The Beach Boys: Endless Summer (1962-65)

(Capitol 1974)

!!! A+ COMPILATION !!!

There are a lot of collections of classic Beach Boys songs from the mid-'60s; you can't simply pare their oeuvre down to singles or "hits" because plenty of the band's b-sides and album cuts became as famous and popular as any of their chart successes, but the schedule crunch imposed on Brian Wilson by Capitol Records meant that it was difficult to release the required mass quantity of music in each calendar year without the occasional lapse in quality and judgment. While the seasoned fan will find much to appreciate in records like Shut Down Vol. 2 and Little Deuce Coupe, the group's early work cries out for a sympathetic summation of some sort to refine it into an elegant, invigorating statement of purpose. Here is that definitive statement, built from twenty shorter -- not necessarily smaller -- ones. To understand what the Beach Boys meant and what they were capable of at their best, this is the item you need more than any other, more than any of their studio albums even.

The Beach Boys had departed from Capitol under not exactly amicable terms in 1970; the label subsequently relinquished distribution rights to their albums from 1966 onward, but that didn't stop them from seeing the potential to exploit the catalog, especially given that the label still controlled the vast majority of their big hits, and that the market for high-profile double-album sets of familiar tunes was proven in 1973 by the success of the Beatles' Red and Blue albums. So in a departure from the three Best of the Beach Boys volumes released in the '60s, Capitol's fourth attempt at compiling the band is not only far more generous (two records, forty-eight minutes) and sensibly put together by Capitol's Michael Ross, it's also more artful. Functioning as a proper album rather than just a gathering of cuts from disparate sources, it condenses the entirety of the Beach Boys' identity as band in their pre-Pet Sounds period into one sharp, impressively cohesive song cycle. Mike Love gave it a name, Endless Summer, and it's the rare occasion on which no one can really call his judgment into question.

The essence of Endless Summer is not just in what it gathers but what it omits. While it includes the two chart-toppers Capitol still controlled, "I Get Around" and "Help Me Rhonda," it by no means collects all of their major hits, nor does it claim to. Its goals are emotional rather than rational, and there's a method to the madness of including relative obscurities like "Catch a Wave" and "Girls on the Beach" in lieu of "When I Grow Up (To Be a Man)," "Dance, Dance, Dance" or "Barbara Ann" -- that is to say, this record is about what it says it's about: summer, and the inexhaustible ability of Brian Wilson and the Beach Boys to funnel it into some of the most intoxicating pop records of the last century. After the slapdash methodology behind the older compilations (and many of the subsequent ones) and certainly compared to the chronological hits sets that are now common, the specific focus of Endless Summer is some kind of masterstroke.

And it paid off in spades. Amid one of the darkest periods in U.S. history, when the hangover of the hippie era was colliding with a new youth culture, and American abuses of power were dominating headlines, Capitol unleashed this compilation and the Beach Boys' poignant evocations of the promised land seemed more dreamlike, vital and yearning than ever; the wave of nostalgia this record ushered in successfully brought young new fans to a band that had by then been considered passé in many circles for years. What the massive popularity of Endless Summer implied was in part the durability across generational lines of Brian's visions of seaside exuberance, California dreaming, hot-rod purity and mostly unspoken sexuality; but moreover, the completeness of his vision -- in a way even he could not have realized in the '60s -- as a flawless picture of the sense of infinite promise that comes with youth. Brian observed surfing, cars, all of it except maybe girls from a great distance, but his instinct for the universal saw him through all the same and allowed his wonderfully warped California, floating above but not entirely skirting its strange darkness, to stand as rock & roll's greatest ever metaphor for absolute wind-on-cheeks freedom.

