Recently, the world of music experienced the twin passings of two geniuses who contributed so much, it would be folly to try and list their accomplishments here.
Both artists experienced massive fame before they even reached the age of 30; both were singer-songwriters who created music with a band comprised of family members; both faced pushback from their audiences when they tried something different; both descended into the pit of drug use and a hermit-styled life, going years without creating anything new. Crippled by all those labels the public put on them when they were anointed as spokesmen of a generation, both also suffered nervous breakdowns. It could be said that they burned bright, then burned out.
Brian Wilson was the driving force behind The Beach Boys, who emerged in 1961 and defined, if not epitomized, the southern California lifestyle of beaches, cars, and girls. But there was so much more to the Beach Boys than simple songs of surfing: beneath the layers, Brian exposed his heart, expressing an earnestness that has never really been repeated in popular music. He could also hear things that the rest of us couldn’t, despite being deaf in one ear.
Brian worshipped The Four Freshmen, the 1950s vocal group that featured four-part harmony in the barbershop tradition. He was also a fan of the Wall of Sound productions made famous by Phil Spector, as well as the music of early rock n’ roll pioneers like Chuck Berry. When Brian formed a band called the Pendletones with brothers Carl and Dennis Wilson (later adding cousin Mike Love, classmate Al Jardine, and neighborhood friend David Marks), the ideas that poured forth were so melodically and harmonically complex, it would take years – decades – for the rest of the music industry to catch up with them.
Sylvester Stewart, another southern Californian known to all as Sly Stone, had a fascinating trajectory into pop music. He and his siblings were a part of a family gospel group that practiced six nights a week at church and performed all day Sunday. A natural leader who, like Brian, could hear things others couldn’t, Sly began arranging music for his family band and they even made a few records.
Sly’s interest in music led him to declare himself a music major at a local community college, but his skills were already so accelerated that his music professor squeezed two years of music theory, history, composition, and arranging into six months! Sly was blind to color and gender; he would regularly bring friends of all stripes into his home and play music with them. He eventually joined a band called the Viscaynes and they experienced some moderate success.
Southern California radio listeners of that era may have also heard Sly as a disc jockey. He was one of those wild men of the air who could only have existed in the 1960s: his airchecks are priceless! He was really good at spinning the records of others, but that led him into writing and producing records of his own. His first try was “C’mon and Swim,” a hit by Bobby Freeman that spawned a dance craze in 1964. Then, Sly began writing and producing records for a group called the Beau Brummels, providing hits with “Laugh Laugh” and “Just a Little”.
Before long, Sly put together the Family Stone with siblings Freddie and Rose, adding trumpeter Cynthia Robinson, drummer Greg Errico, saxophonist Jerry Martini, and bassist Larry Graham – making Sly & the Family Stone the first multi-racial, mixed-gender band in American history.
Sly put together a musical landscape that was unimaginable at the time. His music could get you moving and grooving, but it also made you think. A string of hits from 1967 to 1973 are some of the greatest records ever made: “Thank U Fallettinme Be Mice Elf Agin,” “Dance to the Music,” “Everybody is a Star,” “I Want to Take You Higher,” “Hot Fun in the Summertime,” “Life,” “Sing a Simple Song,” “Fun,” “Runnin’ Away,” “Everyday People,” and “Stand!”
While Sly was pioneering the funk-soul-rock hybrid with the Family Stone, the Beach Boys had already been dominating the charts for years. Their incredible run of success included songs that are so ingrained in our cultural consciousness, it’s as if they have been there forever: “I Get Around,” “Fun Fun Fun,” “California Girls,” “Good Vibrations,” “Dance Dance Dance,” “Help Me Rhonda,” “All Summer Long,” “Surfin’ U.S.A.,” “In My Room,” “Sloop John B.”
Struggling with the pressures of the road and being the creative mind behind what was one of the top musical groups in the world, Brian suffered a nervous breakdown in 1965 and was replaced in live performances by Glen Campbell (temporarily), then Bruce Johnston (permanently). Brian retreated to the studio, and along with the Wrecking Crew, began laying down tracks for what would become the first full-length album statement of the rock era: Pet Sounds. Now, the long-playing record could be the statement of an auteur rather than a collection of singles and filler.
Pet Sounds is a solid cycle of songs, thematically about the uncertainty in relationships as well as the sadness that comes with the realities of growing up.
There are many sublime moments on this record, and many are classics: “Wouldn’t It Be Nice,” “God Only Knows,” and “Caroline No” – a song so personal and direct, it’s hard to believe that only a few months before, these same guys were singing about being true to their school.
Oddly enough, the record company wasn’t thrilled with this sudden change in direction and while Brian and his brethren became critical darlings with influence that would reach across the generations, they suddenly found themselves on the outside looking in when it came to rock music. Dennis got involved with Charles Manson and his followers, with dreadful results; Mike began following the Maharishi Mahesh Yogi and preaching to audiences about transcendental meditation; Carl moved into the role of band leader and valiantly soldiered on with quality productions. Brian’s obsessions turned into madness with an album project called Smile, which became the most famous unreleased album of all time. While the Beach Boys were still making some great music, the pop music world lost interest until the Beach Boys – minus Brian – turned themselves into an oldies act. This kept them alive financially, but nearly permanently divided the band between the musical genius who was pushing forward and his bandmates who wanted to make a living.
While the Beach Boys were turning themselves inside out at the turn of the 1970s, gone were the good-time party politics of Sly and the Family Stone’s most successful records. Shadows had fallen: the Black Panthers wanted Sly to fire the white members of his band; the drugs had changed from marijuana to cocaine and PCP. Sly hired real mobsters as bodyguards as his paranoia grew. He raised dogs to fight. He skipped gigs. In a junkie haze, Sly created an impenetrable album called There’s a Riot Goin’ On. This album was about as dreary and depressing a record as could have come out at that time; over a cold drum machine, Sly’s disgusted social commentary was the polar opposite of his previous peace-and-love music as he drawled on “Family Affair” and other downbeat tunes that hastened the decline of his career and descent into decades of drug addiction.
Both Sly and Brian have recently written autobiographies and participated in worshipful documentaries that provide a greater analysis of their work. Both seemed to find peace later in life and did something many observers couldn’t have imagined during the dark days of the 1970s and 1980s: they lived long enough to see their influence reach across the full spectrum of popular music.
Michael Bird is an assistant professor of music at Faulkner University.
