Adventures in Listening, July 10, 2023: Reasons to Carry On

On one of his best albums yet, Jason Isbell provides a masterclass in empathetic songwriting. And, Amanda Shires sings standards, honoring the legacy of Bobbie Nelson.

Jason Isbell and the 400 Unit - Weathervanes

Heavy lies the crown on Jason Isbell’s head. Widely celebrated as one of the best songwriters of his generation— a kind of unofficial but largely undisputed prom king for the Americana scene— Isbell bears the responsibility of his creative gifts with a palpable solemnity. Since his days in the Drive-by Truckers, he has been a representative for a particular kind of liberal-minded Southern man; and since the release of Southeastern, he has been a heroic spokesman for sobriety. I have occasionally wished that Isbell could loosen up just a bit, shaking off the fetters of his solemn responsibilities just long enough for his songs to convey some of the humor so evident from his Twitter account. But listening to his latest record, Weathervanes, I’m beginning to think I was wishing imprudently. A big part of what makes Isbell such a great songwriter is that he always takes the problems and circumstances of his characters seriously, whether he’s writing about opioid addiction in the American south or chronicling complications in his own marriage. His characters always have the dignity of real interiority, and seldom more so than on Weathervanes— a masterclass in nuanced, empathetic songwriting. If it isn’t the feel-good party album of the summer, it’s at least the best Jason Isbell album since Southeastern.

It also happens to be his best-sounding album, a distinction that I can’t help but attribute to Isbell’s decision to self-produce. His past several albums have been helmed by Dave Cobb, whose austere approach sometimes strikes me as just a little bit stiff— particularly on Reunions, an Isbell record I never came around to. Weathervanes may not be dramatically different, but it does sound warm and clear, capturing the loose interplay between the Isbell’s mighty 400 Unit band. There are subtle flexes throughout the album, like when Isbell deliberately evokes the sound of “Midnight Rider” on “Middle of the Morning”— using the shared vernacular of dad-rock to underscore his conversational tone and middle-aged concerns. Elsewhere, he exhibits a flare for drama seldom heard on his records, like how “Death Wish” uses a spiral of drums and strings to Bernard Hermann-esque effect. The 400 Unit is built for steadiness rather than breakneck speed, yet they can create a sense of urgency when it’s called for, as it is on “Save the World”— the song of a panic-stricken parent in the wake of another school shooting. For a more painterly flourish, check the delicate fiddle accompaniment of Amanda Shires on “If You Insist,” a melancholy album highlight.

As a storyteller, Isbell remains excellent at considering existential and sociopolitical conditions through the acuity of the mundane and the individual. “King of Oklahoma” acknowledges the opioid crisis, but on a deeper level it’s about the struggle that a lot of middle-class and grown-up people experience just trying to keep their head above water: “Never thought I’d wind up this far behind,” the narrator laments. The narrator in “Save the World” is similarly overwhelmed, not by drugs or bills but by the daily newsfeed of violence. The chorus could be a plea to the next generation, or it could be a desperate prayer: “Swear you’ll save the world when I lose my grip/ Tell me you’re in control.” In “Middle of the Morning,” Isbell observes domestic tension with empathy and honesty, never excusing away the distance two partners might feel: “I know you’re scared of me, I can see it in your face/ I can feel it in the way you move around this place.” One of the running threads through Weathervanes is the hardship of loving someone bent low by mental illness or chronic despair, a dynamic that Isbell presents without self-pity: You can hear it in “When We Were Close,” a song of survivor’s guilt inspired by the late Justin Townes Earle, and you can hear it in “Death Wish,” about being in a partnership with someone coming undone. “I wanted action, she wanted answers,” Isbell reflects, and for the most part, Weathervanes offers neither— but it does suggest that trying to understand one another’s pain is a half-decent place to start.

Bobbie Nelson and Amanda Shires - Loving You

Before she died at age 91, the legendary Bobbie Nelson— long-time pianist for her brother Willie, and an anchor of his stalwart Family Band— completed a collaborative album with fiddlist, Highwoman, and 400 Unit emissary Amanda Shires. It bears the simple title Loving You, and a quick glance at its Apple Music entry might suggest a decidedly minor affair: Barely half an hour long, and stacked with songs (“Summertime,” “Over the Rainbow,” “Always on My Mind”) you’re heard a million times already. But with standards albums execution is everything, and while Loving You is certainly modest in scope, it’s positively radiant in its appeal, performed with deep feeling and rollicking energy. Shires— no stranger to country traditionalism— honors the fertile American roots milieu in which the Nelson family has always thrived, following Bobbie’s lead through a heartfelt program of spritely western swing, romantic big band tunes, fervent gospel, and— in the sauntering instrumental “La Paloma”— traditional Cuban music. Bobbie’s playing is nimble throughout— she’s always been an expressive instrumentalist, and she deserves her time in the spotlight here— but the real revelation is Shires, whose sultry turn in “Dream a Little Dream of Me” and wistfulness in “Always on My Mind” make me wish she’s go full Rod Stewart and record a whole series of standards albums. By the time the album winds down with “Over the Rainbow,” it’s made a strong case for the endless appeal of these traditional tunes, which sound as beautiful and as fresh as ever in the hands of these two masterful musicians. It’s hard to remember the last time we got a standards album as appealing as Loving You.