For whatever reason, I own a lot of the Beach Boys' stuff. I guess this is the sort of thing that happens when you're a certain sort of a rock and pop music fan, serious about getting into anything and everything and have that completist attitude at times. Let me say this to you with a clear set of ears, though: The Beach Boys recorded a
whole lot of crap. Yes, even before Brian Wilson had his nervous breakdown, freaked out, and started grooving in a sandbox and living in bed, being coaxed to write "good songs" by his brothers who offered bags of cheeseburgers to the "genius."
 |
| Overrated hoo-ha. |
Never was I more disappointed in a Beach Boys LP, though, than with the oft-heralded
Pet Sounds. I remember having read so much about it prior to buying it; that The Beatles'
Rubber Soul had inspired Brian Wilson to want to make something "greater," etc. So when it was reissued in the '90s, I grabbed a copy on tape and took it home, ready to be blown away. But I should have known better, I really should have. After all this was the Beach Boys we were talking about. Granted, they had some fine hits, but they also had "Amusement Parks U.S.A.," "Salt Lake City," and "Pom Pom Play Girl," along with other trivial turds. So basically for every one or two great tracks, you had to put up with 10 or so duds per album.
So given the fact that the Beach Boys' fans were all about their car, surf, summer, and girls tunes, how could it have been any surprise to Brian Wilson that
Pet Sounds was met with such indifference? Especially when The Beatles and Dylan were carving out huge influential swaths of pop music, causing a lot of the Boys' fans to already become bored with that stuff that they had been eating up just a few short years before in 1962? Beach music was a fad. Even if "I Get Around" and "In My Room" held darker lyrical edges, it wasn't enough to remain vital in what would become a musical and pop culture revolution in the next few years.
 |
| Making pop music for old farts. |
|
I listened to
Pet Sounds and don't think I even made it through all the way in one sitting the first time around. That's how underwhelmed I was. "Wouldn't It Be Nice" and "God Only Knows" were fine pop, but the rest of it, recorded as usual with help from Brian Wilson's finest session cats, sounded like elevator Muzak to me. It also sounded weird and phony, too. What the hell was Wilson doing warbling these cornball Tony Asher lyrics? Why did it all play like a dull audio soap opera? Isn't this the kind of music Murry Wilson's parents would have listened to?
Blah.
 |
| Workin' hard for cheeseburgers and coke. |
|
You can fire off as many arguments and points as you like, but my ears will never perk up to the sound of this album. Cite all the artists it influenced. That's fine. All the believers can continue to believe. But this was the true end for Brian Wilson. After this, it was a long, long ride down to the bottom, with those "glimmers of hope" that would rear their ugly heads ever so often. But the Boys were done. At least in the U.S. Other countries would hang on to 'em for a while, but rock and roll grew up and left these cats far behind. They'd become a fun nostalgia trip years later for those kids who wanted to relive the sun and surf tunes, the same generation who didn't bother to take them seriously when Brian Wilson wanted serious respect so desperately. But it's hard to take a band seriously when they constantly turn out the chunder that dotted their late '60s and well on into the bulk of the '70s years. Need I mention "Match Point of Our Love?" Now that's the definition of craptastic, kids.
