Tanya Tucker last released a studio album seven years ago, 2002's wildly uneven (yet appropriately-titled) Tanya. Since then, the Hall of Fame-bound singer has been seen in the gossip columns more often than the Billboard charts. There's little room for erratic behavior on Music Row, in real life or on record, and Tucker's future seemed to be in a state of flux on both accounts.

Through it all, Tucker has remained a rebel spirit; the Hall of Fame-bound singer is no shy-and-retiring type, and her latest project is the long-awaited evidence that she's not done just yet. On her new studio album, My Turn, Tucker honors country's foundation by covering tunes from legendary male artists such as Merle Haggard, Lefty Frizzell and Hank Williams. Her husky alto is the ultimate instrument to consummate these hard-country classics. Now 50, Tucker's vocal stylings remain as provocative as her well-documented wild-child past; her instantly-recognizable drawl is one of country's greatest voices ever, and every knotty note is chock full of hearty twang. Producer Pete Anderson adds the perfect accents to this irresistible force, with his swayin' rhythms punching up a long-simmering chorus of fiddle and steel. A little California swing, a little classic country, and a rough-and-tumble vocal delivery from an unlikely source-it all adds up to one of the most infectious records this year.

In recent times, many of country music's standard bearers have been returning to the genre's roots, extra protective of the genre's traditional core, a sound that's miles away from the meager fare dominating Nashville of late. Tucker, rarely accused of being too-traditional during her heyday, would seem like an odd prophet. In a welcome surprise, the woman who'd taken such special pleasure in remaking Nashville's decades-old rulebook is now renewing it instead.

As My Turn winds along, you get the feeling that the project is meant to be not just classic, but cathartic. Tucker recorded the album largely in tribute to her late father, Beau, whose love affair with old-style country spurred them both to seek out a record deal for the teenage Tanya. It's their dedicated bond that weaves itself through this fourteen-song set; Tanya's drive and defiance (and the resulting costs and consequences) were clearly nursed by the man she calls her hero.

Signed at age 13 by Columbia Records, Tucker first gained fame by singing such adult-themed material as "Delta Dawn" and "Would You Lay with Me (In a Field of Stone)," gripping, Southern gothic recordings that remain her greatest achievements. Ever since, Tucker's musical legacy has been grounded in mystery, even as her name became well-publicized tabloid fodder. Throughout her thirty-five year career, her characters have had one common thread: they dance a fine line between tender and tough. That mix of emotions is best heard on the ballads of My Turn. Tucker's rendition of the George Jones chestnut, "Walk Through This World with Me," is not simply a vow of undying devotion; the woman is pleading with her partner because she knows too well what it's like to walk alone. On Charley Pride's "Is Anybody Goin' to San Antone," Tucker plays a weary traveler who isn't looking for love as much as she's looking for a place to belong. With each raspy note, she gives a glimmer of her pain, even as she glides along the polka-packed track.

But a little heartache can't (or, more accurately, won't) keep a good-timin' girl down; Tucker snaps quickly back into place with trademark sass. Right out of the gate, she steams through Faron Young's "Wine Me Up" with reckless abandon (not to mention a ruthless swing-and-shuffle). Buck Owens' "Love's Gonna Live Here," where Tucker duets with alt-country king, Jim Lauderdale, is more pure honky-tonk bliss with a Tex-Mex twist. In song after song, it's clear that once Tucker's dug in her heels, she's impossible to deny.  Her spry take on the rollicking "Big, Big Love," an underrated gem by Wynn Stewart, should be all the proof anyone would need of that.

If Tucker's faithful versions of these beloved songs is a sort-of repentence for her scattered past, it's still clear that her heart's built out of stubborn stuff. The best track arrives at the very end. A remake of the blood-stirring anthem, "Ramblin' Fever," a Merle Haggard freedom-ain't-really-free testament, sounds Tucker-made. "There ain't no kind of cure for my disease," she admits. She, after all these years, knows her truth: when she dies, she may not go to heaven.

You can support Tanya Tucker by purchasing this album at iTunes | Amazon.