The 33 1/3 series is definitely a mixed bag. This entry is nuanced and insightful. Jim Fusilli smartly decides that for an album that has been endlessly analyzed, a more personal and emotional response to the album is a welcome addition. His prologue is, like the album, touching, as he candidly writes about his childhood insecurities, his coming-of-age, and how this album spoke to him then and now.
He praises from the perspective of an adoring fan, without ever gratuitously gushing or overstating his case: “Pet Sounds raises pop to the level of art through its musical sophistication and the precision of its statement, which, taken together, celebrate the fulfillment of Brian Wilson’s ambition” (117).
I like that Fusilli doesn’t concern himself with mundane and minute recording details. Instead, he writes in equal measure about what the music meant and means to Brian Wilson and what the music does for Fusilli as the listener, for us as the listener.
The author captures the emotional core of the songs with ease: “I don’t hear ‘Don’t Talk’ as a mediation on romantic tranquility, as some critics have asserted. I hear it as the cry of a man desperate to preserve romantic tranquility—or tranquility of any kind. “‘Don’t Talk’ is the way you express your love for someone who is ready to go” (26). This nuanced take rings true to me when I listen to the song, too.
“‘God Only Knows’ is sublime. As in ‘transcendent’ and ‘awe-inspiring.’ If you hear it, and ponder it as you let it engulf you, you begin to understand the depth of its statement, especially in this context. And its sense of wonder begins with the lyric and the invocation of the word ‘God.’ Love, Brian and Asher say here, is as vast as the universe, and a reason for existence. And yet there are things bigger than love. In other words, dear heart, you may be my everything but you are not everything (99-100).
“‘Wouldn’t It Be Nice’ is a perfect choice to open Pet Sounds, and in it Brian is showing a it of his humor as well as his awareness of the impact of a clever, sophisticated arrangement. Jerry Cole’s twelve-string guitar kicks off the song, playing a pattern that sounds like nothing so much as a child’s toy, making a statement of innocence, of unbridled happiness. And then, at the end of the fourth bar, Hal Blaine, per Brian’s instructions, smacks the drums hard, delivering a harsh, ominous sound that echoes like a shut door, a slammed gate. So much for innocence. So much for happiness. Here, gone in six seconds” (41).
The classic debate of Sgt. Pepper’s vs. Pet Sounds inevitably appears in this brief book, though in a refreshing way. Everyone knows the story that Pet Sounds was a primary inspiration and competition for the Beatles to make Sgt. Pepper’s (George Martin famously said Sgt. Pepper’s would have never been made without Pet Sounds).
But which is better, he asks: “Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band is cited regularly as the best album of the rock era, but does it have the depth of emotion and musical sophistication of Pet Sounds?” (37)
Nearly everyone accepts that Sgt. Pepper’s is the better album. While Fusilli (and I!) disagree, his discussion of why it remains the widely- acknowledged victor gives me some solace.
He rightly observes “The Beach Boys beat it into the ground. They didn’t know when to quit. The Beatles made a clean break: up on the roof, January 30, 1969; ‘I hope we passed the audition.’ Everything they’ve done since then has sought to reinforce the legend. Almost everything the Beach Boys have done since, for instance ‘Good Timin’ in 1979, has torn the legend down” (38).
Fusilli hilariously continues, “Mike, Bruce and Al would play your kids’ prom if you wrote a check….The Beatles play in your imagination, where they are superb” (39). In other words, the Beach Boys’ long denouement casts a long shadow, obscuring the brilliance of Pet Sounds, while Sgt. Peppers, remains a high-water mark for a band, and such preserved, prevails.