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13 of the late Brian Wilson' s finest songs to revisit

13 of the late Brian Wilson' s finest songs to revisit

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Brian Wilson's death on Wednesday at the age of 82 heralds an end to one idea of Southern California — as the temperate paradise of ascendant Americana. Exuberance and dreaminess, writerly sophistication and technical ambition, drugs and madness: Wilson's exquisite craft captured all of it, with his band the Beach Boys leaving behind a singularly inventive and exultant body of work, one that scripted and embodied California to the world.
His vast catalog of incomparable achievement also contained thwarted hopes and despair amid his drug abuse and mental illness. It should be revisited in its full range today. These are a few of his hallmark accomplishments as a writer, arranger and performer.
Surfer Girl (1963)Unbelievably, impossibly the first single that Brian Wilson ever wrote. So sophisticated and delicate in its moon-eyed teenage passions, full of artful melodic moves bolstered by the pure-water harmonies that would define the group. The song that set the template for a SoCal subculture, and a band to eventually rival the Beatles.
In My Room (1963)Perfectly captures the loneliness and sanctity of young solitude over a lovely doo-wop arpeggio. It's a bracingly vulnerable track for a boy band to write in any era of masculinity.
Warmth of the Sun (1964)What a beautiful composition to come right in the wake of the Kennedy assassination. Soaked with loss, redeemed by those radiant chord changes showing Wilson's escalating ambitions as a writer, here with Mike Love.
Don't Worry Baby (1964)Riffing off the Ronettes' hit the year before, this early cut served double duty as a sincere portrait of romantic comfort and safety, and a reassurance for Wilson's own insecurities as a performer on stage and in life. The regal vocal here proved it worked.
Please Let Me Wonder (1965)An absolute swoon. Wilson was ramping up to the sonic inventions of 'Pet Sounds,' but this era-transitional single captured the old lovelorn magic and dreaminess in an increasingly robust arrangement.
California Girls (1965)Written with Love after the Beach Boys' first European tour, this hallmark single is diabolical in its sincerity and craftsmanship, a gobsmacked appreciation for all the world's women that probably did as much to build the Golden State's global reputation as Hollywood and the microchip.
Caroline, No (1966)It's hard not to pack this list with songs from 'Pet Sounds,' but this one stands out for its poignancy about time passing and the grind of life changing a lost love. Wilson regarded it as one of his best, and with its striking instrumental palette of harpsichord and flutes, it's easy to agree.
God Only Knows (1966)From the opening bait-and-switch lyric to the quiet, tidal shifts in tone and that regal outro, it may be the emblematic Beach Boys song. It will never lose its potency as a crowing statement of devotion. Go get married to it, or ponder its existential desperation.
Good Vibrations (1966)Probably the definitive Beach Boys single in that it has absolutely everything they're beloved for — compositional genius, technical invention and immaculate performances spliced from four different studios into one incandescent, emblematic single.
Darlin' (1967)The Beach Boys were in decline by 1967 — in health and hipness alike. Wilson revamped a song he wrote with Mike Love (for what became Three Dog Night). Now as a rollicking horn-driven soul number (with a great vocal from Carl Wilson), it became an unexpected highlight of this era for the band.
Cabin Essence (1969 and 2004)A core piece of the mangled, unfinished 'Smile' sessions, the song took Wilson four decades to get right and finally release as part of his own effort to finish the LP. It's packed with ideas from all over the American songbook — Aaron Copland and western folk, run through with Wilson's own cracked impressionist view of life on the rails.
Surf's Up (1971)'A blind class aristocracy, back through the opera glass you see / The pit and the pendulum drawn.' An elegy for the hopeful '60s, with a wry title that lays the band's old sunny optimism in the grave.
Til I Die (1971)A wrenching composition evoking a declining Wilson's hopelessness and despair, all the more striking for its exuberant production. It feels even weightier on today of all days — 'How deep is the ocean, I've lost my way.'
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This story originally appeared in Los Angeles Times.

