Send "Brian Wilson " Ringtones to your Cell 
| Popmatters |
 In the more than a decade since Wilson’s career rose majestically from the ashes of a deep catatonic funk, he’s been helped along in his journey by various musicians whose clear reverence for the sounds of the good old days has been matched pound for pound by their ability to reproduce it. Unlike many of his contemporaries working the retro circuit, Wilson didn’t try to perfect what was already so perfect. The deceptively complex arrangements, the obsessively wrought sounds, the gloriously soaring harmonies all pretty much sounded as they did the first time they were heard from on high.There are two distinct sides to the coin. On the one hand, Wilson’s revisiting his old aesthetic reminds us of why we love him so dearly, why we can forgive the abomination of that cover of “Wipeout” with the Fat Boys, even if we can’t exactly forget. But there’s also a dark side to the equation, and unfortunately it’s in Wilson’s own voice. Much has been made of his limited range over the past decade-plus, with speculation about the rigors of advanced age, too many years of not taking care of himself or some mental block he wasn’t able to shake loose or submerge with the others. One October night in 1999, Wilson performed at the Wiltern Theater in Los Angeles in front of a capacity, largely partisan crowd. Despite the celebratory vibe pulsing through the hall, it was clear something was amiss. This was early in Wilson’s return to the stage, an uncomfortable enough ordeal for him even in the earliest days of the Beach Boys. But there he was, sat on a stool behind a single keyboard he appeared to mash at with his hands in rhythm rather than play. And even with the voices of the other musicians, it was clear Wilson’s own voice had changed, withdrawn in clarity and depth. It felt blasphemous to criticize, even internally. It felt dirty....full text |
| Slantmagazine |
| Even when boiled down to its bar-and-staff bedrock, the legacy of George Gershwin is hardly free from the socially regressive mystique that ribbons most cultural benchmarks of the early 20th century. We're likely to be debating whether Rhapsody in Blue classily legitimized or smoothly bastardized black motifs until we achieve the ethnic monotone prophesied by Bulworth. But whatever the insensitivities of Gershwin's melodicism, there's little doubting the man's groundbreaking attitude; the very notion of "serious" American pop as a concept, let alone a genre, was virtually unheard of before him. And I may prefer the nuts-and-bolts Americana of Irving Berlin in theory, or the two-martini, sin-soaked pep of Cole Porter in spirit, but it's the dreamy haute-urbanity of Gershwin's songbook that I can't shake off. "Someone to Watch Over Me" hums along like an impulsive soundtrack to memories of the sensual optimism I feigned in youth, and the jaunt of "Sweet and Lowdown" encapsulates the shadowy, hard-earned consolation of meager day-to-day victories mustered with cathartic alcohol and gritty saloon dirges. Gershwin's egalitarian deconstruct/reassembly approach to proto-jazz, gospel, and avant-garde symphonic structures still potently seduces, and perhaps as a result, the collection of numbers he and lyricist-sibling Ira knocked off for the Broadway stage remains the most interpretatively durable of the Tin Pan Alley era. And not so coincidentally, the most quintessential recordings of their work have come from performers whose appeal partly sprang from the same dated socio-political piquancy—namely, African-American singers with partially, and sometimes ironically, white-washed elegance. Granted, efficient covers of "Summertime" are a dime a dozen even in the post-rock era, and Louis Armstrong is a notable exception (his gravely staccato on "Let's Call the Whole Thing Off" sounds delivered from the creaky comfort of a back-porch rocking chair). But elsewhere, it takes the mellifluous, tone-for-tone's-sake jubilance of Ella Fitzgerald, or the show-stopping, uptown androgyny of Bobby Short, to pull Gershwin off properly. These stratum-itinerant professionals understood the composer's impish, melody-worshipping aesthetic better, perhaps, than even he did. It's that crucial, possibly east coast-endowed smirking irony that's clearly lacking from Brian Wilson Reimagines Gershwin, though at first the production is so distractingly flush with harmony—the most assured and unforced since Wilson's excellent eponymous solo album—that we hardly notice. There's no need to bother reiterating, or refuting, the plethora of parallels between the collaborators' careers that are likely to be drawn even by the Associated Press (okay, just two: Since it doesn't "rock," per se, Pet Sounds couldn't have made the mid-'60s upstart zeitgeist accessible as art a la Rhapsody in Blue's mixed blessing of jazz, and even at their zenith, the Beach Boys hardly produced "serious" music). More important than spurious symmetries sketched across the annals of pop, the perspectives of Gershwin and Wilson were both patched together from the peculiarities of their respective, transitional eras. And in the case of the latter, who saw African-Americans march on Washington rather than simply take center stage in mainstream opera houses, it's the half-lysergic, half-aw-shucks idealist auto-didacticism of the '60s counter-culture that most staunchly informs his sonic philosophy....full text |
| Covermesongs |
| Brian Wilson first heard “Rhapsody in Blue” at age two. In his telling, he thought it was “the most beautiful thing in the world” and asked his mom to play it over and over again. Fast-forward 66 years. Fast-forward through “Surfin’ USA,” “I Get Around,” and Pet Sounds. Fast-forward through decades of seclusion and a twenty-first century comeback (fueled by 2004’s long-awaited Smile). A lot has changed over the decades. Wilson’s love of “Rhapsody in Blue” hasn’t. Brian Wilson Reimagines Gershwin builds on that early appreciation with an unabashedly loving tribute to a giant of American song. A few years ago George Gershwin’s estate approached Wilson with an irresistible offer: complete some of Gershwin’s unfinished melodies. Wilson whittled 114 snippets down to just two, to which he added lyrics and arrangements. In “The Like in I Love You,” muted trumpet gently introduces in a rich orchestral production that sounds as carefree as any of the early Beach Boys hits. “Nothing But Love” hits a little harder, crunchy guitar (a rarely-seen instrument on this album) ushering in a herky-jerky pep rally. The other twelve songs rearrange existing songs. “I’ve a Got a Crush on You” evokes malt shop nostalgia while “They Can’t Take That Away From Me” recalls the barbershop quartets of Broadway musicals past. A four-song Porgy and Bess suite reaches from jazz piano (“Summertime”) to back-porch harmonica (the instrumental “I Got Plenty O’ Nuttin’”). Throughout, Wilson effortlessly bridges the gap between Gershwin and himself. The wall-of-strings production nods at the Tin Pan Alley origins, but the “wop-bop-bop” and “woah-oh-oh”s could have come from any Beach Boys 45....full text |
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