Stephen Wilson Jr. is His Father’s Son.
Listen here, Old Hank’s people in Nashville weren’t wrong about this one. It was one of those rare occasions when a man lives up to the hype.
We heard about Stephen Wilson Jr. maybe a month or two before the show at the Jefferson. Plenty of time to check out his shit on the Youtube machine. Run him for a week on Spotify down at Hunt Camp. And consume the metric tons of SWJr hype on the webs.
He’s generational, they screamed. He came out of nowhere like some apparition! He must have made the deal with the devil at the crossroads! He’s from Indiana! So me and the boys bought tix. And Old Hank checked in with his sources in Nashville who are tight as ticks in the songwriter rooms and they said, “shut up and just go, you won’t regret it, Dad.”
The absolute seal-the-deal moment was watching some of his collab work with Hardy. Holy shit does Old Hank love Hardy. Wait in the Truck is a perfect song and I’ll get Bazz to fight anyone who says otherwise. SWJr. Wears his hat like Hardy–not lost on the illuminated.
So when that Thursday night rolled around, go we did. Bowl’d and Beer’d, son with a pre-show stop at the Beb(edero).
The Jeff was packed, anticipation hung in the air like vape exhaust (or maybe it was vape exhaust). We weren’t the only Cvillers who’d heard the hype or brought the pipe.
There’s a way of playing guitar where either you don’t give a fuck, or you’re ridiculously talented, or like any kind of elite athlete, you realize you can’t win if you don’t hit hard as fuck (the ball, your opponent’s chin, a wide receiver trying to catch the ball). That’s how Stephen Wilson plays guitar. Jack White spanks it that way. SRV did. Jimi did. They just abuse it without ever missing.
And yet tonally, there’s some Willie / D’jango tickling going on with Wilson too.
Vocally he reminds me of a few of the great grunge singers from the 90’s (a decade he sings about, more on that in a sec), Eddy, Chris, Layne, Scot. I wouldn’t say he’s a Yarler, but he grinds it through his molars, clenched jaw and nose the way those boys did, and it rings Old Hank’s skull bell.
Mr. Wilson Jr. tore into that crowd with “Calico”, and ripped the scab off songs that have become important. Can we talk about “Father’s Son”?
“You wanna change my name, you gotta drain my blood. God damn, I am my father’s son.” Chills.
At any given time, half the crowd was singing along to “Year To Be Young 1994” with him (his 1994 anthem—the year Old Hank’s oldest son was born). He played “Patches”, “The devil”, his “Stand by Me” cover, “Cuckoo”, all of ‘em.
He played with his band. He played alone. He played two encore songs. He played our faces off. Kids, it was just one of those shows you’re really glad to say you were there.
Well, that’s all. Old Hank’s still feelin’ this one so, maybe a nap. If that doesn’t work, maybe a bowl.
Nighty night, heathens.
Old Hank