Make no mistake, listening to the Beach Boys' singles from this period in chronological order is incredibly exciting, an opportunity to hear the garage chug of "Surfin' Safari" give way to the impassioned vigor of "Surfin' U.S.A.," the warm humor and budding adoration in "Fun, Fun, Fun," the acquisition of ambition and far-sighted desire in "I Get Around" and on from there. But the sequencing of Endless Summer provides unexpected contrasts and pleasures -- on their good but wildly uneven early albums, would a joyful vision like "Catch a Wave" ever be followed by the blown-out, mature despair of "The Warmth of the Sun"? Could anything like the audacious pacing of "Shut Down" just after "In My Room" or the dramatic, blissful build of "California Girls" to "Girl Don't Tell Me" to "Help Me Rhonda" to "You're So Good to Me" to "All Summer Long" be attempted?

Some of the Beach Boys' work in the '60s was methodical and endlessly worked-over, second-guessed, self-edited; Brian was always tweaking things even after they were released (witness his rewriting of the already-issued "County Fair" as "I Do" or the many manifestations of central portions of "Our Car Club" and "Marcella"). But some of it also seems to have simply fallen into place, as with the ethereal, off-the-cuff Smiley Smile and the strange allure of slice-of-life fragments heard on Wild Honey and Friends. Although Endless Summer does not investigate the "little art band" period of the Beach Boys' output, it does offer a perfect microcosm for the way that the band's work could sometimes seem to achieve greatness almost inadvertently. For Endless Summer almost from start to finish uses incorrect mixes; even if you forgive the use of stereo mixes on most of the hit songs save "Surfin' U.S.A." and the material that was only mixed to mono, it's hard to ignore the substitution of the less famous Today! version of "Help Me Rhonda" for the actual hit, the shorter LP cut of "Fun, Fun, Fun," and (in the only really harmful misstep) the draggy album take on "Be True to Your School." In the first two cases, though, these are actually superb choices: the bouncier, weirder "Rhonda" is a much more engaging recording in the final analysis than the radical radio-friendly revision down the line, and "Fun, Fun, Fun" comes off as more spontaneous without the lengthy fade. Correct Endless Summer with the "right" versions -- as some CD versions did -- and it seems like you lose at least a bit of its charm.

Whatever the case, though, its power as a perfectly curated romanticizing of the Brian Wilson sound is infallible. Despite the bites of misogyny on "Girls on the Beach," "Wendy" and "California Girls," the Beach Boys experience as defined here feels inclusive and complete, down to its variance of moods; the biting sarcasm of "Girl Don't Tell Me," wistful air of pending loss on "All Summer Long" and sweltering devastation of "The Warmth of the Sun" are visions of summer as well in their longing, stasis and frustration. What keeps a person coming back to Endless Summer -- and eventually, one assumes, to the rest of the Beach Boys' output -- is this material that complicates the amusement-park sunniness. This summer really is endless, both because of the gushing quantity of pleasure it offers and because what it encompasses is so much more complex than mere nostagia would imply.

Thus: this is the definitive way to appreciate the Beach Boys at their peak because of its astute recognition that without the sad songs, the happy ones have no grounding or meaning. A conventional hits package would surely miss "In My Room" and its private thrills and agonies, "The Warmth of the Sun" and "Let Him Run Wild" (possibly the band's greatest achievement) and their overwhelming grief, even if it did capture the taste of genuine adult comfort, compassion, responsibility and sensuality on "Don't Worry Baby." Luckily all of the multifaceted aspects of the Beach Boys' best work are here, and without even venturing near the Pet Sounds era and its aftermath. (Neatly, this simplifies the record in another respect: only three of the songs are primarily played by session musicians rather than the group itself -- "California Girls," "Let Him Run Wild" and "Help Me Rhonda.")

But always there is pleasure, and joy, the same as ever: "Little Deuce Coupe" still gets everyone moving, and "Surfer Girl" still defines young love as impeccably as anyone has, through its sweetly minimal lyric and haunting vocal melody. Taken together this all seems like so much more than a set of songs by a band that played and sang well; thanks in large part to the breadth of Brian Wilson's voice and sensibility, the classics that flow forth here play out like forgotten shreds in a book of mythology. Endless Summer is California-Gothic, the perfect introduction to the Beach Boys and the perfect way to rediscover them. The fact alone that it closes out with "All Summer Long" demonstrates that no matter how much you know and love the Beach Boys' albums, hearing these songs in this order remains an experience unto itself.

