Three Nights With Jason Isbell That I’ll Never Get Over

Looking back on three powerful nights with Jason Isbell at The Pinnacle in Nashville.

If you’re familiar with me, or if we’ve ever had a conversation that even touched on music, you probably already know how much I adore Jason Isbell. Since I first discovered him in 2021, his music has become a constant in my life. Through the highs, the heartbreaks, the stress, the stillness, the change—he’s been there. His songs have helped me make sense of the world and how I fit in it. In just the last three years, I’ve seen him five times with the 400 Unit. But this weekend? This was my first time seeing him solo. Just him and his guitar. And it was something I’ll never forget.

He played three nights at Nashville’s brand-new venue, The Pinnacle. The venue opened in February, tucked inside the Nashville Yards. It felt like a hybrid between The Ryman and The Basement East: intimate but still full of energy. Usually, The Pinnacle is general admission, but for this run, the setup was transformed into a more formal, seated layout. Everyone had assigned seats, which already gave it a different vibe than most shows. There was this air of reverence, like we were about to witness something sacred.

On March 7th, just before this run, Jason released Foxes in the Snow, his first-ever solo album—just his voice and his guitar. The record feels like a meditation, like he’s letting us read a diary that’s raw, reflective, and honest. He’s gone through a lot personally these past few years, and you can hear it in every line. The album feels like he’s closing one chapter and cautiously opening another. New places. New people. A new season of life. To celebrate that, he launched a solo acoustic tour, and these Nashville shows were the heart of it.

Before each show started, there was an announcement asking the crowd to keep phones away. That alone made the whole experience feel different. No screens lighting up the room. No recording for Instagram. Just quiet, focused attention. In my 24 years, and after seeing more than 100 shows, I can honestly say I’ve never seen a crowd so locked in. You could hear every breath, every foot tap, every tiny shift in tone. That kind of silence only happens when people are fully immersed, and that’s the environment Jason had created.

Each night began with a different song: Thursday started with “Bury Me,” Friday opened with “Overseas,” and Saturday kicked off with my personal favorite, “King of Oklahoma.” That unpredictability made it all the more special. Every night had a different setlist. Some staples were there each show—songs from the new album, of course, and classics like “If We Were Vampires”—but everything else was a surprise. That excitement of not knowing what was coming next made the whole experience feel alive.

Isbell’s stage presence is magnetic. What made this run even more special for me, as someone who’s a longtime fan, was how he talked to the crowd between songs. It felt like I was sitting in on a private taping of VH1 Storytellers. And while some might expect deep dives into the meaning behind each song, he kept most of his stories light and genuinely funny—like, laugh-out-loud funny. Some of the story highlights: the secret town in Alabama with no police. The time he stayed in a Prince-themed hotel with two connected bathrooms. His worst day ever—driving a beat-up white Beretta with no working AC from Memphis to Alabama in the dead heat of summer. And my personal favorite: his grandmother insisting on only buying “frat-free” foods (yes, she meant fat-free).

He had the whole crowd cracking up. And that’s something I love about him. Jason is able to hold grief and joy in the same hand. He’s written some of the most emotional songs I’ve ever heard, but onstage, he’ll hit you with a one-liner that makes you laugh so hard you nearly fall out of your seat. There’s such comfort in that. He’s human. He’s real. There’s no persona, just Jason.

This weekend felt especially personal for me. Some of you know that I’m on the autism spectrum, and Jason’s music has been my biggest special interest for the last few years. I don’t just like his songs. I study them. I live in them. I know every chord, every lyric, every shift in vocal tone. I found his music when I needed it the most—when the world felt confusing and overwhelming—and it’s brought me a sense of calm and clarity I hadn’t found elsewhere. I genuinely believe music can be medicine. And Jason’s has been that for me.

One of the most emotional moments came during Thursday’s encore, when he brought out David Rawlings and they played “Pancho and Lefty.” Jason recorded a haunting version of this Townes Van Zandt song back in 2013. It’s always been a bit of a sacred track for me. I don’t play it all the time like I do with “24 Frames” or “Something More Than Free.” Instead, it’s the song I turn to when I’m anxious, overstimulated, or just need something soothing. As soon as I hear that first guitar note and Jason’s voice, it’s like my body starts to relax. Like someone wrapping me in a warm blanket and telling me it’s okay to just be.

So when I heard the first few strums of that song in the encore, I froze. I didn’t cry. I didn’t cheer. I just sat there, stunned, jaw slightly open, and took it all in. In that moment, it didn’t feel like I was one of 4,500 people in a venue. It felt like Jason and Rawlings were sitting in my living room playing my comfort song directly to me.

Another moment that hit in a similar way was when Jason played “Chaos and Clothes,” a deep cut from The Nashville Sound. That track, in particular, has always felt like balm to the soul. I never thought I’d get to hear it live, and when he started singing it, I felt myself melt into the seat.

Over the course of those three nights, he played 20 songs I had never heard live before. That’s huge for a fan like me who’s already seen him multiple times. Songs from the Drive-By Truckers era like “Danko/Manuel” and “Outfit,” or older solo tracks like “If It Takes a Lifetime,” felt like rare treasures. Even familiar songs like “Traveling Alone,” “Alabama Pines,” and “Middle of the Morning” took on a whole new energy in this stripped-down solo format. I was floored.

And the encores with David Rawlings? Absolutely stunning. Their chemistry was so natural. The way they played off each other on guitar was mesmerizing, and Rawlings’ voice gave me chills. I’d known his name, but now I’m fully converted into a fan. Watching him perform with such joy—this huge, genuine smile that never left his face—was a highlight in itself. He and Gillian Welch released an album in August 2024 called Woodland, and it’s already become a favorite of mine.

When I think about everything Jason’s music has done for me, it’s honestly overwhelming. Without his songs, I don’t think I’d have this blog. I don’t think I’d have started my radio show. I might never have fallen in love with Nashville the way I have. So many of the people I’ve interviewed or connected with—so many of the friendships I’ve made—trace back to discovering his work. His music is the through-line of my early 20s. It’s helped me process life, loss, identity, the South, love, change, and everything in between.

I hadn’t originally planned on going to Saturday’s show. I had tickets for Thursday and Friday with friends and figured that would be enough. But after those two nights, I couldn’t shake the feeling that I needed to see it one more time. I found a last-minute ticket and went solo, and it ended up being my favorite night. I had a lower-level seat, right up close, and soaked in every detail. The setup of the stage. The taps of Jason’s boots. The strums of his guitar. I felt completely immersed. It was quiet and sacred and everything I needed.

After the show ended, I lingered by the stage hoping to grab a setlist. I didn’t get one, but I did catch one of Jason’s guitar picks, handed to me by his tech. It was this small, unexpected gift at the end of a perfect weekend. And I’ll treasure it forever.

These three nights meant everything to me. I laughed. I reflected. I cried. I healed. It felt like my own personal version of Eat, Pray, Love, except through song. I’m just so grateful that I found Jason’s music—and that he continues to share it with all of us. These shows reminded me why I love music so much. Why I write. Why I care. Why I feel.

And I’ll carry that feeling with me always.