The Beach Boys: That's Why God Made The Radio

THE BEACH BOYS: THAT'S WHY GOD MADE THE RADIO (2012)

1) Think About The Days; 2) That's Why God Made The Radio; 3) Isn't It Time; 4) Spring Vacation; 5) The Private Life Of Bill And Sue; 6) Shelter; 7) Daybreak Over The Ocean; 8) Beaches In Mind; 9) Strange World; 10) From There To Back Again; 11) Pacific Coast Highway; 12) Summer's Gone.

I do not know why this album was made. I do know that the word «money» explicitly showed up in some of Brian's interviews, and, although I am not sure that Brian was exactly starving in the early 2010s, he is one of the few people in the world who actually deserves all the money he can get, so that would be one reasonable reason. Another reasonable reason would be the fact that the «band» was still in need of a bona fide swan song, after all: with Mike trampling the Beach Boys brand in the dust throughout the 1990s, the biographic curve had a maddeningly pathetic form.

Thus, once Brian and Mike temporarily settled their problems and got all the remaining Beach Boys they could lay their hands on together (Al, Bruce, and somebody even dug up «oldboy» David Marks to strum the guitar; 1962 all over again!), they wisely agreed on the following work pattern: the album would be mostly sunny, happy, and nostalgic, just the way Mike would like it to be, but Brian would otherwise be given complete freedom in the writing, throwing in teenage-symphonic compositions à la ʽSurf's Upʼ if he will. Considering that Brian's solo activity in the 2000s showed him as almost completely «cured», busier with his musical projects than anytime since the 1960s, this pattern simply could not fail. Or could it?

The critical world invented a brilliantly polite tag for the final product: «their best since 1977's Love You». Given that very few people would even remember Love You itself, much less any­thing that came later, the tag sounds impressive — wow, thirty-five years past their last artistic success and still going strong! But take the time to relisten to all these albums: honestly, beating all of them put together in one punch is no feat of heroism. The question should be put differently: have The Beach Grandpappies actually managed, this time, to put out an album that would make sense to people outside the small circle of hardcore fanatics?

As one select representative of these people, I'd very much like to say yes, but the more I listen to it, the more I'm forced to say no. That's Why God Made The Radio is by no means an «awful» album in the spirit of the Brianless garbage of the 1990s, and it manages — most of the time — to avoid being «cheesy» in the spirit of the band's late 1970s / early 1980s products. But it is an empty shell of an album, Beach Boys-ish to the core in form only, never in spirit. In fact, I'd say that it doesn't even have any spirit, Beach Boys or otherwise.

In comparison, I try to remember how amazed I was at hearing Paul McCartney's Chaos And Creation several years ago. There it was, a record by an aged, out-of-time dinosaur that made crystal clear sense: slow, pensive, atmospheric, still carrying traces of melodic genius but also re­flecting a shift of values, moods, attitudes so totally in line with both the modern world and the artist's own age. Not a proverbial «masterpiece», not anything to be remembered by on an order of first importance, just an album that quietly stated, «yes, my creator is old and gray, and that gives him a special edge that he is willing to take advantage of». Similar impressions can also be received from some (far from all) of Brian's solo work — even the re-recording of SMiLE, one could say, carried some whiffs of this «wisened old man» attitude.

That's Why God Made The Radio has none of that. It sounds as if the only question the band put to itself was, «can we just make one more ʽDo It Againʼ type of album?» (As a promo move, they did re-record ʽDo It Againʼ, but it is not included on the final LP). To be more precise, «can we still work out those harmonies? can we avoid synthesizers and electronic dance beats? can we still come up with credible lyrics on Californian topics?» etc. And — yes, for dessert: "can we still make a proverbially beautiful multi-part epic suite like we did in the old days, when Mike didn't like epic suites and we still didn't give a damn?»

The title track, released as a taster several months prior to the complete thing, epitomizes its es­sence quite faithfully. After a few listens... maybe even after a single listen, you can memorize the chorus and forgetfully toe-tap along with its lazy, shuffly rhythms. But from the first to the last note, it feels utterly fake. Or, perhaps, «fake» is not the right word — what is truly awful is that it might feel like a sincere outburst of emotion to Brian himself. Can you imagine the Beatles, had they all remained alive, finally reuniting... with every single Paul song written in the spirit of ʽP.S. I Love Youʼ and every John song written in the spirit of ʽLittle Childʼ?

At least if there had been new tricks, new solutions, new discoveries. No dice. Every single chord, every single harmony seems to have a direct ancestor in one Beach Boys classic or another. So­me­times in several at once: ʽShelterʼ is the most glaring example, where the chorus ("I'll give you shelter from the storm...") is the offspring of ʽDon't Worry Babyʼ while the backing harmonies are mostly variations on ʽBreak Awayʼ. I do not doubt for a second that Brian is still capable of inventing new textures, but for this album — it's like he didn't even try. Instead, he reprogram­med his brain computer-wise, activated all the old melodies, shuffled them around, and gave out a credible «Beach Boys™» record. Give musicologists, biologists, and programmers another fifty years, and you might not even need a Brian Wilson to receive another album of this caliber.

