Protest vs. Memorial vs. Ego in "Dress Blues"

Peeling back the layers on a great song

In one of Jason Isbell’s finest songs, “Dress Blues,” he memorializes a man named Matthew Conley, a young man from Isbell’s hometown who was killed in the Iraq War. This is not a fan theory - Isbell himself has said that the song is about Conley. Like many of Isbell’s songs, the writing is absurdly pointed in its observations, and smooth, Prine-like melodies carry you smoothly through a thicket of emotionally charged lyrics.

What can you see from your window?

I can’t see anything from mine

Flags on the side of the highway

And scripture on grocery store signs 

Maybe 18 was too early 

Maybe 30 or 40 is too 

Did you get your chance to make peace with the man 

Before he sent down his angels for you? 

Right off the bat, Isbell establishes the tension in this song. He sings that he can’t see anything from his window, but quickly follows with a visual observation -  flags on the side of the highway, and scripture on grocery store signs - implying that the symbols of patriotism mean nothing. He’s writing in the soldier memorial genre, but he’s also marking his territory and declaring he doesn’t go in for all the bullshit. 

Your wife said this all would be funny 

When you got back home in a week 

You’d turn 22 and we’d celebrate you

In a bar or a tent by the creek 

Your baby would just about be here

And your very last tour would be up

But you won’t be back, they’re all dressing in black 

Drinking sweet tea in styrofoam cups

This is a heartbreaking verse, as Isbell imagines Conley’s return, the good ‘ol boys hangout they would’ve had (more on this later). The brilliant twist here is when he allows for the unreliability of imagination by saying they’d celebrate in a bar or a tent by the creek. Because he doesn’t know; because it isn’t real. It pierces through the happiness of the words and reminds you of that. 

Here, as in many of Isbell’s songs, the prospect of being a father looms over everything. From the beginning - think of the rural saintliness of “Outfit,” or the cruelty displayed in “Songs She Sang In The Shower” - Isbell has emphasized the promises and fears of having children. It the Isbell mythos, fatherhood is an all-important experience that cleanses or condemns you, and Matthew Conley - the purported subject of this song - got to experience neither. 

The high school gymnasium's ready

Full of flowers and old legionnaires

Nobody showed up to protest

Just sniffle and stare

There's red, white, and blue in the rafters

And there's silent old men from the corps

What did they say when they shipped you away

To fight somebody's Hollywood war?

Isbell veers back to present-day in this verse, as he describes the funeral ceremony held at the high school gym. I think “gymnasium” is a purposeful choice here - besides the usefulness of the extra syllables, it imparts a sort of ‘50s veneer on the scene matched by the old legionnaires. 

But the second stanza is the one that really fucks you up. The “silent old men” from the corps are only allowed their honor for a moment, stripped away in the very next line as Isbell notes their silence extended to Matthew Conley when he was shipped off to fight a bullshit war. “Hollywood War” is a load-bearing phrase - it is in the tradition of Dylan’s “Masters of War”, or Prine’s “Your Flag Decal Won’t Get You Into Heaven Anymore.”

Chorus changes 

I listened to this song about 30 times today, and on repeated listens you realize that this song is a little self-centered for a song about a real person who died. I agree with the message of the song, and share Isbell’s skepticism for America’s engagement in overseas conflicts. But again and again, he undercuts every myth that people tell themselves about a man like Matthew Conley. Take the chorus, which changes each time it is used (Isbell is a master of economy). 

Mamas and grandmamas love you 

'Cause that's all they know how to do 

But you never planned on the bombs in the sand 

Or sleeping in your dress blues

Is there a little sneer to this lyric? Mamas and grandmamas loving you is nice, but the implication is that their love is involuntary, genetic. And maybe it’s because they don’t know any better. The next chorus is slightly different.

Mamas and grandmamas love you 

American boys hate to lose 

But you never planned on the bombs in the sand 

Or sleeping in your dress blues

“American boys hate to lose” says it all by saying nearly nothing. It’s a brilliant lyric. Matthew Conley was a high-school quarterback, which adds a layer here. Isbell is talking about the attitudinal context of enlistment. The idea that you’re going to go win a war. But no one plans on dying. 

And nobody here could forget you

American boys hate to lose 

But you never planned on the bombs in the sand 

Or sleeping in your dress blues

Isbell ends the song with his most sincere expression of sadness. He pulls out all the bar-rock crooner stops on “nobody here could forget you,” making it sound like a genuine expression of grief, and honors Conley’s death by giving it purpose as a reminder of what there is to lose. 

Self-Centeredness, and Sincerity

What interests me about this song is to what extent it is sincere, and to what extent that matters. Take this quote from Isbell: 

"I knew Matt Conley not very well, he was a few years younger. I was coming off a tour with the (Drive-By) Truckers, and I called my mom and she told me about his funeral, which she'd attended that day, and when I got home I wrote 'Dress Blues' in a time it takes to write it down on a piece of paper. I already had the chord progression from a song I've been working on about Mickey Rooney, of all things. The song just fit that tune."

I’m not sure Isbell strikes the right tone when he brags about how quickly he wrote the song. But more importantly, he reveals a few things here. He didn’t know Matthew Conley very well, and didn’t attend the funeral he writes about. The latter is striking, as he brutalizes the funeral, framing it as a false performance of grief.

Think back to the verse where Isbell imagines celebrating Conley’s return. That lyric is odd when you realize that Isbell would almost certainly not have been at this celebration. Like many (but not all) decorated songwriters, his greatest talent lies in his ability to pretend to be someone else. In this song, I would argue that Isbell takes on a slightly different persona. This character is Jason Isbell if he never left. A guy who never became a rockstar, a guy who still has time to go to funerals held in gymnasiums and sneer at the hypocritical legionnaires. This pull towards the stasis of his hometown, its mixture of fantasy and nightmare, is a tension that drives many of Isbell’s best songs - “Speed Trap Song” is a great example.

When you do the deep dive on “Dress Blues,” you realize that Matthew Conley isn’t really the subject. Not in the way that Justin Townes Earle is the subject of “When We Were Close.” Frankly, I’m not sure Isbell knows that much about Matthew Conley. If he does, it isn’t in this song. Isbell prioritizes his political critique and personal perspective to the extent that he takes center stage.

There are some people who would consider this a serious criticism to level at Jason Isbell. I am not one of those people. The songwriter canon is filled to the brim with ego freaks. Leonard Cohen memorialized Janis Joplin with a song about her giving him head. Isbell is our greatest living songwriter, and this is a great song.