His next song is a cover of “Breathe” by Blu Cantrell and Sean-e Paul.

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Alex Ostroff: The only difference between Willie Nelson redeeming a crappy Pearl Jam song and Fleet Foxes (or whoever) releasing ‘worthy’ covers of Beyoncé (or whoever) is that my ears’ prejudices still allow ‘country’ to code as authentic and sincere, while similar gestures in indie get sneered at as corny, rockist and affected. Plus, I’m thoroughly convinced that pop and R&B are fine just the way they are, while the fossilized remains of alt-rock make me cringe. The problem with this is that my enjoyment of this is still, to some extent, predicated on a dismissive sneer directed at an entire genre. The bigger problem is that not even Willie Nelson’s impeccable delivery can entirely save a song that is, at its heart, kind of boring. 
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Alfred Soto: Pearl Jam’s number, from their best album in a decade, had Boring Standard tattooed across its knuckles; anyone can sing this and score a triumph. But Willie Nelson isn’t Anyone; his pained tenor extracts dimensions of longing that Eddie Vedder, who at this point in his career is no slouch as a singer, only hinted at. If it has the air of a museum piece, though, blame Nelson for not expanding its contours: this was made for his fantastic guitar curlicues.
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Anthony Easton: I’m in my early thirties, so saying anything at all about aging seems silly, but the work here seems to have interesting things to say about Death. He’s eighty next year and perhaps wrapping it up, but unlike Johnny Cash, he’s low-key in style and has a sense of humor. Between this and “Gravedigger” last year, quiet but not severe, his intensity redeems an underconstructed performance.
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Brad Shoup: I’m kinda done with aging countrymen adding poignance to other artists’ mediocrities. Fresh off a Clio win, Nelson wraps his ageless voice around a backporch PJ picker. His vibrato is nearing American Recordings levels of poignance, and perhaps due to that I’m unwilling to ascribe similar poignance to Vedder’s deathbed sigh of a lyric. Full disclosure: two years ago, I spent morning rush hour listening to three country music DJs dissecting a Nelson performance in NYC. It seems he rushed through most of his standards, and the on-air personalities were speculating that he was tiring of rehashing his catalog. I got a little heartsick. Much as I’d love “On the Road Again” to be his coda, it’s not up to me. I’d really rather it not be this, though.
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Jonathan Bogart: The sentiment gets a little too rich for my blood, especially towards the end, but it’s no dishonor to the memory of either Nelson, the most sentimental of the outlaw generation, or Pearl Jam, the most sentimental of the Seattle generation.
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Jonathan Bradley: It’s apparently a cover of a latter-day Pearl Jam song, which explains the plainness. Nelson doesn’t quite make it plaintive, but he does give it a quiet dignity — the result of which is only pleasant. 
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