We cannot even blame Mike Love this time. For the most part, he wisely stays away from the writing process, although you can always be sure that if you encounter a particularly cringewor­thy lyric, you know who to blame. "Singing our songs is enough reason / Harmony boys is what we believe in" from ʽSpring Vacationʼ (the most overtly awful song on the entire album — few things in life are more disgusting than forcefully faking happiness) is bad enough, but "we got beaches in mind, man it's been too much time" is a close contender (unless you start singing "we got bitches in mind", which immediately gives the whole thing a fresh new angle). He is also re­sponsible for ʽDaybreak Over The Oceanʼ, which seems to be a crude vivisection of ʽBluebirds Over The Mountainʼ with a transplant from ʽMy Bonnieʼ or something else like that.

Most of the rest is honestly credited to Brian and producer Joe Thomas, who had been a close asso­ciate of Brian's since the recording of Imagination more than a decade earlier. And from all of this «rest», critical attention, for obvious reasons, has preferred to focus on the last three songs, which finally dispense with all the phoney summer happiness and give us pianos, flutes, strings, kind melancholia, and solemn vibrations. Does this make me happy? No. I don't like the idea of Brian sitting down at the piano and telling himself, «okay, concentrate, focus, God, make me capa­ble of writing another ʽSurf's Upʼ here and now» — and for all of these nine minutes, I can­not get rid of the idea. And again, all I hear is faint echoes and shadows of past greatness.

To sum up, if this is really why God made the radio, it's totally awesome how God made me stay away from the radio for most of my life. If this album really replenished Brian's, or even Mike's, pockets in a time of need, I am fine with that. If it was made just so that the official Beach Boys discography did not end with Stars And Stripes, I am so totally fine with that, too. But in the general context of the Beach Boys history, this is not a good record, I'm afraid to say. In fact, it is a bad record, I'm afraid to say — a nostalgic trip that feels forced and stuffy, as if you've just successfully taken a time machine back to 1967, but cannot open the doors. In fact, I'm not even sure I really agree that «this is their best since Love You»: even L.A., in those parts of it that weren't totally wretched, sounded more natural.

The only reason I'm chickening out on giving it a thumbs down is that such a decision would look like some sort of «gesture» — as if I wanted to «punish» the band for committing some sort of sacrilege, or was intentionally going «against the grain» (since most of the official reviews were uniformly positive). After all, they are all just big (and, as of now, senile) children, and at least by now they have learned their lesson: don't pay too much attention to big wicked grown-ups co­ming at you with «modern musical values». Better some sheer, unadulterated nostalgia, than ʽSummer Of Loveʼ. And any nine-minute epic written and recorded by Brian Wilson will always respect the Beach Boys' textbook definition of beauty. The album sounds great — like an imma­culately produced facsimile. It feels phoney. But sounds, as we know, are waves that penetrate us all in the same way, and feelings — who knows, yours might be better than mine.

P.S. And I'd like also to explicitly mention that I do not buy the «well, what more would you ex­pect from these guys in 2012?» argument at all. One of the «real» Beach Boys' biggest advanta­ges in the past was the ability to surprise — after the failure of Smiley Smile, they could come up with a winner like Wild Honey, and after the glitzy cheese of 15 Big Ones they could rebound with the raw bizarredom of Love You. Like I said, I could totally see Brian taking charge and leading the band in yet another direction. Instead, they gave us this fucking paper house. Nosiree, we had the rightful right to expect more, and got much less.

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The Beach Boys: The SMiLe Sessions

THE BEACH BOYS: THE SMILE SESSIONS (2011)

CD I: 1) Our Prayer; 2) Gee; 3) Heroes And Villains; 4) Do You Like Worms (Roll Plymouth Rock); 5) I'm In Great Shape; 6) Barnyard; 7) My Only Sunshine; 8) Cabin Essence; 9) Wonderful; 10) Look (Song For Children); 11) Child Is Father Of The Man; 12) Surf's Up; 13) I Wanna Be Around / Workshop; 14) Vega-Tables; 15) Holidays; 16) Wind Chimes; 17) The Elements: Fire (Mrs. O'Leary's Cow); 18) Love To Say Dada; 19) Good Vibrations; 20) You're Welcome; 21) Heroes And Villains (stereo mix); 22) Heroes And Villains Sections (stereo mix); 23) Vega-Tables Demo; 24) He Gives Speeches; 25) Smile Backing Vocals Montage; 26) Surf's Up (1967 solo version); 27) Psycodelic Sounds: Brian Falls Into A Piano; 28) Capitol SMiLE Promo;

CD II: 1) Our Prayer "Dialog"; 2) Heroes And Villains: Part 1; 3) Heroes And Villains: Part 2; 4) Heroes And Villains: Children Were Raised; 5) Heroes And Villains: Prelude To Fade; 6) My Only Sunshine; 7) Cabin Essence; 8) Surf's Up: 1st Movement; 9) Surf's Up: Piano Demo; 10) Vega-Tables: Fade; 11) The Elements: Fire Session; 12) Cool, Cool Water (version 2); 13) Good Vibrations Session Highlights; 14) Psycodelic Sounds: Brian Falls Into A Microphone.

Sooner or later, this was bound to happen. After several years of «teasingly» slapping re-recorded and re-arranged shards and slices on incoherent LPs, somewhere in between Carl Wilson's soft rock ballads and Mike Love's pseudo-experimental oddities; after several decades of heavy reck­less bootlegging, filling a Beach Boy fan's life with sense and emptying a Capitol executive's po­cket of moolah; after Brian Wilson's brave and critically respected 2004 attempt to resurrect and mate­rialize the original concept in its entirety, unfortunately, marred by the hoarseness and seni­lity of his vocals, as well as the lack of original Beach Boy harmonies for pleasant authenticity; in brief, after more than fourty years of this strange fantom life lived by the original SMiLe, here we are — finally presented, under an official seal of approval and in shiny optimistic packaging, with what we should have been presented with in 1967. Back when it actually mattered, that is.

