Brian Wilson, musical genius behind the Beach Boys, dies at 82

The renowned musician Brian Wilson, known for penning an iconic Southern California musical backdrop with a series of hit tunes by the Beach Boys, passed away after experiencing a prolonged period of despair and depression when his eagerly awaited magnum opus remained incomplete, sadly leaving it shelved. He was 82 years old.

On Wednesday morning, Wilson’s relatives shared the news of his passing on Facebook. At the moment, they find themselves speechless. The message read: “Currently, we are bereft of words.

At present, we kindly ask for your understanding and sensitivity as our family is going through a difficult time due to loss. We acknowledge that we’re making our sorrow public, but please remember we are sharing it with the world.

The cause of Wilson’s death wasn’t disclosed, but we know that he passed away over a year after his dementia diagnosis and placement under a conservatorship in May 2024. For many years, Wilson struggled with mental health problems and substance abuse.

Known widely as a musical prodigy, Wilson composed over three dozen chart-topping hits – catchy tunes perfect for sunny afternoons, which were the sweet soundtrack of radio waves in the early ’60s, anthems celebrating surf, sunlight, and fast automobiles.

During a time when rock bands were often given songs penned by well-known composers and skilled lyricists, Wilson bucked the trend by crafting, orchestrating, and managing a continuous string of hits that appeared to pour out naturally from the recording studio.

With catchy, popular tunes such as “Surfer Girl,” “California Girls,” and “Don’t Worry Baby” leading the way, Wilson was granted significant creative freedom by Capitol Records when it came to the band’s music. The label held Wilson in such high esteem that they allowed him to record wherever he preferred, rather than using the grand Capitol studios in Hollywood, which Wilson believed were more fitting for orchestras and not ideal for his Beach Boys productions.

William McKeen, who instructs a rock ‘n’ roll history class at the University of Florida, commented that on certain occasions, he found the individual had sung the same song up to 37 times. “One track might feature ‘doo, doo, doo,’ while the next could be ‘da, da, da.’ When you listen to them combined, it reveals a remarkably intricate musical composition.

“And he heard it all along.”

As a diehard movie fan might put it, the studio essentially transformed into my personal stage, mirroring Phil Spector’s experience. With each passing day, I found myself wielding my compositions with growing confidence, crafting grandiose and intricate pieces that would form an extensive musical legacy. While my bandmates embarked on global tours, I chose to remain behind the scenes, content in the knowledge that my preferred role was orchestrating our music from the comfort of the studio.

Upon their return from a trip to Asia in 1966, the group found that Wilson had produced an entire album while they were away. He wrote the songs, many in collaboration with Tony Asher, enlisted the help of top-notch session musicians from the Wrecking Crew to record with him, and considered the almost completed work as essentially a solo project. All his bandmates had to do, he clarified, was contribute their vocals.

The melodies in “Pet Sounds” were deeply moving and thoughtful, filled with melancholy, wistfulness, and nostalgia. Unlike his previous works which featured themes of waves, sunshine, and blonde-haired girls, these songs appeared more interconnected, as if they formed a cohesive musical entity rather than standalone pieces.

The members of his band were left speechless. Mike Love, his cousin and frontman of the group, expressed that the album could have been more successful if he had a greater role in its production. According to reports, Mike allegedly said, “Don’t mess with the formula.” Other band members felt that the songs sounded different from popular hits like “Surfin’ U.S.A” and “Dance, Dance, Dance,” but eventually agreed and the album was released.

2012 saw a contrasting portrayal of love in an L.A. Times op-ed, where he described his complex relationship with Wilson differently. According to him, he was an early supporter of the album, contributed to some of its songs, suggested the title, and played a role in persuading Capitol Records to fully back the project when they initially hesitated.

Despite not achieving gold status initially, “Pet Sounds” by the Beach Boys was an intoxicating masterpiece to critics and fans alike. Paul McCartney deemed it as “the century’s classic,” which reportedly inspired the rest of the Beatles to record “Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band.” Leonard Bernstein, a renowned classical composer, labeled Brian Wilson a genius and considered him one of America’s most significant musicians.

Over time, this album has been highly praised by critics, eventually becoming a cherished masterpiece considered among the greatest albums in rock history. Remarkably, even fifty years after its release, it continues to be ranked as the second-best album of all time by both Rolling Stone and Pitchfork, trailing only “Sgt. Pepper’s” in popularity. The Library of Congress has also taken note of its significance, preserving it in their National Recording Registry.

