Wild Child couldn’t be more aptly named.
Started by two homeless kids who met while stealing from the same store, they soon realized that they had a knack for sewing subversive lyrics on to innocent melodies and formed an unexpected bond. In the first years of their unlikely friendship they were taken under the wing of an eccentric and iconic local movie actor.
Through chance encounter and subsequent late night talks they were eventually asked to move into a small wing of his large Austin Texas home where they set up camp and begin to write.
The constant stream of star struck people and confused love affairs that paraded through that all but empty mansion became the writing material for Kelsey Wilson and Alexander Beggins. Childlike wonder, hurt feelings, and material longings became the texture of their songs and soon the duo became a trio became a foursome became a band at full force.
Their Horns, Violins, drums, Keys, guitars, ukuleles and cellos soon outgrew the fake hospitality of their host.
Fully formed, Wild child emerged on the other side of their unlikely start to be a modern pop machine pumping out catchy tunes with dark underbellies.
This last year I stood side stage at their concert watching the first row of overwhelmed fans cry in their sodas and sing each syllable that Kelsey and Alexander uttered right back to them like a possessed echo.
Each seedy phrase, wrapped in a sweet veneer, each image of petty youth framed in the irony of its importance was being embraced by both young and old.
The tattooed lady and her bearded boyfriend stand shoulder to shoulder with the young gender ambiguous teen in braces and her/his older brother? parent? partner? stranger?
All wide eyed, suddenly vulnerable and without border.
Who are these people? how old are they?
They are you and me. These are the songs and stories that belong to us all. These are people who have skittles in their cereal and mescaline in their milk. These are straight A dropouts. These are the melodies that catch in your head and frame the little moments of your day. These are the things you should have said, that one time, but never did. Their music is as beautiful and fleeting as the fib you were just told.
Because I urge you to consider the idea that, in music, often the truth is be far less important than the story. Where they started, why they play, who they’re writing about and what they ate for breakfast mean nothing in relation to the tales that they weave.
So perk up your ears and shed a few years because Wild Child has stories to tell.
– Shakey Graves