We are supposed to understand, however, that the nineteen tracks on the first CD of this archival release are not the «real» SMiLe. The «real» SMiLe, throughout 1966 and early 1967, was well organised within Brian's head, but not within any particular set of tapes. Brian's 2004 version is actually closer to «reality», although it should also be obvious that, over thirty seven years, that «reality» could not help but become slightly altered. Still, do we really care all that much? At the bottom of it, both the 2004 version and this «reconstruction» are fine additions to our catalog, and neither of the two could be explicitly called «disjointed», «messy», or «lacking artistic vision». For all I know, these fourty-eight minutes of music are SMiLe — that planned conceptual fol­low-up to Pet Sounds, that «teenage symphony to God» that Brian had announced before falling victim to his own unbridled ambitiousness and inability to adapt it to the actual surroundings. Smiley Smile, in comparison, was not SMiLe — not even close. This one, regardless of any de­ficiencies that Beach Boy historians and Brian Wilson's spiritual twins may detect, could just as well be SMiLe. Why the hell not?

From a «basic acquaintance» point of view, even if you have never heard any bootlegs and are a strictly «official release» kind of person, there will not be any major new-song surprises here if you already know Smiley Smile, the Beach Boys' entire catalog of 1967-1971, the anthological archive releases, and, of course, Brian's 2004 reconstruction. What matters is the coherence of it all: from the very fact that yes, a reconstruction from the original tapes is possible, to the joy of discovering the original, fully inspired recordings, and multiplied by the lovingly executed remas­tering — each single vocal part here, in particular, sounds clearer, cleaner, closer to home than could ever be achieved in the old days. (One way to relive your Sixties experience anew).

So — always the tempting question — could the album, as it is now presented, be the supposed equivalent of Sgt. Pepper? Clearly, it would have been less accessible. There is simply too much going on here: with most of the songs consisting of several parts, plus additional instrumental links tying them together, the kaleidoscopic ambitiousness would have been too much for most people — at times, it seems as if Brian were competing not so much with Lennon/McCartney as he was with Frank Zappa (Absolutely Free is comparable in terms of the sheer number of unpre­dictable leaps and twists, even if it leans far closer towards the avantgarde side of things and, thus, could not hope for commercial success at all). Sgt. Pepper cleverly knew where to stop; SMiLe knows no limits, which is why it will always be adored much more by eccentric «poetic souls» and relentless musical omnivores than «normal people».

On the other hand, SMiLe does correct what I have always thought of as the biggest mistake of Pet Sounds — it is much more dynamic, with the melancholic, introspective mood, slow tempos, and gentle musical flow replaced by head-spinning psychedelia, turbulence, and jarring stops-and-starts a-plenty. It is not «rock» at all (the electric guitar barely registers at all as an instru­ment among all the carnivalesque trappings), but it is energetic for much of its duration, and, some­times, even becomes aggressive (ʽMrs. O'Leary's Cowʼ, Brian's musical equivalent of a raging fire destroying everything in its path). Ever yawned at the languid­ness of Pet Sounds? Once or twice, at least? SMiLe gives you no time for yawning: open your mouth and something attention-drawing will happen before you close it.

But it is no coincidence that ʽGood Vibrationsʼ became the only SMiLe song to enter each and every household — it is the Beach Boys' equivalent of ʽAll You Need Is Loveʼ: behind all of its fabulous complexity lies a very simple, very basic, and very easily understandable message. Mu­sically, it belongs fully to Brian's «mature» period, but spirit-wise, it is like a perfect link between the early fun-in-the-sun days and the later transition into the realm of strangeness and charm. Be­yond ʽGood Vibrationsʼ lies the strange and charming, too strange and charming, perhaps, for the average musical listener to swallow. Personally, I think that the people at large would not be rea­dy for SMiLe in 1967, just as they are not all that ready for it now.

Which should not prevent critics, fans, and musical omnivores, of course, from holding their ground — SMiLe is, indeed, one of the finest achievements of pop music in the XXth century, and now we have the near-perfect package to prove it without having to do all that extra work for ourselves. In the long run, it is a more rewarding listening experience than Sgt. Pepper: the pay­off is smaller at first, with all the different links and overdubs and stops and starts and reprises and modulations and special effects dazzling and confusing the listener, but larger on subsequent listens, when all the flourishes start sinking in and you start to realize how well they all belong to­gether. It does not have its own ʽDay In The Lifeʼ — a sort of ultimate, mind-blowing, cathartic peak with a cleverly engineered mix of comic and tragic overtones that forces you to realize how small you are in relation to the universe — although the magnificent ʽSurf's Upʼ comes close, its solemnly mannered baroque flow, ungrammatical lyrics (I still think that Van Dyke Parks was one of the weakest links in the chain), and intentional coldness still stir up a very different kind of emotions. But apart from that, it still reflects a grand vision, dressed up in some of the most in­ventive clothes ever designed by a pop musician.

