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If we\u2019re being honest with ourselves, most sympathetic critics grade the post-Beach Boys music of Brian Wilson on a curve. Unquestionably a musical genius, Wilson is responsible for Pet Sounds<\/i> and the legendary long-thought-lost SMiLE<\/i>, arguably two of the most revolutionary albums in the history of popular music. The Beatles certainly regarded Pet Sounds<\/i> as such.<\/p>\n
Wilson\u2019s personal issues are the stuff of legend (and book, and film), too: his issues with domineering father Murry Wilson, his deafness in one ear (and how it may or may not have got that way), his battles with some of his Beach Boys band mates over the direction their music should take, his schizophrenia, his work with various collaborators (some brilliant, others much less so).<\/p>\n
And, ultimately, there\u2019s his music. Setting aside the \u201cBrian\u2019s back\u201d efforts of his old band \u2013 an exercise that resembled Sly Stone\u2019s \u201ccomebacks\u201d in frequency, futility and (sad to say) cynicism \u2013 Wilson effectively left the Beach Boys in the late 1960s.<\/p>\n
Among many, both Pet Sounds<\/i> and SMiLE<\/i> are considered Brian Wilson projects rather than Beach Boys records. One can convincingly argue that brothers Carl and Dennis plus the rest of the group were as much session hands on the recordings of that era as were Glen Campbell, Van Dyke Parks, Hal Blaine, Carol Kaye and Keith Allison. In fact the 1967 single \u201cCaroline, No\u201d b\/w \u201cSummer Means New Love\u201d was credited to Brian rather than the Beach Boys.<\/p>\n
But it wasn\u2019t until 1988 that the man finally released a proper solo album. And the circumstances surrounding that album were more than a bit unusual. At the time, Wilson was under the sway of therapist Eugene Landy (memorably depicted by Paul Giamatti in the biopic Love and Mercy<\/i>). Setting aside for the moment whether it was a good idea or not, so complete was Landy\u2019s hold over Wilson that the non-musical doctor was credited (in bold!) on the Brian Wilson<\/i> album sleeve as Executive Producer. Five of the album\u2019s eleven songs have a composer\u2019s co-credit to Landy as well.<\/p>\n
In any era, the existence of four co-producers on an album is a red flag. At best it connotes a lack of unified purpose among the sessions; at worst it suggests an artist who\u2019s difficult to work with. Alongside its namesake, Brian Wilson<\/i> credits producers Russ Titelman, Jeff Lynne, Lenny Waronker and Andy Paley. And if one digs into the sleeve credits, phrases like \u201crerecorded by…\u201d show up alongside a long list of studio locales.<\/p>\n
On the occasion of the 30th<\/sup> anniversary of Brian Wilson<\/i>\u2019s release, it\u2019s possible \u2013 useful, even \u2013 to set as much of that back story and trivia aside and focus on the music.<\/p>\n Productionwise, Brian Wilson<\/i> sounds very much of its time, though perhaps not nearly as much so as Imagination<\/i>, the album he\u2019d make a decade later. And while detailed information isn\u2019t available, it\u2019s safe to assume that Wilson\u2019s co-writers (save perhaps Landy) did the lion\u2019s share of the lyric writing; let\u2019s just agree that (with some notable exceptions) Brian\u2019s genius does not seem to extend as reliably to song lyrics as it does to composition and arrangement. But dig beyond those parts of the songs and you\u2019ll discover some good (and occasionally great) music on Brian Wilson<\/i>.<\/p>\n The album opens with what is far and away its best song. \u201cLove and Mercy\u201d suffers from dated synthesizer pads that threaten to overwhelm Brian\u2019s somewhat fragile vocal, but even amidst the \u201880s sonic trappings, the simple beauty of the piece (with lyrics by Brian himself) comes through.