The Warmth of The Sun – Brian Wilson – an appreciation

James Cullingham

One day in 2004, I was aboard the infamous #196 “York University Rocket” bus, hurtling back to what was then the Downsview subway station (now Sheppard West) in Toronto, having finished my day as a professor in the journalism programme at Seneca College’s York University campus. I felt the hum of a flip phone in my pocket. I pulled the phone out and took the call.

“Hello Mr. Cullingham, I’m calling on behalf of Brian Wilson. I know you’ve been trying to reach him. He’ll call you in 15 minutes. Is that alright?” said a decidedly Californian female voice. I said, “Yes,” and hoped the bus would arrive at the station on time.

I hadn’t been at all sure I would get an interview with the reclusive Mr. Wilson, and the story, for The Globe and Mail, was almost finished when I got that call aboard #196. The woman said 15 minutes. As both a journalist and fan this was like getting an interview with Paul McCartney or Joni Mitchell. I wasn’t about to negotiate the terms.

I’d been trying for weeks to establish contact with Mr. Wilson to ask him about the release of Smile, a legendary Beach Boys project that had been shelved for 35 years. With music composed by Mr. Wilson and lyrics from Van Dyke Parks, Smile was intended to be even more ambitious than Pet Sounds of 1966, which had put Wilson at the forefront of pop composers and producers in America and beyond. Wilson had once said of Smile that he aspired to produce “a teenage symphony to God.” With a skeptical recording company, some of his band mates opposed to its innovations and Wilson’s already unstable mental health reaching a crisis point, the project proved to be too much to complete, although several of its songs appeared in less orchestral form on various Beach Boys albums over the years.

By 1999 Brian Wilson’s health had recovered and he had teamed up with a group of younger musicians, many from the Los Angeles based band Wondermints. To the astonishment of many, Wilson who had been afflicted by stage fright and debilitating panic attacks, decided he wanted to go on tour. Even more astoundingly to the millions who had followed his career, he and his new cohort decided to finish Smile as the song suite pop symphony that had originally been intended. To my mind, Smile is an expansive sort of audible western, an almost operatic saga of the development of California. Having previously written about Pet Sounds and the first of Mr. Wilson’s solos tours at the Beacon Theatre in Manhattan for The Globe, I was keen to write about this long-delayed masterwork.

The bus arrived with minutes to spare. I found a bench above ground outside the subway station. My phone rang and I picked up to hear, “Hi, it’s Brian. Is this James?” His voice was warm, surprisingly youthful sounding, even goofy in a very pleasant way. Despite many well-documented instances of his being an erratic, unreliable interview subject, Brian Wilson was lucid, funny and emotive. Sometimes his answers wandered from the question posed, but I did not mind at all as I scribbled notes. He recounted his original aims for Smile and evinced obvious delight with undertaking the new recording and his appearances on stage. He said he was determined to carry on in honour of his deceased brothers Dennis and Carl with whom he had started The Beach Boys. As someone who had lost siblings myself, I was moved. When the interview concluded he said, “James it was very nice speaking with you. I hope to meet you one day.”  Some years later that occurred after a concert at Massey Hall.

I likely first heard The Beach Boys on the radio as a kid in south Florida. Then, in high school, my best friend Sal, a youthful painter and emerging musician with a particular penchant for Delta blues, Motown and The Rolling Stones, was playing LPs for my benefit in a garret above his parents’ fruit store in Toronto’s Kensington Market. He said, “Ya gotta listen to this.” Much to my surprise it was not a vintage Chess Records release by a Chicago blues master or a rare recording from 1930s Mississippi, but a Beach Boys album with band members photographed on its cover feeding zoo animals. That was my introduction to Pet Sounds, the album that producer George Martin claimed had motivated The Beatles to make Sgt Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band. I’ve been listening to Pet Sounds ever since. I look at the now well-worn album cover frequently. I held it in my hands shortly after news broke of  Wilson’s death.

Over the decades, Brian Wilson’s music has thrilled me, provided solace in tough times and inspiration for my work as a filmmaker and journalist. It has been an education as a journalist to speak with Smile collaborator Van Dyke Parks, Pet Sounds lyricist Tony Asher and Hal Blaine, Al Jardine and Carol Kaye, some of the musicians that helped bring that album to fruition.

