Soul Survivor
“I COME out here to make a lot of noise,” says Jason Isbell, unlocking the door on what appears, from the outside at least, to be a regular barn located deep in the Tennessee countryside. But the inside resembles something like a rumpus room, painted completely black and filled with instruments and gear – like a toybox tumped over by a hyperactive kid. “That Marshall used to belong to Neil Young,” he says, nodding towards a large black amp. “It gets real loud. That with my ’59 Les Paul is a lot of fun.”
The barn isn’t quite a studio, despite having more than enough equipment. It’s not quite a live venue either, despite the large stage at one end and the constellation of mirrorballs dangling from the ceiling. It’s not quite an office, despite all the books and notebooks. It’s not quite a museum, despite the posters from previous tours hanging on the walls, the signed flyers from Gregg Allman and Mavis Staples, and the massive painting of a nude woman and a fearsome bird by Drive-By Truckers artist Wes Freed. And it’s not quite an artist’s studio, despite the canvases, some blank and others with watercolour landscapes, stashed near a huge window overlooking a flat pasture. “Those belong to my mother-in-law,” he says. “She likes to sit out here and paint and watch her horse.”
The barn is like a playroom: one of the few rock star indulgences by one of the most celebrated singer-songwriters in Nashville. “I write out here sometimes, but more often I write in the bedroom at the house,” Isbell explains. “I’m just more comfortable writing on a bed, so that’s where I do a lot of my work. And it’s not really treated for recording. I’ve done a few solo acoustic demos, but it’s a little too big and boomy.
“I don’t love recording at home. If you’re working at home