Although it gave their career a boost, Endless Summer was the beginning of the end for the Beach Boys as an artistic unit, sadly stunting their growth at a crucial moment; they never were able to retain their ambition and tireless creativity after this one dropped and the public's wish for more of the same became known. Nonetheless, it is one of the greatest rock & roll discs, much less hits compilations, ever made; get hold of this and Pet Sounds and you're on your way to a lifelong love not only of this band but of pop music.

The Beach Boys capsules: compilations

This post (incorporating some reviews that were originally posted in 2003, 2004 and 2007) gathers the most significant of the ungodly number of compilations released by the Beach Boys over the years, including greatest-hits sets, rarities collections and assorted arcane material that doesn't fit elsewhere. Separate posts will cover Endless Summer, Endless Harmony, Sounds of Summer, Summer Love Songs and the "twofer" bonus tracks. This is by no stretch of the imagination a complete list, but it does include most of the more commonly seen and remembered items in this category. Most of what else exists is either budget-line nonsense or any number of variations on what's below. My own interest in the Beach Boys was sparked by a whole run of cheapo cassette compilations, generally with about 7-9 songs apiece, and while I'd love to entertain you with my thoughts on the likes of Do It Again, Golden Favorites, California (And Other) Girls, etc., there are already too many boring, fine distinctions in the rundown presented here.

The Beach Boys: Best Of (Capitol 1963-65/1966) [c]
This infamous compilation was released mere weeks after Pet Sounds and has been widely blamed for stunting the classic album's rise on the charts. Indeed, this was a hugely successful LP and is so widely known that it made it to CD format. The Best of the Beach Boys is a horrible collection, though, with just twelve songs (and less than a half hour in length), and selections that defy logic. The Beach Boys had two number one hits by now, "I Get Around" and "Help Me Rhonda," and of course neither is included, because smashes like that sure don't belong on a best-of. As much as I love "Little Honda," what is it doing here? (Though it was a Beach Boys original, it wasn't a single and barely charted as an EP cut; the "hit" version was a cover by the Hondells.) "Warmth of the Sun," same question. And "You're So Good to Me" and "Catch a Wave" and "Wendy" and the real puzzler, "Louie, Louie." The hell? Then again, it is historically significant, I suppose. I picked up the CD (for a while the only place you could buy the mono mix of "Louie, Louie"... uh, wow) for less than a buck on eBay and it's kind of an interesting curio to own... you have to actually sit down and listen to realize how poorly these songs stack together. It makes you appreciate Endless Summer all the more. Followed by two sequels, which have not been so long-lived. Highly specialized nostalgia aside, there is absolutely no reason to seek this out. But any record with "Kiss Me, Baby" can't be all bad, right?

The Beach Boys: Best Of, Vol. 2 (Capitol 1962-65/1967) [c]
A clone of the first compilation, this stacks a few more hits with another mysterious addition, in this case "Long Tall Texan." It sold well, unlike the band's great albums from the period. Jarring and pointless, with virtually nothing to redeem it except the good music, which you can find in packages that won't make you want to scream. There's just no excuse for hopping around from "409" to "Let Him Run Wild" or from "Surfin' Safari" to "Little Saint Nick." Worthless. No CD release, thank god. Biggest mystery here is what's going on with Al's feet on the cover.

The Beach Boys: Best Of, Vol. 3 (Capitol 1961-67/1968) [c]
It has some good selections and the first LP appearance of the haunting pre-Pet Sounds single "The Little Girl I Once Knew," but this mostly is a mind-boggling compilation, poorly executed, poorly packaged, and with the songs seemingly selected at random -- "God Only Knows," "409" repeated from Vol. 2, "Surfin'," "Frosty the Snowman," and "The Little Girl I Once Knew," all right in a nice little row? Complete insanity. This one is quite rare, and like Vol. 2, never released on CD.