But the thing about Brian Wilson and The Beach Boys is that it’s not all about surfing tunes, Pet Sounds or Smile. A lot of other tracks are equally impressive. In 1967 Leonard Bernstein invited Brian Wilson to perform the song Surf’s Up at the piano as part of a television special, Inside Pop: The Rock Revolution. Ballads such The Warmth of The Sun and In My Room are a template for vocal harmonies achieved by groups such as Crosby, Stills, Nash and Young and The Eagles. David Crosby and the Grateful Dead members were Beach Boys defenders even when the cool kids thought they were unhip. Songs like I Get Around (Keith Richards’ personal favourite), Good Vibrations and Sail On Sailor rock like mad. Often overlooked albums like Smiley Smile (sort of an unplugged version of Smile), Friends, Sunflower, Surf’s Up, Holland, The Beach Boys Love You and Carl And The Passions – So Tough contain many gems.

I saw the Brian Wilson band several times. These were exciting affairs with enthusiastic audiences. Wilson could appear frail or mildly confused at times and then suddenly fully in command, singing signature tunes like God Only Knows (Paul McCartney’s favourite), Caroline No or Heroes and Villains. Above all he conveyed joy and an infectious love of rock ‘n’ roll. His touring band featured multiple guitarists, keyboardists, percussionists, horn players and 6-8 vocalists. Some performances featured a string section. They don’t call him ‘the man who invented California’ for nothin’.

I was fortunate to see the last Beach Boys show with both Brian Wilson and vocalist, sometimes co-composer Mike Love and other surviving original members at London’s Royal Albert Hall in 2012. Just hours before the show a colleague that I was meeting at BBC urged me to attend, providing the useful tip that even though the show was officially long sold out one can usually get a last minute ticket at The Hall’s box office. I also saw The Beach Boys at Massey Hall and with Carl and Dennis Wilson in the band along with Blondie Chaplin and Ricky Fataar, both originally from South Africa, who were members of The Beach Boys in studio and on tour for part of the 1970s. The Massey concert was the best I’ve ever seen there, even surpassing great shows by Leonard Cohen, Miles Davis and Bob Dylan. Folks were dancin’ in the aisles in oft’ staid Toronto.

The Brian Wilson saga has been the focus of several books including an autobiography. The feature film Love & Mercy starring Paul Dano and John Cusack portraying Mr. Wilson’s at various stages of his life is very fine. A documentary from producer Don Was Brian Wilson – I Just Wasn’t Made For These Times is superb and features performances by Brian Wilson, accompanied on one occasion by his musician daughters. More obscure, but definitely fascinating, is Summer Dreams: The Story of The Beach Boys starring Canadians Greg Kean as Brian and Bruce Greenwood as Dennis Wilson.

Brian Wilson’s solo recordings include several noteworthy works, including the eponymous first album, Brian Wilson Reimagines Gershwin, and Orange Crate Art, a collaboration with Van Dyke Parks. Also, there’s Live at the Roxy Theatre which features a version of Brian Wilson, a song by the Canadian band Barenaked Ladies.

Brian Wilson’s death last week was met with sadness, gratitude and accolades from the likes of Dylan, Elton John, McCartney, Richards, Nancy Sinatra and Bruce Springsteen. Sting performed God Only Knows at his show in Rostock, Germany on the night of the announcement. He said, “Today, one of my heroes died; Brian Wilson from The Beach Boys. He’s gone to heaven, so I’m gonna sing a song that I love.” In a lengthy Instagram post, multi-faceted artist Questlove wrote “…if there was a human being who made art out of inexpressible sadness…damn it was Brian Wilson.” News of his death led newscasts around the world and his photograph appeared on several front pages, including Libération in Paris.

Brian Wilson was one of America’s great composers and a pop genius. In American music will be remembered along with the likes of Burt Bacharach, Duke Ellington and George Gershwin. His mastery of vocal harmonies and studio production thrilled many listeners and changed the game for musicians of his generation and beyond. His resilience in overcoming personal struggles and his artistic steadfastness have inspired many. I was blessed to meet him even fleetingly. Long may he run.

James Cullingham is a filmmaker, historian and journalist based in Nogojiwanong-Peterborough. He is an adjunct graduate faculty member at Trent University and founder of Tamarack Productions. University and founder of Tamarack Productions.

A version of this article appears in The Peterborough Examiner.