Brian Wilson, SMILE, and What It Means to Be Human
The Beach Boys’ SMILE, written by Brian Wilson in collaboration with writer Van Dyke Parks, is deeply pained and longing, but carries a sense of hope and wonder that speaks to us all as humans.
Unreleased until 2011’s The Smile Sessions, The Beach Boys’ SMILE, to many, holds the title of the greatest ‘what if?’ in the annals of pop music history. What if the album came out in 1967 as intended? What if Brian Wilson had beaten The Beatles to the punch with his own art-pop masterpiece? What direction would popular music have taken had they been exposed to this album during the Summer of Love? The possibilities are, seemingly, endless (although I imagine the reception would have been more akin to that which Marty McFly receives after playing Chuck Berry’s Johnny B. Goode rather than how The Beatles were received in ‘67). However, for all the discourse surrounding this mythic album, there’s one fundamental aspect of this album which I believe is oft-overlooked: the role tragedy and despair plays throughout this shimmering, luxurious, psychedelic journey through the story of America.
For those unfamiliar, SMILE is a concept album in three movements: Americana, The Cycle of Life, and The Elements. The scope of the album is that of a great novel. The album is full of texture, vivid imagery and seemingly superhuman melodic vignettes courtesy of Brian Wilson that takes the listener on a trip throughout America. From the pioneer-inspired ballad of Cabin Essence that could give Paul McCartney a run for his money to the deeply pained and regretful sailor’s tale on Surf’s Up, the album touches on incredibly specific and well-conceived corners of American history. The album can be seen as a celebration of Americana, but, in my opinion, that alone would be a reductive view to maintain.
In my opinion, the real beauty of the album comes from the overwhelming melancholy which dictates the feel of the entire album. Even in its most elated, nonsensical and celebratory moments, SMILE carries a deep sense of longing and angst. The descending strings on Heroes and Villains, the second movement in Good Vibrations and so many other moments highlight what makes this album so brilliant, but also why it could never get finished at the time: Brian Wilson’s state of mind.
It is no secret that Brian Wilson was slowly losing his sense of self at the time, triggering his uncovered mental illnesses (Wilson would later be diagnosed with Schizoaffective Disorder) and fragilities by way of excessive and unregulated use of LSD. But this album represents so much more than just a man losing himself to drugs (which isn’t even a very fair assessment). SMILE represents everything that Brian Wilson was: genius, forlorn and lonely, yet, crucially, optimistic in the face of seemingly impending doom.
In many ways, Brian Wilson’s fragility on this album speaks to us all. Within all of us is the capacity for greatness, for love and hope, but also all the capacity to feel lost, lonely and totally lost. The line between both is razor thin, and Brian Wilson, like all of us, walks that line with virtually no confidence at all. He does not lock up his pain and sorrow, keeping it private. Rather, he weaves it into his work, occasionally letting it take the reins, submitting himself to his own humanity.
Brian Wilson shows a yearning for the innocence of a childhood he wasn’t ready to let go of on songs like Look (Song for Children) and Child Is Father Of The Man, two songs about childhood and the transition into adulthood which play more like spiritually-fuelled cries out to God for another shot at childhood than anything else. Even the instrumental track I Wanna Be Around/Workshop brings a melancholic, emotional gravitas to a seemingly hyper-domestic life (the second half of the song is literally the sound of someone in a workshop, placed over a weirdly sad marimba-sounding instrument with a string accompaniment). Brian Wilson, for all his successes, never had an easy life, and suffered a particularly traumatic childhood at the hands of his father. Fuelled by the fact he missed out on a ‘normal’ ‘happy’ childhood, Brian Wilson pours emotion after emotion into idyllic scenarios of regular living. Never had I cried at the sound of someone working with an electric saw until I heard SMILE, but in the context of this album, it’s enough to make you well up, envisioning domestic bliss that is seemingly unattainable yet so within reach at the same time.
SMILE is a pure, passionate and unabated expression of Brian Wilson’s soul. His emotional candour, coupled with his once-in-a-lifetime ability for pop music arrangement makes this album not just a journey through Americana, but a journey through one’s own humanity. We can all be heroes, and we can all be villains. But more than that we all love, we all lose, and we all, whether we like to admit it or not, wish some things in our lives went differently. Brian Wilson may have flown too close to the sun but, unlike Icarus, he had to try. For his own freedom and humanity, Brian Wilson had to risk melting his own wings. The wax which was melted away by the sun was remoulded and given new life in the form of this album. It is a gift to us all, not just as music fans, but as human beings.
