Adapted from a previous piece, this is a chapter in my book The Greatest Record Ever Made! (Volume 1). It's offered here today in memory of a musical genius named Brian Wilson.
THE BEACH BOYS: God Only Knows
Written by Brian Wilson and Tony Asher
Produced by Brian Wilson
Single from the album Pet Sounds, Capitol Records, 1966
Ambivalence and certainty can sometimes go hand in hand. It's incongruous, a paradox, but it's true in the sublime case of "God Only Knows." The track is emblematic of the classic album that gave it life: Brian Wilson's 1966 masterpiece Pet Sounds.
Pet Sounds is pop music's greatest contradiction: Fragile but indestructible, delicate but strong, frail but immortal. Gossamer and granite. It is a wisp of emotion, heartbreak, love, and hope, a precarious house of cards that will still stand long after we're all dust. It is pop, and it is art, but it is not pop art. It is mature, and it as giddy as a teenager in love with the unattainable.
The story of Brian Wilson's emotional turmoil and trauma has been everyday legend for decades: The tale of this boy genius, this dumb angel, his mind frayed and tattered from abuse, drugs, and inner demons, withdrawing from the spotlight, retreating to his sandbox, lying in bed just like Brian Wilson did; a nervous breakdown, leading him to leave the Beach Boys' touring group in 1964, and take to the studio to reproduce the unique celestial sounds he heard in his head; "California Girls;" Pet Sounds; a "pocket symphony" called "Good Vibrations;" and another potential masterpiece, a "teenage symphony to God" called SMiLE, left unfinished, abandoned, as Wilson's world closed in and shut down. Brian Wilson was pop music's saddest living casualty.
Yet somehow, he survived. His younger brother Dennis Wilson drowned in 1983, and the youngest of the three brothers, Carl, succumbed to cancer in 1998. Like a surfer-boy Harry Potter, Brian became The Wilson Who Lived. His voice was ravaged by time and torture, his demeanor a reflection of one who'd spent a season--several seasons--in Hell, but Brian Wilson returned to the spotlight nonetheless. He toured, playing with an incredible band that could recreate his perfect sound live. He completed SMiLE, and he saw that it was good. He did a well-received reunion album and tour with the other surviving members of the Beach Boys. He continued to perform, a beached soul freed by the music only he could create.
"God Only Knows" is the most beautiful song that has ever graced our human experience. It is as close to the divine as our mortal ears can receive and relay, as near to celestial presence as man or woman could ever imagine while still tethered to this physical realm. Its music lifts us even as its lyrics remind us of the limits to our flawed perception, our finite grasp. It reinforces our faith all the same.
"God only knows what I'd be without you." It's secular. It's love song, not psalm. Yet it feels like a sacrament, benediction, a step nearer to a God who may not exist, but whose believers attain redemption and inspiration in the belief itself. Belief makes us better. Love makes us better. Nothing in all of humanity's wisdom, art, science, and culture expresses that with greater eloquence than Brian Wilson's "God Only Knows."
There is a risk in elevating Pet Sounds and forgetting about the simple wonders Brian and the Beach Boys crafted before that, in the days when they were the living avatars of the beguiling and alluring California myth. There are summer days (and summer nights) when "I Get Around" is The Greatest Record Ever Made, as is its B-side "Don't Worry Baby;" hell, arrogant strutting, backed by adolescent insecurity? That's both sides of the teenage experience captured at 45 RPM and wrapped in a picture sleeve. "Surfin' USA," "Help Me Rhonda," "Fun, Fun, Fun," and "Girl Don't Tell Me," each in its own infinite turn.
Ambivalence and certainty can sometimes go hand in hand. It's incongruous, a paradox, but it's true in the sublime case of "God Only Knows." The track is emblematic of the classic album that gave it life: Brian Wilson's 1966 masterpiece Pet Sounds.
Pet Sounds is pop music's greatest contradiction: Fragile but indestructible, delicate but strong, frail but immortal. Gossamer and granite. It is a wisp of emotion, heartbreak, love, and hope, a precarious house of cards that will still stand long after we're all dust. It is pop, and it is art, but it is not pop art. It is mature, and it as giddy as a teenager in love with the unattainable.
