Brian Wilson

Twilight of the Musical Heroes

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« Sunny down snuff » — Van Dyke Parks

While I’m painfully aware that such things are inevitable, the past couple of weeks have been pretty brutal to the ranks of my musical heroes. First went Sylvester ‘Sly Stone’ Stewart; then Brian Douglas Wilson; then Lugee Alfredo Giovanni Sacco, aka Lou Christie, and then Bobby Sherman*… all born in 1943!

It would require quite a stretch to write more about Sly and Lou, but I’ve already devoted a piece to Mr. Sherman (Let’s Hear It for Bobby Sherman!), who enjoyed his own comics series in the early 1970s.

Which leaves us Brian. I’ve been a diehard fan long enough to remember that his name and accomplishments didn’t get separated from his band’s — especially given the embarrassment that the Mike Love-led Beach Boys touring cavalcade had become — until the early 90s. And I also recall that Pet Sounds was, for decades, just an expensive but critically acclaimed commercial failure that didn’t get certified ‘Platinum’ until the year 2000, a third of a century after its release. For similar tales of vindication through gradual changes in fortunes, see The Kinks are The Village Green Preservation Society and The Zombies’ Odessey and Oracle.

So I turn (for the second time!) to Byron Preiss‘ marvellously illustrated authorized biography of the Beach Boys, from 1978. In addition to a highly entertaining and well-documented text, Preiss, a man with an astonishingly well-filled Rolodex, had the bright idea of tapping various illustrators to contribute their visual cover version of a favourite BB song.

I’ve written about Mr. Stout already, in The Prodigious William Stout, which ought to give you an idea of how I feel about his work. Lyrics by BW collaborator and future record (including a young Bobby Sherman!) producer Gary Usher.
Cheeky Harvey Kurtzman spells out just what sort of ‘Fun, Fun, Fun‘ could be had « ’til her daddy takes the T-bird away ».
Nice drawing, although the only detail Ralph Reese truly gets right is poor Dennis Wilson‘s ill-starred appetite for the ladies. Also… Mike Love with a guitar, really?
Those only familiar with Dan Green (1951-2023; another awkward lacuna from Lambiek’s comiclopedia) as a journeyman inker at Marvel and DC will likely be surprised at his adroitness with a brush. Here he tackles Wilson and Van Dyke Parks‘ (a true gentleman… and also from the class of ’43) arguably most ambitious œuvre, Heroes and Villains.
A surprising clay-based entry from Joey Epstein and her husband, our beloved Tom Hachtman, photographed by Ben Asen. The likenesses are pretty solid… save for Brian, who’s too skinny. The song in question is, of course, Vegetables. « I know that you’ll feel better when you send us in your letter an’ tell us the name of your… your favorite vege-table. »
This is former Air Pirate and Dirty Duck and Popeye cartoonist Bobby London‘s joyous celebration of Cool, Cool, Water, a tune intended for inclusion on the Beach Boys’ fabled Smile album (though it initially surfaced on their excellent Sunflower LP). To this day, however, London’s got mixed feelings about the whole thing. To begin with, he had no particular fondness for the Beach Boys, and getting dragged by Preiss to a late-70s BB live show, sans Brian (who was in no shape to perform anyhow) and with Dennis likely off promoting his Pacific Ocean Blue album, didn’t move the needle one iota. As London told me: « I had something more interesting and less Crumb-y in mind. »
Now *that* is caricature. Despite depicting the Boys as animals, illustrator — and Official Horror Host Hall of Fame inductee — George Chastain unerringly nails the essence of each, not to mention the group dynamics: of course Brian’s off to do his own thing. Not linked to any specific song, this is nonetheless my favourite piece in the book. Take a bow, sir!

