Shooter Jennings

"Electric Rodeo"

Universal South

by Dave Pilot

Got to figure for most men it’s a compliment when someone says they’re a chip off the old block.  I know my daddy’s the only hero I’ve got – we may not always like each other, but it’s impossible not to respect the way the man’s lived his life.  But then nobody’s comparing me to him.  Remarking on the contrasts between us, maybe, but sure as hell not comparing.  So I can’t imagine the weights that rest on Shooter Jennings’ shoulders.  We’ve all seen over the years what the pressure of having a legendary musical daddy can do. (see Williams, Hank Jr.)  Django Walker seems to be handling it well, but then he’s also in a slightly different paradigm than the one Shooter wakes up to.  For Jennings, there are three hills to climb.  There’s his daddy, the guy none of us ever really knew.  There’s Waylon, the guy so many of us damn near worship, and rightfully so.  And then there’s this career of his own that Shooter’s trying to build, a niche to carve on his own merit and not on his daddy’s coattails. Because if there’s one thing you’ve got to figure Old Hoss wouldn’t stand for, it’s having his boy show up and expect something for nothing.  We saw last year with Put the O Back in Cuntry that Shooter’s his own man.  Even has his own bonafide hit single now to hang a hat on.  But we also saw some aimlessness in that record, and an intermittent absence of cohesive and strong self-assurance. Too many other influences, not enough “here I am and this is what I sound like.”  The one thing that was certain is that Shooter wasn’t coming out to sound like his daddy.  And that was a good thing, a critical distinction to make with a debut album.

And now, with Electric Rodeo, we’re getting a real feel for the talent that’s been given to us.  Where the first record rocked, albeit in somewhat a contrast to its name, this one reminds what a good country song can sound like when done right.  It starts out much where the first one left off, with the title track exploding in pounding guitars and raucous vocals . It’s a wall of sound, and a relentless one at that.  But it also sets the tone – school’s in session and we’re getting the inside track:

"It’s been sixteen months since I’ve been back home
I make a lot of money I don’t know where it goes
All I know is the guitar and the bottle
My daddy was a loaded gun
He said: it ain’t no fun living on the run, son
But everywhere I go trouble seems to follow
So I ride"

That’s rough, but true, and delivered in an appropriately jarring fashion.  But no sooner does the last note fade than the tempo changes.  “Gone to Carolina” is a yearning song, a search for solace and roots amid the bustling flow.  “Some Rowdy Women,” on the other hand, is straight-ahead country-rock decidedly of the opinion that maybe life on the road isn’t all that bad after all.  But it’s the fourth cut, “The Song Is Still Slipping Away,” where we start to see what Shooter’s made of.  In every conceivable sense, this is a song that Waylon or Willie or Tompall could’ve sung.  The mournful pedal steel sets the pace while Shooter explains just how definitively life can impact the music:

"The lights of the city paint a stage in the night
For two hearts breaking in time
Wild horses are cursed with their freedom in mind
And a hunger left burning inside
Your heroes turn out to be assholes
And the light that you’re chasing in the tunnel is a train
The singer’s in key
The guitar’s in tune
But the song is still slipping away"

Introspection, however, can come in different forms, as “Little White Lines” viscerally demonstrates.  Highway lines, cocaine lines, they all pay the same.

There’s a rousing Southern killin’ song next, told by none other than Tony Joe White, all swamps and alligators and snakes and frogs and metaphors for half the problems in the world today.  The victim here’s a frog turned into gator chow, but the lesson’s one born of the stupidity and hatred that spawned atrocities from Birmingham to 9/11.  At this point the record can’t get much better.  Shooter’s come into his own right before our eyes, pushing all the right buttons and hitting all the perfect notes as his storytelling web takes form.  And that makes “Aviators” such a stunning surprise.  This cut is a yearning love song straight from the tongue-in-cheek academy, and if you don’t watch yourself you will swear on your mama’s grave that it’s a lost Waylon track.  The vocal is astonishing, so much so that it takes a listen or two to realize that the lyrics are as much a disgusted slam on a lousy woman as they are an admission that all the wrongs committed were possible simply because the protagonist didn’t give a damn.

"And I’m sorry about that time I got drunk and hit on your mom
And slashed your daddy’s tires
But I figured they had it comin’
And I’m sorry about that time that I accidentally shot your dog
And told you he ran away
Oh wait a minute
I told you about that didn’t I?
Oh darlin
And I could never share those secrets of my heart
I feel so much closer to you now that we’re apart

If our love don’t work now
Darlin’ maybe later
But you can’t see the tears behind these aviators"

Outlaw country, indeed. The real stuff.

You can find Shooter online at www.shooterjennings.com.  It’s a crappy website, driven by popup windows and a maddeningly inefficient color scheme.  In other words, the production dollars weren’t spent on the advertising.  Everything went into the record, and with one listen you’ll be glad it did.  Waylon lives, but as every father prays will be the case, he lives in the spirit and individuality of his son – a man who’s come into his own and can both pay homage to his daddy and provide fodder for a new set of legends.  Enjoy the ride.

                                                                                           

Written by Dave Pilot, June, 2006

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