Ten years after Waylon Jennings died, longtime friend and  musician Robby Turner found himself looking down at his steel  guitar, watching a tear fall onto the instrument.

Turner was working on a recording Waylon Jennings had left unfinished. The familiar voice was still there. So was the guitar playing. But the man Turner had spent so many years making music with was gone.

In October 2012, Turner publicly shared that private moment for the first time during an NPR interview with Waylon Jennings’ widow, Jessi Colter. Even Jessi Colter had never heard the story before.

And the song that brought Turner to tears had a history reaching back 35 years.

The Recordings Waylon Jennings Never Finished

In 1999, during the later years of his life, Waylon Jennings began recording songs with Robby Turner, a trusted musician and longtime collaborator.

The sessions were unusually simple. Waylon Jennings supplied the vocals and guitar, while Robby Turner played bass. The plan was to add other instruments later, turning the basic recordings into a completed album.

These weren’t elaborate Nashville productions. They were intimate performances by two musicians who knew one another’s playing styles remarkably well.

According to Turner’s later recollections, Waylon Jennings sometimes struggled to complete additional takes. But making music together remained an important part of their friendship.

On February 13, 2002, Waylon Jennings died at age 64. The recordings remained unfinished.

For years, Turner kept the tapes rather than immediately preparing them for release.

Why One Song Meant So Much to Waylon Jennings

Among the recordings was a song called Belle of the Ball.

Longtime country fans might remember the original version from 1977. It appeared on the album Ol’ Waylon and served as the B-side of the enormous hit Luckenbach, Texas (Back to the Basics of Love).

But the song meant considerably more to Waylon Jennings than its modest place in the singles catalog might suggest.

During the 2012 NPR interview, Jessi Colter revealed that Waylon Jennings had once told her Belle of the Ball was his favorite song among those he had written.

Jessi Colter also offered an interpretation that made the song especially moving.

Although its language suggested a relationship with a beautiful but complicated woman, Jessi Colter believed the song also described Waylon Jennings’ relationship with the music business and his own journey through life.

To Jessi Colter, the song captured a wandering musician who had experienced the rewards and disappointments of the industry and was eventually preparing to leave.

That interpretation gave the recording an unexpected significance when Waylon Jennings returned to it near the end of his life.

One Rule: Keep Playing Until Waylon Smiled

With Jessi Colter’s blessing, Robby Turner eventually returned to the unfinished recordings.

Turner recruited musicians who had worked with Waylon Jennings, including guitarist Reggie Young and drummer Richie Albright. Fellow songwriter and musician Tony Joe White also contributed to the project.

Turner’s challenge was to complete the music without losing the character of the original performances.

During the NPR interview, Turner explained that his guiding question throughout the project was simple: What would Waylon do?

Turner remembered that Waylon Jennings generally surrounded himself with musicians who understood his style. During earlier sessions, the band would continue playing until Waylon Jennings showed his approval with a smile.

That memory became Turner’s standard for finishing the recordings.

The Moment Robby Turner Finally Broke Down

While adding steel guitar to Belle of the Ball, Turner heard Waylon Jennings’ playing near the end of the song. The experience brought back memories of their years together.

Turner told NPR that he became emotional during those sessions. On one occasion, he looked down and saw a teardrop fall onto his steel guitar.

He had kept the memory private.

When interviewer Melissa Block asked Jessi Colter whether she knew about that moment, Jessi Colter answered that she was hearing it for the first time.

Turner explained that he had never told anyone about it before.

For a  musician who had spent so much time working alongside Waylon Jennings, completing the arrangements had become something far more personal than an ordinary recording session.

One Last Album, Ten Years Later

In September 2012, the completed recordings were released as Goin’ Down Rockin’: The Last Recordings, a collection of 12 songs.

The album allowed listeners to hear performances Waylon Jennings had recorded years earlier, now accompanied by  musicians who understood his sound.

For Jessi Colter, hearing those recordings was emotional too. She told NPR that hearing Waylon Jennings’ voice again felt so immediate that she needed several listens to take it in.

But perhaps the most memorable part of the album’s story wasn’t the release itself.

It was Robby Turner, sitting behind a steel  guitar, trying to finish the music the way his old friend would have wanted.

Ten years after Waylon Jennings was gone, the musicians who knew him best were still following the same rule: play until Waylon smiled.

You Missed

Willie Nelson had written songs Nashville knew how to sell. Getting the industry to understand him as a singer proved harder. Patsy Cline made “Crazy” a classic. Faron Young took “Hello Walls” to No. 1, and Billy Walker found success with “Funny How Time Slips Away.” Willie’s own recordings seldom enjoyed comparable attention. His conversational phrasing and jazz-influenced timing resisted the polished approach RCA favored. Then, in 1970, his Tennessee home burned. His second marriage was also coming apart, and the losses helped loosen his ties to Nashville. He returned to Texas, where Austin’s emerging music scene offered possibilities he had struggled to find on Music Row. Rock audiences, honky-tonk crowds, and young songwriters were increasingly sharing venues. Willie found room to perform without fitting a conventional country image. Long hair, a beard, and worn denim gradually became familiar parts of his appearance, alongside songs delivered on his own terms. By 1973, a move to Atlantic Records had brought greater creative freedom. Arriving in New York to record *Shotgun Willie*, he found himself short of new material. The title track reportedly came together in a hotel bathroom, written on a sanitary-napkin envelope while he sat in his underwear. The sessions drew on country, blues, soul, and Texas musical traditions. The album did not immediately make him a major commercial star, but it established a direction that suited his voice rather than trying to reshape it. That summer, his first Fourth of July Picnic brought country performers and counterculture listeners together in Texas. The audience forming around him was becoming as distinctive as the records. Within a few years, Willie and Waylon Jennings would be central to what became known as outlaw country. The career that followed grew from decisions made during that uncertain transition: leaving Tennessee, finding an audience in Texas, and recording with the freedom to follow his instincts. The fire had taken his home. Starting again gave him a chance to reconsider where—and how—he wanted to make music.