The story of The Beach Boys,
and Brian Wilson in particular, post-Pet Sounds is well documented, and
does not need to be recounted in great detail here. However, some context is needed to illuminate
the factors that went into the making of this week’s featured album. After
attempting a “teenage symphony to God” with the ill-fated SMiLE project,
Wilson and the rest of the group entered a murky period of inconsistent
recordings, and, in Wilson’s case, erratic behavior caused by a complete
nervous breakdown. While their work from Smiley Smile (1967) to Surf’s
Up (1972) remains, in this writer’s opinion, wildly underrated, it failed
to sell, and soon after the completion of Surf’s Up, Brian Wilson
quietly left the fold of The Beach Boys, opting to live in seclusion, rarely
leaving bed.
After several failed attempts
at a comeback, the band managed to coerce Wilson into participating in a tour
and record, resulting in 15 Big Ones (1976), both of which were wildly
underwhelming, especially considering all of the “Brian is Back!” hype that
surrounded both endeavors. They reeked
of nostalgia tour cheapness, and Wilson’s influence was barely felt, the
proceedings mainly dominated by Mike Love.
However, the experience must
have galvanized Wilson in some way, because soon after he began working on what
would have been his first ever solo record.
It was to be called Brian Loves You, but soon, due to poor mental
health again, among a multitude of factors, Wilson abandoned the project,
despite recording almost sixteen full tracks, mostly performed by Wilson
himself. Then, coincidentally, the other
Beach Boys realized they needed a new record to fill contractual obligations,
so Carl Wilson unearthed the unreleased Brian songs and overdubbed additional
instrumentation, along with the band’s idiosyncratic harmonies. The result, Love You, is a warped,
mostly brilliant oddity, and the last great record The Beach Boys ever
released.
Beginning with “Let Us Go On
This Way” and “Roller Skating Girl,” Love You starts off somewhat
innocuously, but there are production touches that foreshadow what is to come
later. Both songs are bathed in
synthesizers and heavily canned sounding drums, giving these songs a more
modern sounding edge than most listeners were used to hearing from this band,
at least since the progressive Pet Sounds. Brian is also not heard in any capacity
vocally until the final tag of “Roller Skating Girl” and when he enters, it’s a
shock; gone is the beautiful falsetto that characterized his performances. In its place is a gruff growl that is so
rough there is almost no indication that this is the same person that sang “Don’t
Worry Baby.” After that opening one-two
punch, the record becomes Wilson’s show, the other members providing attractive
window dressing that keep things firmly in Beach Boys territory.
While he may have been in a
difficult place, mentally and physically, at this time, Wilson shows throughout
Love You that has hasn’t lost his signature naiveté and hopefulness. “Johnny Carson” is probably the most well
regarded song here, and it’s status is
well deserved. The vocal arrangements
are beautiful as usual, but it’s the lyrical content that really stands out,
not because it’s a masterpiece of poetry, but due to its un-ironic take on
Wilson’s love for the late night talk show host. He goes into the minute details of his
experience watching the show, from “[Carson’s] manly tone” and how when “it
gets so boring he fills up the slack.” It’s a bizarre song, but in line with
previous Wilson compositions that go into the minutiae of his life, such as “Busy
Doin’ Nothin’.” These childlike
observations continue on “Solar System,” where Wilson basically names all the
planets in order from closeness to the sun, couched in a classic Wilson melody
with signature changes during the chorus, complete with another tastefully
arranged group harmony.
Love You is not just focused on Wilson’s private musings,
however. In the middle of side two is a
quintessential Wilson romantic suite, several beautiful love songs that
highlight themes that he had been focused on since at least The Beach Boys
Today, which Love You resembles structurally (both records linking
their major ballads together on the second side of each). “The Night Was So Young,” “I’ll Bet He’s
Nice,” and “Let’s Put Our Hearts Together” are all fantastic songs, almost a
perfect continuance of the mood set forth on Pet Sounds, full of
romantic longing and hope. These songs represent the closest Love You ever
gets to traditional Beach Boys material. However, with his new vocal delivery,
songs that might have been viewed as sweet and innocent in earlier times now
come across with a more desperate edge, the sound of a man clinging to his
beliefs spite of what has happened to him.
These are the songs that end up truly defining Love You,
highlighting conflicting emotions brewing inside the mind of a damaged man.
Love You is a standout in The Beach Boys canon, both in
quality and idiosyncrasy. There is
absolutely nothing else like it in their, or any other band’s, discography
(only the warped psychedelia of Smiley Smile comes close to the oddness
on display here). And, in spite of its
seeming inaccessibility, this is one of the most outright enjoyable
Beach Boys albums, being free of the hosannas surrounding Pet Sounds,
which can make that album a bit of a daunting listen. Soon after this, the band
completed its full on transformation into a nostalgia act, so Love You also
represents a last stand for the original incarnation of The Beach Boys. This is their last unfiltered explosion of
creativity before the beginning of their endless summer, which makes Love
You even more of an album to treasure.
