In case anyone forgot the long-standing genius of Pet Sounds – quite possibly the greatest American album – Brian Wilson just had to outdo himself. Thirty-seven years after the SMiLE sessions helped undo the mad scientist behind The Beach Boys, Wilson re-recorded and finished the once-lost album in 2004.
The result is as well-reviewed a masterpiece as any song cycle to wash up on the shores of the Internet age.
Granted, the material was written during Wilson’s (and collaborator Van Dyke Parks’s) creative peak. But after beholding the modern miracle of SMiLE and its ensuing tour, who could possibly deny Wilson’s continuing relevance in and out of the studio?
The latest Wilson/Parks creation (Wilson band member Scott Bennett is also credited), That Lucky Old Sun, is a strong testament to Southern California and the orchestral pop the creators spawned there. Built around the Frankie Lane- and later Louis Armstrong-popularized song of the same name, the album sets the bar fairly high for Wilson’s post-SMiLE output.
Taking a page out of the book of other aging rockers, Wilson has his own response to the Internet age: releasing Old Sun as a limited-time free stream through USA Today’s website before its official release.
Though the method is worth griping over (pandering to the People magazine of national newspapers does not constitute an innovative release platform), judged on purely musical merits, Wilson’s most recent effort offers his best material written after The Beach Boys’ Love You.
Miraculously, through his foggy years of near-psychosis and overmedication, Wilson hasn’t lost one ounce of the wide-eyed innocence fueling what he once described as “teenage symphonies to God.” Brimming with sun-soaked reverence for all things SoCal, the Wilson/Parks compositions fondly look back on all the two artists have accomplished.
“Forever She’ll be My Surfer Girl” appears to intentionally recall the past Beach Boys hit. The na’ve professions of love in the summer of ’61 sound a bit jarring coming from the much-aged Wilson (66 years old), but he’s no less sincere for the time passed.
You don’t have to subscribe to Wilson’s unbridled optimism on Old Sun to be carried away by his bright pop perfectionism. His finest works were always tinged with darkness: “God Only Knows” does open with the qualifying statement, “I may not always love you.” Although Wilson confronts some of his former demons on “Midnight’s Another Day (“All these people/ Make me feel so alone”), everywhere else Old Sun is a strictly bright affair.
The sugary pop of “Good Kind of Love” may actually stray closer to The Partridge Family than Wilson’s former outfit. “California Role” sends one out to all the would-be Hollywood types, albeit without the dingy motel hang-ups, and on “Oxygen To The Brain” Wilson declares, “I’m filling up my lungs again,” without nailing a breath of Los Angeles smog.
It seems only fitting, that after drowning in so much despair, Wilson should be all smiles in writing the latter chapters of his legacy. Old Sun is the happy ending no one could have predicted 20 or 30 years ago or even the impossible follow-up four years after the completion of his loftiest musical undertaking.
Yet there’s plenty for the cynics to jump on. The spoken word interludes are undeniably corny (“Venice Beach is popping/ Like live shrimp dropped on a hot wok”…) despite preserving the album’s flow. “Mexican Girl” and “Narrative: Cinco de Mayo” are not exactly culturally informed by today’s standards, but these nitpicky detractors are simply what separates Old Sun from its brilliant predecessor.
Let Mike Love parade around casinos and boardwalks with The Beach Boys name all he likes – Wilson is the only true Beach Boy still carrying the flag.
zherrm@umd.edu
RATING: 4 out of 5 stars.
