Words by Sean Moeller, Illustration by Johnnie Cluney, Recording engineered by Grant Johnson at Good Danny's, Austin, Texas
Love exhales slowly, but contentedly here.
It has delivered and it's been swept up in the bright gleaming, the beaming of two people, perhaps more. It feels like everything has come together for people in Wild Child songs, and still, there is a shakiness to contend with.
Alexander Beggins and Kelsey Wilson, of the Austin-based band play off of one another the way that Alex Ebert and Jade Castrinos of Edward Sharpe and the Magnetic Zeros do, or the way that Conway Twitty and Loretta Lynn used to during their old duets. There's stubbornness and sweetness intertwined. There is, without a doubt, a compatibility between the male and female characters in these songs that cannot be mistaken for anything but real deal love. It's the genuine character there, with the intimate and flippant remarks getting batted around, as thick as July mosquitoes. He's talking and she's talking. There's hearsay and there are great big skies of possibility that they sense that they're going to share together.
There is a dizziness in these songs that makes you feel lit the hell up. It makes you want to run out into the sprinklers or peel off your clothes and jump into a chilly lake. They are exhilarating takes on the complications of two people trying to work together, live together and actually become one, not just existing in parts. It's about finishing one another's sentences and anticipating when the other needs you before they ever have to say anything. It's bringing flowers for no reason. It's bringing a second beer from the refrigerator without being asked. It's not having to talk. It's talking all the time and appreciating every goddamned second of that girl, or that boy.