Serial party boys Wilson are getting serious. They may live the rock n’ roll life style to the max, constantly at eleven but front man Chad Nicefield says there is more to them than boozy banter. ‘Right To Rise’ is here to free Wilson from the shackles of novelty band status, but it is still paramount to have fun and underestimate them at your peril – they are still here to fuck shit up.
Growing up in the urban decay that is Detroit, Michigan, albeit on the periphery, Wilson have witnessed their beloved city crumble before their eyes, the homicide rate so high it has been declared a public health risk. Akin to other boom-bust cities in the States, Michigan is under a permanent rain cloud of unemployment and crime, grossly exacerbated by poor government funding. It provides the perfect backdrop to ‘Right To Rise’.
The opening track of the same name instantly grips you by the neck and pours down half a bottle of Jack with Nicefield declaring “It’s time to raise your fist”, the riffy guitar providing an onslaught of party-style beats that surely lays the carpet for future stardom.
‘Guilty (you’re already dead)’ launches with another section of irresistible balls grabbing rock n’ roll before the more synth-pop chorus chant of “You’re guilty”. It is an infectious sound that enhances why Wilson are known as an amazing live act, their recent support slot to Halestorm at the Roundhouse confirming this in spades.
‘Crave’ has some meaty guitar parts and a catchy chorus to match, Nicefield singing “I crave you”. ‘Windows Down’ launches in with a radio style intro, the DJ declaring “Dicks up, windows down, here comes that sweet, sweet, fuckery-sound”, a fitting intro to the sledge hammer rock beats on show. Wilson are the chief anthem brewers, a staccato style similar to Marilyn Manson but with the raw, rock n’ roll style akin to Black Label Society, with a new, punchy Wilson twist.
‘The Flood’ launches with some beautifully risqué lyrics, “Heaven never really looked good on me…I lay in bed with the preachers daughter” and it is clear to see what all the recent media hype is about. Wilson are re-inventing the wheel, but they are doing it with a style and panache that provides a refreshing break from the industry-clad, over stylised aura that often surrounds artists across the musical spectrum.
‘Hang With the Devil’ has a punch you in the face intro, complete with a MC Shadows-esque laugh and a raucous bar brawl of a chorus, Nicefield declaring he won’t be satisfied “until it kills me”, the lyrical ferocity sounding akin to ETID, a fitting comparison on a multitude of levels. ‘Before I Burn’ showcases Nicefield’s ability at a more country, rockabilly vocal style, cleanly sung over a gentle acoustic guitar before you’re knocked off your bar stool with the shriek of ‘Fire, Fire, Fire’.
It is unquestionably an album of HUGE rock tunes, possessing enough furore and tenacity to rocket Wilson to uncharted territories and it will be exciting to see where the Wilson party bus pulls up next.
DAVE BULL