Folk Noir

David Wilcox sings both sides of the story

What: An Evening of Music and Hope, featuring David Wilcox, Nance Pettit, Bill Melanson and others
When: Sat., Aug. 5, 8 p.m.
Where: The Laurel Theatre
How much: $5/$3 students, for more info call 524-4771

by Chris Barrett
In colleges that teach journalism, the consensus has long been that the "ideal" regional dialect for broadcast news is the everyman plainness of the midwest. Lacking the automatic implied cynicism of the northeasterner, or the sweetening of the southerner, the flatlander from the heartland supposedly adds nothing to his words. Ideally or not, we get Tom Brokaw and Dan Rather and their unexcitable colleagues.
It would be a fine thing someday to tune into an evening news broadcast anchored by an orator such as singer-songwriter David Wilcox (born in Ohio, coincidentally). The world might at least seem a better place. 
The world of Wilcox's songs is almost always a better place than here where they're heard. And even in the odd song where he hasn't found the silver lining, his warm, easy-on-the-ears voice makes for a head start. Because of a naturally fine, pleasant voice (often compared to James Taylor) that constantly says the bottle is half full, Wilcox can successfully manage lyrics that argue "half empty." You can bear to listen to bad news and problems long enough to be convinced to care.
"Show the Way," from Wilcox's 1994 album Big Horizon (A&M), is a good example of the uncommon balance he's achieved between singer and song. Heard from a lesser voice, lyrics like ÒYouÕre saying love is foolish to believe/ ÕCause there'll always be some Crazy with some Army or a knife/ To wake you from your daydream, put the fear back in your life É" might send the world-weary listener after the eject button. Thanks to his buttery baritone, though, you can hang in there for "in this darkness love can show the way."
Wilcox says modestly that he first leaned toward his weighty, introspective lyric style because he was not confident in his voice.
"I think the songs that are easiest to sing are the ones that feel necessary," says Wilcox. "I agree with David Byrne, who said 'the nicer the voice the less you trust the singer.' When you have a voice like David Byrne's, or Bob Franke's, people listen to what you say. I think a lot of Bob Franke. His voice is really rough, but his lyrics are wonderful."
The definition of folk music is in flux of late. Yet because of the poetic foundation of Wilcox's music, and the way it's complemented by acoustic instruments, you're apt to find his records near those by the Weavers and hear him live at traditional music venues. For a songwriter so adept at creatively molding language, he's also a surprisingly gifted guitarist. Just as his lyrics are unique, he's adapted the guitar and its sound to suit them. Using unusual capos, tunings and picking styles, he summons from the traditional six strings some beautiful, non-traditional sounds.
"I like to extend the range of the guitar," he says, "making it sound more like a piano."
Wilcox's songs are realistic and frank, whether addressing international or dining room conflicts, personal loneliness or collective despair. Read straight from the liner notes of his four albums, his words don't necessarily offer a great deal of hope. But his voice does. 
The occasion of Wilcox's upcoming visit to Knoxville calls for a singer with just such attributes. His performance is part of the local commemoration of the 50th anniversary of the bombing of Hiroshima (sponsored by the Oak Ridge Environmental Peace Alliance). 
"The hopelessness that a lot of people are feeling has a lot to do with how easy destruction has become," Wilcox says. "To come together and sing and talk about those things with others, who have the same worries, is not a gloomy thing. I think it helps to see that others have the same hope."
Wilcox sees the imminent glimmer of resolution as being bright in proportion to the darkness of the problem. And his hope is contagious.
ÒI really enjoy living in this time. Looking back, it seems that the only times that have really mattered have been those when the future was in doubt.Ó