The Sunday Musician

Saturday morning A&E ran a Beach Boys bio from several years back, surely hoping to pick up a little bump from the all the media surrounding the release of That Lucky Old Sun.  As usual, I couldn't switch the channel even though it covered old ground.  The insiders interviewed all said the same thing, running along the lines of 'good to see Brian beating back the demons', 'Brian's finally found some peace', etc.  Except for one guy, and this is what he said (paraphrased):

"The Brian you see now, the Brian that smiles and talks about how he's finally found his way - that's not the real Brian.  That's the tamed Brian.  They've tamed him, or he's tamed himself, but what you're seeing now is not the real Brian Wilson."

I thought that was an odd thing to say, maybe even a little cruel.  But...listening to That Lucky Old Sun, I think I might know what he means.  Wilson hasn't lost his arranging touch, his ability to manipulate the elements (although his partner and producer in this production played a large role), but...and I don't like saying this...there's almost none of that inventiveness that used to take my breath away.   2004's 'Smile' was really 1967's 'Smile', as far as originality goes, and the last thing I really, really liked by Brian was 'Imagination', from some years back.  That one had some of the old magic. 

At his best, Brian conjured up incredible musical ideas - gorgeous melodies, rich, compelling vocal tracks, combinations of instruments that defied not only convention but even common sense and made it seem (like all good art) perfectly inevitable.   Like it had been lying there for anyone to see, and all he did was just pick it up and show everyone.  It's just not apparent, in my opinion, on That Lucky Old Sun.  Well...'Midnight Is Another Day' gets partway there, and 'Southern California' is fun. 

I'm truly happy for the guy.  If he's found peace, if he sleeps at night and looks forward to the next day, well, he has that right.  He doesn't owe me anything, and I'll be happy to listen to the old stuff.  Listening to That Lucky Old Sun feels to me like a letter from one of my daughters, saying "Dad, I know I'm not doing what you think I should, but I'm happy."

I'm not complaining - I'll take whatever he's offering, and gladly.  I just want one more, "Let Him Run Wild".