At a glance

The truckload of praise dumped on singer-songwriter Jason Isbell after his most recent album release has yet to bury him.

Raised in rural Alabama, he credits his parents and grandparents for exposing him to instruments and melodies from an early age.

An unpretentious Isbell added that what pushed him ahead was, in general, a commitment to the mundane.

“Every time I forced myself to stay in a chair and pursue my craft, I had a leg up on other people who didn’t put as much time into their craft,” the 38-year-old said.

His refusal to romanticize the grit needed to last 16 years as a touring musician St. Jason Isbell & the 400 Unit Ohio Theatre, 39 E. State 1-800-745-3000, www.ticketmaster.com 7:30 p.m. Sunday $34.50 to $39.50

might not scream star power, but it has kept him at the head of the pack of Americana-leaning artists. (And helped land him a show on Sunday at the Ohio Theatre.)

Isbell joined roots-rock group Drive-By Truckers in 2001 as a full-time guitarist and sometimes-songwriter when he was only 22.

The band shared one cellphone, hauled its own gear and slept in cheap hotels.

“These guys had no illusions. They never expected to sell a million records, but they were never going to quit. That opened my eyes,” he said. “No one can make me stop. If I want to keep doing this, I’ll keep doing this.”

In the early days, Isbell kept afloat with endless bottles of booze. His drinking began long before each show started and continued onstage when band members shared the same bottle of Jack Daniel's whiskey.

Isbell split from the Truckers in 2007 to go solo, crafting backing band the 400 Unit from an assortment of Southern rockers. Rather than the rough-hewn guitars and squalling vocals of Drive-By Truckers, Isbell’s personal project leaned into his strength: storytelling.

2011’s “Here We Rest” focused on hard times hitting his hometown. In 2013, Isbell pulled back with the soft “Southeastern.”

The latter is, in part, an ode to his success at attaining sobriety. After he started a relationship with fiddler and singer Amanda Shires in 2012, she stepped between Isbell and his drinking problem and persuaded him to go to rehab.

Shires — who now performs with the 400 Unit as well as solo — and Isbell were married the next year, and they bring their young daughter on tour.

Although it is not as romanticized as the “Spinal Tap” version of band life, Isbell likes his situation just fine.

“I don’t feel like I’m digging myself out of a grave to get onstage,” he said. “It’s

different, but I think it’s a lot more sustainable than ‘I’m hurting, so I’m going to drink’ or drinking until I’m hurting. It’s a lot better touring with people you care about than trying to impress a bunch of strangers.”

As for the younger rockers following his original path: “We all kind of feel bad for

them,” Isbell said. “I know it seems like a really good idea, but if you don’t outgrow that at some point, you’re (expletive).

His latest release, “The Nashville Sound,” finds Isbell settling into family life without settling for complacency. He wrestles with his mental state in “Anxiety” and with his privilege in “White Man’s World." The haunting love song “If We Were Vampires”

explores mortality’s effect on relationships.

“There’s a transition that a lot of songwriters try to make that I stepped into with this most recent album,” he said. “At a certain point, you solve all your problems and start writing about things outside your door. But the struggle is (in) not becoming vague. The broader your topic, the farther you go outside the intimate circle of your life, the easier it is to lose your meaning.”

When the meaning is lost, listeners often go off base on interpreting lyrics.

To avoid misunderstanding, Isbell said, songwriters have to sit in that chair and intentionally improve their craft. And even if no one else perfectly understands, at least the songwriters are contributing something of value to the world.

“To me, there are two categories of songwriters: people trying to write themselves into a lottery ticket, and people who are trying to explain the world to themselves,” he said. “I think if you’re doing the latter, you’re doing it right.” show

Turning 20 this year, the jam-rock band doesn’t make fussy music. 7 p.m. Tuesday

$10; $3 surcharge for ages 18 to 20