Leave it to Jason Isbell to raise the stakes at an event overflowing with promise Saturday at a sold-out Auditorium Theatre. In town for the North American launch of his six-week “An Intimate Evening with Jason Isbell” tour and his first area solo appearance, the revered vocalist-guitarist doubled down by using the occasion to make the Stateside debut of six new songs and the public premiere of a seventh (“Open and Close”). Over the course of 85 remarkable minutes, he furthered the case for himself as the finest singer-songwriter of his generation.
So much for worrying about bootlegging and phone-shot videos posting online before people get a chance to hear the studio album arriving in early March. Or fretting about muted reactions and restroom trips by fans unfamiliar with the songs.
Such concerns have all but put a stop to major artists woodshedding fresh ideas or surprising listeners with unreleased music at shows. Then again, Isbell seldom adheres to popular convention. That characteristic extends to his capacity to fill a 3,875-seat venue, receive near dead-quiet audience cooperation and provide a spellbinding blend of sincerity, craftsmanship and virtuosity with only his voice and a few acoustic guitars at his disposal.
Amid our age of attention deficits, Isbell’s achievements carry significant weight, particularly in a time when expectations for lavish spectacles continue to grow and lyric prompters, pre-recorded vocals and backing tracks are increasingly commonplace.
Isbell told everyone he considered the tour name “gross” and pointed out that his intimacy with crowds at concerts started long before now. Seated for the duration, the affable Alabama native offered nothing in the way of bells or whistles. He didn’t benefit from the presence of a single accompanist, let alone the volume and interplay of his customary band. Isbell shunned visual backdrops and projection screens, opting for basic lighting and a spartan setup.
His indulgences? A guitar technician who occasionally walked onstage to trade instruments with him, a glass of water perched next to his chair. Though by modern standards, the bare-bones approach might be deemed anachronistic — a remnant from a bygone era — Isbell made it seem at once connective, contemporary and courageous.
Chicago last saw Isbell pass through in September with his dependable 400 Unit band at Ravinia. That date followed on the heels of a pair of late-winter concerts at Salt Shed.
Per usual, Isbell spent a majority of the remaining year on the road with a relentless schedule that included a lengthy European leg and, in what’s become tradition, a prolonged run in October in his current home base of Nashville, Tennessee. That same month, Isbell retreated to New York City to record his first entirely solo LP, the forthcoming “Foxes in the Snow,” on a mahogany 1940 Martin 0-17 acoustic guitar in just five days at Electric Lady Studios.
Time will tell if that effort will add to Isbell’s impressive awards resume that already counts six Grammys and a record-breaking three best albums from the Americana Music Honors. While not exactly a mainstream artist, the former Drive-By Truckers member continues to grow his faithful following. Another key if less obvious sign of Isbell’s elevated status in the industry: Partnerships with two prominent guitar manufacturers that released models bearing his name.
Cutting a dapper figure in a black suit and black dress shoes, Isbell repeatedly demonstrated why any reputable six-string purveyor would desire that affiliation. Resonant, pure and fluid, Isbell’s deceivingly simple playing often gave the impression more than one guitar was responsible for the detailed lines, radiant harmonics and brilliant textures. He roamed country, blues, folk, jazz and roots landscapes, alternating between strummed chords and finger-picked patterns whose spidery architecture left plenty of space for words.
Isbell channeled Southern-fried twang, melodic soul, rustic balladry, troubadour boogie and pick-and-grin bluegrass. With his left leg moving to an invisible beat, Isbell wielded his right hand akin to the second hand of a clock, keeping steady time and brushing against strings with varying degrees of force to shape the sound. He added minor accents to a handful of older tunes and adjusted solos on several others, yet resisted embellishment and excess.
Operating with quiet confidence and thoughtful integrity and inserting brief banter and a few jokes into the set for balance, Isbell showed how much his singing was on par with his instrumental prowess. Freed from having to compete with amplified instruments in a group, his voice enjoyed the same priority as his guitar. Isbell harbored a host of strengths — pitch control, projection and phrasing, plus a warm drawl that cushioned sharp syllables with soft landings — that increased his flair for storytelling and communicating feelings ranging from heartbreak to empathy and anger with clarity and directness.
He probed how meanings change as we age (“Gravelweed”); dispensed sage advice (“Outfit”); sifted through the detritus of fractured relationships (“Eileen”); chronicled different kinds of pain tied to familial love (“Cast Iron Skillet,” “If We Were Vampires”); and contemplated the highs and lows of watching life from a safe distance via a John Prine classic (“Storm Windows”). Isbell seamlessly paired indignation with introspection (“True Believer”), and accountability with longing (“Alabama Pines”), functioning as the equivalent of a driver who granted listeners a passenger-seat view of scenery and specifics as they crystallized in his mind.
Tonally registering as if carved from a medium-hard piece of oak, his transparent deliveries — mellow whispers, conversational assertions, longing moans, resolute cries — served as effective vessels for those character sketches and autobiographical reflections. Isbell’s authoritative vocal performance also highlighted his savvy wordplay and observations, tools that reinforced his music’s tight links with descriptive language and honest perspective.
“I don’t say things that I don’t mean,” Isbell sang on the fast-paced “Ride to Robert’s.” His conviction, and the conscientiousness he invested in every song, left no doubt.
Bob Gendron is a freelance critic.
Setlist from the Auditorium Theatre on Feb. 15:
“Bury Me”
“Outfit” (Drive-By Truckers cover)
“Foxes in the Snow”
“Gravelweed”
“Middle of the Morning”
“Eileen”
“Alabama Pines”
“Open and Close”
“Cover Me Up”
“Traveling Alone”
“Storm Windows” (John Prine cover)
“If We Were Vampires”
“Cast Iron Skillet”
“Relatively Easy”
Encore
“Ride to Robert’s”
“Beth/Rest” (Bon Iver cover)
“True Believer”
