Brian Wilson, the Beach Boy and visionary composer whose groundbreaking music reshaped the sound of American pop, died on June 11. I had the pleasure of meeting Wilson several times, but first met with the great man through my friend David Leaf, whose writing is key to understanding Wilson’s music and humanity.
Wilson never disappointed. He was always unpredictable, always quirky and always delightfully Brian. On one occasion some friends and I interviewed him in a Mayfair hotel where – ever the trouper – he was helping promote a not-very-good Beach Boys collaboration with Status Quo.
We took him a side of Scottish smoked salmon as a gift against the advice of his wife Melinda who smiled sagely as he ripped the packet open and devoured it on the spot while patiently answering questions on Beach Boys minutiae.
Looking for something good? Cut through the noise with a carefully curated selection of the latest releases, live events and exhibitions, straight to your inbox every fortnight, on Fridays. Sign up here.
The legend of Wilson’s songwriting and production genius is often said to rest on two albums. First the Beach Boys’ Pet Sounds (1966) and then its intended follow up SMiLE! which he started in 1966 and eventually finished in 2004.
Sometimes overlooked, though, is the fact that Pet Sounds was preceded by 11 hit Beach Boys albums, many hit singles on both sides of the Atlantic, and worlds of innovation and influential new studio practices.
Wilson’s self-taught, monastic, note-by-note transcriptions of performances by The Four Freshmen and the orchestral works of George Gershwin were key to this innovation. As was his willingness to push the boundaries of recorded sound, layering complex and dynamic musical ideas by directing several musicians in hallowed Los Angeles recording studios such as Gold Star, Capitol and Western Recorders.
Wilson the hitmaker
Early Wilson productions reveal a contemporary hitmaker who was willing to embrace unusual structures and non-standard rock instrumentation (marimba, harpsichord, harp and bass harmonica) while leaving oceans of space for the Beach Boys’ peerless harmonies. These rich, jazz-influenced vocal arrangements were often double- and triple-tracked (a recording technique that layers the same parts of the song to create a fuller sound).
But Wilson also had the hitmakers’ instinct for collaboration. A series of lyricists including Gary Usher, Roger Christian, Tony Asher and fellow Beach Boy Mike Love helped further elevate his music, either in terms of its thematic commercial appeal or (as in his work with Van Dyke Parks) as a series of conceptual artworks.
While albums such as The Beach Boys Today! (1965) pointed a clear path to the introspection of Pet Sounds in songs like In the Back of My Mind and Please Let Me Wonder (both 1965), it is the latter album that remains one of the most famous examples of sustained artistry in 20th-century popular music. It solidified the idea of Wilson not just as a “genius” (a tag originated by publicist Derek Taylor) but more substantially as an expressionistic auteur.
After announcing the shelving of his experimental album SMiLE! in 1967, Wilson famously withdrew from public life. But I would argue that that well-known retreat was less of a withdrawal than the 20-years-in-bed legend would have it.
Although increasingly in poor health, he made important contributions to Beach Boys albums throughout the 1970s, most famously his fully-fledged return as songwriter and producer in the cult classic The Beach Boys Love You (1977). He also played a major role in projects like the beautiful American Spring album, which Wilson produced with his collaborator David Sandler for his first wife Marilyn and her sister Diane in 1972.
My encounters with Wilson
The late 1980s saw Wilson’s substantial second act eventually begin with a highly regarded eponymous 1988 solo album. Later – freed from the control of abusive psychotherapist Eugene Landy and with the support of second wife Melinda and the amazing musicians that became the Brian Wilson band – he enjoyed one of the great third acts in music history from the 2000s onwards.
During this period, he recorded acclaimed solo albums (including a revisiting of the works of his greatest hero in the wonderful Brian Wilson Reimagines Gershwin) and toured extensively.
Around this time, composer Duglas T. Stewart and I interviewed him for the liner notes of our tribute album Caroline Now! (2000) down the phone from his home in Los Angeles, where Wilson grappled comically with multiple phone lines. In response to a question about the influence of Wendy Carlos’s Switched On Bach album (1968) on his 1970s synthesiser arranging he yelped: “You know what, I have this in my CD player RIGHT NOW!”
The subsequent clatter of him trying to locate the CD with many barking dogs in the background seemed like a magical sound moment. And a very Brian sound moment.
People tend to define Wilson primarily through his fragility or his long struggle with poor mental health. Those are important factors in any life and put a clear stamp on the music he created. But I would challenge you to think again. Instead, think about this great artist through the lens of his strength, resilience and commitment to the creative act.
In later years he joked about his name and the connection between “Wilson” and “willpower”, but it’s a joke that reveals something deeper. At the opening of SMiLE! at the Royal Festival Hall February 20 2004, Wilson walked onto the stage to present a work he had abandoned 37 years previously – a work that by some accounts had nearly killed him.
At the end of the performance of this beautiful and unique album Wilson repeatedly attempted to silence the rapt applause before sighing wearyingly and accepting it. It was not just recognition for the achievement of the music, but the defiance of the artist himself.
In later touring years, Wilson’s physical fragility was sometimes in evidence, but there were always moments – often in songs like Surfer Girl (1963) or the hymnal Love & Mercy (1988) – where his intent, to make himself and others feel better through the art of songmaking, retained an unmatched emotional power. It was a reminder that the love and mercy you need tonight would always exist in the music of Brian Douglas Wilson.
David Scott does not work for, consult, own shares in or receive funding from any company or organisation that would benefit from this article, and has disclosed no relevant affiliations beyond their academic appointment.
This article was originally published on The Conversation. Read the original article.
