Brian Wilson That Lucky Old Sun by: Thomas Mendelovits Thu:30-Oct-08 Label: Capitol Year: 2008 WB rating 74 out of 100

Knowing what we do about Brian Wilson, it should be thanks enough to still have him with us. However, adding all of it together – the mental health issues, drug problems and legal acrimony – the joy of hearing something new from him is an even happier circumstance. And even though Wilson has not completely dropped off the radar in recent years (his 2004 rerecording and first release of the 'lost' 1967 SMiLE album was blisteringly received), That Lucky Old Sun is the first album of new material since 1998's Imagination. That being said, Wilson is a funny character and accordingly That Lucky Old Sun is a funny record. The title track, employed throughout as a thematic overture, is a 40s standard and the album is interspersed with narrative pieces written not by Wilson, but by Van Dyke Parks, who had collaborated with Wilson on the 2004 version of SMiLE but whose influence on That Lucky Old Sun was limited to these monologues. For these reasons and more, That Lucky Old Sun is a strange proposition; a concept album dedicated to Los Angeles all wrapped up in a thick haze of nostalgia and Wilson's slurred vocals. Superficially, the album may seem a false prophecy from one of our era's most loved songwriters. Looking deeper, though, Wilson is revealed in all his raw pathos to be in a form similar to that which brought about his best material 40 years ago.  
 
From the opening harmonies of 'That Lucky Old Sun', it is clear that not much has changed in Wilson's musical universe. After his cracked and yet exceptionally touching, sweet and pure lead vocal on the song, 'Morning Beat' kicks off the album with a take on the 12-bar blues employed so effectively by the Beach Boys on songs such as 'Help Me, Rhonda'. As such, 'Morning Beat' is the first inkling that something is wrong on That Lucky Old Sun. The robust production of the song is tacky and, through successive tracks, it becomes clear that Wilson's vision doesn't quite gel with studio production values in the late noughties. Overall, the string-laden and meaty rock orchestrations are the stuff of finest Adult Contemporary Cheese. For all that, it would be weird hearing 'Wouldn't It Be Nice' for the first time by a new band today. It's not right to blame Wilson for not considering Dave Sitek, Beck or Danger Mouse the top producers in the world today, but nonetheless it's hard to get a handle on the sound when people like Adam Green make this kind of stuff for a lark. The truth is that Wilson has earned the right and certainly, this doesn't sound like Adam Green, rather the opposite. Instead of being sarcastic music parading within sentimentalism, That Lucky Old Sun is honest music unintentionally swimming in schmaltz.
 
On the surface, then, That Lucky Old Sun sounds lacking in real feeling. The waves of nostalgia running through the record also seem intent on dinting its authenticity. However, like with the best recent albums from Paul Simon (2000's You're The One) and Bob Dylan (1997's Time Out of Mind and 2001's Love and Theft), life as a sexagenarian has turned out to be a place for sincere, quiet reflection for Brian Wilson. They may not sound like the songs of a 66 year old, but most of That Lucky Old Sun rings true. The revisiting of the relationship with the 1962 'Surfer Girl' (purported to be his favourite ever song) in 'Forever She'll Be My Surfer Girl' is only made nicer by the ode to his wife Melinda (the eponymous surfer girl) in the liner notes. On 'Southern California' he sings about the "dream [he] had/singing with my brothers/in harmony, supporting each other". Similarly, the liner notes also pay tribute to his two now-deceased brothers. The fact, uncovered by Pitchfork Media, that Brian had no idea about the existence of Dennis' record Pacific Ocean Blue only makes the circumstance sadder.
 
Another outlay of the big-band corniness of That Lucky Old Sun is that Wilson's vision of LA is obscured into a register resembling tourism advertisement. While the City of Angels is set up as a leisure capital, as symbolised by the frequent references to and reprises of 'lucky old sun', Wilson doesn't discount the darker side of the seething metropolis. On 'Venice Beach [Narrative]' the 'hopeless and deranged' could easily be the narrator himself and on 'California Role' and 'Between Pictures [Narrative]' Wilson sings of the dashed dreams of "every girl the next Marilyn/every guy Errol Flynn", who are "waitin' tables with a method they can't share". Another good idea is found in the 'Mexican Girl'/'Cinco de Mayo [Narrative]' segment, which accounts for the city's multiculturalism. Again, though, the surface aspects almost derail 'Cinco de Mayo [Narrative]'as Wilson's strange phrasing and awfully accented Spanish conjures exploitation over real romance, surely if not clearly his actual intent.
 
Like in Wilson's most timeless and touching songs, the theme of solace is threaded through the most personal and affecting moments of That Lucky Old Sun. 'Going Home' and 'Midnight's Another Day' ring with the hope Wilson still places on finding inner peace, but the message is most devastatingly delivered on a line in 'Southern California', when he sings: "I'm glad it happened to me/fell asleep in the band room, woke up in history". Now that he's awake, we can only hope for more from this most beautiful of songwriters.