<\/p>\n Apparently producer Joe Wilson thought \u201cLove and Mercy\u201d good enough to all but co-rewrite it as the title track of 1998\u2019s Imagination<\/i>. To his credit \u2013 though that album as a whole steers toward the middle of the road and includes dubious contributions from marginal musical characters like Jimmy Buffett \u2013 \u201cImagination\u201d has a transcendent vocal arrangement (find the a cappella mix if you can) that shines in a way that the original recording of \u201cLove and Mercy\u201d only hints at.<\/p>\n And in 1995, producer Don Was recognized the brilliance of \u201cLove and Mercy\u201d in an even more useful way: with a different set of musicians and a much lighter production hand, he recorded Wilson leading a completely new (and far superior) recording of the song for the film (and associated soundtrack for) I Just Wasn\u2019t Made for These Times<\/i>. (Fun fact: On the sleeve notes for IJWMFTT<\/i>, Brian Wilson is listed as the sole composer of \u201cLove and Mercy.\u201d Take that, doc.)<\/p>\n Cowritten with the Dream Academy\u2019s Nick Laird-Clowes (the latter would lend his lyrical skills to the David Gilmour-led Pink Floyd around the same time), \u201cWalkin\u2019 the Line\u201d is a good combination of the classic Beach Boys vibe with then-current arrangement styles. In fact it sounds a bit like very late-\u201960s and early \u201870s Beach Boys crossed with, well, the Dream Academy.<\/p>\n \u201cMelt Away\u201d suggests what SMiLE<\/i> might have ended up sounding like had Brian revisited it then instead of two decades later (thank goodness that didn\u2019t happen). Brian doesn\u2019t shy away from occasional use of wordless doot-doot vocals, which is fine. Because for him the sound and emotional content of the vocals is often at least as important as the words themselves.<\/p>\n Some dicey keyboard textures and creaky falsetto backing vocals mar the otherwise fine \u201cBaby Let Your Hair Grow Long.\u201d The arrangement again recalls SMiLE<\/i> session work, with ringing snare drums and gloriously booming tympani that evoke thoughts of prime-era Brian. Lyrically it\u2019s more than a few steps down from \u201cCaroline, No,\u201d but in the context of Brian\u2019s work overall, it\u2019s not an embarrassment.<\/p>\n \u201cLittle Children\u201d is a bit overproduced and features tiredly familiar lyrics (\u201cMarchin\u2019 along \/ singin\u2019 a song\u201d in the chorus<\/i>, for goodness\u2019 sake), and the repeated phrase on the outro threatens to induce a headache. Best skipped.<\/p>\n Thanks to \u201cOne for the Boys,\u201d all is forgiven, however. The wordless a cappella track is a distant cousin to \u201cOur Prayer\u201d from the SMiLE<\/i> sessions, and shows that Brian Wilson\u2019s mastery of subtle and highly evocative chordal shadings is unmatched. It\u2019s probably not hyperbole to suggest that Brian\u2019s most ardent fans would eat up an entire album of this sort of thing, should he ever deign to make one.<\/p>\n Opening with a chorus, \u201cNight Time\u201d immerses Wilson even deeper in the musical aesthetic of the late 1980s; thankfully the breezy verses have a more timeless feel. The four-writer credit (shades of the 21st<\/sup> century radio pop\/pap method) seems indefensible in light of the song\u2019s underwritten lyric. A bit of regrettable saxophone creeps into the song\u2019s second half; its only defense is the now-common refrain: \u201cWell, it was the \u201880s.\u201d One supposed things could have been worse; it could have been another synthesizer.<\/p>\n In light of Jeff Lynne\u2019s signature heavy-handed production style, one might expect \u201cLet it Shine\u201d (written and produced by Wilson and Lynne) to be a dog. Happily it\u2019s nothing of the sort. The simple homespun lyric is nice enough, and Lynne seems content to dial back the production flourishes that make his fingerprints indelible on most of his work. \u201cLet it Shine\u201d is a welcome highlight of Brian Wilson<\/i>, one that demonstrates Jeff Lynne\u2019s keen understanding of what makes Wilson special.