When I started this column, I didn’t envision ever writing an album review. But this album calls for it.
There’s a new Waylon Jennings album out, and if you grew up on the gritty outlaw grooves that dominated Nashville in the seventies, Songbird will surprise and maybe even disarm you — in the best possible way. Released last Friday, Songbird is a collection of previously unheard recordings from Waylon, newly compiled and mixed by his son, Shooter Jennings. It’s the first of a trove of posthumous collections that Shooter has been assembling from sessions dating mostly from the mid-seventies through the early eighties.
What makes Songbird feel different from some other posthumous projects is how present Waylon himself sounds. These aren’t rough demos tossed together; many of the tracks were clearly recorded with release in mind and then shelved for one reason or another. The result is a lean, intimate thirty-minute listening experience that shows a gentler side of a man more often remembered for snarling outlaw bravado than tender balladry. Critics who got early listens describe the record as carefully produced and faithful to Waylon’s spirit, and fans on message boards have pointed out a few real highlights that stick with you after the first play.
Musically, Songbird sits comfortably between classic country and a softer, more reflective singer’s album. Shooter’s mixes emphasize Waylon’s voice and the natural acoustic textures — piano, steel, and understated rhythm — rather than trying to modernize or overproduce. That restraint pays off: you hear the phrasing and warmth that made his recordings from the late seventies so memorable. Several reviewers singled out the title track, “Songbird,” and a ballad called “I Don’t Have Anymore Love Songs” as standouts — songs that reveal a quieter, almost conversational Waylon. And if you listen intently, and alone, those two in particular may make you a little misty. No whisky required (though it wouldn’t hurt). In the half-dozen times I’ve tracked it start-to-finish thus far, “Brand New Tennessee Waltz” has become an early favorite, and is perhaps the peak of the collection’s nod to the traditional.
The album also benefits from contributions by some familiar voices and faces. Jessi Colter, Waylon’s wife and longtime musical partner, adds beautiful harmony vocals that bring emotional depth to several songs. On the opening track, Ashley Monroe and Elizabeth Cook lend fresh harmony parts that blend seamlessly with Waylon’s baritone — a thoughtful nod to today’s country scene that never feels out of place. Shooter Jennings himself plays piano, adds tasteful overdubs, and even joins the vocal mix in spots, tying generations together.
In a fitting touch, the four surviving members of Waylon’s backing band, The Waylors, reunited to help finish the album, completing a few unfinished pieces with the same feel and rhythm they carried on stage decades ago. Their presence gives the record its heartbeat — steady, genuine, and unmistakably Waylon.
So what should WRBI listeners expect? If you love the classic Waylon — the voice that cut through “Lonesome, On’ry & Mean” and “This Time” — you’ll recognize the same timbre and swagger here, but tempered by songs that show restraint and heart. For younger listeners curious about the outlaw legacy, Songbird can serve as a gentle entry point: short, well-sequenced, and emotionally direct. Several country outlets that previewed the album called it a “wonderful addition” to his catalog and praised Shooter for keeping the project respectful rather than exploitative.
Is it essential? For die-hard Waylon completists, yes — and for anyone who loves well-made country storytelling, it’s worth a listen. If you’re comparing it to the incendiary peak albums of his career, Songbird isn’t trying to be that; it’s a carefully curated look at a different facet of the man and his music. Put it on in the background at the shop, play it slow on a drive, or bring it home to someone who remembers the old days — it fits those moments well.