Szia Gyurka, engem érdekelne, eredeti cd? (Szóval hogy nem mp3, igaz? mert úgy nekem is megvan). Cserébe, hát nem tudom mi érdekelne téged, írd meg hogy mit szeretnél cserébe, biztos dűlőre jutunk remélem
köcsögség, az egész világot átbaszták tehát évtizedeken át. de nem érdekel, én mégis azt akarom hinni, hogy mekkártya rágcsálja a répát. és hinni is fogom.
Brian Wilson interjút adott az xfm-nek. amiből kiderül hogy Paul Mccartney mégsem rágcsált zellert a VegaTables című dalban
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Brian Wilson Talks To Xfm’s Steve Taylor
Prior to his performance at London’s Royal Festival Hall last weekend (July 24), legendary Beach Boy Brian Wilson met Xfm's Steve Taylor and spoke exclusively about his soon-to-be-released masterpiece, ‘Smile’, and his new studio album ‘Getting In Over My Head’. Presented unedited and in full, here is the full transcript.
Steve Taylor: You’ve played here at the Festival Hall a few times in recent years, haven’t you?
Brian Wilson: 3 times
ST: You obviously enjoy playing live?
BW: Yeah, I play my songs
ST: That will be good to hear for people who just have you down as ‘Studio Brian’
BW: Do you like the new album? ('Getting’ In Over My Head' – released June 2004)
ST: Yes, it strikes me that it’s a very Beach Boys sounding album which is interesting, there are some very positive, romantic songs on there
BW: It sounds like the Beach Boys but it also sounds like me aside from the Beach Boys
ST: What’s the difference between a Beach Boys album and a Brian Wilson album
BW: The difference is that I sing all the background parts and with the Beach Boys Alan, Dennis and Carl, and Bruce and me would sing the background parts
ST: And you’ve collaborated with various people on the album – Paul McCartney, Elton John, Eric Clapton, Van Dyke Parks… What was that experience like working with some of those people?
BW: We called Van Dyke Parks in to work on some lyrics for the 'Smile' project, and he came by about twice a week for three weeks, and he would go home and come up with new lyrics, and my friend Darian [Sahanaja] from my band, he was the one who sequenced it, and made it all go together like glue
ST: What about working with Paul McCartney, an interesting person to have on there, isn’t he?
BW: I asked Paul if he would come out to L.A. to work on a song called ‘A Friend Like You’ that I wrote for him. Me and Steve Kalinich we wrote it for him, and he said ‘Sure’. And he flew out to L.A. It took him twenty minutes to learn the song and twenty minutes to record it, and then he was out of there. He did a beautiful job, and his voice sounds fantastic. Really good.
ST: Fantastic! And it’s a nice, really simple little song. In fact, most of the songs on the album come across like that. Obviously, you pick them apart and they’re quite complex underneath, but what comes across is a collection of simple, romantic pop songs.
BW: It’s not a hard rock album, is it? Not real hard rock and roll, right? But it’s good soft pop rock
ST: Yeah, let’s put this into context. The two big albums that people think of when you mention Brian Wilson or the Beach Boys are ‘Pet Sounds’ from 1966 which is just the best pop album there is, groundbreaking, inspirational and different to anything around at that time, a big influence on the Beatles in particular. And then ‘Smile’ in 1967 which might be even better, but nobody got to hear. And it’s out in September and you’re playing it live tonight, right?
BW: The whole ‘Smile’ album tonight, yeah
ST: What made you decide to dig ‘Smile’ out again, because only last year you were saying that it would never come out?
BW: My management told me that they thought people were ready for it now. It was ahead of it’s time obviously, alright?
ST: Yeah
BW: Parks was ahead of his time with these lyrics, and we got it all put together and sequenced and now all we gotta do is hope to God it sells and I think it will. There’s nobody making that kind of music these days. Nobody. No-one anywhere is making that kind of music. It’s sticking out like a sore thumb. People are gonna go ‘What, what is this, in 2004?’ They’ll think ‘Good luck’
ST: Are all the songs the songs you recorded back in ’67 or have you gone back and re- recorded any of them?
