At a glance, Potato Hole looks to place on the rock ‘n' roll bucket list somewhere in between Brian Wilson’s Smile and Little Richard’s cameo on The Young and the Restless. Booker T. Jones, flanked by young pups Drive-By Truckers, dusts off the trusty Hammond B-3 and coaxes cranky collaborator Neil Young out of his eco-garage long enough to kick out a few jams, for old times’ sake. That’s how it reads on paper, anyway.  But paper doesn’t account for synergy or ragged glory, and from the saw-toothed crash of opener “Pound It Out,” it’s pretty freakin’ clear that these are the forces at work. In fact, the resulting instrumentals are so crisp, so heavy, that it makes you wonder if crusty accomplice Young gave Jones more than he’d bargained for - like T. placed a call to Harvest’s old man and in his stead turned up Cortez the Killer himself. If so, one man’s miscalculation is the same man’s career revival. In the crunching originals, Jones, content to dodge and weave with ice-cold organ grooves, plays a glass-meets-brick foil to young Neil, who at 63, seems dead set on reenacting the Invasion of Normandy one riff at a time.  On “Native New Yorker” and “Warped Sister,” good-time organ lines clear the decks for a Gibson Les Paul tuned to seek and destroy. Not to be outdone, Jones steals back his own show on the nostalgically soulful “Space City,” and with a raving-mad cover of Outkast’s “Hey Ya,” the steely vets together turn a glinting eye on a jaded generation - hold off kiddies: this ain’t no requiem. - Robert J. Hilson