Regarding the package, I have only heard the «standard» 2-CD version, which includes about twenty extra tracks from the sessions, all of which are well worth listening to — SMiLe was such a fascinating project that even the demos and interrupted studio takes are exciting on their own, as you watch these songs unfurl before your eyes. Even the eight minute-long «montage» of acca­pella backing vocals for the project is jaw-dropping — these are, after all, some of the most un­usual and non-trivial harmonies the band had ever designed, and some of them do get lost in the background when you are listening to the completed takes. Heck, even the «silly bits» — such as the little staged comic-absurdist scene in which ʽBrian Falls Into A Pianoʼ are charmingly hila­rious this time. Why couldn't they think of something like that in the times of ʽBull Session With Big Daddyʼ?...

There is, however, an enlarged 5-CD boxset version as well, with a whole disc given over to the story of the development of ʽHeroes And Villainsʼ and another one given over to ʽGood Vibra­tionsʼ. For me, this is technical overkill, but I am fairly sure all of that is worth listening to at least once — if only to understand how much time, work, energy, and spirit had been invested in these creations. If you can afford the big boxset, by all means, do so: even a self-proclaimed ha­ter of SMiLe could be objectively convinced, I believe, that this is one of the few albums that does merit a whole boxset of such length all to itself. Thumbs up to all of the versions out there — and especially to the amazing fact that, now that the enigma has finally disclosed itself as fully as possible, it has not become the tiniest bit less enigmatic than it was before.

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The Beach Boys: Good Timin' - Live At Knebworth 1980

THE BEACH BOYS: GOOD TIMIN': LIVE AT KNEBWORTH 1980 (2002)

1) Intro; 2) California Girls; 3) Sloop John B; 4) Darlin'; 5) School Days; 6) God Only Knows; 7) Be True To Your School; 8) Do It Again; 9) Little Deuce Coupe; 10) Cotton Fields/Heroes And Villains; 11) Happy Birthday Brian; 12) Keepin' The Summer Alive; 13) Lady Lynda; 14) Surfer Girl; 15) Help Me, Rhonda; 16) Rock And Roll Music; 17) I Get Around; 18) Surfin' USA; 19) You're So Beautiful; 20) Good Vibrations; 21) Barbara Ann; 22) Fun, Fun, Fun.

Twenty years after the fact, it was decided to finally let the Beach Boys' 1980 performance from Knebworth reach the hearts and minds of fans through official financial channels, and it was rele­ased both on CD and DVD, for the world to enjoy the middle-aged band in all of its heavily bear­ded glory. By all means, though, this is a historical performance, with all the original six mem­bers of the band for the last time standing together on a British stage. (They would do some more US shows, though, in between this one and Dennis' drowning three years later).

Of all the officially released Beach Boy live albums this one is predictably and expectedly the worst; but even at their worst, the Beach Boys never failed reminding the world what a spectacu­lar backlog they possessed, and what sort of a superhuman craft they had developed to deliver it live — even at a time when, deep down inside, even Mike Love must have already understood that the world was regarding them as little more than a cute nostalgic plaything. Not that you'd tell it from the audience's reactions — the cheering is quite heartfelt and spontaneous, to the ex­tent that everybody seems quite content to join in a happy birthday wish for Brian. But chalk it up to the magic of the songs, whose power had outlived the personal charm and sex appeal of the band. (Well, I'm pretty sure there were still some people falling for Mike's Hawaiian shirts even as late as 1980, but they probably do not read my reviews, so I'm quite safe insulting them).

By 1980, the band's setlist mainly consisted of evergreens from 1963-67, with a few «highlights» from their most recent albums thrown in, to try and lure the listeners into raising sales. Conside­ring, however, just how «terrific» recent efforts like ʽKeepin' The Summer Aliveʼ and even the much less annoying ʽLady Lyndaʼ sound when they are wedged in between ʽHeroes And Villainsʼ and ʽSurfer Girlʼ, I do not think they had all that much of a chance here (at least they do not get booed after three minutes of retro-moronic duh-duh-duh-ing on ʽSummerʼ, which is the best they could possibly expect).

But the evergreens are delivered well enough: even Dennis, with all his troubles and wreckings, seems to be in hot search of energy, and smashes and crashes all over the place just as he used to in the good old days, with a limited sense of rhythm, perhaps, but a sincere desire to pump as much energy into brother Brian's melodies as possible. Brother Brian himself mostly serves as a mascot here, sitting well-hidden behind a keyboard that he hardly really plays, and each time he takes a lead vocal part is considered so special that Mike feels it his chivalrous obligation to draw our attention — "Ladies and gentlemen, Brian Wilson!" Throw in the happy birthday chant, and a special thank-you-thank-you-Brian delivered once or twice for the «man who wrote all this beau­tiful music», and the feeling of a mummified deity installed in the temple is complete.

That said, there is no evidence to suggest that Brian himself did not feel positive emotions from what was going on — playing live, for him, was supposed to be part of the healing process, even if he was being used in the process. And the actual leads that he takes on ʽSloop John Bʼ and the bridge section of ʽSurfer Girlʼ are sung at his broken-voice-best; I think he actually flubs fewer notes during this show than Al Jardine, who has developed a strange penchant for straying away from the melody (most notable on ʽHeroes And Villainsʼ) — not quite in the Mick Jagger manner, of course, but still rather unpleasant for a band where tightness is always the key.

