You know, I think among my friends, my undying devotion to/worship of Brian Wilson is well-known enough that they would probably joke, on the subject of Brian Wilson's That Lucky Old Sun, which was released on CD today, that I probably heard it over a year ago. And in this case, that would almost be true, as the work was premiered as a whole by Brian and his band live in September 2007, and I had it shortly thereafter through the magic of internet distributed bootlegs.
I stopped in my favorite record store to buy it anyway today, of course, and, like with Smile (although in an altogether more low-key fashion), I avoided listening to the studio versions until I could pop in the CD and hear the whole thing all at once. Actually, I was only mildly excited to hear it, as I had decided based on the bootleg that That Lucky Old Sun was a pleasant but inconsequential bookend to Brian Wilson's life and career.
Then I actually listened to the damn thing, and man, I forgot how much I really do love that man's music. A good handful of the songs are middling and forgettable, but every so often an amazing melody or harmony jumps out of the speakers, and it just floors me. And the songs that are really good are breathtaking, on par with anything he did 40 years ago.
Speaking of which, holy shit, "Can't Wait Too Long" is on the album! He's been sitting on that one for 41 years, actually.
Anyway, it is a pleasant bookend to Brian's career, but not inconsequential. The symbolic values are enormous, maybe even more than his final vanquishing of his Smile demons. With That Lucky Old Sun, Brian returns to his love of California, the only home he's ever known, invoking specific memories of his past with an agreeable nostalgia. Brian has conquered his demons, made peace with himself, and is finally learning to enjoy life. Not bad for a guy who probably should have been dead several decades ago.
At this point in his career, though, everything about Brian Wilson has a huge symbolic value. The references in the lyrics to "Summer '61" (when the Beach Boys formed), how Brian "turned out the lights" at age 25 (when the Smile debacle occurred), or had "a dream singing with my brothers in harmony" (a reference to his deceased brothers and former bandmates Carl and Dennis) would be typical lyrical oddities for any other artist, but out of the mouth of Brian Wilson, they're almost insider references, nods to the people paying attention who "get it."
But maybe I'm thinking too much. At it's simplest, That Lucky Old Sun is a fine example of sunny California pop from the man who invented the genre.
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