bentley, whom Isbell once accused of song theft.) These are Isbell’s peers, artists who have dissected “the classics” and work to regurgitate their lessons.
It’s not surprising then that Isbell’s most vociferous fans at the Beacon were males between the ages of 40 and 60. This contingent was vocal and active; they felt a special bond with his tunes, and they were keen to show the extent of their communion. Air guitar? Of course. Mimicking an orchestra director as the band wailed in the background? Definitely. Fist pumps were plentiful and timed to match the song’s booming crescendos.
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Isbell and his band, the 400 Unit, played to this audience, favoring a plodding, power ballad tempo — ideal for fist pumping — with plenty of crash and room for extended solos. “Decoration Day,” which he wrote for the Drive-By Truckers, contains a long, melodramatic outro perfect for guitar heroics; another DBT’s song, “Never Gonna Change,” brings to mind Neil Young’s “Rockin’ In The Free World.” The synthesizers spent the night on the “Springsteen 1984” setting, adding an oddly fluffy texture to the guitar-heavy mix. (This sound is noticeably absent on his recordings.) Isbell’s wife, Amanda Shires, plays fiddle alongside her husband, but her instrument was indiscernible whenever the band led with fistfuls of distorted riffs — which was often.
When the 400 Unit peeled back the layers and let Isbell’s melodies breathe, his gifts came into clearer focus. He sang with relaxed power, coolly chucking lines to the back of the theater. The haggard, teetering-near-the-edge-of-breakdown quality that listeners tend to equate with emotion comes naturally to him. He declared his love to his wife before playing “Cover Me Up,” adding a dollop of head-over-heels charm to an intimate song about finding romance and sobering up after his long struggle with substance abuse. Weirdly enough, the crowd whooped and saluted him with their drinks as he sang “I swore off that stuff forever this time.”
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As long as Isbell wielded an acoustic guitar, his band showed versatility and touch. On “Alabama Pines,” from Here We Rest (2011), the 400 Unit traded in its frequent peak-and-valley trot for an agile forward roll. The lead guitarist played precisely on “Speedtrap Town,” from last year’s Something More Than Free, achieving much more through timing and restraint than he did while swapping flashy solos with Isbell. “If It Takes A Lifetime,” which also appeared on Something More Than Free, dared to explore a rickety groove that would’ve intrigued Isbell’s idols, Danko and Manuel.
But mostly this was a show for frothy rock theatrics. Toward the end of the night, Isbell started a song on acoustic guitar, but decided halfway through that he needed more firepower. He walked off stage, returned with an electric instrument, and assumed position at center stage, slightly to the front of the mic. From there, he spouted another solo, fingers flying, emitting torrents of notes close together and breaking them up with jutting intrusions of bluesy space. Isbell was too fast for the air guitarists, so they settled for more fist pumping.