Wouldnt It Be Nice | Page 6

Northern California Delta to match that of the
Mississippi. A line about "magnolias can be seen from her door"
became "Sacramento river rat a rappin on her door."
Almost imperceptibly the album became about "an idealized
Californian state of mind, just within the outer reaches of accessibility."
*
Paul Williams, editor of Crawdaddy! and himself a highly vocal Brian
Wilson fan, has speculated that there is a process we go through when
we listen to music. The first thing we're aware of is the vocal
performance, next the instrumental track, and only then do we notice
the lyrics.
From that standpoint, Orange Crate Art is a beautifully thought-out
piece of work. Wilson's vocal performance is unique, highly personal,
instantly arresting. It alone is reason to go back for another listen, at
which point the melodies will have already begun to ingratiate
themselves into your mind. Few songs in the last thirty years have been
so instantly memorable.

It's hard to find a contemporary reference for this kind of songwriting.
Maybe some of Randy Newman's more extended meditations, maybe
"Rio Grande" from the 1988 Brian Wilson album. The more obvious
comparisons are to the songwriters that are Parks's own heroes: Hoagy
Carmichael ("just killer"), Cole Porter, Irving Berlin, George and Ira
Gershwin.
Another songwriter whom Parks admires is Michael Hazlewood, who
supplied lyrics for two of the album's songs, and the entirety of a third,
"This Town Goes Down at Sunset." "I liked it because of its totally
uncomplicated nature. It did something shamelessly ordinary, and it
was the ordinary nature of that piece that I wanted to draw the album to
an irreducible minimum, that I thought was a great way to end it."
Although "This Town" is the last vocal on the album, the last piece of
music is actually a George Gershwin piece, "Lullaby," orchestrated by
Parks to provide "a winding down, not an exclamation."
*
"I would rather be interested than interesting," Parks says. "And that's
been easy. For example, I feel much more at ease now with this record
than with any record I've ever done. I know this album isn't Pet Sounds,
but I don't think it has to be. It does sound like it's been somewhere."
And then, at the very end of the interview, he says, "It was good, wasn't
it? It was a good record. I'm sorry that I've left it."
*
As his own interview winds down, Wilson plays a tape of some of his
new songs. He slumps back on the couch and closes his eyes to listen.
Melinda has come to sit beside him, and in the space of ten minutes or
so, the Wilson family pets all converge on him. There follows a
perfectly realized moment in which a human, a cat, a bird, and a dog
are all peacefully coexisting, all of them trying to get at least one part
of themselves in physical contact with Brian Wilson.

On the tape are the songs Wilson has written with Andy Paley, who
helped produce his 1988 solo album. Some of them ("Chain Reaction
of Love") are rather slight, reminiscent of Sweet Insanity, the second
solo album rejected by Sire Records. "Slightly American Music" recalls
the Beach Boys' "Do It Again," a nostalgic, self-referential rocker that
could, indeed, be a hit. But the most emotional piece--and Melinda's
favorite--is a ballad called "Getting In Over My Head," a gorgeously
simple Brian Wilson song, straight from his heart.
Eventually, though, Wilson tires of the tape, and jumps to his feet.
"Really want to hear something good?" he says. "Come upstairs with
me to my jukebox." There, as in the Pet Sounds and Smile days, is a
jukebox full of Phil Spector 45s. Wilson's face lights up as he plays, for
what must be the millionth time, "Be My Baby" by the Ronettes.
A few insights, almost inevitably, present themselves.
For one thing, no amount of "what ifs" can prepare you for reality.
Wilson could never have foreseen the consequences of attempting
Smile, or of its failure. Seeing the stiff and frightened Brian Wilson
who's been on TV from time to time is no preparation for sitting in this
sunny California room listening to Phil Spector and the Chipmunks,
while Wilson sits relaxed and laughing with Melinda on the couch.
For another, there is a distinct feeling that none of these people in
Wilson's life came here by accident. Like the Richard Dreyfuss
character in Close Encounters, each of them--David Leaf, Melinda,
Andy Paley, Van Dyke Parks--was called. Wilson's music spoke to
them as it has spoken to so many of us, changed us, made us able to see
that change in each other, to recognize each other as much more than
strangers.
What if Wilson could hang on to some peace in this