Brian Wilson at Carpenter Performing Arts Center (Long Beach, CA – Oct 11, 2014)

Brian Wilson has never been much of a performer. Even in the early years, before a nervous breakdown forced him to retire from touring with the Beach Boys in favor of staying in the studio, he never seemed that comfortable on stage. The Beach Boys were Brian’s band, but he gladly left the frontman duties to his more personable cousin, Mike Love. Among the three Wilson brothers, Brian was the genius, Carl was the soul, and Dennis was the cool. But, in the beginning, Brian was shy and awkward, Carl was still a kid and yet to come into his own. And Dennis was stuck behind the drums. They needed cousin Mike and neighborhood friend Al Jardine up there, out front.  

The Wilson saga is a sun-streaked, dark, and troubling one. Their father, Murry, was controlling and abusive. After Brian’s breakdown, Carl took over and led the band through its greatest artistic period since the mid-1960s. He died of lung cancer in 1998. Dennis, who dabbled with drugs — and even the Manson family for a spell — went into a downhill spiral, indistinguishable from the homeless winos who hung around the Venice Pier, until he drowned near there at the age of 39. Brian, somehow, is the survivor. But his journey was not an easy one. Plagued by mental and emotional problems since his rearing in the Murry Wilson home, he suffered a nervous breakdown, always trying to best himself, culminating in the infamous abandoned – and eventually resurrected – Smile sessions. Later, he was held under the influence of controversial psychologist Eugene Landy for over a decade. Since shedding Landy’s control, and with the help of his wife, Melinda Ledbetter, Brian has enjoyed his own artistic resurrection in recent years and seems as lucid and engaged as ever.

Growing up in Southern California, the Beach Boys have always been one of the most important bands in my life. When I was in 6^th grade, my mother offered to drive me to the local Warehouse Music store so that I could buy an album with some money I had saved up. The very first album I ever bought was a cassette of Endless Summer. I’ve seen Brian Wilson over the years on various television spots and was not blown away. I saw him perform one Fourth of July in Nashville, but it was an outdoor stage which is never the best way to see an artist, especially one that intricate. Again, I wasn’t impressed. So when my 90-year-old grandmother asked if I wanted to go see Brian Wilson with her at the Carpenter Performing Arts Center at Cal State Long Beach of course I said I did, but I had my reservations.

Wilson has a big band, which is necessary to capture the vocal and instrumental complexity in his music. I took stock of the band as they took their places: acoustic rhythm guitar, two lead electric guitars, bass, drums, percussion, saxophone, two keyboard players, Brian on piano, and original Beach Boy Al Jardine on guitar. One of the guitars doubled on French horn and Theremin, the sax doubled on flute and harmonica, the keyboardists doubled on percussion and vibes, and everybody except the drummer and bass sang harmony. 20 seconds into the opening number – “California Girls” – I thought, holy shit, this sounds amazing. This is gonna work! And it just got better from there.

Al Jardine’s presence, clad in a vintage white suit, brought an energy to the night, which Brian seemed to feed off of. It is so easy to overlook Jardine’s contributions to the Beach Boys. The Wilson brothers obviously share most of the limelight, and Mike Love, no matter what you may think of him, was undisputedly the band’s face. Jardine, with his diminutive stature, gets kind of lost in the mix. It was Jardine who suggested the band record “Sloop John B,” which became one of their biggest hits, and Jardine sang lead on classic tracks such as “Help Me, Rhonda,” “Then I Kissed Her,” and “Cotton Fields,” all of which he sang this night. Perhaps most importantly, Jardine was always a believer in Brian. For a band with as much infighting, drama, and tragedy as the Beach Boys, sometimes being the glue that holds it all together is the most important thing.

Brian’s voice is not what it used to be. He no longer attempts to hit the high falsetto that was his trademark, instead assigning those parts to rhythm guitarist Brian Eichenberger. And sometimes he just kind of sat there, sitting out a word or phrase of a song before joining back in. It worked because the band had their vocal parts down pat, and Jardine was there to pick up the slack. But when he did sing, he sang beautifully. “Surfer Girl” and “In My Room” were touching, and just hearing Brian’s voice sing these melancholic songs that I’ve lived with intimately since the 6^th grade was moving.

Jardine shined on every lead he took, especially “Cotton Fields.” The country-tinged, Leadbelly-penned folk song seems like an odd choice for the Beach Boys. But a great many of the people who make up Los Angeles, especially the southern suburbs such as Hawthorne, were postwar migrants from the south and mid-west. They came here in search of a better life – and found it – but a song of reminiscence for “them old cotton fields back home” is a natural fit for these sons of mid-west migrants, as much as “a summer’s day out in California.”  

The musicianship in Wilson’s ensemble, which is comprised partly of members of power pop band The Wondermints, is stellar. Everyone was simultaneously flawless and engaged; a well-oiled machine that never sounded overly rehearsed, but clearly was. Keyboardist Darian Sahanaja nailed the lead vocal on “Darlin’” – a song Brian introduced simply as one “I wrote for Carl” – reminding us how great that mid-period Carl-fronted band was.  