-RG

p.s. I should also mention that another one of my favourite musicians died this week, namely Argentine composer Boris Claudio ‘Lalo’ Schifrin, but as he was born in 1932 (he was ninety-three!), his inclusion would have spoiled the pattern. Hope you understand, Lalo. Here’s a mesmerising favourite from his jazz sideman days: 1963’s The Fakir, recorded by Cal Tjader (« the Swedish Nerd king of Latin Jazz », as my friend Rupert dubbed him), and composed, arranged and conducted by Señor Schifrin.

Edward Gorey: An Author Who Went for a Walk

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« Painstaking drawings with an eloquent orchestration of hatchings and tickings, marvelous details of period and setting, a narrative that leapfrogs from the precise to the unexplained, a tone of vague delights in both visual and linguistic oddities. » — ‘Mr. Earbrass Jots Down a Few Visual Notes: The World of Edward Gorey’ by Karen Wilkin (1994)

So very much has already been written and said, in all media, about Edward St. John Gorey (February 22, 1925 – April 15, 2000) that there seems little of substance to add. As his work’s ultimate appeal rests in its enduring, expertly wrought sense of mystery, it should be in the Master’s spirit to show rather than tell. Consequently, here’s a gallery of favourite extracts from Gorey’s voluminous œuvre. I’ve omitted both my personal pick, The Willowdale Handcar or  The Return of the Black Doll (1962) and the too-obvious-by-half The Ghashlycrumb Tinies or After the Outing (1963), the former because I’m planning to examine it more leisurely in the future, while the latter… still manages to squeak in, after a fashion. See our bonus at the end.

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The Doubtful Guest (1958).

GoreyHaplessA
The Hapless Child (1961).

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The Wuggly Ump (1963).

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The Osbick Bird (1970).

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The Disrespectful Summons (1971).

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The Glorious Nosebleed (1975).

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The Broken Spoke (1976).

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The Broken Spoke (1976).

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The Loathsome Couple (1977).

Gorey&Guest
The author and his creature in New York City, 1958.

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Bonus bits: An entry from The Ghashlycrumb Tinies (« N is for Neville, who died of ennui ») turned up, of all places, in Byron Preiss‘ splendid The Beach Boys (1979), which chronicled the band’s history up to that point through reams of quotations and illustrations, matching a gazillion visuals artists with a favourite BB tune. Gorey’s entry (reprinted and détournée with the author’s consent) was the setup for a dyptich. It provides a visual for Busy Doin’ Nothing (1968) one of Brian Wilson‘s finest compositions from his years in the wilderness; well before Seinfeld, it’s a song about nothing, set to a lilting bossa beat. Hey, get the mug!

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I generally have little use for Walt Simonson‘s work, which I find overly-mannered and illegible, but I give him full marks here for wit, creativity and musical discernment. His contribution to Byron Preiss’ book focused on Brian Wilson’s bucolic I Went to Sleep (also 1968), a companion to Busy Doin’ Nothing and a fascinating miniature that gives a sense of Brian’s eventual creative direction had he not been forced to stick with the tried-and-true, official Beach Boys sound to this day. Simonson does a very effective Gorey pastiche, don’t you think?

« You know, the kids had quarrelled, so they’re taken off to see a corpse, which is decayed and completely hanging. It was parody. » — Gorey, interviewed by Clifford Ross (1994)

Oh, and if you should find yourself in the vicinity of in Yarmouth, Massachusetts, do drop by the Edward Gorey House!

-RG

It’s Got a Beat and You Can Read to It

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« They never roll the sidewalks up, no siree! »

Rail-Bangin’ Rick Geary gives us a not-entirely-literal, yet oddly fitting visual representation of Brian Wilson and Jan Berry’s timeless classic, a number one hit for Jan & Dean in the Spring of 1963. Wilson’s original working title for the tune was “Goody Connie Won’t You Come Back Home“, perhaps a tad less catchy appellation.

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Surf City, the strip, appeared on the back cover of the lone issue of Bop, “America’s First & Only Music Comix Magazine“ (1982, Kitchen Sink Press.) Edited by Catherine Yronwode.

– RG