BW: We went back and rerecorded some of the movements. See we had two movements in 67 and we added a third movement in 2004, and we also touched up some of the first two movements. Now we’ve got it all together.
ST: Are there any new songs on there?
BW: Are there any new songs from ’67? Yeah
ST: Are there any tracks on there that people will be familiar with?
BW: No, because no-one has heard it. Well, ‘Good Vibrations’ yes, and that’s about it – all the rest, nobody’s heard?
ST: In terms of the live shows, you’re working with a band called The Wondermints, you’ve been working with them for a while haven’t you?
BW: Yeah, about six or seven years. We saw them one night at a nightclub, and they were playing Beach Boys songs, and I went backstage afterwards and said ‘You guys would make a great back-up band, I’m looking for a back-up band, do you wanna do it?’ And they say ‘sure, let’s give it a try’. Doggone Darian he got the band and six other musicians and taught them everything, all the Beach Boys stuff and everything.
ST: Do the band contribute creatively, in the form of solos, arrangements or anything or is it you leading the band and they play the parts.
BW: It’s me, Darian and me
ST: You also play some of the ‘hits’ don’t you. Which of those do you do?
BW: We do ‘I Get Around’, ‘Don’t Worry Baby’
ST: ‘In My Room’? That’s one of my favourites
BW: Yes, ‘In My Room’, that’s a great tune
ST: So ‘Smile’ comes out in September, will there be more shows then?
BW: Yeah, we’re going to be doing a tour in October. And we’re hoping that it we can sell enough records, to the point where we all get turned on enough and can say ‘Hey we made it, we can do it’ We’re all hoping for the best
ST: I know it’s an album from 1967 originally but do you foresee a natural follow-up to 'Smile'?
BW: Yeah, if it’s successful, boom (clicks fingers) yeah we’ll make another one
ST: I also wanted to ask you about the themes on the album?
BW: The themes are exploring water, which is the third movement, air (sic), which is part of the second movement, and air (sic) which is part of the first movement, and there are different trips for different movements.
ST: So musically, it connects to those ideas, what about the lyrics. I read that you and Van Dyke Parks are dealing with the theme of American history?
BW: Well, ‘Americana’ Van Dyke and I wanted to create the nostalgia of early America, you know. I think we captured it with the music and lyrics very well. It’s very good
ST: One thing my friend Simon [photographer] and I were discussing earlier was the humour that comes through in some of the songs, a real sense of intentional silliness sometimes.
BW: Oh, you mean like ‘(I’ll be round my) Vegetables’ that’s a funny one.
ST: Because you worked with Paul McCartney on that one?
BW: On ‘Vegetables’, no.
ST: But didn’t he eat some vegetables or something?
BW: Oh well, he came round and chewed up a carrot in our session, but we didn’t record it
ST: So Paul McCartney didn’t play carrot on ‘Vegetables’
BW: No
ST: Do you see humour as something that is missing in current pop music?
BW: I suppose so
ST: It seems an apt title for the album and the times – ‘Smile’
Hellósztok rajongók sziasztok, Los Angeles egyik legsúlyosabb problémája a mind növekvő szmog mind növekvő mértéke, ebben meg is lehet dögleni. Aki nem hisz nekem, az hallgassa meg egy LA-i lakos eszmefuttatását a témáról. Smog Ez egy 1966-os felvétel, a helyzet azóta tovább rosszabbodott :/
Bizony, ezért voltak szerintem a legnagyobb istenek Spector, Wilson, George Morton meg a hasonló arcok, zsigerből csináltak kurva jó jangzást a kis háromsávos keverőpultokkal, ez az ami mára eltűnt szerintem. Jó példa az új Wilson-lemez, amin BW valami hasonló hangzást akart mint a klasszikus 65-66-os lemezein, a végeredmény katasztrófális
Igen, ezért is jobb a 60-as évekbeli lemezeknek a mono mixeit hallgatni, dögösebben is szólnak. ("Mono is where it's at" - B.Wilson) A korai Beach Boys lemezek sztereó változatai is elég bénán szólnak, vagy az instrumentális track van középen, és a vokálok a két szélen, vagy fordítva. Érdemes lenne újra kiadni a teljes 1970 előtti Beach boys katalógot sávonként újrakeverve, úgy ahogy a PEt Soundsszal tették 1996-ban, vagy ezzel a Little Hondával 2000-ben, még ha ez múlthamisítás is lenne
Úristen, mit tettem, anyjuk redvás picsáját az indexnek
Előbbi hozzászólásom így fest egzotikus kódok nélkül:
"The Beach Boys covered "Little Honda" and it, too, sold well for them"
Ez mondjuk tévedés, a Little Honda originál Wilson-Love szerzemény, az All Summer Long c. lemezen jelent meg, és csak utána dolgozta fel a Hondells, ami egyébként egy nem létező zenekar volt, Gary Usher toborzott össze stúdiózenészeket.