<\/p>\n Andy Paley understands these things as well, as evidenced by \u201cMeet Me in My Dreams Tonight.\u201d Judicious use of (electronic?) handclaps helps move this bouncy number along; it has a grand, expansive yet light feel, qualities shared with some of the best Beach Boys music. (After these sessions, Paley went on to work with Brian an another project; the bootlegs from what what would have been Sweet Insanity<\/i> show that he sometimes \u2013 but not quite always \u2013 got it right.)<\/p>\n Brian Wilson<\/i> ends with \u201cRio Grande,\u201d a, er, grand suite that \u2013 with the benefit of informed hindsight \u2013 sounds very much like a distant relative of SMiLE<\/i>. It\u2019s almost as if Brian, then distanced from that abandoned opus by some two decades, decided to revisit some of its musical themes. But not having heard any of the music in 20 years, perhaps he did so purely from memory. Some of the wonderfully kitschy musical motifs found in \u201cHeroes and Villains\u201d and even \u201cDo You Dig Worms\u201d crop up in mutated form in \u201cRio Grande.\u201d Wilson has often gravitated toward big ideas, and \u201cRio Grande\u201d swings for the fences with its attempt at painting a sound picture of a slice of the American west. If one makes some allowances for a (once again) slight \u201880s-ness, \u201cRio Grande\u201d is full of charms that show Wilson\u2019s creative muse as strong and enduring as ever.<\/p>\n When first listening to Brian Wilson<\/i>, most listeners had never heard the then-unreleased (but heavily bootlegged) SMiLE<\/i> tapes; the ones who had (this writer included) displayed broad smiles when hearing \u201cRio Grande\u201d around its 2:30 mark. Some swirling, wordless vocals are clearly modeled on the \u201cFire\u201d or \u201cMrs. O\u2019Leary\u2019s Cow\u201d sections of the 1967 masterwork. One can almost imagine Brian thinking to himself (or discussing with the Phil Spector voice in his head), \u201cWell, since I\u2019ll never finish SMiLE<\/i>, how about I do this instead?\u201d And one might further conjecture that the positive critical notices the suite earned might have helped place Brian on the path toward reconsidering the long-abandoned project. A sequence of musical snippets assembled into a whole, \u201cRio Grande\u201d also bears some stylistic similarities to the second side of the Beatles\u2019 Abbey Road<\/i>.<\/p>\n Not counting the scuppered Sweet Insanity<\/i> project, fans of Brian Wilson and his work would have to wait seven years for more music. When 1995 rolled around, they got both a reunion\/collaboration with SMiLE<\/i> co-conspirator Van Dyke Parks (1995\u2019s Orange Crate Art<\/i>, which was really a Parks album with Wilson vocals) and I Just Wasn\u2019t Made for These Times<\/i>, a loving Don Was project that paid tribute to Wilson while involving Brian in the proceedings. It wouldn\u2019t be until later that Wilson would begin to come to terms with (and rightly capitalize upon) the earlier phase of his body of work, reviving both Pet Sounds<\/i> and SMiLE<\/i> in various and amazing ways, both on record and live in concert. Today \u201cLove and Mercy\u201d from 1988\u2019s Brian Wilson<\/i> is a centerpiece of his concerts. And when one forgives its dated excesses, Brian Wilson<\/i> is an album that continues to reveal its charms.<\/p>\n![\"\"](\"http:\/\/blog.musoscribe.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2018\/10\/brian_wilson_sire45.jpg\")
\u201cThere\u2019s So Many\u201d is somewhat turgid musically. Sleigh bells and lovely backing vocals (mostly Brian, with perhaps a spot of help here and there by Andy Paley) only help so much. Again the now-vintage synthesizer patches make the song sound woefully of its era. And Brian\u2019s lead vocal seems adrift in the mix. A harp glissando around the two-minute mark is simply too much, and not in a good way.<\/p>\n