Curious odds-and-ends would involve a drastically and solemnly slowed down take on the «sym­phonic» introduction to ʽCalifornia Girlsʼ; the unearthing of ʽBe True To Your Schoolʼ sung with the good old teen verve — very strange-sounding, coming from a bunch of guys who should, by then, be teachers rather than students; a barroom-oriented rearrangement of ʽDo It Againʼ that does not work very well with the accent shifted from vocal harmonies to hard-rock overtones; ʽHe­roes And Villainsʼ squashed into a medley with ʽCotton Fieldsʼ, even if the only thing that joins them together is that ephemeral «Americana» feeling; and a Dennis solo spotlight with ʽYou Are So Beautifulʼ, a song he originally co-wrote with Billy Preston and then performed frequent­ly until his death — easily one of the most spontaneous and heartfelt bits of the show.

Other than that, Good Timin' is strictly for the collector — although it does its best to fill in a certain gap in Beach Boy history, since the «Brian is back» period was, until 2002, the only peri­od left unrepresented by an official live recording. And, from a certain point of view, it is now the best of all the «Brian is back» period albums, by definition: the only reason why the Beach Boys were able to carry on and preserve a shred of respect at that time were their live performances. A bit rusty over here, a bit wobbly out there, but still saving the day. Thumbs up.

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The Beach Boys: Hawthorne, CA

THE BEACH BOYS: HAWTHORNE, CA (2001)

CD I: 1) Mike Love Introduces "Surfin'"; 2) 3701 West 119th Street, Hawthorne, California: The Surfin' Rehearsal; 3) Happy Birthday Four Freshmen; 4) Mike On Brian's Harmonies; 5) Their Hearts Were Full Of Spring (live rehearsal); 6) Surfin' USA (demo); 7) Surfin' USA (backing track); 8) Carl Wilson Radio Promo; 9) Shut Down (live); 10) Little Deuce Coupe (demo); 11) Murry Wilson Directs A Radio Promo; 12) Fun, Fun, Fun (backing track); 13) Brian's Message To "Rog" (take 22); 14) Dance, Dance, Dance (stereo remix); 15) Kiss Me Baby (a cappella mix); 16) Good To My Baby (backing track); 17) Chuck Britz On Brian In The Studio; 18) Salt Lake City (session highlights); 19) Salt Lake City (stereo remix); 20) Wish That He Could Stay (session excerpt); 21) And Your Dream Comes True (stereo remix); 22) Carol K Session Highlights; 23) The Little Girl I Once Knew (alternate version); 24) Alan And Dennis Introduce "Barbara Ann"; 25) Barbara Ann (session excerpt); 26) Barbara Ann (master take without party over­dubs); 27) Mike On The Everly Brothers; 28) Devoted To You (master take without party overdubs); 29) Dennis Thanks Everybody / In The Back Of My Mind; CD II: 1) Can't Wait Too Long (a cappella mix); 2) Dennis In­tro­du­ces Carl; 3) Good Vibrations (stereo track sections); 4) Good Vibrations (concert rehearsal); 5) Heroes And Villains (stereo single version); 6) Vegetables Promo (instrumental section); 7) Vegetables (stereo extended mix); 8) You're With Me Tonight; 9) Lonely Days; 10) Bruce On "Wild Honey"; 11) Let The Wind Blow (stereo remix); 12) I Went To Sleep (a cappella mix); 13) Time To Get Alone (alternate version); 14) Alan And Brian Talk About Dennis; 15) A Time To Live In Dreams; 16) Be With Me (backing track); 17) Dennis Introduces "Cotton Fields"; 18) Cotton Fields (The Cotton Song) (stereo single version); 19) Alan and Carl on "Break Away"; 20) Break Away (alternate version); 21) Add Some Music To Your Day (a cappella mix); 22) Dennis Wilson; 23) Forever (a cappella mix); 24) Sail On, Sailor (backing track); 25) Old Man River (vocal section); 26) Carl Wilson; 27) The Lord's Prayer (stereo remix); 28) Carl Wilson - Coda.

Do not be fooled by the endless tracklist on this ridiculous piece of crap – a tracklist long enough and descriptive enough to serve as its own review – and, by all means, skip this unless your com­pletism and/or religious adoration knows no limits. Inspired by the success of Endless Harmony, and also, perhaps, by that of the Beatles' Anthology, Capitol ushered out this 2-CD «anthology» of «previously unreleased material», in the finest tradition of screwing with the Beach Boys' stu­dio output, stretching all the way back to 1962.

Beyond the pretty packaging and the nice «historic» run of the recordings, generally arranged in chronological order from 1960 to 1972 (and thus, acknowledging that the Beach Boys as a histo­rically relevant entity virtually ended with «Brian's comeback»), most of the tracks here fall in five different categories, listed in the order of (slowly) decreasing stupidity:

(a) bits of retro-banter à la Beatles' Anthology I (usually consisting of one Beach Boy praising the spiritual gift of another Beach Boy, or, failing that, of the Everly Brothers): could be tolerable if these introductions actually led into anything worthwhile, but the compilers should have rather taken the hint from the Beatles' Anthology II, on which, not coincidentally, all the bits of banter had magically disappeared;

(b) instrumental «backing tracks» for original studio recordings, i. e. more Stack-o-Tracks fun for those who hadn't already had enough; including such really odd choices as Dennis' ʽBe With Meʼ and even ʽSurfin' USAʼ (what's to admire on that one? the stop-and-starts?);

(c) vocal «a cappella mixes» for other original studio recordings, probably for aspiring boy bands to have something to practice their craft to;

