Austin, TX-based Jack Wilson's self-titled, debut full-length bridges the gap between the folk-rock of Seattle (where he began his career as a full-time musician) and the acoustic music prevalent in Austin.

"Somewhere, in the blending, is the sound of the record," says Wilson, a little ambiguous when he talks about his music, but focused on describing it as best he can. "Whatever you might call it, my sound, well, it's that
blend."

Wilson, a songsmith able to pull off his album solo acoustic, or with a full-on rock band, says that is what he set out to do with this release.

"That's why I decided to go with a self-titled record for my debut," Wilson admits. "During the process of making the record, which consisted of months of pre-recording talks and planning, I opted to steer away from a concept record. I didn't want to make a rock record, or a folk record, or a low-fi record, or what have you. I just wanted to sit down and record the songs the way that they sounded best."

During pre-production for what would become the self-titled album, Wilson decided to drop his band moniker, Jack Wilson & The Wife Stealers, and settled solely on Jack Wilson.

"I didn't want to be constrained to limits of alt. country, or rock, or folk," he reiterates. "It was the greatest hurdle facing the record, just that idea of, ‘Do we make a rock record? Does every song need to have drums on it? How do we make an album that settles together and tells one story?' Through multiple takes and versions, re-cuts and overdubs, some tracks kept all the complexity of the rock that they were recorded with. Some tracks, like the album's only cover, 'Clean,' were stripped of everything - that’s what the song needed to come out and be heard."

The result is the eleven tracks that comprise the album. Jumping from the nineteen electric guitars found on "The Cure," a full-on rock number complete with a horn section, or the subdued, late-night folk of "The Truth," fleshed out by Wilson's Austin picker friends laying down mellow, yet gripping acoustic lines, the album is as schizophrenic as one could come, without sounding out-of-place, sloppy, or without direction.

One of the album's strongest songs is the alt. country kicker "Paying for Misery (Thanks to You)," a song Wilson wrote as a homage to a train hopper, and two folk singers, that helped show him that working a menial
job and squandering his musical career was never going to satisfy him. Suffice to say, Wilson quit his job, wrote this song, and hit the road, putting everything on the line.

Thankfully Wilson did this, putting his faith in his own music, and what would become the self-titled full-length.

"So many friends helped this record come together," he says. "The horn sections are something that I felt we used sparingly and with great impact. In the last chorus of 'Valhalla,' Alex Kostelnik and I spent hours
finding ways to mix in the vocal lines, the pedal steel swells, the ecstatic drumming, and those four horns. Through that cacophony, came such a sweet feeling, like a tipsy stumble sidewalk, following a marching band
through the streets of the French Quarter at 9 o'clock in the morning."

Looking back at it all, and discussing prior records he's released and recorded with prior bands, Wilson is glad he finally came into his own.

"I was trying to be many different people before I made this record. This record is me being Jack Wilson. Hopefully the next record will also be Jack Wilson, we just have to give [the album] a different name."

"When people who have heard me live take home the record, I always tell them that they’re getting a lot of music for their money. The live show can take many forms. In an acoustic setting, I tell people that they’re
going to get all the songs they heard, with more accompaniment, more band. After one of our rock band shows, I send people home with records and tell
them that now they’re going to get to hear all those words a lot clearer. The record marries the electric and acoustic show. If they liked the show, then there’s something for everyone."

When discussing people's reactions to the record, Wilson just hopes that "when people put on the record, that they listen to the words, that they allow themselves to get swept up in the sound, and follow it through the
different shapes that it takes on the record. I want people to put on 'Valhalla' in the morning while they’re making breakfast, or put on 'I’ll Do the Same' or 'Red Feather' while they’re going through a breakup. Or having to deal with a fucking long cold winter."

That is Jack Wilson. In a nutshell.