Én is kedveskednék akkor egy mp3-mal, ez a Little Honda vokálok nélküli mixe, amit 2000-ben kevertek újra, úgy szól leviszi a fejedet olyan atom.
<FONT face=Arial size=2>"The Beach Boys covered "Little Honda" and it, too, sold well for them"
<FONT face=Arial size=2>
<FONT face=Arial size=2>Ez mondjuk tévedés, a Little Honda originál Wilson-Love szerzemény, az All Summer Long c. lemezen jelent meg, és csak utána dolgozta fel a Hondells, ami egyébként egy nem létező zenekar volt, Gary Usher toborzott össze stúdiózenészeket.
<FONT face=Arial size=2>
<FONT face=Arial size=2>Én is kedveskednék akkor egy mp3-mal, ez a Little Honda vokálok nélküli mixe, amit 2000-ben kevertek újra, úgy szól leviszi a fejedet olyan atom.
Sziasztok rajongók, szenzációs információ jutott a birtokomba, én ezt eddig nem is tudtam, de képzeljétek, Brian Wilsonnak valamikor a 90-es évek elején stroke-ja volt, vagyis agyvérzése, de ezt nem hozták nyilvánosságra. Így már értem, miért áll egy kicsit félre a szája és miért olyan nehézkes a járása. Na mindegy, ezt csak úgy írtam, mert unatkozom.
Sziasztok rajongók, valami Palm Beach Post vagy mi a faszom összeállított egy ilyen listát, hogy az 50 legszarabb dal olyan előadóktól, akik egyébként eléggé klasszak. Itt van néhány, amivel egyetértek:
50 worst songs of great rockers.
By Palm Beach Post Staff Writers
Sunday, July 4, 2004
In the Ghetto, Elvis Presley: No rock genre lends itself to campiness and mockery more than the too-sincere social commentary. And The King made the mother of all overblown, well-meaning anthems with this melodramatic tale of an ill-fated "poor little baby child." In three neat verses, child is born, becomes a gun-toting, car-stealing hooligan and gets fatally shot by the Fuzz. What's worse: Elvis over-emoting ("And his Mam-a criees") or the whiff of out-of-touch condescension?
Yesterday, The Beatles: There are essentially three types of Beatles songs: the early, innocent fare (I Want to Hold Your Hand), the later, sophisticated stuff (think A Day in the Life) and Yesterday. The sappiness is here, there and everywhere: in the trite lyrics ("love was such an easy game to play"), in the yearning vocals, in the string-laden arrangement. Talk about your silly love songs. Hey, didn't McCartney write that one, too?
Wiggle, Wiggle, Bob Dylan: The worst song on Dylan's worst album (Under the Red Sky). Sample lyric: "Wiggle, wiggle, wiggle like a bowl of soup." Also: "Wiggle 'til you vomit fire." So it's not a kids' song, and nor is it spontaneously, charmingly weird. It's not even one of his incomprehensible yet possibly deep songs. It's just icky.
Angie, The Rolling Stones: Mick Jagger sings the whole song in a way that suggests someone's stepping on his fingers, than compounds the awfulness by whispering: "Angie, Aiiiin-jehhhhhh . . . " Plus, it's paced like a dirge. No wonder she left.
Blinded by the Light, Bruce Springsteen: Before The Boss found his inner Jersey, he was trying to be Bob Dylan. Not the Bob Dylan of Highway 61 Revisited, unfortunately, but the Bob Dylan of Wiggle, Wiggle. That's the only explanation for lyrics such as "Little Earlie-Purlie came by in his curlie-wurlie and asked me if I needed a ride." This song sounded better when people thought the line about a "deuce" was really about a French hygiene product.