In simpler terms, what Anthony DeCurtis, a writer and ex-editor at Rolling Stone, noted about Brian Wilson was his talent for conveying profound intricacy using a straightforward approach.

Then things fell apart.

For several months, Wilson labored in his studio on an album tentatively named “Smile,” causing excitement about its potential and the paths it might forge in the burgeoning psychedelic era – music, drugs, lifestyle all included. Wilson declared that this album would be a “symphony to God by a teenager,” a piece of music so daring that it would break free from what he perceived as the dull and repetitive nature of pop music at the time.

Kicking off the album was “Good Vibrations,” a captivating 3-minute, 35-second tune characterized by significant changes in its tonal and emotional landscape, with Wilson’s iconic falsetto gracefully dominating it all. This song was an instant hit, both commercially and critically.

Just as a car accident on the highway serves as an unsettling reminder of chaos, so too did it reflect the chaotic realm Wilson found himself in. The creation of “Good Vibrations” spanned seven months, with the sounds and beeps he was trying to combine taking up 90 hours of tape and costing close to $75,000 – equivalent to approximately $650,000 in today’s values. Musicians, some bandmates, others hired professionals, came and went from four different studios as he pursued perfection.

Not everyone thought it was worth the effort for a single song.

Pete Townshend, the musician from The Who, grumbled that he had to listen to it approximately 90 times before understanding the lyrics, due to excessive repetition. Spector, Wilson’s admirer, found it overly polished. McCartney pointed out that it missed the enchantment present in “Pet Sounds.

Wilson held a different perspective. Upon completing the last blend for “Good Vibrations,” he expressed that the sensation it elicited was something entirely new to him.

“It was a feeling of exaltation. Artistic beauty. It was everything.”

The band embarked on another tour while Wilson focused on the challenging production of “Smile.” In an unusual move, he instructed members of a studio orchestra to don protective fire gear and is said to have ignited a fire in the studio during the recording of “Mrs. O’Leary’s Cow,” intended as the album’s lead track. Frequently switching studios and running out of patience for his bandmates, he sought assistance from veteran artist Van Dyke Parks with the lyrics instead.

When Love heard the incomplete album, he labeled it as “an entire manifestation of Brian’s madness,” as reported by The Guardian. Parks, a respected lyricist with his own professional commitments, eventually decided to part ways from the project, feeling uneasy about Wilson’s unpredictable actions and Love’s seemingly aggressive approach towards his cousin.

Instead of pushing forward with the unresolved conflict among his bandmates or struggling to make sense of the incomplete tunes and audio snippets he’d assembled, Wilson chose to postpone the project for many years before returning to it.

In his 2016 memoir “I am Brian Wilson”, he expressed that when the album remained unfinished, it felt like an incomplete part of him. Imagine keeping your grand work untouched for nearly four decades, as if it were locked away in a drawer.

Love, who frequently took legal action against Wilson over the years to claim co-authorship of numerous songs, found it offensive when people suggested he disrupted his cousin’s magnum opus.

Love pondered out loud, questioning his actions and why he was perceived as the antagonist in a detailed 2016 Rolling Stone article: “What led me here? Why am I seen as the bad guy?

In the realm of cinema criticism, I’ve found myself captivated by Wilson – a complex character, whose psychological landscape has been fraught with fragility for years. At times, he retreated into solitude, finding himself ensconced in his Malibu mansion for extended periods. Remarkably, within this grand abode, there existed an unusual juxtaposition: a baby grand piano nestled in the sand and a teepee pitched in the living room.

This intriguing setup serves as a testament to Wilson’s eccentricities, but what truly sets him apart is his confession of battling auditory hallucinations – voices that echoed within the quiet recesses of his mind.

And he took drugs by the bucketful.

He openly discussed his struggles with mental health issues, which included severe depression that left him bedridden for extended periods. He resorted to using substances like marijuana, LSD, amphetamines, cocaine, and occasionally heroin to cope. Despite standing at a tall height, his weight reached over 300 pounds. When he did appear in public, he seemed detached and preoccupied.

In a 1988 interview with The Times, he shared that his passion for composing songs had waned. He explained that his motivation had vanished, as he became overly preoccupied with obtaining drugs, making it difficult for him to write music.

On Tuesday, Melinda Wilson, the woman instrumental in reviving her husband’s and Beach Boys musician Brian Wilson’s career, passed away peacefully at their residence in Beverly Hills, at the age of 77.

Jan. 30, 2024

Everything began in the town of Hawthorne, where Wilson was born on the 20th of June, 1942. As the eldest among three siblings, he spent his childhood in a suburban environment, not too distant from the beaches that would later serve as the muse for numerous early melodies he composed.

