BENJAMIN TOD BREAKS HIS OWN MOLD WITH HELL I HAVE-(a honky tonk hammer dropped on Dec. 5th)

Benjamin Tod has built his name on the raw stuff—the kind of songwriting that sounds like it was carved straight out of bone and heartache. For years, fans came to him for the bruised truth, for the late-night honesty, for that unmistakable Lost Dog Street Band ache that always felt more confessional than commercial.

But on Dec. 5, Tod walked into the room with something different. Something meaner, groovier, and swagger-soaked. Something with sawdust on the floor instead of tears on the table.

“Hell I Have” isn’t just a new single.

It’s a pivot. A flex. A reminder that Benjamin Tod isn’t chained to any one style—he’s chained to the truth, and sometimes the truth shows up wearing a honky-tonk grin.

Produced by Shooter Jennings, the track comes stamped with that unmistakable Waylon Jennings DNA:

that low-end thump rolling like a stretched-out freight train, guitars twanging with outlaw mischief, a rhythm that dares you not to move, and a vocal performance that stays gritty without ever losing Tod’s soul. Shooter didn’t just sprinkle some “outlaw seasoning” on top—he built the whole damn thing like a tribute to the era when country music had steel bones and a black hat on its head. You can practically hear Waylon in the walls of this song: the looseness, the swagger, the barroom strut.

And here’s the magic:

Tod fits into that sound like he’s been waiting to wear it.

There’s still the weight of a man who’s lived through the dark and wrote his way out. There’s still the edge, the scars, the honesty. But now it’s riding alongside a groove that kicks like a mule, a sound meant for dancehalls, pool halls, and any Texas bar that still has cold beer and bad decisions on draft.

“Hell I Have” is a reminder that true artists don’t stay put. They evolve. They surprise you. They keep swinging. Benjamin Tod has always deserved respect.

But this track?

This is him stepping onto a bigger stage with his shoulders back, reminding country music that outlaw isn’t a costume—it’s a conviction.

If this is the direction he’s heading, then 2026 might just belong to him.

Jake Owen Goes Middle-Aged Crazy — and That’s a Whole Other Rodeo

Back in 1977, Jerry Lee Lewis wasn’t the wild-eyed piano man of Great Balls of Fire anymore. He was older, worn, and looking at his reflection with a kind of lonely honesty only a honky-tonk mirror can give. “Middle Age Crazy,” written by Sonny Throckmorton, hit like a slow-burn confession — a man trading his steady life for one last chance to feel young. It was barroom philosophy set to pedal steel.

Now, nearly fifty years later, Jake Owen is dusting off that same tune and bringing the ’77 sound roaring back like a big-block Ford on a Friday night. His new cover of “Middle Age Crazy” isn’t some radio-friendly rehash. It’s raw, weary, and a little too honest for the folks who like their country polished. Produced alongside Shooter Jennings, the track carries that outlaw soul — cracked leather, smoky barroom, truth-in-the-lyrics kind of feel.

Owen calls it “unflinching,” and he ain’t wrong. He leans into the ache rather than away from it. The story fits him: a man with some years behind him, some dreams still itching under the skin, and a voice that finally sounds lived-in enough to tell the truth.

This new version drops ahead of Owen’s upcoming record, Dreams to Dream, due November 7, and it sounds like he’s steering away from Nashville gloss toward something closer to the bone. Maybe it’s Shooter’s touch, or maybe Jake just hit that age where you start seeing the horizon a little clearer. Either way, it feels like country music finally remembered where it came from.

So pour yourself a cup of black coffee, kick the mud off your boots, and give it a listen. It’s a man facing the mirror, same as Jerry Lee did — only this time, the mirror’s got a few more cracks in it.

Pancho’s Take:

Jake Owen ain’t going pop-country crazy — he’s going middle-aged crazy. And around here, that’s a compliment.

Pancho’s Picks: Waylon Jennings – Songbird

Been listening to this old Voice all weekend, Waylon back in the airwaves, getting air play everywhere.

There ain’t no damn good reason why those tapes were locked away all these years. Maybe the suits forgot, maybe the timing was wrong, or maybe it just took Waylon’s boy to hear what the rest of us couldn’t. But I’m damn glad Shooter dusted off the cobwebs and set these songs free.

Like Saving Country Music said, “the production is very good and handled carefully to protect the spirit of a Waylon album.” And that’s the truth — you can hear the respect in every note.

Then there’s the title track, “Songbird.” She didn’t need no polish or fresh coat of sound. Waylon laid her down pure the first time. Shooter just brought in a couple of angels — Ashley Monroe and Elizabeth Cook — to weave in behind him, soft as smoke, never takin’ the reins. It ain’t about makin’ it new — it’s about lettin’ it breathe again.

From there, the record rolls like a long stretch of Texas blacktop, steady and sure. “The Cowboy (Small Texas Town)” rides tall and lonesome, like a memory that finally found its way home. “I’d Like to Love You Baby” slides in smooth and easy, the kind of tune that makes you drive slow with the windows down. And “Wrong Road Again” — that’s pure Waylon: worn, wise, and still swingin’.

Each cut feels like a quiet conversation between old friends — no tricks, no gloss, just Waylon bein’ Waylon. Shooter didn’t try to fix what wasn’t broken; he just let his daddy’s voice do the talkin’. And for those of us raised on the outlaw sound, this one ain’t nostalgia — it’s a homecoming.

So here’s the thing — Songbird ain’t some museum piece or cash-grab resurrection. It’s a son keepin’ his father’s fire lit the only way a true outlaw would: by lettin’ the songs speak for themselves. Shooter didn’t try to rewrite history; he just turned the volume back up on a voice that never should’ve gone quiet.

For folks like us, these ain’t just old recordings — they’re reminders. That country music was once about soul before sparkle, truth before charts. Waylon’s still teachin’ lessons from the heart, and Shooter’s just the man to carry the torch.

That’s why Songbird earns its place in Pancho’s Picks — because it don’t ask for your approval. It just is. Rough edges, tender moments, and all.

Outlaw Shit- Shooter Jennings and Benjamin Tod

Waylon once laid it down plain: “Don’t You Think This Outlaw Bit’s Done Got Out of Hand.” Later he slowed it into “Outlaw Shit,” the sound of a man realizin’ the ride was catchin’ up.

Now Shooter Jennings and Benjamin Tod got hold of it, and Lord, they didn’t just dust it off — they lit it on fire. Shooter’s outlaw blood rode it out like dusty boots draggin’ across a sawdust floor. Every note he lets loose feels like an ode to the bloodline he carries — same blood that once ribbed Willie Nelson for singin’ through his nose, but did it with love only outlaws can share.

Then Benjamin Tod steps in — and he’s spillin’ his guts on the table. That voice of his cuts jagged, like a rusted blade that still finds a way to cut your throat. Together, the two of ‘em don’t sound like a tribute act — they sound like the next chapter in the same rough western novel.

It ain’t pretty, it ain’t polished, but that’s the whole damn point. This cover don’t just honor Waylon — it brings him back to life, sittin’ right there by the fire with a crooked grin, noddin’ in approval.

Pancho.