The story of Brian Wilson's emotional turmoil and trauma has been everyday legend for decades: The tale of this boy genius, this dumb angel, his mind frayed and tattered from abuse, drugs, and inner demons, withdrawing from the spotlight, retreating to his sandbox, lying in bed just like Brian Wilson did; a nervous breakdown, leading him to leave the Beach Boys' touring group in 1964, and take to the studio to reproduce the unique celestial sounds he heard in his head; "California Girls;" Pet Sounds; a "pocket symphony" called "Good Vibrations;" and another potential masterpiece, a "teenage symphony to God" called SMiLE, left unfinished, abandoned, as Wilson's world closed in and shut down. Brian Wilson was pop music's saddest living casualty.
Yet somehow, he survived. His younger brother Dennis Wilson drowned in 1983, and the youngest of the three brothers, Carl, succumbed to cancer in 1998. Like a surfer-boy Harry Potter, Brian became The Wilson Who Lived. His voice was ravaged by time and torture, his demeanor a reflection of one who'd spent a season--several seasons--in Hell, but Brian Wilson returned to the spotlight nonetheless. He toured, playing with an incredible band that could recreate his perfect sound live. He completed SMiLE, and he saw that it was good. He did a well-received reunion album and tour with the other surviving members of the Beach Boys. He continued to perform, a beached soul freed by the music only he could create.
"God Only Knows" is the most beautiful song that has ever graced our human experience. It is as close to the divine as our mortal ears can receive and relay, as near to celestial presence as man or woman could ever imagine while still tethered to this physical realm. Its music lifts us even as its lyrics remind us of the limits to our flawed perception, our finite grasp. It reinforces our faith all the same.
"God only knows what I'd be without you." It's secular. It's love song, not psalm. Yet it feels like a sacrament, benediction, a step nearer to a God who may not exist, but whose believers attain redemption and inspiration in the belief itself. Belief makes us better. Love makes us better. Nothing in all of humanity's wisdom, art, science, and culture expresses that with greater eloquence than Brian Wilson's "God Only Knows."
There is a risk in elevating Pet Sounds and forgetting about the simple wonders Brian and the Beach Boys crafted before that, in the days when they were the living avatars of the beguiling and alluring California myth. There are summer days (and summer nights) when "I Get Around" is The Greatest Record Ever Made, as is its B-side "Don't Worry Baby;" hell, arrogant strutting, backed by adolescent insecurity? That's both sides of the teenage experience captured at 45 RPM and wrapped in a picture sleeve. "Surfin' USA," "Help Me Rhonda," "Fun, Fun, Fun," and "Girl Don't Tell Me," each in its own infinite turn.
The Beach Boys continued to record essential works beyond Pet Sounds, with and without brother Brian. "'Til I Die" from 1971's Surf's Up is heartbreaking in its desolate beauty, and that album's title tune is stunning. And honestly, it's ludicrous to even have this discussion of a greatest record ever made without talking about the miracle of "Good Vibrations."
But the best remains the best. Pet Sounds. The Greatest Album Ever Made.
And "God Only Knows" is the heart of Pet Sounds. The gift of Pet Sounds travels with us throughout our endless troubles and scattered triumphs.
And "God Only Knows" is the heart of Pet Sounds. The gift of Pet Sounds travels with us throughout our endless troubles and scattered triumphs.
I recognize only three things in this world that ever really bother me: The past, the present, and the future. There are long, fulfilling moments of respite--moments of love, family, friendship, art, music, camaraderie, and creation--but the road behind us, the road ahead of us, and the small patch of ground upon which we stand in the moment, all contain perils that can strike at any time from any direction. We carry with us that determination that we can outrace our shadows, we can navigate this uneven path, and we can face whatever the hell that big, gray thing is around the next corner. I know there's an answer. Love is here today. Maybe it doesn't have to be gone tomorrow. Maybe we can be made for these times.
Wouldn't it be nice? You never need to doubt it. Someday, we will be so sure about it.
Wouldn't it be nice? You never need to doubt it. Someday, we will be so sure about it.
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