Wilson’s father, Murry, was both a musician and a machinist, while his mother, Audree, took care of the home. Wilson attended Hawthorne High, where he excelled in both football and baseball. However, he received an F for a piece of writing he submitted in his music class. Interestingly, years later, the school revised that grade to an A when it was found out that the composition had become the Beach Boys’ first hit song, “Surfing.” School administrators even invited him back to campus to offer their apologies.

At home, he would play the piano compulsively, often lost in its notes. The melody of George Gershwin’s “Rhapsody in Blue” was etched into his memory since he first heard it at age 4, lying on the floor of his grandmother’s house, captivated by how a single piece of music could embody an entire city and era. After six weeks, he abandoned accordion lessons. However, his father recognized his son’s extraordinary talent for swiftly reproducing piano melodies.

Murray Wilson expresses admiration for Brian Wilson in Peter Carlin’s “Catch a Wave: The Rise, Fall and Redemption of the Beach Boys’ Brian Wilson,” stating, “He was incredibly intelligent and swift. I couldn’t help but develop feelings for him.

In 1961, while their parents were on vacation, Wilson, his siblings Love, Al Jardine, and a friend rented instruments using the family’s food budget and performed a concert for friends. Upon their return, their father Murry was surprised but supportive, inspiring the young musicians to carry on. The group, dubbed the Pendletones due to the popularity of flannel shirts at the time, started playing at school events and parties. When they went into the studio to record, the producer altered their name to the Beach Boys without informing them.

Wilson recalls his childhood as anything but carefree and joyful. Instead, he describes his father as abusive, often finding pleasure in embarrassing him publicly. He suspects that his hearing issues might have originated from one of the instances when his father struck him on the head.

In 2002, he shared with The Times that he was persistently anxious, and looking back, what stands out the most to him is feeling jittery and scared.

As the Beach Boys achieved success, Murray stepped in to manage them, progressively assuming control over their business matters. Whenever funds were required, he disregarded his sons’ reservations and sold off the band’s publishing company, thinking the band had reached its pinnacle. During tours, he accompanied them and penalized his sons if they violated his rules – no alcohol, no swearing, no associating with women. Ultimately, in 1964, Wilson and his brothers effectively dismissed their father. Despite not fully reconciling, Murray passed away from a heart attack in 1973.

To certain onlookers, Brian Wilson’s enigma transcended the influence of the medications he consumed, the auditory hallucinations he experienced, or the deep-seated melancholy that seemed to envelop him. There was something else at play here.

In a comprehensive 2012 Newsweek piece, Andrew Romano proposed that the individual was perpetually stuck in an immature state, neither capable nor granted the opportunity to fully mature, which he believes is the defining factor of his life and his band’s story.

Wilson’s character seems to have been shaped significantly by various influences: an abusive father, a relative who acted like a tormentor, and finally, a psychologist who seemed to exert too much control over his actions and thoughts.

Following the passing of his wife, Melinda, in January, court records indicate that Brian Wilson, a member of The Beach Boys, is having difficulty meeting his own basic necessities.

Feb. 16, 2024

Eugene Landy stood out in any crowd. He donned vibrant orange sunglasses, cruised around town in a Maserati bearing the vanity plate “HEADDOC,” and sported a haircut reminiscent of Rod Stewart. His unique approach to psychology, considered by some as groundbreaking, was also controversial. While some viewed him as a pioneer, others perceived him as a Svengali-like character, a man who could give the impression that Wilson was progressing towards recovery, all while draining him of every asset he possessed.

In 1976, Landy was employed by Marilyn Wilson, and it was in her husband’s bedroom closet – the only place where the musician felt secure – that he had his initial encounter with his new client. Over time, Landy managed to gain Wilson’s confidence, and as he adhered to his philosophy of round-the-clock therapy, he moved into living with the musician.

The effects were swift: Wilson lost weight, gave up street drugs, and once again performed with the Beach Boys on stage for their 15th anniversary. For someone who was reportedly extremely paranoid, to the point of not brushing his teeth or taking showers out of fear that blood would flow from the faucet, this change was like night and day.

However, the association didn’t last long as Landy got dismissed when the Beach Boys’ team hesitated over his hefty monthly salary of approximately $35,000 – an equivalent of around $160,000 in today’s value, in 2022.

In the absence of Landy, Wilson’s condition worsened significantly. He relapsed into drug use, overindulged in food, and became increasingly isolated, spending most of his time in his room. His marriage fell apart, and he drifted away from his daughters, Carnie and Wendy. However, when Landy reappeared, he came back with a force, bringing along a team of nutritionists, assistants, and caregivers to intensify his 24/7 therapy regime, thus helping Wilson to recover.