(d) even more of those «stereo remixes» that made our day on Endless Harmony, instead of do­ing it like a man and just remastering all the albums in stereo;

(e) work-in-progress versions. This is probably the most interesting of the five groups, but it is also fairly small and pretty much entirely oriented at historiographers and musicologists, e. g. the 1960 home recording of ʽSurfin' Safariʼ, with just one weak acoustic guitar track accompanying the already well-structured vocal harmonies; Brian (Brian?) teaching the horns to come one after the other on ʽSalt Lake Cityʼ; and the band having silly fun during the recording of ʽVegetablesʼ. The funniest moment is on ʽWith Me Tonightʼ, where, after the introductory harmonies, one of the Boys says, "hey, I've got an idea, let's sing this with a smile" — probably a much-needed in­vocation during the sessions for Wild Honey. But that's just one tiny bit, and you'd have to strain your attention so as not to miss it.

In the end, what remains is a couple of highlights from Party! stripped from their phony-raucous ambience (including ʽBarbara-Annʼ); a one-minute snippet of an abandoned melancholic ballad called ʽLonely Daysʼ; and a two-minute piano and organ demo of Dennis' ʽA Time To Live In Dreamsʼ from 1968, an era in which his individual songwriting style had only just begun to terra­form: pretty, but not as deep and moving as his genuinely accomplished compositions. Slim pick­ings to say the least, and certainly not at all worthy of any sort of hype.

Perhaps Capitol would have made a more understandable and respectable move, had it simply promoted The Beach Boys as «Unquestionably The American Band Of All Time», and, under that pretext, emptied its vaults completely, systematically, and thoroughly, e. g. by having a 4-CD boxset of The Wild Honey Sessions next to the already released Pet Sounds Sessions. That way, it would have been perfectly clear who the intended recipients of this stuff might be – professio­nal Beach-Boy-o-logists, who are numerous enough in the world to justify the commercial side of it – and everything would have made perfect sense. As it is, nothing here makes much sense at all; Beach Boys or no Beach Boys, this is a pathetic thumbs down of a release.

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The Beach Boys: Endless Harmony Soundtrack

THE BEACH BOYS: ENDLESS HARMONY SOUNDTRACK (1998)

1) Soulful Old Man Sunshine (writing session excerpt); 2) Soulful Old Man Sunshine; 3) Radio Concert Promo; 4) Medley: Surfin' Safari / Fun, Fun, Fun / Shut Down / Little Deuce Coupe / Surfin' U.S.A. (live 1966); 5) Surfer Girl (binaural mix); 6) Help Me, Rhonda (alternate single version); 7) Kiss Me, Baby (stereo remix); 8) California Girls (stereo remix); 9) Good Vibrations (live 1968); 10) Heroes And Villains (demo); 11) Heroes And Villains (live 1972); 12) God Only Knows (live 1967); 13) Radio Concert Promo; 14) Darlin' (live 1980); 15) Wonderful / Don't Worry Bill (live 1972); 16) Do It Again (early version); 17) Break Away (demo); 18) Sail Plane Song; 19) Loop De Loop (Flip Flop Flyin' In An Aeroplane); 20) Barbara; 21) 'Til I Die (alternate mix); 22) Long Promised Road (live 1972); 23) All Alone; 24) Brian's Back; 25) Endless Harmony.

It must have been quite risqué to select ʽEndless Harmonyʼ, out of everything there was, as the Beach Boy song title to serve as the title for a documentary on the band's history — in 1998, as Carl finally succumbed to cancer and the rest of the band drifted apart, with only Mike and Bruce going on as «The Beach Boys», selling out barrooms and spas either to people too old to remem­ber whoever was in the band anyway, or to people who didn't give much of a damn about whether they were being entertained by «The Beach Boys» or «The Backstreet Boys». Maybe ʽYou Need A Mess Of Help To Stand Aloneʼ would have been a better title.

In any case, the documentary provided Capitol with a respectable opportunity to unload some more of those archival dustbins, and the fans genuinely got over seventy minutes of new Beach Boy material. Granted, the word «new» can have lots of nuances, and in this particular case, way too often «new» simply means:

— new stereo remixes of well-known songs, e. g. ʽSurfer Girlʼ, ʽKiss Me, Babyʼ, and ʽCalifornia Girlsʼ (a thing that should have been done on a far more thorough level, e. g. have all the early al­bums remastered in two modes, the way they eventually did with the Beatles);

— underarranged demo versions that can only have historical interest (ʽDo It Againʼ, ʽBreak Awayʼ, etc.); everything listenable and in fine quality, but no unexpected twists. Well, you do get to hear Mike sing "let's get together and surf again", which was eventually deleted, for fear that somebody might actually start harassing the band into fulfilling that exhortation;

— «radio concert promo» bits written for the band by people who probably thought that such a dumb band deserved the dumbest of writing ("Hi! This is Al Jardine, and I am a Beach Boy"; "Hi, this is the greatest drummer on Earth, Dennis Wilson of the Beach Boys").

Fortunately, that is only about a third of the album. The other third features an assortment of live rarities that range from the curiously fun (a five-hit medley from 1966 crammed into three and a half minutes) to the brilliant (ʽHeroes And Villainsʼ from 1967) to the unexpected (two highlights from the 1972 Carnegie Hall Concert: an inspired take on ʽLong Promised Roadʼ from Carl, and a ʽWonderfulʼ that is, for some reason, merged with a Chaplin/Fataar blues-rocker called ʽDon't Worry Billʼ — see, back in the old days this band did include surprising its audiences among its top priorities) to the so-so (ʽDarlinʼ should probably have been taken from some show prior to 1980's Knebworth concert).

