There’s a sense of security fans feel when attending a concert at Radians Amphitheater, and it’s not just from the bucolic surroundings of the Memphis Botanic Garden. It’s more from the professionalism exuded by the staff there, which is saying something when it’s on the scale of Radians. The towering stage, covered with scaffolds of lights, lined with speakers capable of projecting bass frequencies like cannons, instantly transports audience members to another realm, where teams of show business veterans scurry behind the scenes to ensure that nothing’s out of place.
That was especially true when Mempho Presents brought Jason Isbell and the 400 Unit to the Radians stage last Saturday. From the lights to the sound to the concessions, everything was pulled off without a hitch — an occasion to celebrate in this age of ever-impending chaos. Of course, it wouldn’t have meant much if the performers didn’t make all that support meaningful, but it turned out they were a bulwark against chaos too. This was a band of veteran troubadours capable of bringing a flawless show.
The music, as all Isbell fans know, is full of big, sustained chords and shredding solos that underpin the perceptive pen and voice of Isbell himself, and it was executed so meticulously that every verse and chorus rang out in perfect clarity. And that was the main point, for it’s the lyrics that make Isbell’s songs stand out as exceptional touchstones of our time.
As it turns out, Memphis had something to do with that. Though he didn’t finish his bachelor’s degree at the time, Isbell studied English and creative writing at the University of Memphis. And the influence of a more writerly approach can be heard in nearly every song of his.
“Tried to go to college but I didn’t belong/Everything I said was either funny or wrong/Laughed at my boots, laughed at my jeans/Laughed when they gave me amphetamines,” he sang on one crowd-pleaser in particular, “Last of My Kind.” Judging from the rapt attention of his fans, those words were hitting home.
After he’d finished the song, Isbell made it clear that those words had nothing to do with him personally. “My college experience happened here at the University of Memphis,” he exclaimed to wild applause. “Until one day in class when it occurred to me, ‘It’s not illegal for me to just leave.'” That’s exactly what he did, embarking on the life of a rock-and-roller.
“But,” he added, “thanks to the U of M, I’ve finally received my degree. Thanks, University of Memphis. I appreciate that!” And with that, the band launched into the Stonesy “Super 8,” with the uplifting chorus, “Don’t wanna die in a Super 8 motel!”
That wasn’t the only time the singer/songwriter tipped his hat to Memphis. Introducing his drummer, he noted that Chad Gamble had lived in Memphis many years. “His brother Al still lives here too,” Isbell added, “but he can’t play the drums for shit!” Al Gamble being a nationally celebrated keyboardist, the crowd chuckled appreciatively.
By then their ears were primed to hear the name of our fair city. When the band launched into “White Beretta” and Isbell sang “We’ll go to Memphis in the morning,” a wave of shouts and “woo-hoos” echoed around us. It was not unwelcome, but rather counter to the mood of the song. “Raised in the church, washed in the blood/We all were saved before we even left home/I thank God you weren’t brought up like me/With all that shame and certainty.”
One thing that Isbell was certain of that night: He liked the smell of Memphis. He made a brief allusion to the singer Morrisey, who was “forced offstage at Coachella by smell of burning meat” back in 2009 (according to a report in the Guardian). He and the 400 Unit were very different, Isbell testified. “In Memphis,” he announced, “if you don’t smell meat cooking, you don’t have to go on stage.”