Who's Zoomin' Who?, Aretha Franklin: Good rule of thumb: Avoid slang in song titles. What was the Queen of Soul thinking when she recorded 1985's Who's Zoomin' Who? It's hard to gauge just how bad this song is: Is it terrible on its own or just in comparison to the rest of Franklin's songs? Answers: Yes and yes.
Hello, I Love You, The Doors: An unusually large pimple on the band's library of hits, this song contains what has to be the cheesiest pick-up line ever muttered by a rock god ("Hello, I love you/ let me jump in your game"). And let's not forget the mind-numbing organ and monotonous bass. Yes, I think it's actually inducing a bad trip, without the help of any acid.
Shiny Happy People, R.E.M.: The alternative music legends' feel-good duet with The B-52s' Kate Pierson is so syrupy sweet that it is torturously annoying even on the first listen. (And don't get me started on that version with the Muppets.) At least in later interviews, Michael Stipe and company admit this is not their most stellar moment.
Numb, U2: Don't you love it when Bono doesn't sing? Didn't think so. This song on Zooropa basically consists of The Edge monotonously rapping over a very slight instrumental track. Yes, the Edge rapping. At the time, people probably enjoyed the avant-garde-ness of it all, but really, it's just kind of stupid.
You Are Not Alone, Michael Jackson: Here's a mystery Nancy Drew couldn't solve. Why was this piece of confectionery overkill a No. 1 song? It is the polar opposite of what is so energetic and catchy about Jackson's early music. No trace of Rock With You or Don't Stop 'Til You Get Enough. Not even a remnant of Billie Jean. Just a down-tempo ballad — bordering on creepy — with the lyric "But you are not alone/ For I am here with you" repeated enough times to make you wish you were alone.
Easy Skanking, Bob Marley: From the author of Redemption Song and Stir It Up (and Kinky Reggae, but, well, he's forgiven) comes . . . the pot head anthem! "Excuse me while I light my spliff, oh God I gotta take a lift from reality I just can't drift, that's why I am staying with this riff." Yes, staying with it on and on and on. And on. Until you co-opt his munchies and eat a whole bag of Doritos, just for the welcome oblivion.
My Ding-A-Ling, Chuck Berry: I know Chuck's trying to be all double-entendre-ish in this ode to a childhood toy that just happens to have the same name as . . . well . . . This is the kind of thing rowdy 6th-grade boys sing to gross out the girls at the bus stop. And I don't need to be reminded of that again.
Diamonds and Pearls, Prince: Right now, it's good to be Prince. But I'd like to go back to 1991, when his Royal Badness released this tepid, lazily written ditty of lurve. Can you explain why the genius who penned the brilliant line "I guess I should have known from the way you parked your car sideways that it wouldn't last" was reduced to pap like "If I gave you diamonds and pearls, would you be a happy boy or a girl"? Ugh! It makes me cranky!
Something in the Way, Nirvana: There's nothing stellar about Kurt Cobain's lyrics, unless, of course, you're a fan of having the title of the song drilled into your head over and over again. Or unless you're fond of Kurt's musings about eating fish and living under a tarp.
Don't Wanna Miss A Thing, Aerosmith: Aerosmith is one of those bands you admire for its longevity, for its steadfast approach to rock, for recording a Diane Warren song. What? Yes, a cheesy, attached-to-a-stupid-movie, heavy-on-the-strings Diane Warren song. Only one thing to say: Yecch.
Student Demonstration Time, The Beach Boys: In the '70s, lead singer Mike Love, in one of the band's unsuccessful efforts to get its hip card punched, dreamed up this campus anti-war song and set it to the music of Leiber and Stoller's Riot In Cell Block No. 9. Love name-checks all the fashionable protest spots like surf breaks — Berkeley, Jackson State, People's Park. And can you imagine that nasal voice of his singing that the four Kent State victims "earned a new degree/ The Bachelor of Bullets." All of a sudden, "Jamaica, ooh I wanna take ya" is sounding a lot better.
