Brian Wilson has a sparkling new Smile. Backed by an extraordinary 10-piece band and an ensemble of string and horn players, the erstwhile Beach Boy has finally given birth to an album that had gestated for some 37 years. The original project, pegged as the world-changing follow-up to Pet Sounds, came to an ugly demise when Wilson cracked under the pressure and abandoned the project.Brian Wilson Presents Smile is a terrific achievement, mostly because the tortured genius had to surmount long-held fears to even venture back into such treacherous territory. Smile, after all, was the catalyst for his descent into mental illness, from which he has never fully emerged.
Smile is also ambitious, richly textured, gorgeously executed and, for the most part, engaging. It is not, however, a masterpiece (Wilson still claims that Pet Sounds pales in comparison) — not even, on pure musical terms, a triumph. Originally written and recorded in clumps, Wilson has done a commendable job of organizing the work, but Smile still lacks a true sense of flow. In all, there's just too many elements elbowing and nudging each other, grasping desperately for the listener's ear. As such, many of the parts, even after repeated listenings, remain difficult to grasp, or just seem obtrusive.
But Wilson wanted his three-part pop opera and, by golly, he made it happen.
This is an opera without a clear-cut narrative. The original concept, concocted by Wilson and his lyricist Van Dyke Parks, was to evoke a flying travelogue from Plymouth Rock to Hawaii. But there is no story, per se, just arty abstractions: "A diamond necklace played the pawn/ Hand in hand, some drummed along/ To a handsome mannered baton."
A familiar song anchors each Smile movement. Unfortunately, only a handful of the other tunes stand on their own as particularly vivid pieces of music. After a lovely a cappella intro called "Our Prayer" — our first taste of the group's uncanny re-creation of the Beach Boys harmonies of yore — Smile unveils "Heroes and Villains." The first section is marked by huge swings in dynamics, from lone instruments providing contemplative transitions, to rousing crescendos of orchestra and voice. Throughout, Smile includes gobs of wordless vocals — stacked, soaring and sparring. It's a grand effect, one of the album's major assets.
Wilson, now 62, holds his own on lead vocals. But his voice, while still recognizable from his '60s golden era, has thickened and lacks the sense of vulnerability that marked his earlier work. His singing does not seem as connected to the music as in the past.
Smile's second movement is easily its best. Wilson tempers the mood swings and settles into a smooth set of songs that glide gracefully into one another, each referencing and complementing the next. This middle section culminates in the disc's crowning moment: the elegantly floating "Surf's Up," which surpasses the original single released in 1971.
For round three, Wilson turns whimsical in extremis. He trots out old-timey march rhythms and ragtime cadences on the disposable "I'm in Great Shape." "Vege-Tables," an ode to leafy green stuff, is the album's most annoying song. It was silly and sophomoric back then; it's the same now. The band launches into the ignominious instrumental "Mrs. O'Leary's Cow," a dissonant exercise that scared the shit out of an already-shaky Wilson when it was first recorded in the '60s. Nowadays, it sounds like an overblown indulgence.
Smile concludes with a remake of Good Vibrations — only slightly different from the original, but less satisfying. It leaves one feeling, "How can you improve upon perfection?"
Which raises a bigger issue — one that goes to my personal bias. I would have much preferred that Brian Wilson finished Smile using the original source tapes (and perhaps augmenting when necessary). As such, Brian Wilson Presents Smile cannot overcome a nagging air of artificiality. Try as I might, I can't feel fully engaged by this music. I admire it, but I can't love it.
— Eric Snider
This article appears in Oct 20-26, 2004.
