Page 28 - the NOISE December 2012

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a CHrISTMaS MIraCLE BrIaN aND MUrrY II
When The Beach Boys signed to Capitol Records in 1962 a publishing company, Sea Of Tunes, was set up for Brian’s com- positions. The young Brian Wilson learned, among the other ins and outs of the music business was what a publishing company actually does. Sea Of Tunes made sure Brian (and his collabo- rators) were compensated for the amount of records sold, as well as regulated how his songs were used in movies, cover ver- sions, commercials, etc. It protected the songwriter. Aside from the money earned by touring, it was the most lucrative of The Beach Boys’ enterprises. As the hits kept coming, the monthly royalty checks grew and grew. Brian was so overwhelmed by the amount of money generated, he overlooked one crucial fact: Sea Of Tunes was 100% owned by Murry Wilson, his father, to do with whatever he pleased.
One day toward the end of the Smile sessions when Brian was struggling with a vocal, Murry showed up at the studio drunk and informed Brian of his decision to sell Sea Of Tunes. He again told Brian he was washed up, finished as a songwriter, and the time was ripe to sell before Brian’s stock in the music industry sank any lower.
Brian was horrified. Sea Of Tunes was his baby, his body of work. More than the money though was the matter of control, who decided how the music was used. Brian steadfastly refused to license any of his songs for commercials (against Murry’s wishes, of course) and the sale of Sea Of Tunes would open the floodgates. It was Brian’s worst nightmare come to life. And Mur- ry was behind it.
It was this situation Brian faced while sitting in the utility clos- et, his secret spot. The tears rolled down his cheeks.
“God damn God damn God damn God DAMN HIM, oh God DAMN HIM!”
Why did Murry have to be such a bastard? Why did he have to criticize every thing and everybody? Weren’t fathers supposed to offer support and encouragement? And LOVE?
Brian’s hatred for Murry burned strong inside him. He wished Murry were dead. Abruptly, he stopped crying.
That was the only solution, wasn’t it? Brian turned the idea over and over in his head. He whispered the word aloud.
“Patricide.”
Would the world be a better place without Murry Wilson’s
presence? Brian already knew that answer. Could an act as ter- rible as murder produce something good?
Brian pictured himself stabbing his father with a knife, stran- gling him with a rope, shooting him with a gun, bashing him on the head with a blunt object, or just beating the crap out of him with his bare hands. He shuddered inwardly. No way. Despite his feelings toward his father, Brian could never commit an act of violence upon another human being. He had never even been in a fistfight. He just didn’t have it in him.
How about paying someone to rub Murry out, mafia-style?
Too risky, and Brian sure as hell didn’t want to spend the rest of his life in prison.
Brian felt trapped. Why was this happening to him? He just wanted to share his gift with the world, what was so horrible about that? Brian knew Murry didn’t operate on that level. It was all just hate, hate, hate. Directed at everyone: Brian, his brothers, the band, Murry’s business associates, even his long-suffering wife wasn’t exempt. Just a few minutes ago, he heard Murry be- rating Audree over the phone for forgetting to pick up his heart medicine. He spoke to his wife like he was talking to an idiot, or a master to his slave. Brian’s fury returned. He could MAYBE accept Murry’s viciousness toward his sons as some form of backward parenting, but there was no reason to treat his wife like that. God, if only he could ...
The torrent of thoughts in Brian’s head came to a halt. He had
it.
If he couldn’t pull it off, there would be hell to pay. But if he
could ...
Brian closed his eyes and tried to clear his mind. Two realities
stretched before him. One had Brian unable to finish Smile, his masterwork doomed to being heard in fragments, surrounded by conjecture and what might have been. The Beatles and oth- ers rocketed past The Beach Boys in terms of innovation and relevance. Murry’s sale of Sea Of Tunes reduced their songs to a pathetic joke, the soundtrack to soda commercials. The Beach Boys stuck around, but as a nostalgia act forever yoked to their slim four-year window of success, singing their feel-good sun- shine ditties to audiences too enfeebled to ride a surfboard. The band were a cartoon, they didn’t matter anymore. Worse than that, Brian’s creativity dried up. He wasted years of his life in bed getting fat or wandering around L.A. in a bathrobe, his mind tipped dangerously close to madness. Murry had been right:
“Good Vibrations” WAS the pinnacle of Brian’s career. He never progressed beyond it because no one wanted him to. History painted him as both an erratic genius and a sad failure.
Brian Wilson did not particularly care to live that reality. But what was the alternative? The second path was cloudy, the de- tails less distinct, but Brian thought he could see the final result. It looked like paradise.
Does every man have the power to decide his own fate, to steer his life? He had to try.
Brian wiped off his face, blew his nose, and returned to the studio. He put the headphones on and told the engineer to roll tape. Murry sat at his dummy console smirking.
After a few failed takes, Murry was ready to go again. He start- ed in on Brian’s vocal, tearing it apart piece by piece.
After he was through, Brian calmly leaned forward and spoke clearly into the mic: “You don’t know what you’re talking about. F*ck you, Murry.”
He leaned back unsmiling and locked eyes with his father through the glass barrier. Brian was pretty sure no one had ever dared to say those words to Murry before. He certainly hadn’t.
Murry was astonished. His mouth hung open, but nothing came out. Brian could see the waves of rage building. The fright-
28 • DECEMBER 2012 • the NOISE arts & news • thenoise.us