Larry Jon Wilson welcomes obscurity
By Lisa Jordan • Metro Spirit, Augusta, Ga. • Jan. 30, 2003
On a recent Friday, I had the pleasure of being kidnapped for the afternoon by singer-songwriter Larry Jon Wilson.
For an artist whose talents have been revered by other musicians and critics alike, both in the United States and abroad, Wilson moves around his hometown in relative obscurity. And that, it seems, is the way he likes it.
“I’m exactly where I always was,” he says. “The name of my next record is ‘Flaunting Obscurity,’ and that’s exactly what I’ve always done.”
It’s evident in the way he tours the Augusta Museum of History’s current exhibit, “Thirty Years of Rock and Roll: Photography by Larry Hulst.” In addition to Hulst’s photography, the museum has local music memorabilia on display: A copy of Wilson’s “New Beginnings” album and a poster sit back-to-back with photographs and clippings of James Brown, Steve Morse and Brenda Lee. We pause in front of Wilson’s display.
“What do you think?” I ask.
“I don’t,” he replies with a grin.
Wilson slowly walks around the perimeter of the room, looking not so much at the quality of the photography, but at Hulst’s subjects, occasionally punctuating the silence with a whispered, “I know him,” “I’ve met her,” or “He’s a nice guy, excellent songwriter.” Wilson’s voice is so quiet, the only other viewer of the exhibit doesn’t bother to turn around. If he did, he would notice that the legend immortalized in the glass case he’s looking at is standing right behind him.
We spend another half-hour or so exploring the rest of the museum, and Wilson has his own story to tell about almost everything on display. Some of the pieces remind him of his youth in Augusta: the old-fashioned gas pumps, a trolley car, a radio station broadcast booth.
But that’s to be expected. Wilson is, first and foremost, a storyteller, and that’s what he does best. His albums are chock-full of tales of the South, slices of a culture that represents one facet of Americana. On a CD reissue of his first two albums, “New Beginnings” and “Let Me Sing My Song to You,” Wilson’s rich, deep voice weaves tales of family, Southern locales infused with atmosphere and even the girl-chasing of Wilson’s college days. The introductions to some of the songs are composed of minimal instrumentation and spoken details.
Later, over a cup of coffee and a chocolate chip cookie Wilson was generous enough to share, he tells more stories, including how he gave up a regular ol’ job for the life of a wandering troubadour.
“I didn’t get a guitar till I was 30,” he says, sitting back in his chair. “I’ve learned absolutely alone.”
In the nearly 30 years since the release of Wilson’s first album, the same period of time encompassed by the Augusta Museum of History’s exhibit, a lot has changed in the music world, and Wilson’s witnessed the evolution (or devolution, depending on your point of view) of the music industry.
“Rock ‘n’ roll was beginning its death knell when I got into music, in the late ‘70s,” he says. “(The record companies) made contracts (with artists) that I don’t think they could sell enough albums to get back the amount of money that they paid. I think the reason people are successful now is because the thing is market-driven, when it used to be music-driven.”
Wilson pauses for a moment and cocks his head, listening to the song playing at the Metro Coffeehouse. It’s Sheryl Crow’s “If It Makes You Happy.”
“I know this girl,” he says, before continuing to talk about the changes he’s seen in the music business. When Wilson speaks about the other musicians he knows, it feels as if he’s talking in footnotes about friends old and new.
“The radio used to determine what hit music was,” says Wilson. “If you paid radio to play music, you’re breaking the law. Now just a package comes in. I can’t relate to — how does a record that no one’s heard of come in No. 1?”
Especially with artists out there, he says by way of example, like Norah Jones, whose debut album “Come Away With Me” took 45 weeks to reach the No. 1 spot. “To see that kind of thing happening, to see someone that young delving back a couple of generations and not doing hits, but snatching something obscure.”
The best musicians, Wilson says, are “artists that are song interpreters — that kind of music just rises above the others. I’m delighted when I hear it rise from the top 30.”
Far from being a disadvantage, obscurity can, in the music world, foster artistic integrity. Instead of making music for a profit-driven industry and the mass consumerism that automatically follows, these musicians craft songs out of love.
“That’s one of the great advantages of obscurity,” says Wilson. “Obscurity is a welcome thing to me still, in the world where we live. To be obscure artistically in that kind of environment is a compliment to me.”
And, he says, “Certain kinds of music aren’t even trying anymore. ... The market now decides. I don’t know what percentage of the audience is planted for the camera scans. That may be a bit cynical, but it can be sour grapes.”
But as he’s talking, Wilson is smiling. He shrugs and says, “If it has to be put in the blender from time to time, all of us have to have patience. But I love to see this town — look where we’re sitting. There’s live music in all directions. People are coming down to hear, in these few blocks, a lot of different things.”
By the time darkness and midwinter chill begin to set in, it’s time to head back. Wilson drops me off at The Spirit offices with a folder of photographs and news clippings. Before handing it over, he thumbs through the materials, reading a few fragments out loud. When one passage refers to him as “the very talented Larry Jon Wilson,” he skips the “very talented” part.
He shouldn’t.
On Feb. 7, Wilson will give a rare hometown performance. In conjunction with the Augusta Museum of History’s exhibit, the museum is staging a series of unplugged concerts. Wilson, the first musician in the series, plays at 6:30 p.m. at the museum, and reservations are required. Other upcoming concerts sponsored by the museum are a Feb. 12 performance by Jeff Barnes as Elvis and the “Legends” concert featuring a Beatles tribute band March 8 at the Imperial Theatre. For tickets and information, call the museum at 722-8454.