Jason Isbell and the 400 Unit

It's been another one of those weeks in Lake Woebegone.... when I am just not sure what to blog about because so many little interesting things have caught my eye. Whether or not they might be interesting to anyone else is an open question, but there always seems like a plethora of things I want to share....
Among other things, this week was peppered with visits to Dallas to see live music. I got to go see two bands I have blogged about previously, the Heartless Bastards and Jude the Innocent. Saturday night I went back again, despite torrentially bad weather, and saw Jason Isbell and the 400 Unit. Jason (we're on a first name basis, as you'll see) used to be one of the three guitarists in the guitar-trio-driven band The Drive-By Truckers which I saw in Bloomington for the first time sometime in 2005. The Truckers are great and part of what distinguishes them among many other bands steeped in the heavy southern rock tradition from which they so proudly hail is that, even though Patterson Hood technically serves as their frontman, all three guitarists were songwriters and sang lead on their own compositions. It makes their albums and shows diverse and interesting because each of them (P. Hood, J. Isbell, and Mike Cooley) have a signature style that is distinctive. Back in the day, Jason Isbell was my favorite of the three incarnations of the DBTs and now that he has formed his own band, I was very eager to check it out. Not eager enough to fork over the money for a ticket of course, but a friend of a friend won some on the interweb and through some minor miracle I ended up outside the Granada Theater in Dallas, TX on Saturday night in the rain eating a slice of pizza waiting for some soon-to-be friends who I did not know to arrive and get me into the show for free. A fairly typical evening in and of itself up to that point, if you know me well. While I was waiting for my connection to get into the show, Jason Isbell walked up. I transferred the incredibly greasy pizza slice I was devouring from my right to my left hand and reached out to shake his hand, which he politely accepted, despite its sheen. We started chatting, and I was so starstruck and overwhelmed that a) I didn't take a picture with him for the blog and b) I didn't notice that Petra, John, and Paul had arrived and were now sitting to my left. (Petra is also a musician and plays regularly in two bands, only one of which I have heard so far, but which I can't wait to see live; if you want to check out their beautiful sound, they're called Leatherwood).
At some point, I came to and tried to introduced everyone.
I said: "Guys, this is Jason. Jason, this is...."
(Paul interjected): "Paul"
(John interjected): "John"
I said: "... and Petra" (in a vain attempt to make this situation make a little more sense given it appears these people are my friends yet I don't know two of their three names).
We continued to talk and hang out a bit which was a hoot for superfans like ourselves, and then went inside for the show which wildly exceeded my expectations, which were not low. The weather had been so bad in Dallas on Saturday that the Cowboys' practice facility caved in critically injuring staff. As you can imagine, the folks that came out to see Jason Isbell on a night like this were die-hard fans. Instead of mailing it in because the crowd was sparse, Jason and the band seemed to completely absorb the high level of intensity (per fan) in the room. They played passionately and playfully and into the night with a rousing encore that rewarded the fans above and beyond the already very energetic set. It was awesome. Among the highlights were his throwbacks to the DBT days (Outfit, Goddamn Lonely Love, and Decoration Day), a cover of Psycho Killer (sung by Browan Lollar, originally by the Talking Heads), and several of his delicate-but-rocking ballads off the albums he has put out since setting out on his own (Dress Blues, Chicago Promenade, Hurricanes and Hand Grenades). There were probably well over 100 people there, but since it is a pretty big place, the whole show felt very intimate and as it unfolded, I started to feel like he was playing almost directly to me. My new sister-in-musical-love Petra pointed out later that, after hitting the Jack Daniels bottle several times, he was, in fact, playing directly to me, ... a lot of the time, ... eyes in missile lock, ... as if he wanted to somehow overlook the greasy handshake and serenade me in a room full of superfans.
So, maybe not such a typical evening?