Shooter Jennings, the son of country outlaw legend Waylon Jennings, delivered a raw, emotional confession during a recent Nashville studio session that has left fans and fellow musicians reeling. Sitting amid the glow of dimmed lights and scattered guitar picks, the 35-year-old singer-songwriter admitted he still hears his father’s voice echoing in the quiet hours, a haunting remnant of a legacy that’s both a blessing and a burden. “I tried to escape the shadow, but it never left me,” Jennings said, his voice cracking in a moment captured on video and shared by close collaborators. The revelation, tied to the release of “Songbird”—a posthumous album of Waylon’s lost recordings unearthed and produced by Shooter—has struck a chord in the country community, reminding everyone of the complex weight carried by children of icons.

The interview, excerpted in a teaser clip for an upcoming episode of Rolling Stone’s “Nashville Now” podcast, aired on October 15, 2025, and quickly went viral, amassing over 2 million views on YouTube within hours. Jennings, known for his gravelly baritone and genre-blending sound that echoes his father’s outlaw spirit but carves its own rugged path, appeared visibly moved as he delved into the personal toll of Waylon’s towering presence. Waylon Jennings, who died in 2002 at 64 from complications of diabetes, left behind a catalog of hits like “Luckenbach, Texas (Back to the Basics of Love)” and “Good Hearted Woman,” revolutionizing country music with his rebellious streak alongside Willie Nelson and Waylon’s own wife, Jessi Colter.

Shooter, born Waylon Albright Jennings II in 1979, has spent his career navigating that formidable shadow. Growing up in Nashville’s music epicenter, surrounded by the likes of Johnny Cash and Kris Kristofferson, he was thrust into the spotlight early. “Dad was larger than life—his voice wasn’t just in songs; it was in the house, the bus, the air we breathed,” Shooter reflected in the podcast snippet. But the confession cuts deeper: “I still hear his voice at night. Sometimes it comforts me, like he’s right there guiding a riff… other times it haunts me, whispering what if I measure up?” The words landed like a gut punch, drawing parallels to Shooter’s own struggles with identity, addiction, and the pressure to honor a name synonymous with authenticity in an industry often accused of polish over grit.

This isn’t the first time Shooter has grappled publicly with his father’s influence. In a 2021 Rolling Stone feature, he spoke of fleeing Nashville for Los Angeles in his teens, desperate to shed the “Waylon’s son” label. “I didn’t like being Waylon’s kid,” he admitted then, echoing sentiments from his 2005 TODAY interview where he described the “circus” of expectations. Yet, like many second-generation artists, Shooter has circled back, channeling that tension into his music. His production work—helming Tanya Tucker’s Grammy-winning “While I’m Livin’” and Brandi Carlile’s critically acclaimed albums—has earned him respect on his own merits, but Waylon’s ghost lingers. “You spend half your life trying to live up to him, and the other half trying to break free,” Shooter continued in the Nashville clip. “But some shadows… they don’t fade. They live inside you.”

The timing of the confession couldn’t be more poignant. It coincides with the October 3, 2025, release of “Songbird,” the first in a three-album series of previously unheard Waylon Jennings tracks that Shooter painstakingly unearthed from dusty tapes in a locked childhood storage room. Discovered during a 2024 residency at Hollywood’s Sunset Sound Studio, the recordings—fully fleshed multitracks from the early ’80s featuring Waylon and his band, The Waylors—paint a softer portrait of the outlaw icon. Tracks like a vulnerable take on Jesse Winchester’s “Brand New Tennessee Waltz” and JJ Cale’s “I’d Like to Love You Baby” reveal Waylon’s remorseful side, far from the rebel yell of his hits. “These weren’t demos; they were meant for release,” Shooter told Holler magazine in a September 2025 interview, his voice thick with the weight of the find. “Hearing him unfiltered… it’s like he’s in the room, laughing, cursing, singing. That’s the voice I hear at night.”

“Songbird” has been a critical darling, debuting at No. 3 on the Billboard Country Albums chart and earning praise for its intimacy. Rolling Stone called it “a gentle giant of an album, stripping away the myth to show Waylon the man.” Shooter, who mixed the tracks with surviving Waylors members, described the process as cathartic yet excruciating. “It was like a movie—emotional, but his presence was so real,” he shared. The project extends Waylon’s reach into 2025, with two more albums slated for 2026 and 2027, including rarities from the ’70s outlaw peak. “Even though he’s my father, he belongs to the people,” Shooter added. “I’m just the caretaker.”

Fans flooded social media with support, many sharing their own stories of living in legacies—literal or figurative. “As a kid of divorce, I get the ‘shadow’ thing—Shooter putting it to words hits hard,” one X user posted, garnering 15K likes. Others hailed the vulnerability: “This is the most honest confession ever from an artist in a legend’s shadow,” mirroring the prompt’s sentiment. It’s not bitterness, as Shooter emphasizes, but a tapestry of love and grief: “His voice haunts because it’s home. It comforts because it’s him.”

Shooter’s path mirrors Waylon’s in defiance. After early stints in rock bands like Stargunn, he pivoted to country with his 2005 debut “Put the O Back in Country,” a gritty nod to his roots. Albums like “Black Ribbons” (2009) and “The Other Life” (2013) blended psych-rock edges, but “Shooter” (2018) reclaimed the outlaw flame, earning a Grammy nod for producing. Fatherhood with wife Misty Brooke (daughter Stella, 3) has grounded him further, though he admits the “haunting” persists. “Tour buses feel empty without his stories,” he told Whiskey Riff in an October 2025 feature.

Waylon himself foresaw this duality. In a 1988 SPIN interview unearthed recently, he mused on Shooter’s potential: “There’s more to him than that [music]… but if he chooses it, I’ll be proud.” Waylon quit drugs cold turkey in 1984 partly for Shooter, earning his GED in 1990 as a role model. “He was my hero, the one I looked up to,” Shooter echoed in a 2019 tribute after brother Terry’s death.

The confession’s ripple? It’s boosted “Songbird” streams 30% post-podcast, per Spotify data, and sparked calls for a Waylon docuseries. Shooter, eyeing a bar honoring his dad (“Talks are ongoing,” he teased on “Nashville Now”), vows to keep the voice alive—haunting or not. “Some shadows don’t fade,” he said. “They guide.” In Nashville’s neon glow, where ghosts strum eternal, Shooter’s vow rings true: Legacy isn’t escaped; it’s embraced.