Not made for these times
They say you should never talk to your heroes, but I had to give it a go.
Elder and hawthorn, hazel and ash, bramble and broom. It’s 2005, and I’m hurtling through hedgerows in the English countryside, towards the Holy Grail.
Legend has it that the cup used by Jesus Christ for a few quiet bevvies at the Last Supper is buried just up over yonder, at Glastonbury Tor.
That gravestone beside the burned-out abbey? Allegedly the final resting place of King Arthur and Lady Guinevere, if you’re prepared to believe this dynamic duo ever existed.
To those of a New Age persuasion, this part of Somerset is magical, with any amount of ley-lines converging, but I am seeking pleasures more sonic than supernatural.
The British Council has coughed up to send me to Glastonbury Festival to write about British music. But the Holy Grail for me is an afternoon performance by a perpetually bewildered American. I’ve come to see Brian Wilson of the Beach Boys, assuming he makes it to the site through this appalling weather.
For days, it pours with rain. Local farmers make a killing selling wellies at the front gate, and it’s all a tad depressing for a comfort-loving boy like me. But on the third day, a transcendent moment comes when Wilson takes the stage, his baroque psychedelic pop transporting this huge mud-encrusted audience to a sweltering beach in the height of the first Californian Summer Of Love in the 1960s.
As the band launches into Don’t Worry Baby, the sun finally breaks through the clouds, fingers of light strafing the boggy ground all around. Beside me, a guy whose system is clearly flooded with chemicals hugs his arms around himself, swaying, feeling the love and by the time the final chords fade away, a steady stream of tears rolls down his cheeks.
‘‘Oh, that’s great!’’ said Wilson when I got him on the phone last week. ‘‘I love it when our songs make people feel good. I remember that show, too. That was a great event!’’
A 50th Anniversary box set of Wilson’s 1966 masterpiece, Pet Sounds, has just been released in multiple versions, appended with additional live tracks, instrumentals and studio snippets. To promote the release, every man and his dog has suddenly been given access to the great man, though very few manage to get anything worthwhile out of the encounter.
A reclusive, emotionally fragile soul of 74, Wilson is partially deaf because of childhood beatings from his father. He’s been diagnosed as ‘‘mildly manicdepressive with schizoaffective disorder’’, and has been troubled by auditory hallucinations since he began experimenting with LSD in 1965.
In other words, he’s not the easiest of men to interview. But if you love pop music, you have to try.
I wanted to speak to him, too, because Pet Sounds is one of the finest pop albums ever made, especially if you skip an irritating cover of Sloop John B., added by the record company against Wilson’s will.
When I hear God Only Knows, Caroline No and I Just Wasn’t Made For These Times, I feel as if I have not just died and gone to heaven, but then fallen off a cloud and died again, only to ascend to an even higher place no one knew existed.
These songs leave me dumbfounded with their tenderness and beauty. But just like everybody else before me, I discover Wilson’s in no state to really talk about them these days.
‘‘I wanted to appeal to the kids with that record,’’ he tells me. ‘‘We tried to make an album children could like. The other Beach Boys didn’t like what I was doing, because it wasn’t car songs or surf songs. But once they started singing the harmonies, they loved it!’’
Wilson’s voice is slightly slurred, as if his tongue is too big for his mouth, and he has an oddly chipper ‘‘gee whiz’’ turn of phrase.
How does he feel when he listens to Pet Sounds these days? ‘‘Oh, I haven’t played it in years! But those songs are fun to sing at our concerts.’’
Now that it’s been reissued for its 50th anniversary, people all over the world are talking about the album again. Are you pleased by how much people love those songs?
‘‘Yeah, for sure. Caroline No isa very sad song and people probably cry when they hear it, but I didn’t cry when I wrote it. And Paul McCartney once told me God Only Knows was his favourite song, so that was nice. I Just Wasn’t Made For These Times was kinda like a social statement, you know? People thought it was about me being shy, but it was more about the times changing. Yeah…’’
He seems agitated, and keen to change the subject, so I ask what else gives him pleasure these days, besides music.
‘‘I like to take walks in the park near where I live in Beverly Hills. When I’m not at the park, I watch television. My favourites are Wheel of Fortune and the news.
‘‘I’m not really sure when I’ll retire. Probably in a few years. I’m 74 now. Hey, thank you very much for the interview. I gotta go, but I think when you people hear Pet Sounds down there in New Zealand, you’re gonna like it a lot.’’