Don't Worry Baby?
Brian Wilson's gift of uncertainty
For all its effervescent joy, the music of Brian Wilson could also express a vulnerability as gaping as an open wound. But what made Wilson’s work with the Beach Boys so instantly endearing and ultimately lasting is that the jubilant material was no less heartfelt and affecting than the more personal, heart-wrenching songs. Wilson, a profoundly troubled man, was somehow able to extract the basic joy of living and distill it directly into a three-minute song. The music he composed and the lyrics he either collaborated on — or at least approved — that appeared on his upbeat and effusive tunes offered as clear a window into his artistic soul as his woeful ballads. “California Girls” or “Wouldn’t It Be Nice” aren’t any less immediate and emotionally expressive than “In My Room” or “Caroline, No.”
Still, Wilson’s world was dimmed in half-darkness and his uncertainty with himself and others was hardly hidden. Working with such lyricists as Roger Christian and Tony Asher, Wilson explored adolescent fears and doubts with unblinking candor. (And don’t for a minute diminish the contributions of Christian and Asher or, later, Van Dyke Parks (or any of the other members of the Beach Boys). In a world where you must pay anyone listed as a co-writer, you can bet that each of these men added his fair share to the overall conception of a tune.) Such masterful pop miniatures as “In My Room,” “The Warmth of the Sun,” “Don’t Worry Baby,” and “That’s Not Me,” among many more, exude anxiety and awkwardness, albeit swathed in gorgeous vocal harmonies and arresting production. Listening to Wilson’s confessional songs, you often had the feeling that even if Daddy let you drive the T-Bird all you wanted, that ultimately wouldn’t lessen the big hurt one bit.
I wanted to honor Wilson’s considerable gifts by way of two gifted interpreters of his work. Singer Kat Edmonson has a small voice with a restricted range and a distinctly tremulous quality, all the better to distinguish her tender version of “I Just Wasn’t Made for These Times,” a highlight of the 1966 Beach Boys masterwork, Pet Sounds. Shorn of Wilson’s distinctive arrangements and production, the song takes on even more poignancy by way of Edmonson’s unmasked tenderness. (The addition of idiosyncratic percussion and use of French horn throughout the performance displays a sly nod to the original album.) It’s a tough song to pull off, particularly with its borderline-clumsy cluster of words, but Edmonson does a worthy job.
Guitarist Bill Frisell doesn’t need words to express the pathos behind the Beach Boys’ 1963 teenage angst ballad “In My Room.” With characteristic economy Frisell releases only the minimum of notes needed to get his point across, letting his stunning tone and parsimonious approach do all the work.
His improvisation spins subtle new variations while wisely never straying too far from the beauty and rightness of Wilson’s original melody. His every expertly inflected note is a joy: When guitarists speak of “touch,” this is what they mean.