The Beach Boys: Stack-O-Tracks (Capitol 1963-68/1968) [r]
This bizarre release was probably meant as a cash grab in 1968, but I can't imagine a stranger way to try to earn profit. Stack-o-Tracks is an accidentally (?) brilliant collection of Beach Boys classics with vocal tracks removed to reveal the incredible depth of the instrumental backings and the fascinating degree of Brian Wilson's production genius. The individual performances on these cuts, an errant "Little Saint Nick" excused, are part of a greater whole that illustrates the band's use of the studio itself as its chief instrument. With good track selections (including obscurities like "Salt Lake City") and a healthy dosage of fifteen cuts, this makes for a wonderful listen. Even tracks that don't offer much without the stellar vocals, like "Surfer Girl," "In My Room," and "You're So Good to Me," are at least interesting. The Pet Sounds cuts, not to mention "Little Honda," are truly immersive sonic experiences.

The Beach Boys: Spirit of America (Capitol 1962-69/1975) [r]
Put together almost as brilliantly as Endless Summer, this sequel to the smash 1974 LP is also a fabulous introduction to the band, particularly when used in conjunction with the other collection. Despite its continued focus on fun-in-the-sun optimism, Spirit actually provides a cogent exposure to just how many gems are scattered in the Beach Boys' early catalog, and although only one song post-Party! is included ("Break Away," in its first LP appearance; the other uncollected '60s single, "The Little Girl I Once Knew," is here too), the focus on a three-year period actually makes the eclecticism even more striking. Much of the comparatively obscure material here is luminous -- "Hushabye," "Hawaii," "This Car of Mine," "Custom Machine," "Salt Lake City" -- but there are still plenty of classics like "Little Honda," "Do You Wanna Dance," "When I Grow Up," and "Please Let Me Wonder" rounding it out and giving just as full and emotionally complex a picture as Endless Summer. I think I would have added "In the Parkin' Lot" and a few things from Surfin' U.S.A., but why carp?

The Beach Boys: Good Vibrations - Best Of (Reprise 1965-72/1975) [c]
A brief and deeply unsatisfying collection of Beach Boys singles from Pet Sounds to Holland, compiled by the band in an attempt to harness the goodwill of the Endless Summer period through the later material to which they owned the rights, this has even less reason for existing than the Capitol best-ofs, since every cut comes from an album worth owning. Fully a third of the material included is from Pet Sounds; the rest skims the surface of the other late '60s / early '70s albums, almost invariably with exactly the song you'd expect. (Only Smiley Smile among the rest gets doubled up, with "Heroes and Villains" in addition to the title cut.) "Friends" is a jarring choice, emphasizing how hard it is for the "little art band" stuff to coexist with the bona fide "classics." There's not a single weak cut here except "Add Some Music to Your Day," but there's absolutely no point to gathering or hearing these songs in this fashion. And in one last insult, albeit a telling one, in documenting the band's most democratic period it manages to include only songs that were written or cowritten by Brian.

The Beach Boys: 20 Golden Greats (Capitol 1963-69/1976)
An enormously successful release in the UK, where the Beach Boys' popularity remained consistent for a much longer stretch than in their own country. This is sort of the British Endless Summer, only not nearly so well-sequenced or conceptually sound. It's arranged chronologically except for an errant "Then I Kissed Her," and is admirably lopsided in favor of the second half of the '60s. There's nothing particularly unique about it in retrospect, though thanks to the rights situation in Europe it's actually the first proper greatest hits set that spans the Beach Boys' entire Capitol career.