Living in America, James Brown: The fact that it is July 4th does not excuse this song. The fact that Mr. Brown is not exactly celebrated for his lyrical genius, but more for his unbridled enthusiasm, does not excuse this song. In fact, when considering the red-white-and-blue-adorned cheerleaders associated with the video, nothing excuses this song.
Ego Tripping Out, Marvin Gaye: The anti-Let's Get It On. On this disco-era track, the troubled soulman brags about being the "greatest in the bed" in a drawn-out, seven-minute schizophrenic duet with his spiritual side. At least the title is truthful.
Squeeze Box, The Who: Is there anything worse than a weak double entendre about an accordion? I think not.
Part-Time Lover, Stevie Wonder: It's a close call for Mr. Wonder's worst song: I Just Called to Say I Love You and Part-time Lover are neck-and-neck. Though I Just Called to Say I Love You is a solid entry, I'll see your '80s keyboards and raise you the tired cliche of yet another song about an affair: "We are undercover passion on the run/ Chasing love up against the sun/ We are strangers by day, lovers by night/ Knowing it's so wrong, but feeling so right." Ick.
Songbird, Fleetwood Mac: Sure, it would be easy to trash one of Stevie Nicks' ponderous, shawl-swirling, incense-heavy Rhiannon-Sara songs. We don't know what they mean, but she's a poet in her heart, ya know? But the one song that brings the Mac's brilliant Rumours album to a crashing halt is this middle-of-the-road Christine McVie schmaltz-a-thon about a songbird that keeps singing . . . and singing . . . and singing. OK, we know the score. Stevie, all is forgiven!
Mother, The Police: 1983's Synchronicity is an album with great songs (King of Pain, Wrapped Around Your Finger, the awesome Murder by Numbers) and decent numbers (Tea in the Sahara, Synchronicity I) — and then there's Mother. Basically, it's Andy Summers warbling, "Is that my mother on the phone?" over and over. Hang up.
D'yer Mak'er, Led Zeppelin: Robert Plant steps over the line from cool to gross.
Tequila Sunrise, The Eagles: "It's another tequila sunrise and . . . " Zzzzzzzzzzzzz. Happens every time.
Someone Like You, Van Morrison: Van The Man's Have I Told You Lately is one of the most nakedly honest love songs ever written. So he decided to make it again! Unfortunately, it turned out to be this boring photo negative. Plus, they named an Ashley Judd movie after it, never a good sign.
Fitter Happier, Radiohead: OK, OK, I know the "song" is actually a computer telling us about the emotional deadness that comes as we head toward a perfect society. But c'mon, when that freaky computer voice starts talking, you quietly, sheepishly, move ahead to the next song. It's OK to admit it. Fitter Happier is the one computer glitch on OK Computer.
Crocodile Rock, Elton John: Elton John, piano god, is a delightful eccentric who sings delightfully accessible songs, catchy and spirited. But Crocodile Rock is a little too catchy — especially when you've heard it for the 32nd time on your local adult contemporary radio station.
How To Be Dumb, Elvis Costello: Elvis really hit the bitter mother lode with this overbearingly scathing slap at former bass player Bruce Thomas. Elvis goes straight past clever sniping into a full-blown tirade ("Trapped in the House of the Perpetual Sucker/ where bitterness always ends so pitifully/ You always had to dress up your envy in some half-remembered philosophy"). Open ugliness usually makes the writer look worse than his target.
We Are The Clash, The Clash: Punk music's own pioneers try to recapture their raw-sounding glory days but end up sounding like a parody band on this self-gratifying anthem.
Trans, Neil Young: In the early 1980s, the always iconoclastic Young decided he'd like to try some new musical styles. But electronic music was beyond him. He used a vocoder to record a few of the tracks — as a result, the lyrics are really hard to follow. That might be a plus.
Ebony and Ivory, Paul McCartney and Stevie Wonder: "Ebony and ivory, live together in perfect harmony, side by side . . . " ARGHHH! No more, no more, I'll talk! I'll talk! I'll tell you everything!
QUESTIONS FOR BRIAN WILSON
Summer Fun, Anyone?
