Brian Wilson was more than a genius. His sound epitomized the lore of SoCal
Brian Wilson isn’t responsible for the creation of the sun, ocean, or the coastal landscape we know as Southern California. He didn’t develop the automobile or surfboard, and he wasn’t the first to feel the bitter sting of loneliness or to experience a love so profound that it leaves one with nothing but regret.
Hear a Beach Boys tune, particularly one of their timeless hits that solidified their status as one of the most influential American pop bands of the ’60s – I’m convinced you might even start doubting otherwise. You’d be adamant about it.
As a moviegoer reflecting on the life of Wilson, the legendary figure who recently passed away at 82, I can’t help but marvel at his extraordinary contribution to music. If we seek a term that encapsulates his essence, ‘visionary’ might fall short for a man who tirelessly explored the boundless realm of sound.
In the symphony of melodies, the intricate tapestry of textures, and the harmonious arrangement of vocals, Wilson was no less than a peer to the likes of Phil Spector, George Martin, and the Motown powerhouse duo Holland-Dozier-Holland. His ability to weave together complex musical elements into songs that seemed destined to be, defied convention and left an indelible mark on popular music.

Music
Wilson leaves a singularly inventive, exultant body of work that scripted California to the world.
The music of The Beach Boys has become such a significant part of American culture that it’s almost self-evident. However, let’s take a moment to reminisce – let’s appreciate the start of “Wouldn’t It Be Nice,” where a slightly off-key electric guitar creates a dreamy ambiance before the sharp snap of a snare drum disrupts the tranquility. Let’s also reflect on the chilling theremin melody that weaves its way through “Good Vibrations,” as if guiding an UFO towards Dockweiler Beach.
Let’s head over to YouTube and find the solo vocals for “God Only Knows.” This way, you can immerse yourself in Wilson’s fascination with the human voice. The track is like a grand cathedral of sound, where even after listening 500 times, there’s still more to discover about its construction.
Wilson’s true genius lay in his mastery of emotion – his knack for expressing feelings such as affection, fear, or disappointment. The album “Pet Sounds” by the Beach Boys from 1966 showcases this emotional control at its peak: the anxiety he subtly conveys in “Wouldn’t It Be Nice,” the pain heard in his voice during “Caroline, No,” and the acceptance hidden behind those heavenly harmonies in “God Only Knows” that everything precious must eventually fade away.

In my opinion, the early music of this band, with its themes of surfing and cars, seems to carry a sense of melancholy, as if an outcast is observing. I brought up this notion last year to Mike Love, Wilson’s cousin and bandmate, but he didn’t agree: “If you’re referring to ‘Fun, Fun, Fun’, ‘I Get Around’, or ‘Surfin’ U.S.A.’,” he said during an interview, “there’s no melancholy in them.” This lack of agreement from Love might help explain why Brian Wilson, the solitary pop star, was composing songs as openly sad as “In My Room.
In 1961, Wilson established The Beach Boys in Hawthorne alongside Love, his brothers Dennis and Carl, as well as their neighbor Al Jardine. The band swiftly achieved success, embodying a sort of post-war suburban prosperity. In 1964, following a panic attack during a flight, Wilson decided to cease touring and dedicate his energies to the recording studio instead. There, he made numerous innovations that eventually placed him on par with the Beatles in terms of creativity. (It’s said that the Beatles’ “Rubber Soul” sparked the creation of Wilson’s “Pet Sounds,” which later inspired the Beatles to produce “Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band.”)
Wilson’s panic attack could be viewed as the beginning of a prolonged battle with mental health issues that potentially jeopardized his career post-“Pet Sounds.” Similarly to Sly Stone, who passed away this week, the Beach Boys’ successful songwriting period seems shorter when examined retrospectively: After “Good Vibrations” in 1966, they didn’t achieve another No. 1 hit until 1988 with “Kokomo,” a song that Wilson did not contribute to.
Despite this, the late 60’s and the 1970s continued to be a productive era for Wilson. It wasn’t just the legendary album “Smile,” which he eventually finished and released in 2004, but also unique and heartfelt albums like “Friends” and “Sunflower.” The 1971 album “Surf’s Up” included one of Wilson’s most poignant songs in the title track, whose complex lyrics by his friend Van Dyke Parks are challenging to understand beyond an emotional level.
Music
Instead of saying “A new Beach Boys box set with expanded versions of two overlooked 1970s albums, ‘Surf’s Up’ and ‘Sunflower,’ makes a strong case for their post-peak greatness,” you could say:
“This new collection from the Beach Boys, featuring enlarged editions of previously underrated albums ‘Surf’s Up’ and ‘Sunflower’ from the 1970s, presents compelling evidence of their artistic prowess beyond their peak.
The ’80s were more somber; you can catch a glimpse of Wilson’s encounters with therapist Eugene Landy, who Stein, a record executive, once referred to as “the most malevolent individual I’ve ever encountered.” Despite the ominous period, no fan of Wilson ever lost faith that he would return, a belief he nurtured through years of sporadically exceptional solo work and collaborations with Parks and sometimes even the Beach Boys. If you haven’t listened to “Orange Crate Art” by Wilson and Parks from 1995 recently, it offers a potent dose of bittersweet California charm.
In 2010, I had the opportunity to interview Wilson at his Beverly Hills residence. At that time, he was gearing up to launch an exceptional album of Gershwin covers, surpassing expectations with a quality that was not only twice as good as required but likely three times better than anticipated by most. Over the years, life and other experiences had diminished some of his casual conversation when speaking to reporters. However, I vividly remember him getting excited as he shared the story of how he mastered “Rhapsody in Blue,” a piece he loved since his mother played it for him when he was only 2 years old.
He mentioned that it required roughly two weeks for himself and his friend to master the song together. To learn it, he would play a small portion from Leonard Bernstein’s recording, then move to his own piano, switch back to Bernstein, and then return to his piano again until they managed to memorize the entire piece.
Brian Wilson, a master of technology, stood with open arms, embracing both the harsh and captivating aspects of the world, had an uncanny knack for understanding it all.
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2025-06-12 03:01