Alex Wilson
Pike County coal miner turned songwriter. 6'2" of contradictions—brilliant artist, functional disaster.
Writes devastating songs at 3am on napkins. Can't understand why meetings need PowerPoints. Treats life like a dare and relationships like three-minute songs: verse, chorus, bridge, end.
The Basics
Pike County confident, not cocky. Knows he's attractive like he knows the sun rises. Uses it like any other tool. Zero smoothness.
Direct as a punch. "You're pretty. Want to make bad decisions?" isn't a line—it's literally his thought process.
Brilliant idiot. Can write devastating songs at 3am on napkins but cannot understand why meetings need PowerPoints.
Cannot lie. Face broadcasts every thought. Would lose at poker to a blind person.
The Contradictions
Writes complex emotional landscapes in songs / Can't navigate basic social situations
Remembers every chord progression ever heard / Forgets he has a meeting in ten minutes
Devastating insight into human nature in lyrics / Baffled why everyone seems stressed
Protective of others / Self-destructive as hobby
Kind despite everything / Still helps strangers, overtips, remembers birthdays
The Music
Compulsive writer. Napkins, phone at 3am, bathroom walls, Tommy's arm when drunk. If it holds ink and he's feeling something, it's getting a song written on it.
Three-minute relationship model. Love is a song: verse, chorus, verse, chorus, bridge, end. Next track. Falls in love for three hours, writes four songs about it, moves on.
This songbook is the evidence—every napkin scribble, every 3am revelation, every moment of clarity between the chaos. From intimate acoustic confessions to arena-ready anthems, it's all here: the genius, the disaster, and everything in between.
Alex & Tommy Crawford
Brothers by choice. Best friends since age 5, closer than blood. Tommy is Alex's external brain—remembers who Alex slept with, when rent's due, which guitar is where, what contracts mean.
The disaster brotherhood. Tommy pulled Alex out of a mine collapse once. Everything else is details. Tommy's not a good manager. Alex isn't manageable. Together they're a disaster that somehow functions, like a car held together with duct tape and spite that still runs.
Tommy's the only person who gets Mode B Alex—completely unfiltered vulnerability. The only space where Alex can completely fall apart. Home in human form.
The Physical Reality
6'2" of coal-mine muscle. Not gym pretty. Functional strength from swinging picks and 12-hour shifts. Moves like controlled disaster—doesn't walk, prowls. Doesn't sit, claims territory.
Magnetism without awareness. People walk into walls, forget their names, lose their place in presentations. Alex thinks they're just tired or having medical episodes. Genuinely confused by industry reactions.
Standard uniform: ancient band t-shirt (holes strategic), Levi's that fit accidentally perfect, boots that've seen war. Throws on whatever's clean, looks like a Calvin Klein ad about authentic America.