Interview by DEBORAH SOLOMON
NY Times, July 4, 2004
Your album ''Smile'' has been called the greatest rock record that was never released. It's the Beach Boys' lost masterpiece.
BW: We started it in 1967, but we never finished it.
But it is scheduled for release in September. Why did you decide to finish recording it now?
BW: I wanted to get it out before I died.
Are you dying?
BW: No.
And you also have a new solo recording that just came out, ''Gettin' In Over My Head.'' Is it any good?
BW: Each song is different. They're not all the same like the Rolling Stones. You know, Rolling Stones songs all sound kind of the same.
Mick Jagger probably thinks Beach Boys songs all sound the same.
BW: Probably so.
Do you think that the Beach Boys were more artistically adventurous than the Rolling Stones?
BW: I think we're about even. The Beach Boys were a pretty good singing group, but the Stones played their instruments better.
It has been a fairly long time, six years, since you last released a studio recording.
BW: I can't explain it. I had writer's block for a while. Sometimes you sit at the piano and play around, and if you can't get a melody you quit.
It's hard to imagine you as thwarted in any way. Most of us think of you as a poet of surf-filled afternoons and fast cars. The Beach Boys turned summer into the quintessential American season, a time of innocent fun and wildness.
BW: Summer means happy times and good sunshine. It means going to the beach, going to Disneyland, having fun.
But isn't that all a perfect fiction? You have led what seems like a haunted life.
BW: Every now and then I hear voices in my head, but not very clear. I can't understand what they are saying. It's a mental illness. I have been diagnosed as a manic depressive.
When did you last experience an auditory hallucination?
BW: A year ago. I was writing music and I heard voices at the piano. I just jammed on my head and said, ''Stop, stop, stop.'' I take Klonopin and Luvox. They help me relax and keep me from being scared.
What are you scared of?
BW: I think about death a lot. I think about my brothers' deaths.
Your brother Carl died of lung cancer, and your brother Dennis died in a drunken drowning accident. Do you think of them every day?
BW: No, not every day, but about once every two weeks I will think about them.
Is it true you are deaf in one ear?
BW: Yes, my father used to beat the hell out of us.
I guess your songs help carry you away from the memory of your father.
BW: Right. That is probably why I wrote those happy songs. I try to get as close to paradise as I can. I try to steer clear of heartbreaks.
Do you listen to rap?
BW: I don't like it because I can't hear the lyrics of the damn songs. They say them so fast, and you can't understand what they are saying. Plus they curse. The Beach Boys never cursed. I think cursing is a bunch of malarkey.
Are there any musicians under the age of 60 whom you admire?
BW: Not at all. I don't listen to any younger musicians.
It sounds as if you are stuck in a time warp. Who are your heroes?
BW: Paul McCartney and Phil Spector.
But Phil Spector was just charged with murdering an actress!
BW: I think he will get off. I think it was an accident.
Who came up with the name of the Beach Boys?
BW: A promotion guy for Candix Records, which was the record company we were on. I didn't like it. I didn't like the word ''boys.''
Do you surf?
BW: I never learned how.
It's not too late. You can learn now.
BW: I don't want to. I am afraid. I am afraid I would get hurt. I haven't been to the beach in a decade.
Sziasztok rajongók. Ha valakit érdekel, Wilson honlapján van egy 12 perces videó az új lemeze készítéséről, itt. Wilson elég jópofa benne, lelkes meg minden. (Real video.)
Sziasztok rajongók. Ha valakit érdekel, itt meghallgathat 3 számot Wilson új lemezéről, a hangszerelés rendben van természetesen, amúgy eléggé unalmas, vénember-rock.
Sziasztok rajongók. A Guardian fikázza Brian Wilson új lemezét, és sajnos kénytelen vagyok egyetértően bólogatni, eléggé gyengus.
Brian Wilson, Gettin' In Over My Head
(Rhino/East West)
By page 361 of Brian Wilson's autobiography, Wouldn't It Be Nice, the reader feels unflappable. You have learned of his physically abusive father. You have discovered that a drug-addled and mentally ill Wilson once encouraged his pre-pubescent daughters to take heroin. You have read about the delectable Mike Love, who, early in the book, assembles his fellow Beach Boys in a lavatory to proudly show off a gigantic turd freshly voided from his bowels. You feel immune to shock.
