There's something energizing about originality. Talking with
David Wilcox for an hour is a reminder of how the first discovery of truth
feels, as though it's been mined and the gold is just lifted out of the earth.
There's a noticeable absence of cliché, ideology, and parroted language. While
David is coming from a place of spirit, he is not a shaman or priest. He is a
songwriter who considers music a force of healing, a natural medicine best experienced
first hand, soul to soul, and heart to heart, being to being. An example of
this is his 2009 release, Open Hands,
which he recorded solo on an analog 12-track tape. His upcoming release, Reverie, brings a new diversity in
narrative and style. In our recent conversation, David spoke at length about
the relationship of music to his life and his own discovery of a faith that
transcends religion found in personal creativity.
San Diego Troubadour: What's been happening lately?
DW: I'm getting
ready for a tour. I just finished doing the Rocky Mountain Folk Festival. It
was a good experience. It opened me up to new song ideas. I was there teaching
and performing and suddenly I have songs to dream about. I can hear them coming
in the distance.
SDT: You were teaching as well?
DW: Yes. This
happens when I teach. My music is new to me right now. At the workshop I can't
cover everything, but I like to get into the quirkiness of the music. The songs
are a kind of musical navigation. There's this place where the heart cracks
open to the subtle variables that help steer my life. This way I don't miss my
story. The song can come in and give a window to how my heart can feel. You
know, life is a chance for a bold adventure. Songs wake me up to that. Suddenly,
I feel I want to make music out of my day and out of my time here. It still
does that for me, more than ever. The songs I write direct me deep into the
heart. They tell me what I want, that thing in my life that keeps my dreams
going. I find that I can be the go between for the subtle yearnings of my heart
and my conscious mind. It becomes an oasis of joy.
SDT: How has your songwriting changed over the years?
DW: You know, for
a while, when I was younger, my life was about the songs. Now, the songs are about
my life. I came to a place where my relationship with my wife feels like a
song; my time with my son feels like a song; my relationship with my neighbor
feels like a song. The song used to be a place I'd go to escape. Now, the song
comes to me. They help me face my life and bring me into my own skin. Now, the
songs bring me to my life. They become something to live up to.
SDT: Is your songwriting influenced by spiritual views such as Buddhism
or Christianity?
DW: I'm aware of
the religions. But, for me, it's just something fun to know about. It's like
using different language. I'd like to scratch out the word, "god" and replace
it with music. What you give a song it is kind of like a gift, like wrapping a
present. You wrap it in a story so when it's opened up, you find what the song
is really about. That's the gift. For the listener then, there's a sense of
discovery and it becomes their own. Like a song on the new album, a simple
story of three brothers who are confused by what their father is doing. The
father smiles at them and soon the song unfolds to be one about Jerusalem.
SDT: You've described a lot about the inspirational side of
songwriting. What about the craft?
DW: I find the
time spent working at it is a way of making the song true. It's that intense
focus. There's a sympathetic vibration with the audience. It leads to a higher
level of craft. It shows respect for the listener. It intensifies the
transformation at the spirit level that informs the song. If you could graft
it, the song would start going up a steep slope. It gets more complex and as
more time passes, the song becomes simpler and beautiful until some other
whisper starts speaking through. The song becomes truer. With good craft, the
song sounds like it just happened.
SDT: How does the writer's ego work for or against this?
DW: I think in
the big picture the original motivation doesn't matter. It's like people who go
surfing. It may not be for the right reason. But, the ocean is so big, the
currents so deep, it doesn't matter why they're there. The ocean will work on
them, inform them of its depth. It's the same with songwriting. You start
writing because you want to be this or that, but then, it's like emotional
alchemy. You may come at it for selfish reasons. For me, it was James Taylor's
fault when I first heard the song, "Golden Moments." [sings] Now I gathered up
my sorrows/and I sold them all for gold/and I gathered up the gold/and I threw
it all away. You know, you can take the most painful, debilitating experience and
something beautiful can come of it. It becomes healing. Life becomes not
something to get over, but you work on it, and it works you. It's like when you
first play guitar. You think you have two things going on. There's your left
hand, then there's your right hand, but it's really one thing. When you get
inside the song, the experience that brought it about and the song itself are
really one thing. Writing keeps a balance. It's about balance. You say, "wait a
minute. Why is music in my life in the first place?" The reason for writing
becomes clearer and clearer until it's so much more fun. There's no gatekeeper,
no institution or reason for the music. The beauty of the music can be so
humbling.
SDT: You've thought a lot about the reason we make music and write
songs.
DW: Yeah. It
really does destroy your ego. It's important to do something impossible.
There's nothing more impossible than music. You know, it destroys your ego. The
only thing that keeps the music from really happening is your "self."
