By: Bud Scoppa
On Brian Wilson’s alternately gorgeous and gut-wrenching seventh studio album, he comes to terms with his 40 years in the desert, simultaneously reconnecting with the California Dream he helped create as a boy genius, back before it all became too much and he retreated into madness.If the album tells us as much about the fervently dedicated support system—including wife Melinda and longtime collaborator Van Dyke Parks—that brought him to this moment of near-miraculous clarity as it does about the man himself, this subtext is a necessary part of the story.
The Explorers Club’s recent jaw-dropping Beach Boys paean Freedom Wind testifies
to the timelessness of Wilson’s music, echoing the deep commitment made
by the young players in Wilson’s current band. Both groups lock in the
nuances of his vocal and instrumental recipe as precisely as The Beach
Boys ever did, but here, keyboardist Scott Bennett closes the
connection, boldly putting words to Wilson’s dark night of the soul in
“Midnight’s Another Day”—it’s both joyous and heartbreaking to hear
Wilson sing them in his battered but still-buoyant voice. If you care
about this tortured genius and his music, That Lucky Old Sun is an essential part of an unsettling yet gripping narrative.
By: Matt Fink
Lost in all the fanfare of Brian Wilson’s 2004 triumph over stage fright and his completion of Smilemusic of note since he drifted out of The Beach Boys’ fold in the late
’70s. Apparently reminded through the re-recording of Smile
that he once pioneered a new kind of pop songwriting with elaborately
imagined arrangements and complex song cycles, Wilson returns to that
template with Lucky Old Sunpenned by writing partner Van Dyke Parks. The old Brian Wilson, fueled
by insecurity and introspection, was far more interesting.