The Beach Boys: Ten Years of Harmony (Caribou 1970-80/1982)
The first compilation of the Beach Boys' Brother Records period, this is now out of print but served in its time as a decent, although not ideal, introduction to the band's 1970s work up through Keepin' the Summer Alive. All studio albums are represented, as is In Concert with the live "Darlin'." Despite spanning two discs it only adds up to a skimpy 92 minutes, and while some track choices are commendable -- the inclusion of Dennis Wilson's "River Song" from his brilliant solo album Pacific Ocean Blue is a wise move -- there's generally too little material from the strongest albums of the period (Sunflower, Holland and Love You) and too much dross from MIU, 15 Big Ones and such. It doesn't even rescue the best songs from the worst albums; no "My Diane" or "Just Once in My Life." There also is a smattering of new and rare material here. Dennis' song "San Miguel" -- sung enthusiastically by Carl -- from the Landlocked/Add Some Music period is a propulsive jewel, but it's readily available in other places now. The iffy 1979 non-hit "It's a Beautiful Day," from the soundtrack to something called Americathon, has since appeared on the Made in California set and is only notable in that later Beach Boys singles make it sound incredibly competent. A cover of the old standby "Sea Cruise" dates from 15 Big Ones and comes off about how you'd expect given that pedigree, though since it's never been reissued it's probably the main reason for a hardcore to shell out $25 for this collection. On that note, various odd mixes and edits abound, at least on the CD version, most significantly a misfiled variation on "Come Go with Me" recorded two years before the master on MIU. (This is an ironic error since the MIU version ended up seeing release as a single in conjunction with this compilation, and became a sizable hit.) For the casual listener, though, it seems slick and lumpy and joyless. There has yet to be a really definitive paring-down of this era of the Beach Boys, probably because the band wants such a release to have each band member's spotlight evenly distributed, which is impossible since Carl and Dennis (and Brian, to a lesser extent) truly owned this era.

The Beach Boys: Sunshine Dream (Capitol 1964-69/1982) [r]
After a seven-year gap, Capitol finally followed up Endless Summer and Spirit of America with a third and much less famous double-album collection, this one concentrating heavily on the late-'60s material (Pet Sounds on up) that had to be left off the earlier sets. Once again, this actually lends this a pleasing focus and depth and these three records in conjunction offer one of the strongest overviews of the Capitol period. It can initially be strange to hear the raw Wild Honey songs blended in with the lush, baroque splendor of Pet Sounds along with the sheer madness and humor in evidence on the Friends and Smiley Smile songs, but it's no more of a confused mass of impulses than some of the Beach Boys' better '60s albums (Summer Days in particular), and as a listening experience it offers an engaging reminder of how much diversity exists in this band's catalog. Only problems: a misguided overemphasis on the band "rocking out" ("Bluebirds Over the Mountain," "All I Want to Do," "How She Boogalooed It") and the presence of the godawful "Beach Boys Medley," issued as a single at the time. This never made it to CD but is all over the place in thrift shops and such; it doesn't hold anything unique but makes a nice companion to the other two doubles.

The Beach Boys: Rarities (Capitol 1962-70/1983) [r]
The Rarities series was one of Capitol's strangest projects in the early '80s. The Beatles' volume was a cobbled-together replacement for their aborted Sessions album, making much of minor mix variations of interest only to hardcore fans, a strange choice for a commercial release in those days. The Beach Boys, meanwhile, didn't have enough obscure released material to warrant an entire LP, so the label sent archivist Brad Elliott into the vaults to recover some previously unheard tracks. Only four songs are previously released, and all can be found elsewhere now: the b-sides "You're Welcome," "The Lord's Prayer" and "Celebrate the News," and the Jardine-produced single version of "Cotton Fields." The fact that a number of the rest have been released on much easier-to-find packages since ("Land Ahoy," the German "In My Room," the Dennis-free "Auld Lang Syne," an extended "I Was Made to Love Her" with a short a cappella section, and yet another alternate mix of "Good Vibrations") makes the compilation even less valuable, and in fact, the only still-unique item here isn't particularly interesting: a foreign edition of "Bluebirds" with hideous percussion overdubs. The two oddball covers that open the disc (from the Wild Honey/Friends era) are unexpectedly sublime: the Box Tops' "The Letter" is slapdash but endearing, while the Bruce-led version of the Beatles' "With a Little Help from My Friends" is one of the best performances of a non-original in the Beach Boys' catalog. These days you can find "The Letter" on both the Made in California set and on the 2017 release 1967 - Sunshine Tomorrow, while the Beatles cover appears on just the latter collection. As of '17, the only Rarities track uncollected elsewhere is the eccentric "Bluebirds" remix, while the CD adds "Beach Boys Medley," and neither item is remotely worth the going price for this disc. [Review updated in 2017.]

