49 Winchester
The hillbilly highway runs both ways.
Issac Gibson’s red beard is part-Walt Whitman and part-Billy Gibbons.
Good songs ask a question, great ones answer it.
It’s the Saturday before Christmas and I’m backstage, sitting on a plastic folding chair at the National in Richmond, Virginia. The “rec room,” as the black lettering on the frosted glass door calls it, reminds me of a student lounge or a band hall. There’s a pool table between two spinet pianos in opposite corners, and an arcade game against a far wall. I’ve found myself here for the second sold-out night of 49 Winchester, an alt-country band that’s soon to conclude their winter tour in Richmond, and this lounge isn’t a bad spot to beat out the pre-show jitters. Isaac Gibson, the band’s lead singer and songwriter, walks in with his bassist, Chase Chafin, though neither of them sit until they make certain that I’m already comfortable. “You’re sure you’re good there?” Gibson asks for a second time before he makes his way over to the cognac leather sofa. “Yeah,” I reply, “I’m just restless.” Chafin takes the loveseat. Their mothers and sisters and lovers would be proud. The three of us …
