“I’VE ALWAYS BEEN CRAZY — BUT IT’S KEPT ME FROM GOIN’ INSANE.” That was the line Waylon Jennings lived by, and the line his son Shooter sang back to him on the day they laid the Outlaw to rest. On February 13, 2002, Waylon Jennings died in his sleep at his home in Chandler, Arizona, from complications of diabetes. He was 64. The man who had walked off Buddy Holly’s plane in 1959, defied Nashville with “Honky Tonk Heroes,” and ridden alongside Willie, Cash, and Kristofferson as one of The Highwaymen, left behind 16 No. 1 country hits — and a 22-year-old son still finding his own voice. Shooter Jennings was that son. Two days after Waylon’s passing, at the family tribute in Mesa, Arizona, Shooter stepped up and sang “I’ve Always Been Crazy” — his father’s 1978 No. 1 — to a room of family, friends, and fellow outlaws. He’s spent the years since carrying the bus, the band, and the songs down the same dusty road his father blazed. In 2025, more than two decades after his father’s death, Shooter unlocked a vault no one knew existed — over 100 songs Waylon recorded in his prime that had never seen the light of day. The first album, Songbird, dropped that October. But the song Shooter has reportedly held back — the one Waylon recorded for him alone, never meant for any album — is something he says he’s still not ready to release.

“I’ve Always Been Crazy”: Shooter Jennings, Waylon Jennings, and the Song Still Waiting in the Dark “I’ve always been crazy…

FORTY-THREE YEARS TO THE MONTH AFTER THE MUSIC DIED FOR BUDDY HOLLY, IT DIED FOR WAYLON TOO — CHANDLER, ARIZONA, FEBRUARY 13, 2002 “Keep singing. Don’t let the music die with me.” That was what Waylon Jennings whispered to Jessi Colter the night before he died. She had played piano for him in the bedroom — not for an audience, just for him. He squeezed her hand as the notes filled the room. Two months earlier, in December 2001, surgeons in Phoenix had amputated Waylon’s left foot. Diabetes had been eating him from the inside for years. The body was sending the bill. But every night after the amputation, Waylon asked the nurses for the same thing. An old pair of cracked cowboy boots. Both of them. Left and right. Placed on the floor beside his bed like nothing had changed. He never looked down. Not when they changed the bandages. Not when they wheeled him to therapy. Not even when Jessi cried beside the bed. A nurse once asked Jessi where the boots came from. Jessi only smiled and said, “A friend gave them to him a long time ago.” That answer was just vague enough to last forever. The next morning — February 13, 2002 — Jessi came home from a morning appointment and found him unresponsive in their living room. Paramedics did CPR. It was too late. He had died in his sleep, sixty-four years old, the man who had once given his seat on a small plane to the Big Bopper in February 1959 and lived through it. The friend who gave Waylon those boots — most fans of country music could guess his name, but they would still be wrong about why the boots mattered.

Forty-Three Years After Buddy Holly, Waylon Jennings Faced His Own Quiet Goodbye Chandler, Arizona — February 13, 2002. Forty-three years…

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