As a cinephile, I observed that Wilson exhibited traits of schizoid personality with manic-depressive tendencies – he was reserved, painfully timid, and struggled to express emotions. If left unchecked, I believed he would oscillate wildly between periods of delusional exaltation and near suicidal despair. I prescribed a variety of medications for him – lithium, Xanax, Halcion, among others – in an attempt to manage his condition.

As a devoted cinephile, I found myself deeply immersed in Wilson’s actions back in 1988 when he unveiled his first solo album, “Brian Wilson.” This was not only his first solo project but also his most impressive work in years. In this endeavor, I was acknowledged as the executive producer and received co-writing credits on five of the eleven tracks. Interestingly enough, my girlfriend was credited as a co-writer on three other songs. My involvement with Wilson extended beyond music production; I became his manager, formed a business partnership to share in any earnings from records, movies, and books. Furthermore, I aspired to oversee Wilson’s estate upon his passing.

Landy faced permanent removal from office after the investigation by the state attorney general’s office into his dealings with Wilson. This inquiry aimed to verify claims that he had illegally issued prescriptions and misused his prominent client’s finances.

As a devoted cinemagoer, I’d rephrase it like this: Gary Usher, a fellow melodist collaborating with Landy, confided to authorities that Wilson was essentially held hostage, controlled by a person who instilled fear and intimidation in him.

In the year 1989, Dr. Landy admitted guilt for illegally dispensing medications, relinquished his medical license, and subsequently relocated to Hawaii. He passed away due to lung cancer in 2006.

In a 2015 interview with Rolling Stone, Wilson, who typically avoided criticizing others, found it difficult to find anything positive about Landy and expressed his feelings bluntly: “I considered him a friend, but he was far from perfect.

In spite of the chaos, Wilson persisted with his recordings and performances, occasionally revealing hints of his past self, but inevitably having each of his songs and melodies judged against his previous work.

2017 saw Times rock critic Randy Lewis remark that Brian Wilson appeared cheerful and fulfilled during a run of the “Pet Sounds Live” tour at the Pantages Theatre. His voice, previously weakened by decades of smoking and other hardships, was described as “strong and assured,” according to Lewis’ writing.

Two years down the line, however, Wilson decided to delay a segment of his “Greatest Hits” tour in order to prioritize his mental well-being.

He admitted openly, in a heartfelt apology to ticket holders, that for many years he has been dealing with mental illness. He’s been grappling with internal struggles, often speaking words he doesn’t truly intend, and finds it hard to understand why this is happening.

Though it all, the unfinished concept album he’d put aside hung like a cloud.

Some parts from the album were incorporated into “Smiley Smile,” an urgently produced record by the Beach Boys in 1967, made to fulfill contractual obligations. Additionally, the album “Surf’s Up,” released in 1971, was constructed around a song named after it, which Brian Wilson originally wrote for the unfinished project ‘Smile.’

Approximately three decades after, a Los Angeles musician called Darian Sahanaja approached Wilson and proposed the idea of revisiting “Smile.” They had become acquainted while Wilson played alongside Sahanaja’s band, the Wondermints, during their tours.

In simpler terms, Sahanaja mentioned that he retrieved the original recordings and incomplete musical pieces (tracks), knowing fully well that the content he was dealing with might have pushed its creator to the brink of insanity.

Working side by side on the laptop, the harmonies and invisible links seemed to resurface for Wilson as Sahanaja mentioned. They fine-tuned transitions, adjusted tempos to bridge songs, and phoned Parks when they couldn’t decipher lyrics. If he couldn’t recall a segment, Parks would come up with alternative wording instead.

In February 2004, the long-awaited rendition of “Smile” by Wilson made its debut at London’s Royal Festival Hall. With Wilson performing at the piano on stage and Parks watching from the audience, the audience erupted in a deafening storm of applause as they witnessed the song cycle that had been almost legendary for its absence being brought to life.

“I’m at peace with it,” Wilson said later, smiling.

I sadly follow in the footsteps of the remarkable Melinda, who passed away in January 2024, preceding me. I’m fortunate to be survived by six wonderful children – my daughters Carnie and Wendy, who together formed two-thirds of the iconic pop vocal group Wilson Phillips. Tragically, my brother Dennis met an untimely end in 1983 while diving in Marina Del Rey, and my other brother Carl lost his life to lung cancer in 1998.

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2025-06-11 20:32