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Martin Scorsese and David Tedeschi on ‘Beatles '64,' the Fab Four's Influence on Cinema, and David Lynch at Their First U.S. Concert
Martin Scorsese and David Tedeschi on ‘Beatles '64,' the Fab Four's Influence on Cinema, and David Lynch at Their First U.S. Concert

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  • Yahoo

Martin Scorsese and David Tedeschi on ‘Beatles '64,' the Fab Four's Influence on Cinema, and David Lynch at Their First U.S. Concert

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Like His Music, Brian Wilson's Style Was Deceptively Complex
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The band name was a fluke. Looking to cash in on the burgeoning surf culture in the United States, the record executive who first brought Brian Wilson, Dennis Wilson, Carl Wilson, Mike Love and Al Jardine together on the obscure Candix Records label in Southern California wanted to call the assembled musicians 'The Surfers.'' But another group, as it happened, had already claimed the name. And then there was an additional problem: only one of the band members, Dennis Wilson, actively surfed. And so, as Brian Wilson — the architect of the band's sound and image, whose death, at 82, was announced by his family on Wednesday — tweeted back in 2018, the promoter Russ Regan 'changed our name to the Beach Boys.' He added that the group members themselves found out only after they saw their first records pressed. Originally, the band had another name. It was one that speaks not only to the aural backdrop the Beach Boys provided for generations but also to their enduring influence on global style. As teenagers in the late 1950s and early '60s, the band had styled itself the Pendletones. It was a homage to what was then, and in some ways still is, an unofficial uniform of Southern California surfers: swim trunks or notch pocket khakis or white jeans, and a blazing white, ringspun cotton T-shirt worn under a sturdy woolen overshirt. The shirts the Pendletones wore were produced by the family-owned company, Pendleton Woolen Mills of Portland, Ore., and had been in production since 1924. The shirts were embraced by surfers for their over-the-top durability and the easy way they bridged the intersection between work and leisure wear. The blue and gray block plaid, which Pendleton would later rename as the 'Original Surf Plaid,'' was worn by every member of the Beach Boys on the cover of their debut album, 'Surfin' Safari.' It was a look that, novel then, has since been quoted in some form by men's wear designers from Hedi Slimane to Eli Russell Linnetz and Ralph Lauren. Want all of The Times? Subscribe.

Editorial: The influence of Brian Wilson, Sly Stone and … St. Charles?
Editorial: The influence of Brian Wilson, Sly Stone and … St. Charles?

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Editorial: The influence of Brian Wilson, Sly Stone and … St. Charles?

Brian Wilson, the musical mastermind behind the Beach Boys, died at the age of 82, his family announced Wednesday. Earlier this week came news of the passing of Sly Stone, 82, whose startling originality combining elements of gospel, rock and soul enthralled audiences and fellow artists alike in the late '60s and early '70s recordings of Sly and the Family Stone. Both men were bona fide musical giants. Though their music was similar only in being groundbreaking, Wilson and Stone's lives followed similar, tragic narrative arcs. Both reached artistic peaks achieved by few others in pop music over periods of just a few years. Both were masters of the recording studio at a time when most artists left that part of their work to producers and focused on live performance. And both suffered from the ravages of drug abuse and mental illness for much of the remainder of their lives, making their many fans mourn for what more they could have offered. But what they created in their primes served as inspiration for legions of artists to come. Prince, Public Enemy and OutKast counted Sly Stone as a major influence. Wilson's lush, deceptively sophisticated harmonies and instrumentation were foundational for too many orchestral pop artists to count, and thanks to his epic rivalry with the Beatles in the mid-'60s, they pushed each other to greater heights. The Beatles' 'Rubber Soul' stirred Wilson to create his masterpiece, the Beach Boys' 'Pet Sounds,' which then inspired the Beatles' 'Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band.' Speaking of 'Rubber Soul,' Wilson told the Tribune a little over a decade ago, 'I was so blown away by that damn album that I went and wrote ('God Only Knows.')' Paul McCartney subsequently called Wilson's work of genius possibly the greatest song ever written. Wilson set out to top the Fab Four yet again with what would have been 'Smile,' but threw in the towel on that legendary 'lost album' amid intra-band acrimony and debilitating mental health issues. Stone and Wilson both were children of California, but we choose to remember the brief but fascinating role of west suburban St. Charles in Wilson's life. Having remarried and feeling revived, Wilson moved to the suburb in the late 1990s to live near producer Joe Thomas, who worked on Wilson's 1998 comeback album, 'Imagination.' Wilson, an iconic Southern Californian, didn't learn to love Midwestern winters and in a few years' time moved back to where he once belonged. But we like to think our slightly less glamorous region played a significant role in Wilson's latter-years career resurgence that followed from what we'll call 'the St. Charles years,' topped by his 2004 celebrated re-creation with a stellar band of his vision for 'Smile.' God only knows what we'd do without the immense musical legacies Wilson and Stone left us this week. Submit a letter, of no more than 400 words, to the editor here or email letters@

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