Page 25 - the NOISE November 2012

“A hero is a goddam stupid thing to have in the first place and a general block to anything you
might wanta accomplish on your own.” — Lester Bangs
on their music in the studio while the oth- ers went out and performed. There was some grumbling, but with a two-year run of hit after hit from Brian’s pen that showed no sign of stopping, they all agreed it was best.
Up to now, the Beach Boys had played their own instruments on record as well as in concert. Under Brian’s tutelage, Carl grew into a respect- able lead guitarist, while Dennis discovered he had a knack for pounding the skins, and Al had played enough guitar before joining to hold his own on rhythm. Brian filled in the rest. But Den- nis found the studio tedious. He would rather give his all for 30 minutes onstage in front of a room of screaming girls than sit in a little cu- bicle with his brothers and father staring at him while he did take after take of the same god- damn song.
Session drummer Hal Blaine was brought in mid-’63 for studio work and Brian struck up a rapport with the grizzled veteran. When Brian hatched his plan to retire from the road and focus on recording, Hal introduced him to the Wrecking Crew.
The Wrecking Crew was a loose aggregate of up to 30 musicians first assembled by producer Phil Spector and arranger Jack Nitzsche. They can be heard on all of Phil’s “Wall Of Sound” classics. Apart from Spector, they had played on jingles, commercials, soundtracks, live dates, and hundreds of records that went both to #1 and nowhere for artists both talented and not. The Wrecking Crew were well-paid profession- als who got the job done. If you wanted the best, you called these guys.
At the point the Wrecking crew were intro- duced to Brian Wilson, The Beach Boys were an established hit machine and cultural phenom- enon. Everybody knew their music, but it was widely seen as high school fluff. Rock and Roll was just beginning to be considered a serious art form. It was still trying to escape the stigma of the teenage fad.
Brian was a little intimidated by the Wreck- ing Crew. Giving his brothers direction in the studio was one thing, this was another. They had recorded with the greats, had seen it all. They weren’t easily impressed. The Crew them- selves had a blasé attitude while working and Brian couldn’t tell if they liked his songs or not. He was barely into his 20s and it felt weird tell- ing a room full of pros what to do. After all, it was just another session for them, for Brian it was his life. He longed to be accepted in their
The Beach Boys, Endless Summer
circle. Getting teenagers to like your stuff was easy, getting people who ate, slept, and shat music to do the same was not.
Brian found a sympathetic ear in bassist Carol Kaye. She was an oddball too, the only woman in the boys club of the Wrecking Crew, but someone who had earned the respect of her peers tenfold. In the 1950s her ex-husband had introduced her to the world of the session musician, where she started out as a guitarist (she’s on “La Bamba”), but soon switched when she noticed the scarcity of electric bass play- ers. She began to get lots of work. By the mid 1960s she was the most in-demand bassist in the industry.
Carol liked Brian. She recognized his little budding talent and his nervousness at the po- sition he was in. He was SO young and sensi- tive, and the Wrecking Crew was a large group of gruff old men. And her. Brian spoke to Carol specifically about her basslines, where the nu- ances should go, and that impressed her. Brian of course was bassist on all the Beach Boys’ hits, as well as onstage (because he was the only one who could play it and sing at the same time). Carol encouraged Brian to assert himself more in the studio, to stop the proceedings if something didn’t feel right. Brian took her ad- vice. To his surprise, the Crew didn’t piss and moan like his brothers would, they did what they were told. After all, they WERE getting paid. Brian slowly began to realize what an amazing instrument he had at his disposal.
The Crew never saw any of the other Beach Boys, just Brian. And Murry, naturally. The boys were always somewhere on tour when the in- strumental tracks were recorded, and none of the musicians were ever around when the vo- cals were laid down.
As time went on, the Wrecking Crew grew friendlier. They said hello to Brian, but never to Murry. Brian of course knew them all by name. They began to look forward to their Beach Boys sessions. So much of the music they were paid to play was dull and unimaginative, and Brian’s songs challenged them, put their talents to the test, and they enjoyed this. Even when they couldn’t tell where Brian’s head was at.
One time, at the end of a marathon day-long session, Brian escaped to his secret closet to work out an arrangement in silence. Exhausted, he fell asleep. He awoke hours later and the studio was pitch dark. Everyone assumed Brian had gone home and they had done the same.
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