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Brian Wilson


He still gets around
Former Beach Boys genius Brian Wilson now lets us use the word "genius." It's all part of growing up.

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By Rachel Louise Snyder

Sept. 6, 2000 | Tall and lean, with a cockeyed smile and hair more gray than brown these days, Brian Wilson is unassuming, authentic and full of the kind of purity of spirit that you can mistake for naiveté. As enthusiastic about mousse as he is about music, Wilson's personality is often compared to a child's -- something that must be reconciled with his years of severe drug addiction and schizophrenia, both of which he has under control now.

He has had the same favorite song for 40 years -- Phil Spector's "Be My Baby." ("I learn something new every time I listen to it.") When asked to recount acts of kindness, he offers people instead. ("My wife and my [four] daughters.") When asked about songwriting, he alternates between promises of having his best work forthcoming and claiming he can't top his history. ("I'll never be better than 'Pet Sounds,'" he said dismally. Then later, "I'm writing the best rock 'n' roll song you ever heard.")




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With more than 35 albums to date, Wilson is one of the most successful and prolific pop songwriters of the past four decades -- the creative force behind Beach Boys' hits such as "California Girls," "Fun, Fun, Fun," "Little Deuce Coupe," "I Get Around," "Help Me, Rhonda," "Good Vibrations" and "Surfin Safari." Created in 1961 by Wilson; his two brothers, Dennis and Carl; his cousin, Mike Love; and his high school friend, Al Jardine, the Beach Boys defined California surf culture and brought it worldwide. Built on unique four- and five-part harmonies, their sound was fresh, original and in demand almost overnight. With record-breaking album sales, they were hailed more than once as the world's most popular band.

By the late '70s, however, Wilson's personal life was in shambles. He weighed more than 340 pounds. He rarely left his bedroom. He heard voices. He avoided the piano, and his songwriting attempts were shells of what they'd once been. Wilson underwent years of therapy, focusing on his weight, his stage fright, his father's physical and emotional abuse and his long-buried musical talent.

The bad years have been well publicized and these days Wilson tends toward the positives. Spreading love, he says, is his mission. He seems to have lost the ego of his youth and sees his success in the context of his 58 years -- making gold records, for example, is nowhere near as difficult as salvaging one's life.

I spent an afternoon recently with Wilson in his practice room, where an enormous piano in one corner and a large glass guitar sculpture ("I don't remember who gave it to me," he sheepishly claimed) were the sole testaments to a lifetime of musical accomplishment. He is ecstatic about his current tour, which, given his propensity for stage fright, is as rich a testimony to how far he has come as anything.

Toward the end of the interview, in recounting the places where he finds pleasure, Wilson confessed that his favorite food is chocolate. In fact, he said, since he mentioned it, he wanted to get some immediately. I was in the driveway obligingly fumbling for my car keys when Wilson shot past me into his Corvette with an energy like what he must have had in 1960, jamming in his parents' living room. Off he went in search of chocolate, leaving me grinning in his wake.

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Photograph ŠNeal Preston/CORBIS


 



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