Brian
Wilson
Aladdin Theater 3017 SE Milwaukie Ave., 224-4400
8 pm Sunday and Monday, Oct. 17 and 18
$59-$79.
To mainstream America, Brian Wilson is a Beach Boy. To skeptics,
he's a spaced-out drug casualty. Journalists know him as the
toughest interview in rock music.
To ardent fans--people like me--he's something else entirely.
To those of us who feel the magic, Brian Wilson is the greatest
American composer of the last half of the 20th century.
Years of alienation, paranoia and justified skepticism
have left Wilson emotionally sealed. Hundreds of eager journalists,
pumped to talk to the brilliant recluse, have come away
frustrated and exasperated. Wilson avoids questions like
Felix Trinidad dodges punches.
So, knowing all this, what did I say when my editor asked
me to tackle this ultimate puzzle of music journalism? What
do you think?
I was born and raised in SoCal. Hearing "Good Vibrations"
is one of my earliest memories. The Beach Boys' sun-kissed
anthems of girls, cars and surfing were the soundtrack of
my adolescence. And then there's Pet Sounds--an album
unlike anything else I've ever heard, a gorgeous and spirtual
exploration of squashed innocence that's helped me survive
numerous depressions.
Yeah, it's probably better to kill your idols. Or at least
avoid meeting them. But how can you pass up the opportunity
to talk to an artist you've admired since you were a child?
I also knew that Wilson had been (relatively) better as
of late. In May, for the first time ever as a non-Beach
Boy, he hit the road for live shows. Backed by a 12-piece
band including members of the Wondermints and Poi Dog Pondering,
Wilson played a four-show mini-tour in the Midwest, flooring
audiences and critics. His two-hour sets included seven
tunes from Pet Sounds (including both instrumentals),
"Good Vibrations" and a ton of other hits that had never
been played live.
Wilson not only survived this venture out of the house,
he enjoyed it enough to book a second tour, this time on
the West Coast. His Portland shows will be his seventh and
eighth solo performances. Ever.
Maybe he'd be fine on the phone.
I consulted a former colleague who'd interviewed Wilson
twice, once in person and once over the phone. I told him
my news. "Over the phone or in person?" he asked. I told
him. He laughed. "Good luck, man," he chuckled. "The phone's
almost pointless."
Wilson's publicist also had some words of wisdom.
"Engage him early," she advised. "Immediately talk about
music, and save the tougher questions for later." She added
that Wilson's interview demeanor depended on his mood: "I've
seen him talk to someone for over an hour."
Sounds promising, I thought.
"I've also seen him hang up on someone after two minutes."
Oh.
I'm proud to announce that Brian Wilson didn't hang up
on this geeky fan after two minutes. No, I lasted 15, and
we hung up mutually. Wilson now holds the record for my
shortest interview in 10 years. Twenty-five questions asked
in 15 minutes, including probing follow-ups that penetrated
nothing but dead air.
Interviewing Wilson feels and sounds a bit like talking
to a tipsy 9-year-old. His words tumble quickly out of his
mouth, and then he freezes as if he may have said too much.
Hardly. Despite being friendly and patient, Wilson gave
me absolutely nothing. Each question garnered a one- or
two-sentence response, max. Like this:
WW: After so many years, what made you want to
go back on the road?
Wilson: My wife and my co-producer both said that the time
is right. And I said, 'No, I don't think so.' But they convinced
me, they logically convinced me that it'd be a good thing
to tour.
Was there any specific reason that convinced you?
They had an ingenious idea for me to go tour.
And so it went for another 14 and a half minutes. I asked
him if it felt any different playing solo than as a member
of the Beach Boys. Yes, he liked it more now. Silence.
I asked if he knew that he'd inspired a whole new generation
of bands (the Elephant 6 Collective, specifically). He said,
"Who? I only listen to oldies but goodies." Dead air.
The most enlightening moment came when he admitted being
surprised by the standing ovations he'd received during
his first four shows. He refused to discuss composing or
songwriting or Pet Sounds.
Before we hung up, he thanked me warmly for the interview.
It's fitting that someone known for speaking his emotions
musically can't do so with words. Perhaps that's both his
strength and his curse. When he performs next week, the
real Brian Wilson will emerge. Still, it makes me wonder:
Did Picasso give such terrible interviews?
- - - - - - - - - - - - -
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Willamette Week | originally
published October 13,
1999
|
