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Stephen Wilson Jr: A Mile 0 Knockout


Stephen Wilson Jr performs at Mile 0 Fest - January 23, 2025 (photo by Aaron Witt)
Stephen Wilson Jr performs at Mile 0 Fest - January 23, 2025 (photo by Aaron Witt)

Stephen Wilson Jr’s album Son of Dad was our most acclaimed album of 2023.  It dropped in December of that year and has spent the ensuing 14 months being the thing I’ve listened to the most. By far.  It didn’t connect with me upon first listen. The first song I heard was “Cuckoo” and I dismissed it as trite.  That was my mistake.  It delayed me from finding the depth of the rest of the record.  Son of Dad is a moving tribute to the writer’s relationship with his dad, past, hometown and the world.  It’s all told through the lens of grieving his departed father. As you peel back the layers you begin to notice the immense heart put into each lyric.  Wilson is from southern Indiana, but he may as well be from your hometown.  That’s to say nothing of his inventive, unique guitar playing.  He plays a classic guitar in the style of Willie Nelson’s Trigger.  But it’s plugged into a ton of pedals, effects and nimble fingering from Wilson himself that make it one of the coolest guitar experiences to behold.  The stretch on the record from “Year to Be Young 1994” through “Calico Creek” is as stout of a six song streak as you will find on anyone’s project.


It is with this context that we delve into Stephen Wilson Jr being on the Mile 0 lineup.  When the lineup first dropped, his name (along with Darrell Scott) were the two I was most excited to see. I was far from the only one.  Through the first couple days of the festival, other artists and media folks joined the chorus coming from attendees that were all excited to see if the greatness of the record and word of mouth of the live show matched what we had all heard.  Drew Kennedy even remarked to me “I absolutely can’t wait to see what he does on stage tonight.” And Kennedy is friends with the guy.  Even his close confidants weren’t sure what to expect.  


Buzz was palpable.  This was the night of the Ragweed reunion. Everyone knew that was coming as the main event, but the opening card was pretty stout as well.  Wilson was sandwiched between Brent Cobb and Shane Smith and the Saints.  A murderer’s row of soulful live performances that would crescendo with a Ragweed tribute and reunion.  Wilson Jr knew some of the artists on the lineup such as Kennedy, but was a relative outsider and newcomer to a crowd of Texas/Red Dirt enthusiasts. 


He confidently strode onstage after he was introduced by Ben Danaher to an extended instrumental piece. Wilson Jr. has a boxing background and the anticipation for his first notes was something akin to a fighter making his way to the ring and soaking up all of the adulation from the crowd all while being fully confident and prepared to knock their opponent out.  In this case, the opponent was the Mile 0 crowd.  He was going to lay us all out on the mat and knew it.  TKO caused by a Takamine with nylon strings. It was coming. He knew it, but we didn’t yet.  Even though I was overly excited at the prospect.




The fact that Wilson was adorned in a Star Trek jacket, oversized 1980’s framed eyeglasses, chomping on Juicy Fruit and standing on his tip toes for a majority of his performance just underscored how much he had trained to dominate this moment. 


When he finally got past the intro, he stalked the stage like a lion baiting prey into a trap.  Then he would return to the microphone and barely open his mouth to let out the most guttural and primal of country vocals. The aforementioned “Calico Creek” started the show and turned into an extended jam version.  The chorus was repeated at length. Wilson kept his between-song banter to a minimum to maximize his punching power. Relating that he was a southern Indiana hillbilly before launching into a rousing rendition of “Billy” endeared him to the crowd. “Cuckoo”, “Patches” and “Twisted” came in rapid succession. Each landing their blows on the assembled thousands. Each solo would find Wilson moving to the center stage catwalk to triumphantly raise his guitar and give the tiniest of smirks. 


The band took a break as Wilson took a tour through his phenomenal arrangement of Ben E. King’s “Stand By Me”. This cover reinforces that while he gained renown for writing his own songs and can most definitely rock as a new breed of guitar hero, he can also take songs you’ve heard a million times and transform them into something completely original and fresh. It also showcases the tender side of him that is all over the record. 


Stephen Wilson Jr is his father’s son as he would remind the audience throughout the set.  By the time he got to his “Father’s Son” song, it was assured that the audience wanted to claim him as their own as well. “1994” rolled out and hit the note with the lyrics “it takes me back to the days when a song was so much more…”  Wilson gets it. And this crowd got it. It was one of the most symbiotic and magic performances I’ve ever witnessed.  Everyone there rode the wave and felt each note. 


As the last note rung out from that old Takamine, Stephen Wilson Jr exited the stage a conquering hero.  The judges scored it all in his favor.  Undefeated. Undisputed. The next day Stephen WIlson Jr would take his wares down to the Sunset Pier to perform standing above the blustery Gulf on some two by fours. As fate would have it, my wife and I were traversing up Duval Street that early afternoon.  About a block up I noticed Wilson Jr and his wife Leigh Nash (Sixpence None the Richer) duck into a store.  We kept moving.  In one store and out the other.  Soon enough, by happenstance I found myself in the same doorway as Stephen Wilson Jr.  


I had a brief conversation with him telling him how much I loved the record.  How I connected with it as someone who has also lost his dad.  How Drew Kennedy and my other songwriter friends couldn’t say enough nice things about him. And how his performance had knocked me out.  He replied in kind and was quietly humble and appreciative.  I left him alone after that and my wife goes “Do you want to ask him for a picture? This will be your only chance ever.”  I declined, asserting that I’d rather keep this interaction to myself and not bother the reserved WIlson Jr as he browsed art and antiques on Duval Street.  Deep down, it was probably because I was still nursing the wounds of the punches he’d thrown at me with his voice and guitar the night before.  




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