There was no shortage of harmony. Brian Wilson is unlike any other composer of popular music. His orchestrations and vocal arrangements are almost Bach-like in their elegance. For an artist known primarily for his creations in the studio, Wilson and his current band bring that essence to the stage in a way I would have thought unimaginable.

Before launching into “Heroes and Villains” Brian and the band sang a stunning a cappella version of “Our Prayer,” filling the sold out thousand-seat auditorium with nothing but angelic human voices. “Heroes and Villains” is a five-minute mini-symphony. It is amazing that they dare to play it live, and amazing that they pull it off with such skill and feeling. The harmonies bounce across the stage from singer to singer like a rubber ball, your eyes darting back and forth trying to catch it all. The instrumentation is equally impressive, especially considering that there is no reliance on synths or electronic programming to fill in and recreate the vast soundscapes that are the trademark of the great Beach Boys records. There are keyboards, but there are also vibraphones, a variety of horns, guitars, and endless percussion all working together to create a complex and harmonious musical tapestry before our eyes. 

After the intermission, and before kicking off “Do It Again,” they took a moment to perform an a cappella version of “Their Hearts Were Full of Spring,” the first song Brian taught the band back in the Wilson parents’ Hawthorne home all those decades ago.

One of the highlights of the evening was the instrumental “Pet Sounds.” Being an avid enthusiast of instrumental rock ‘n’ roll, I was surprised and delighted to see how favorably the song went over with the crowd who, at least outwardly, looked like they were there for the hits. In that regard, they were not disappointed: “Catch A Wave,” “Little Deuce Coup,” “Don’t Worry Baby,” “Wouldn’t It Be Nice,” one after the next, after the next, after the next.

Brian introduced “God Only Knows” as his “greatest songwriting achievement.” It was not necessarily the best performance of the night, but it produced the best moment. Brian sang the lead with a full, steady voice. As he and Jardine exchanged harmonies on the outro, taking turns with the phrase “god only knows what I’d be without you,” Brian looked up from the piano for a moment at Jardine and you couldn’t help but wonder what was going through his mind. This band he started all those decades ago, not very many miles away from this theater, with his two brothers, both dead, and his cousin with whom, I assume, he does not speak and his friend Al, who after all the years of tragedy and abuse is standing a few feet from him singing back the same line.  

“God Only Knows” was followed by the only song that could follow such a masterpiece, the closer “Good Vibrations.” Guitarist  Probyn Gregory switched to the Theremin and the crowd sprung to their feet as Brian and the band performed a song that, like “Heroes and Villains,” seems incapable of being performed live. It was flawless.

After the band exited the stage and the crowd roared in anticipation of an encore I began to think of what we had all witnessed. Brian Wilson has one of the greatest catalogs in popular music. He is that rarified creator whose most popular hits are equally substantive, catchy while groundbreaking, hooky and complex all at once. Running over the songs from the set I was struck by the sheer magnitude of Brian Wilson’s output. I wondered what he had saved for an encore. I was answered in spades.

The band returned: six songs played rapid fire, back to back, each one increasing in intensity until the great, distorted climax: “All Summer Long,” “Help Me Rhonda,” “I Get Around,” “Barbara Ann,” “Surfin’ U.S.A.,” “Fun, Fun, Fun.” Six of his biggest hits, six of the most iconic rock songs of any era blasted at us almost as an afterthought.

One more exit and a final number. Brian sat again at the piano. The rest of the band either laid down their instruments or played quiet, acoustic accompaniment as Brian sang “Love and Mercy,” the opening track to his self-titled debut solo album. It was his best vocal of the night. He sang full and loud and clear and confident. There was that sweet angelic voice, that vessel of purity and warmth that has comforted and affected so many. 

I was sittin’ in a crummy movie
With my hands on my chin
All the violence that occurs
Seems like we never win
Love and mercy that’s what you need tonight
Love and mercy to you and your friends tonight

I was lying in my room
And the news came on TV
A lotta people out there hurtin’
And it really scares me
Love and mercy that’s what you need tonight
Love and mercy to you and your friends tonight

I was standing in a bar
And watching all the people there
Oh the loneliness in this world
Well it’s just not fair
Love and mercy that’s what we need tonight
Love and mercy to you and your friends tonight 

Brian Wilson sat concealed and protected behind his piano the entire show. He sang no falsetto. He forsook several leads to Al Jardine and other band members. But every note that was played or sung or felt this night was all Brian Wilson. It is his vision and his creation. It is his story; it is our story. He has amassed a body of work that has no peer. His band fully understands the importance of this. This was no Hawaiian shirt oldies show. There were no showbiz gimmicks, not the slightest of pandering to nostalgia. This was a truly great artist, alive and in the moment, surrounding himself with musicians who get not just the fun and the beauty of this music, but its importance. And his old friend and collaborator was along for the ride, bringing out his best. And the best in Brian Wilson, vulnerable and resilient, is the best in us all. 

(c) 2014 Matt Powell