David Wilcox Annual Thanksgiving Homecoming Concert

There are songwriters who chronicle life, and then there’s David Wilcox—an artist who metabolizes it. He has long been a quiet force in American folk music; a musician’s musician, a writer’s writer, and a seeker whose gift lies in making the personal feel universal.

With the upcoming release of The Way I Tell the Story (2025), Wilcox proves, yet again, that resilience isn’t just a survival skill—it’s an art form. The record shimmers with musical sophistication but leaves just enough space for the listener to feel what Wilcox has always done best: tell the truth, gently but without apology.

The music he’s creating now comes from a place that can’t be faked. In recent years, Wilcox’s life has been shaped by his wife’s Parkinson’s diagnosis—a shift that reordered his priorities and redefined his sense of time, love, and presence. But rather than retreat, Wilcox leaned in. “Times get tough, and music gets good,” he says, and means it. These songs don’t dramatize. They don’t resolve neatly. They sit in the complexity of living—open-eyed, unafraid, quietly brave.

Wilcox’s career began in earnest in the late 1980s, when his self-released debut The Nightshift Watchman caught the attention of A&M Records. His major-label debut, How Did You Find Me Here (1989), became an unexpected hit, selling over 100,000 copies largely by word of mouth and live shows alone—an unheard-of feat for a debut folk record. Critics took note of his deft guitar work and emotional clarity, but it was the unassuming wisdom threaded through his lyrics that truly set him apart. Rolling Stone praised his “soulful insight,” while The New York Times called his music “a kind of open-hearted therapy.”

Wilcox’s music still resonates, especially now, because it doesn’t try to outpace the moment. It meets it. In his world, craft is a form of care. Introspection is a public offering. And staying soft in a hard world isn’t a liability—it’s a kind of leadership.

For audiences seeking something more than noise, more than nostalgia, Wilcox’s songs remain a rare kind of company. Not flashy. Not loud. Just deeply, generously alive.