Finally, there are six new songs that had only been previously available through bootlegs, al­though only one of them may count up there with the classics — consequently, it is also the one that opens the album: ʽSoulful Old Man Sunshineʼ, an outtake from the 1969 sessions, is a prime time Brian Wilson classic with all the works — multi-layered harmonies, varied instrumentation, catchy verse/chorus, and a lush, optimistic, anthemic atmosphere that was hardly a cherished guest on Brian's post-breakdown compositions. Why they ended up leaving it in the can is any­body's guess — maybe they thought it was too Motown-ish in sound (it does bounce around the room in the same way that a light, fast-tempo Supremes number can), although this never stopped them from covering Stevie Wonder on Wild Honey.

Five minutes are given to two different incarnations of the same song — ʽSail Plane Song' from 1968 began as a dark swirling piano number, then gradually mutated into 1969's 'Loop De Loop', a carouselambra-extravaganza of brass, chimes, harmonies, and circus spirit, before finally getting to be killed off by Jack Rieley, who thought the Beach Boys should not waste their pre­cious time working on such mindless fluff, and dedicate their efforts to things far more serious in nature and scope — such as ʽStudent Demonstration Timeʼ. Actually, though, ʽLoop De Loopʼ in its semi-finished shape is still a nice piece of Cali-psychedelia... but it certainly used to be cre­epier when it used to be ʽSail Plane Songʼ.

There is also a previously unreleased Dennis ballad (ʽBarbaraʼ), and at least one misguided in­clusion — ʽBrian's Backʼ, a song written in 1976 to celebrate the prodigal brother's artificial «comeback», sewn together from a miriad nostalgic leaves and, fortunately, shelved for the time being. Now that Brian had finally severed his ties with the remaining «Beach Boys» for good, the song's resurfacing on this anthology might have seemed even more comic.

It would have been better if they had let the album run its course on the «full» version of 'Til I Die' — the only song on here that has it in itself to compete with the original, lengthened by two completely instrumental minutes that allow the melody to be explored in all of its potential; if you ever wondered how all these late Sixties / early Seventies Beach Boy classics would sound with proper build-ups and fade-outs, well, here is your answer: this alternate mix, created by engineer Steve Desper, makes the song twice the epic that it is. (In fact, Brian himself liked it so much that he eventually started working around the extended version in live performances).

The end result is, naturally, a thumbs up, and a big overall improvement compared to Rarities: longer, cleaner, better sequenced, and with three or four genuinely awesome discoveries. Unfor­tunately, it also confirmed that, even in the CD age, as well as an age in which interest in the Beach Boys as «forefathers of cool» was perking up, the archives would not yield Holy Grails. However, the fact that it was still possible to brush the dust off an occasional ʽSoulful Old Man Sunshineʼ still left ground for suspicions that the people at Capitol were playing out their time-honoured strategy — never let go of everything at the same time, or you might make people way too happy for them to remember to make you way too rich.

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Beach Boys: Rarities

BEACH BOYS: RARITIES (1983)

1) With A Little Help From My Friends; 2) The Letter; 3) I Was Made To Love Her; 4) You're Welcome; 5) The Lord's Prayer; 6) Bluebirds Over The Mountain; 7) Celebrate The News; 8) Good Vibrations; 9) Land Ahoy; 10) In My Room; 11) Cotton Fields; 12) All I Want To Do (live); 13) Auld Lang Syne.

Although most of this album, out of print for a long time and never even released on CD, was scat­tered around as bonus tracks on subsequent CD re-issues, and most of what was not is no big loss for anyone, Rarities is still worth at least a brief mention — as the first archival package in the band's career, con­sisting entirely of previously unreleased material.

The fact that Capitol waited for more than ten years to release this is telling in itself: the Beach Boys' vaults are not quite as opulent as popular instinct would have us believe. The fact that Capi­tol had to slap a bikini-clad «tropical beauty» on the front sleeve is even more telling — back in 1983, I bet more people bought this record for the album cover than the actual content. Besides, what could be kinkier than an intense jack-off to the sounds of 'The Lord's Prayer'?

Anyway, both back in the day and today the only curio-reason to own this were/are the first two tracks. Proceedings begin with a nice enough cover of 'With A Little Help From My Friends' that is surprisingly tight and well-rehearsed, almost on the level of the original: I have no idea if the band really had any intentions to include it on the likes of Wild Honey, but I would not be sur­prised if they did. (And, who knows, someone might even prefer Mike Love's lead vocal to Rin­go's, for reasons that do not require explaining.) Then there is a shorter, rawer, lo-fi-er take on 'The Letter' (originally made famous by The Box Tops) — perhaps considered too dark and dis­turbing for official release.

As for the rest, alternate versions of 'I Was Made To Love Her', 'Bluebirds Over The Mountains', and 'Cotton Fields' do not differ too much from the originals; the working version of 'Good Vib­ra­tions' is just one of the million working versions of 'Good Vibrations' circulating around since times immemorial, first on bootlegs, then on boxsets; the German version of 'In My Room' will make sense if you are one of those few Germans who does not understand one word of English; 'Land Ahoy' must date back to something like 1961, with all the inevitable consequences (see my review of Surfin' Safari for details); and accappella versions of 'The Lord's Prayer' and 'Auld Lang Syne' are predictably flawless — but also predictably trite.