SDT: When it comes to ego, it seems to keep us from doing so many of
the right things, be it from a Buddhist or a Christian perspective….You know,
like the idea of love your neighbor as yourself.
DW: It's also
hard because with something like that, it's a directive. But it's more a matter
of being than loving. This influences behavior and the love takes care of
itself. No need for the dogma. Don't love your neighbor, be your neighbor.
SDT: Do the spiritual teachings all come down to something universal
for you? Like the oft-used cliché, "all paths lead to the same destination."
DW: In the world
religions, there's great beauty. It's amazing - the similarity, the connection.
Yet to say that to someone just starting out is another thing. We all have a
river to cross. There are many boats. There's the Jesus boat, there's the
Buddha boat. But, we don't want to get stuck deciding which boat is the best.
Or, it's like climbing a mountain. If someone tells, you can take all paths and
you're just starting out, it's confusing. It's important to take one and stick
to it. Inside the different faiths there is great commonality, but outside
there all of these differences. And we're left with this wonderful conundrum
and sometimes the messenger gets confused with the message. Bruce Cockburn said
about those who know can't really say it and those who say it, don't really
know [laughs].
SDT: Tell me about writers out there who are taking a similar approach
to yours. Who would you say are your influences and kindred spirits?
DW: Most of them
are not musicians! There are a lot of musicians I love to hear. I may disagree
with some, but if I hear someone get vulnerable; if they speak in song from
that place where they are cracked open; if they can write about what they're
afraid of, where they find joy and how it surprises them, then I check off the
box and think that this is a good person who will always be my friend. Then, I
never see them in the same way. It's like that song chose them. A lot of times
I'll discover something unique in the song's meaning, something that really
moves me, something with wonderfully complex overtones and the writer doesn't
know and didn't intend what it inspired in me.
SDT: Do any artists you admire in this way come to mind?
DW: I was doing
the song school a few days ago and there was this guy there who started writing
songs at 60 years old. He wrote this spectacular song. I asked him if I could
learn it. I shaped it a little bit and sent it back him. I felt like, "okay, I
could say it like this..." It's a song that breaks the rules but holds this
story that's too hard to touch, yet is holds up lightly, like this beautiful
vision. Great songs really do this magic trick like what would happen when the
magician looks in the hat and is surprised that the rabbit really is there.
SDT: When you say story what do you mean?
DW: Well, I was
talking with Carrie Newcomer a while ago. We laughed about the perception that
songs need to be "about something." Sometimes songs aren't about anything at
all.
SDT: Are you talking about experience as opposed to reporting?
DW: I have
friends who are into things completely different from me. I have friends who
golf. They get into it on a deep mystical level. When I talk with them, they're
surprised that I know what they're talking about. But, really, all I have to do
is cross out the word music and replace it with golf. I have a wonderful
neighbor, Danny Dreyer, who's written a book called Chi Running. It's a back door to spiritual practice for people who
run, starting with Tai Chi and looking at the body's own expression of energy
before the body was actually there. He teaches how to be in alignment with that
energy - how not to fight yourself but to apply everything you experience. What
we Americans need are back doors into a beautiful experience of connectedness
without the tired old language that tries to turn it into marketing.
SDT: Tell me about your latest recordings.
DW: My latest was
released last year called Open Hands.
SDT: It was done in analog. Can you tell me why?
DW: Yes. We used
old-school 16-track recording. It kept us honest. No tricks, no easy edits. It
made the performance real. The first track is called, "Dream Again." Once
you've heard it a few times, you'll notice there's a hailstorm in the middle of
the song as we were recording. It sounds like really big brushes on a really
big snare. Just before the song drops down to a quiet verse, the hailstorm
stops. If it hadn't stopped at just that moment, we would've had to re-do the
recording. It captured a beautifully realized momentum on tape, a sense of
urgency.
SDT: What about the latest?
DW: No one's
heard it yet. It's just been mastered. It's much more cynical than I've been in
the past. Like a song that states how institutional religion ruins everything.
It's the first time I've written in characters. You know, Randy Newman and
Richard Thompson write through characters. They may write about something they
disagree with but it tells a story. There's a song called "They Call It
Torture, We Call It Freedom." I'm singing about protecting America and just by
the way we protect it, it's no longer what it once was. I didn't used to write
this way, through characters. I was always a little too fearful of being
misunderstood.
SDT: Well, David, thank for your time. I look forward to seeing your
shows in San Diego and L.A.
DW: Thank you.
It's been fun.
David Wilcox will be
performing at AMSD Concerts on Saturday, September 11, 7:30pm. 4650 Mansfield
St., Normal Heights.