And yet, on page 361, Wilson still manages to bring the reader up short. He worries that his music compares unfavourably with that of Bruce Springsteen and Paul Simon. Worst of all, it does not offer "the sophistication of Sting". That phrase delivers a horrifying jolt. The composer of Good Vibrations and God Only Knows has somehow come to the conclusion that his work is inferior to that of the man who wrote De Do Do Do, De Da Da Da.
Forget the stuff about building a sandpit in his living room: this is categorical proof that Brian Wilson is completely mad.
Wilson subsequently disowned Wouldn't It Be Nice, claiming that it was written by his horrendous former psychiatrist Gene Landy. However, you are reminded of his troubling views on contemporary music by his third solo album, Gettin' In Over My Head. Few artists can match Wilson's level of influence. Famous musicians flocked to the recent live performances of his legendary 1960s albums Pet Sounds and Smile. He could collaborate with any number of groundbreaking young artists who owe him a debt, with potentially fascinating results.
Instead, Gettin' In Over My Head opens with Elton John, huffing his way through a song called How Could We Still Be Dancin'? Later on, you are treated to a guitar solo by Eric Clapton and a song co-written with David Foster. If the latter name seems unrecognisable, then his oeuvre is all too familiar: he should be held responsible for Peter Cetera's Glory of Love, St Elmo's Fire by John Parr and many singles by Celine Dion. A sliver of comfort can be taken from the fact that you are spared the sophistication of Sting: slated to appear, he proved mercifully unavailable.
Foster's presence highlights a problem even more pressing than musical conservatism. Wilson has been suffering from writer's block for almost a decade. The team behind Gettin' In Over My Head do their best to conceal the fact. They pad lacklustre songs with touches that evoke Wilson's heyday - drums that mimic the rumble of 1960s LA sessioneer Hal Blaine, echoing basslines that recall Pet Sounds, a choral opening in the style of Smile's Our Prayer. They dredge up material from Sweet Insanity, an album Wilson made with Gene Landy in 1991 that was rejected by his then record company.
They haven't quite been reduced to using Sweet Insanity's deeply regrettable excursion into rap, Smart Girls, but the pickings are slim none the less.
Wilson's previous solo efforts contained moments when he appeared to rediscover the inspiration that fuelled the Beach Boys' peerless mid-1960s recordings: his eponymous 1988 album had Love and Mercy, 1996's Imagination offered the lovely Lay Down Burden. You wait in vain for something similar here. Saturday Morning In the City comes closest - a song so childlike and naive it becomes slightly unsettling - while Make a Wish soars into life, but is quickly grounded by Wilson's voice.
Wilson has sounded croaky since the mid-1970s, but here he also sounds slurred and halting, as if his efforts are being hampered by an ill-fitting set of dentures and a faulty autocue. More disturbing is his emotional tone.
Anyone who has noted that Wilson's face now seems to arrange itself naturally into an expression of horrified bewilderment - suggesting he isn't entirely sure what is going on, but is pretty certain he doesn't like it - might be troubled to learn that on Gettin' In Over My Head, he sings the way he looks.
You too might sound horrified and bewildered if you were lumbered with lyrics like The Waltz, by Wilson's Smile collaborator Van Dyke Parks. Back in the mid-1960s, Parks turned his concerns about Vietnam into the stunning imagery of Surf's Up. The Waltz, however, features this disheartening couplet: "She up and said 'I'm a dancer - don't tell me, you are a Cancer'."
Wilson still sounds horrified and bewildered when singing the harmless, ostensibly carefree Desert Drive or Fairy Tale. The effect is, at best, disconcerting.
At worst, it reiterates an uncomfortable question first raised during the Pet Sounds and Smile shows: is this really the best thing for Brian Wilson?
Then, it was drowned out by the emotion of the event and the sheer loveliness of the music he performed, but that doesn't happen here. Everyone wants Brian Wilson's story to have a happy ending. The worst thing about Gettin' In Over My Head - far worse than the mediocre songs and the MOR guest appearances - is that it doesn't sound terribly happy.
