David Wilcox: Making a Hero’s Journey

Plenty of songwriters take a conventional approach to making albums; they think to themselves,” I’ve written ten new songs since the last record, and here they are.” There’s nothing wrong with that approach, but David Wilcox puts more thought into the process of making an album. For The Way I Tell the Story – celebrated with an album release show combined with his annual Thanksgiving concert on November 28 – he decided to draw upon some recent and close-to-home challenges that he has faced.

“I listen to a lot of singer-songwriters,” says the WNC-based folk artist. “And every once in a while, when they come out with a record that’s really good, I think to myself, ‘They must have been through some shit!’” Wilcox believes that good songs that come out of difficult experiences are a kind of cathartic silver lining. “Times get tough, and songs get good,” he says.

photo by Lynne HArty

Wilcox’s primary pursuits beyond touring and recording all tend to focus on music; he often leads songwriting workshops in which he can offer wisdom gained through his own 40-plus years as a musician and composer. “I like to encourage people to dive into their own creativity,” he explains. Part of that endeavor, he believes, is coming to terms with an immutable fact. “If you want to write great songs,” he says, “you’re going to have to write a lot of bad songs.” He employs a metaphor to underscore his point. “You have to clear the loading dock so the good ones can get out of the warehouse.”

David Wilcox says that when it comes to songwriting, he never sets out with the specific goal of making an album. “That’s always the last thing on my mind,” he says, “until one morning, it’s the only thing.” Another metaphor: “There’s a fig tree in our yard,” he explains. “I never think about that fig tree until suddenly it’s like, “I’ve got to get those figs before the bears do!’ And we had such a great harvest this year.”

For Wilcox, this year’s harvest of songs was bountiful as well. “When we started the [album] project, my producer Michael [Selverne] said, ‘Send me the top-of-the-list, songs that you would really like to have on the record.’” Wilcox sent over demos for 50 songs.

Both Wilcox and Selverne saw the producer’s role as more than simply overseeing the recording sessions; Selverne helped pare down the song selection. “He gave me a lot of notes like, ‘This song’s chords are too much like that one’s,’ or ‘This idea is too much like that idea,’” Wilcox recalls. He welcomed that feedback from his producer and longtime friend. “Michael held me to a higher standard of writing. That was very satisfying,” Wilcox says. “I love an assignment.”

The Way I Tell the Story features a dozen of those songs. Inevitably, some of the ones Wilcox considered favorites still didn’t make the cut. “It’s like at the airport,” he says. “The rental car shuttle bus comes by, and the driver just waves you off because the bus is full: “Sorry, dude.”’”

Asked what became of the 38 or so tunes that didn’t make it onto The Way I Tell the Story, Wilcox explains that the best of those songs surface in some other way. At a gig, he might play a new song. An audience member will ask, “Is that on the new album?” He’ll explain that no, it isn’t; hearing it live is the only way to experience it. The audience member might persist, asking why the song isn’t on the record. “It just didn’t fit with the others,” Wilcox will explain.

The songs on The Way I Tell the Story do indeed all fit together. While it’s not a concept album, Wilcox’s latest – his 20th studio release since 1987’s The Nightshift Watchman – does have a theme running through it: navigating through the difficult parts of life. One of the album’s songs reaches beyond his own experience: “I Can’t Argue” is one of his “custom songs,” written on commission for a fan who was going through tough times. On a personal level, Wilcox’s wife’s diagnosis with Parkinson’s disease informed the perspective that he brought to all of his songs.

While The Way I Tell the Story has been out for several weeks, Wilcox planned to make his annual Thanksgiving show at the Grey Eagle the unofficial album launch. “There will be the usual suspects,” he said, mentioning longtime friends and musical associates David Lamotte, Chris Rosser and Billy Jonas. “And there will be some surprises, too.”

The forthright candor Wilcox exhibits in his songwriting is a key feature of his appeal to listeners. And while it comes naturally to the 67-year-old musician, it’s also the product of a conscious decision. “I decided years ago that vulnerability is only scary if you’re holding a firewall, protecting some things,” he explains. “If you’re not protecting anything, then you’re completely safe.” Add to that the fact that Wilcox doesn’t write vindictive, accusatory lyrics. Slipping in a literary allusion to 20^th century Asheville writer Thomas Wolfe, he says, “I’m not going to have the Look Homeward, Angel problem of the town turning against me.”

With a long career and a large body of work to his credit, David Wilcox still feels at the peak of his creative powers, and in touch with his listeners. “I’m really grateful for this kind of music,” he says. “What I’ve wanted all along was to find my tribe, find the people who had the same appetite for life being juicy and full and interesting. It seems like I have found these brave people, and they have found me.”