And so, here is England's so-called most successful artist that I have never heard of. Steve did not put that mantle upon himself, so he bears no responsibility for its expectations. Then again, nothing herein suggests that Wilson is particularly worthy of being heard of.
The democratization of music creation and distribution has reduced spiritual ambitions like "scope" and "grandiosity" to dials on a DAW, and the sad fact is that thousands of well-heeled songwriters with pop sensibility and mathematical precision can produce these kinds of above-average crafts that never raise above a general warmth and non-specific or non-ascendent quality.
But let not one set of ears (and years) determine the perceptible frequencies. There is a lift in something like "Pariah" or "The Same Asylum as Before." Wilson clearly takes care and consideration into his lyrics, such that if his presentation is the first time one encounters such ideas of "hanging on" and "it being all the same," it can create sufficient meaning. All music listening is joining a conversation already in progress, and who one happens to hear when they stumble out of the cave can make all the difference. Wilson's guitar suggests someone in conversation with Mark Knopfler, which is cool enough if you're the sort of person to hold a Guitar Center employee hostage with small talk.
It's not nothing, is the thing. There is something here, in the same way that within all the soil of the earth one might encounter a cool-looking rock. The desire to dig depends on one's imagination and how many rocks they've already seen.
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