By James Beaty
Brian Wilson’s newest album “That Lucky Old Sun” shines a bright light on his abilities as a writer, producer and singer of majesty and warmth.
While Wilson will be forever linked to his former band, the Beach Boys, he’s now released two wonderful concept albums in the past few years: “Smile,” in 2004, and now “That Lucky Old Sun.”
Wilson brings a lot of expectations with every new release.
After all, he wrote and produced one of the greatest albums of all time, the Beach Boys 1966 album “Pet Sounds” and wrote and produced one of rock’s greatest singles, the vibrant “Good Vibrations.”
Following a troubled personal history, Wilson emerged as a solo artist in 1988. He found his mojo, both in the studio and in live performance, when he started recording with his remarkable backing band — a huge ensemble built around a group known as the Wondermints.
When Wilson finally recorded and released “Smile” in 2004 — after shelving the album nearly four decades earlier — it received almost universal praise as a masterpiece.
Beyond that, the album lived up to its near mythical reputation, a rarity in the music world.
With “That Lucky Old Sun,” Wilson proves that “Smile” had been no fluke. It’s a concept album, built around a day in the life in Los Angeles.
The album opens with a brief, harmonic laden pastiche of “That Lucky Old Sun,” — yep, the standard which has been covered by everyone from Frankie Laine to Louis Armstrong and Willie Nelson.
Yet, Wilson and his compadres bring something new to the recording — it opens with a surge of voices. After a couple of verses, it segues into “Morning Beat,” a rollicking ride about a morning drive, listening to the radio as the sun rises over the city.
Instead of having a few seconds of silence between the tracks, many of them are linked by a spoken word narrative written by Wilson’s sometimes collaborator Van Dyke Parks.
While none of the passages rise to the lyrical heights he reached with “Smile,” the passages are fun, bringing everything from a coyote, to an old beatnik and oil derrick into the fold.
Wilson doesn’t go for a dramatic reading here, but his enthusiasm for the project bubbles through.
Another romp is “Room with a View,” about a couple that has at long last found love.
“Live Let Live” finds Wilson awash in a melodic song about ocean creatures. It uses “stop time” to great effect. Wilson, begins each verse acapella — with the band and background singers then rolling in like the tide.
“Forever, You’ll Be My Surfer Girl,” finds Wilson’s reveries falling back to 1961. The production is timeless — and the song reminds me of the passage in Citizen Kane about the girl with the white parasol. Wilson tells the inspiration for his song “Surfer Girl” she’ll always be a part of him.
“Oxygen to the Brain” is one of those quirky songs that Wilson does so well.”
“California Role” brings a loping rock’n’roll beat to a song about the many roles that people play in LA: “Every girl’s a Mar-i-lyn, Every guy’s an Errol Flynn.”
The album’s glowing achievement though is in the final three full songs on the album.
“Midnight’s Another Day” starts with a piano reminiscent of one of Wilson’s greatest songs, the ethereal “Surf’s Up” — a tune which beguiled Leonard Bernstein when he first heard it.
“In the song’s bridge, Wilson sings about his own dark night of the soul — even if some of the lyrics are awash in swirling, sunny pop sounds, they still strike deep: “Took the diamond in my soul, watched it turn back to coal.”
One of the pleasures of Wilson’s albums is the production. Both Paul McCartney and the Beatles’ producer George Martin say that with “Pet Sounds,” Wilson inspired the Beatles’ groundbreaking 1967 album “Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Harts Club Band.”
Wilson uses his abilities to great effect on the bridge of “Midnight’s Another Day,” as he sings “All these voices, all these people, make me feel so alone.”
As Wilson sings, background voices ebbing low in the background suddenly rise in volume, so by the time he sings the word “alone,” he’s awash in a crescendo of swirling harmonies.
Wilson follows that with another brief interlude of “That Lucky Old Sun” before tearing into “Home” — an all-out rock’n’roll number that filled with musical rounds and harmonic counterpoints that bring a sense of discovery with each new listen.
Suddenly, the rocking music stops and with only a piano and layers of vocals, Wilson addresses his own past.
“At 25 I turned out the lights, ‘cause I couldn’t handle the glare in my tired eyes.”
As the music up-swells on a dominant fifth chord, one of his band members tears into a mean harmonica blues solo, before Wilson returns to take it all back home.
The album closes with “Southern California” — which includes a touching ode to Wilson’ two late brothers, guitarist Carl Wilson and drummer Dennis Wilson.
“I had this dream, singing with my brothers, in harmony, supporting each other,” Brian sings. It’s great to hear him creating again with a band as sympathetic to his music as Carl and Dennis had been.
With “That Lucky Old Sun,” Wilson once again lets musical his light shine — and his many admirers can smile in its glow.