Still, all of the tracks are developed enough to ensure thirty minutes of pleasant listening — for me, only spoiled by having to experience them as a poor quality vinyl rip. Of course, it is always possible to substitute those tracks that have been released on CD for the remastered versions, but that sort of alienates the listener from the wonderous tangerine mood of that album cover. The on­ly question is: did they really have to add the ugly leering guy with the awful hair? Just goes to show the difference between tropical life in 1963 and 1983.

The Beach Boys: Stars And Stripes Vol. 1

THE BEACH BOYS: STARS AND STRIPES, VOL. 1 (1996)

1) Don't Worry Baby; 2) Little Deuce Coupe; 3) 409; 4) Long Tall Texan; 5) I Get Around; 6) Be True To Your School; 7) Fun, Fun, Fun; 8) Help Me Rhonda; 9) The Warmth Of The Sun; 10) Sloop John B.; 11) I Can Hear Music; 12) Caroline, No.

All I can say is that, in «desert island» mode, Stars And Stripes would be a more tolerable choice than Summer In Paradise. Which does not mean that the entirety of this album does not spell out «M-I-S-E-R-Y» at the rate of two songs per each letter of the word. Listed as a «Beach Boys» album; featuring all five Beach Boys – including Brian! – on vocal harmonies; but consis­ting exclusively of Nashville musicians playing and Nashville singers singing on old Beach Boy covers — the idea was rotten from the start, and the lack of intelligent execution fails to compen­sate for the rot in any imaginable way.

These are not even properly done «country» rearrangements: at best, it is all made to sound like «1990s country-pop», which was at least before the Taylor Swift era, but was already no more «authentic country» than John Mayer is «genuine blues». Everybody just seems to be playing for cash, with no interest whatsoever in anything else — learn the chords (and, since most of the co­vered songs are from the 1963-64 period, that certainly would not take too long), practice for half an hour, churn it out, and off you go. A pure instance of rigid professionalism that makes the idea of «art» almost ridiculously superfluous.

Much the same applies to the singers, almost none of which are either capable of reproducing the fun spirit of the originals or of supplying a new cool twist to the old stuff. The only exceptions are – big frickin' surprise – the two old-schoolers. Timothy B. Schmit, of Eagles/Poco/solo fame, does a good job of recreating the worried mood of 'Caroline, No' (which is, by the way, the only «serious» song on the entire album, and its being tacked onto the end, like a lame dog bonus track, clearly demonstrates that, at this point, Executive Producer Mike Love was still certain that the true Beach Boys expired thirty years ago upon disembarking from the yacht on the front sleeve of Summer Days). It adds nothing to the original, but it doesn't spoil it, which produces quite a nice psychological effect after the preceding eleven tracks.

Second, another old-schooler and everybody's favorite, Willie Nelson, unexpectedly pops out on 'The Warmth Of The Sun' — a song that normally commands a very complex vocal performance and a particularly sweet vocal tone. Of course, it could be expected that the old trickster would try and do something like that — deconstruct a vocal classic with a deliberately minimalistic perfor­mance. But, unfortunately, that is just the way it works: as an experimental deconstruction. It is odd and unusual to hear Nelson's sympathetic «non-singing» backed by angelic harmonies, but it certainly is not the right way a good Beach Boys cover can be done. (Come to think of it, I do not even know what is the right way — the Beach Boys defy personal interpretation, which is why we do not see too many respectable Beach Boy covers floating around, unlike the Beatles).

And, in any case, two decent/interesting performances out of twelve isn't exactly hot stuff — es­pecially when, in order to get through to them, one has to suffer the humiliation of Toby Keith singing about being true to your school; of 'Help Me, Rhonda' rearranged as a fast-tempo shit-rock number; of grown-up people rather than fresh kids still wallowing in the cheap silliness of 'Long Tall Texan'; of Lorrie Morgan going through 'Don't Worry Baby' with all the passion of a young idealistic mom giving it her all at the local school benefit show, etc. etc.

Predictably, the planned Stars And Stripes Vol. 2 never came to pass (although some material was actually recorded, like a not-half bad Tammy Winette take on 'In My Room'), and the origi­nal record went out of print fairly soon — and with it, any incentive on the part of the «Beach Boys» to record any new material, particularly since, soon afterwards, the rift between Brian and Mike Love became permanent, and because Carl passed away in 1998: although Mike and Bruce still shamefully continued touring as «Beach Boys», it is one thing to please nostalgic crowds with shaky-hand renditions of 'Surfin' USA', and quite another one to record new material under the same name (not that, in between the two of them, they had any).

Thumbs down without a question (sorry, Willie), both to this album and its funny permutation that occasionally circulates around in bootleg form — one with all the lead vocal tracks wiped out and amusing liner notes that explain that, since this is probably the last ever Beach Boys album to bear that name on it, one must have the right to hear it as a Beach Boys album, focusing on auth­entic Beach Boy harmonies, rather than a trashy country star tribute record with the band guesting on its own album. Now that, in 2012, a reunion is finally expected, the excuse may no longer be an excuse, and then the last ever reason for even remembering that someone ever had such a fit of bad taste will dissipate forever.