Last week, I went to see Jason Isbell and the 400 Unit at the Armory in Minneapolis.
It was my third time seeing the man you think is bell but is pronounced iz bull. He's both, and he never disappoints.
I tagged along with a longtime friend who is on his own journey after facing a recent diagnosis that is not pretty. I introduced him to Isbell's Southeastern several years ago, the record of what recovery looks like up close. It landed.
We had dinner before the show, and as we made our way to GA, we paused to take turns hitting the head after too many Coke Zeros. "Love the hoodie," came a voice of a Minnesota stranger over my shoulder as I looked over $40 t-shirts.
The hoodie said ROOTS and those who know what that means understand it means Canada. We talked for several minutes about New Brunswick, hockey, Isbell's new teeth, documentaries, and about the North Star State being more like Southern Canada.
No opening act. Jason and the 400 came on stage around 8:20, he said he loved Minneapolis, and then proceeded to do what he does best. I've seen a lot of great shows. Radiohead in San Diego. The Killers at the Hollywood Bowl. Foo Fighters at the X. Weezer at the Forum. Pearl Jam at Sandstone. Arcade Fire at the University of Southern California. The Jayhawks at First Ave. So many other great shows. And it will never be enough.
The track that hit me like a freight train on a Thursday night played in the building where the Minneapolis Lakers used to play. It hit me again this morning at a different park. I paced. I wept. I threw the frisbee for Jordy.
Well, I never thought I'd wind up this far behind
Just a couple years back, we had it made
And the title is the only thing I've got
I got nothin' left to lie about
I'm searching for the words like I'm back in her living room.
Jimmy Valvano said there were three things we should do every day. Number one, always first, laugh. Number two is to spend some time in thought. And that third thing should be emotions that move you to tears. A heckuva day is what he called it.
Most days I get at least two of the three. It's rarely number one on Jimmy's list. And it should be. I have zero regrets. Regrets are asinine.
What I have not been able to do since June 28, 2025, is talk to my mom. I've written about it. I've processed it. I've grieved the loss of her. I still haven't come to terms with it. The tears aren't joy yet. They will be. Just not yet.
For now, my emotions are being leased by lyrics I couldn't write or say or sing better than "King of Oklahoma."
King of Oklahoma is not about my mother. It's not about my hurt. It's not about my bills. And yet what I hear in it now that I've heard it is all of those things. I heard a version of it live. I lived it in real life.
Now my back's still hurtin'
and I'm too weak for workin'
And I can't keep
up with all the bills.
She used to wake me up
with coffee every morning
And I'd hear her
homemade house shoes
slide across the floor.
And she used to make me
feel like the king of Oklahoma
But nothing makes me feel
like much of nothing anymore.
At the end of this clip, Jason says thank you.
King of Oklahoma — the Armory, Minneapolis →Here's mine.
I've been too weak for workin'
with a head still hurtin'
And we can't keep up
with all these dues.
She used to chat me up
over coffee and cookies
And we'd hear her
homemade house blues
slide under the floor.
And she used to make me
feel like the king of Kansas
But nothing makes me feel
like that nothing anymore.