William Dunnill of Willy and The Wildcards Uses His Music to Create a Sense of Home

On any arid Dallas night in summertime, you can walk down a street in Deep Ellum and hear the blues. It leaks out from propped-open doorframes, past street corners equal parts smoky and smelly, and through the bustle of sweaty club-goers, it beckons to you, perhaps from a bar as you look for respite after a lonely day’s work. There is a subtle heartache to the crooning of the guitar, a tension and release in the chord progression. Another thud as a glass of Lone Star hits the bartop.

Last month, we covered the next generation of North Texas talent at Club Dada, which featured David Archibald, Mkn Coffee, Willy and the Wildcards and Gracen Wynn. After that show, we linked up with William Dunnill, one of the members of the “rock with a side of country” band from Texas, to talk about his connection to the city and how it is his lifeblood. You may know Willy from the band, or perhaps you’ve just seen him around.

Dunnill is a Dallas local. His earliest memories center around hardship and music interwoven together. He grew up with a stutter, and found an apt Christmas guitar gift at age eight as a way through. Through the help of a therapist, he found his voice not in words in the same sense that you or others might, but in staccato and legato. He learned the rhythm of singing and the rhythm of speaking in tandem, and his confidence grew with each theory learned on the guitar, starting with the Eagles' “Hotel California.”

“I just love stutterers, still,” he said. “I love giving them all the time in the world. And I love kids. They say exactly what’s on their mind.”

Dunnill invests time in teaching guitar when he is not gigging. He recalls the emotions he felt after spending months learning every part of “Hotel California” and later being a part of his first band in high school. He wants to replicate those experiences for his students, helping them find their footing in a sea of other voices wanting to make it big.

As we talk with Dunnill over some whisky, there is a subtle passion in his mannerisms. Sitting across the table from us, he is the same person as he is on stage–a chuckle, a corny joke, a legato voice and a glimmering eye. Music is less of a performance and more of an outpouring of the heart. It is why he invests in kids. It is why he lets other musicians interrupt a show and hop in on a harmonica. It is also why he still attends open mics even though he’s “made it” with his band.

With Willy and the Wildcards (members are Steven Shirley on percussion and backup vocals, Billy Kane on bass and Cole Bohner on acoustic guitar), he has found success in residencies and booked gigs across DFW. But with that success, he remembers his past. He brings along a string of old friends wherever he goes, including one lone wolf hailing from Adair’s Saloon named Mike, who has been to nearly every show since the band’s inception. It’s a success story where no one gets left behind, as no one should in music.

Dunnill doesn’t only spend his time with his band. His interactions with other musicians challenge him to grow. “My favorite collaboration lately,” he said, “is with my friend Pat.” Together, they formed Park Jam, a bluegrass-adjacent cover band. Pat has become his mentor, teaching him how to read music for the first time, something that was a challenge for him when he was younger due to his dyslexia. They take punk songs and Chappell Roan and transform them into bluegrass songs, Dunnill drawing inspiration from meditating on the chords themselves rather than the sound of the original pieces. Pat pushes him to think outside the box, a skill he transfers to his writing with Willy and the Wildcards.
Another meaningful collaboration was with the bassist of his band. Dunnill and Kane wrote their upcoming single, “Louder Than Gunfire,” in response to an act of violence that occurred on the front stoop of Adair’s during their residency there. “We were jamming the blues,” he said, a sort of gravity to his voice, “and we didn’t hear a thing. You know, badness is out there everywhere, but music is something we can cling to. That moment was poetic for us in a way.” He hopes the song will start a more meaningful conversation about the role violence plays in American society today and how we can find a way to change things. “Music is a great starting point.”

On the heels of a string of summer shows, he spoke about these life moments and concerts as notes on a blues scale—something one can hear lonely at a bar and pass the time well, or play and feel at peace. William tells us the root note represents “home,” and everything a musician plays after that is an ambling journey back to that “home.”

It’s both palpable and visceral in his shows, particularly as he thanks his audience for coming, tells them to tip their bartenders and begins their closing song, “Cliffside Road.” For anyone who has heard it, it is intoxicating, much in the same way, as the title suggests, like taking a long drive on a cliffside road somewhere–a stretch of quiet highway in West Texas, or a million-dollar mountain pass in Colorado. Wherever there is beauty, wherever there is freedom, the song harkens you to that place.

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Dunnill’s life began with challenges. While often uncertain or tense, these moments are threaded through with love from the Dallas community. He is driven toward greater success and continues to chase it down. He is putting on a single release show for “Louder Than Gunfire” on Nov. 26 at Ruins, a six-act bill going until midnight, with Sarah Minto-Sparks as the first opener.

Dunnill has almost made it, standing on a vista overlooking his own cliffside road, staccato ridges and rivers coloring the landscape, ready to step into his next song.