Barnes & Noble
Grinding, churning, stomping, and wailing, Shooter Jennings's third album blazes a scorched-earth southern rock path through a baker's dozen original tunes notable mostly for their merciless vocal, rhythmic, and instrumental attack. The Louisiana Man himself, Doug Kershaw, stops by to get things off to a furious start by lending his aggressive, relentless fiddle cries to the Skynyrd-style guitar crunch of "This Ol' Wheel," a partly spoken, partly sung tale in which Shooter relates the often harrowing details of a star-crossed road trip that seems his lot in life. The complexities of an enduring love affair form the narrative of a majestic, hard-nosed rocker, "Tangled Up Roses," that reaches epic proportions in the mix of its ensemble drive, robust organ support, and gospel-styled background declamations by the Settles Connection. Third song in, Shooter countrifies Mark Knopfler's "Walk of Life," with sizzling twin guitar leads, a thundering rhythm section, and an expressive, gritty lead vocal that delivers both nuance and attitude in one fierce reading. The lilting rhythm and genial sentiments of "Old Friend" underscore a debt to Guy Clark songcraft, but the mariachi horns (arranged by Jim Horn), some soulful background harmonies, and some helter-skelter pedal steel flurries send the song out on a wild-eyed Doug Sahm note. In the roiling title song, Shooter wonders, "Am I country enough / or too rock 'n' roll," but he doesn't seem to worry about the answer as the Settles soar in southern gospel harmony and the guitars sound a gut-rattling Zeppelin riff behind him. Clearly, Shooter Jennings's divided soul is his greatest asset -- may he always be so conflicted. David McGee
All Music Guide
Lacking both the songwriting prowess of his superstar dad and the platinum-selling croon of his Nashville superiors, Shooter Jennings has struggled to carve his own niche. The Wolf finds him twanging his way through traditional (almost stereotypical) country, despite his past forays into rock & roll territory. Jennings' previous studio effort, Electric Rodeo, was a far edgier affair, and the subsequent Live at Irving Plaza 4.18.06 showed him at his energetic best, leading a raucous bar band -- the .357s -- through electrified romps about Southern living and drug busts. Traces of that energy are evident in The Wolf's kick-off track, "This Ol' Wheel," where Jennings name-checks Johnny Cash and dismisses his critics with a kinetic country-rap delivery. His voice is confident, almost swaggering, and the track blazes with kick-stomp percussion and fiddle riffs courtesy of Doug Kershaw. Perhaps it's no coincidence that The Wolf's other standout track, "Slow Train," also features a lively cameo, this time by the Oak Ridge Boys. Jennings grew up among the heavyweights of outlaw country, a genre his father helped invent, and he sounds solid when paired with stars of a similar caliber. Still, Jennings sounds his best on ramshackle country-rock numbers that combine his pedigree with a splash of loud, distorted guitars, and there's unfortunately not enough of that here. Instead, he treats listeners to a smattering of soft country, some rootsy numbers, and several horn-laden tracks, none of this delivering the punch of the excellent "This Ol' Wheel." These other songs aren't necessarily bad, but they lack a proper person to sing them, since Jennings' unadorned vocals are better suited for a genre in which a singer's limitations can be masked by vigor, volume, and sweat. The Wolf pushes those shortcomings to the forefront, and the considerable strength with which Jennings begins the album doesn't quite sustain him until the end. Andrew Leahey