Being a blues player is a tough gig. Being a phenomenon is even worse. Being expected to step into Stevie Ray Vaughan’s shoes is really uncomfortable, but Kenny Wayne Shepherd seems to be holding up okay. The Louisiana native and blues guitar wunderkind was crowned a guitar god at the tender age of 18, sparking debate as to how “real” a white teenager could be with his instrument. Was he just coldly proficient like Steve Vai, or did he have true soul, like Clapton did with the Bluesbreakers? Would he be the new Charlie Sexton, or … the new Charlie Sexton? Asking again, two years later, the answer still isn’t any clearer. This follow-up to his 1995 debut, Ledbetter Heights, finds him trying to have it both ways: giving purists more Texas shuffles and gut-bucket riffs, and appeasing the classic rock fans with ballads, wah-wah and nods to ’60s icons (covers of Dylan’s “Everything Is Broken” and Hendrix’s “I Don’t Live Today”). The problem, ironically, is one that Shepherd shares with Stevie Ray: he can’t write. Oh, he’s got the guitar goods, all right; he knows how to balance flash and melody, silence and mayhem, better than most guitarists twice his age. Those shuffles, backed up by his choice band, and occasionally, harp legend James Cotton, are tighter than a three-dollar watch. And Shepherd has a high, pure sound that really hasn’t been heard since Stevie Ray left us. But with Kenny and friend’s lyrics (which target every cliche in sight) and the blandness of new singer Noah Hunt, everything falls flat. They even manage to drain the life out of “Live Today.” But ultimately, that doesn’t matter. Kenny isn’t Hendrix, Albert King, or any of his other idols. He’s his own man, and what he needs to bring that out are some real peers, people who can challenge him and give him some original songs to set on fire. Something like a white, 20-year-old Willie Dixon would make Kenny the toast of the town overnight. Trouble is…there isn’t one.