The Beach Boys: Made in U.S.A. (Capitol 1962-86/1986)
The money train enters the CD era. This 25th anniversary set (with 25 songs, naturally) uses all the right mono mixes, save the weird replacement master of "Wouldn't It Be Nice" that showed up for a few years in the late '80s, and has a tiny bit of '70s material (but only the obvious shit), but now should prove dated and useless to most. With the band newly back on Capitol, they contribute two new songs, both released as singles at the time. A cover of the Mamas and the Papas' "California Dreamin'" actually originates from a cassette sold at Radio Shack (in rawer form, supposedly) and has subsequently shown up as a rote inclusion on a long succession of hits packages -- it was a megahit in the USSR -- but "Rock 'n' Roll to the Rescue" (which is better, but still not exactly "good") remains MIA outside of its appearance here and on 45. It's not worth the trouble. At any rate, this is the kind of fairly uninspired chronological progression of hits that exists in mass quantities for this band. It'll work if you have nothing else handy, full of surprising inclusions ("Caroline, No") and omissions ("Little Deuce Coupe") and obviously superseded at this point.

The Beach Boys: Lost & Found (1961-62) (DCC 1961-62/1991) [r]
In 1991, this gathering of the Beach Boys' earliest sessions for producer Hite Morgan and related rehearsals and demos was a crucial document for fans, being the most complete and highest quality reproduction of that oft-reproduced material to date. Twenty-five years later, though, the package was wholly superseded by the band-sanctioned package Becoming the Beach Boys, which includes all of the contents from the relevant tapes. That said, this compilation still has some appeal if you're overwhelmed by the sheer quantity of material (and the repetition) on that one. There had been an attempt at a similar release in 2001 that resulted in the implosion of one Brad Elliott's reputation when it failed to materialize, the stuff of legend in fan circles. You can read all the intrigue in the back pages of Jim Murphy's fabulous book.

The Beach Boys: Greatest Hits Vol. 1 - 20 Good Vibrations (Capitol 1962-88/1995/1999)
With the opening of the second big CD-era Beach Boys reissue program in 1999 came a push from Capitol and the band to standardize and simplify this gargantuan, unbelievably confusing catalog. Among the initiatives thus taken were to try and get the glut of best-ofs off the market and replaced with a simple three-volume set spanning the full career. This resulted in the repackaging of this somewhat generic-feeling, horribly illustrated 1995 set of twenty hits, originally called just 20 Good Vibrations, with a new "Vol. 1" emblazoning and -- somewhat uniquely -- a commitment to including the correct single mix for every cut. For collectors, that makes this sort of a treasure trove, as it's one of the few times the 45s are duplicated with precision on a digital format, but the tracklist concentrates on the surf and car songs to the exclusion of even the mildly melancholy temperament of Endless Summer. The only songs that even begin to imply any real deviation from the toothpaste-ad cheeriness of it all are the three from Pet Sounds, which by 1995 had become too much of an institution to dodge even on something like this. The thing is, these are almost invariably great songs -- excluding "Kokomo," the Tom Cruise soundtrack, Brian Wilson-free offering finally making its ominous entrance to the canon seven years after it unexpectedly shot to #1 -- but they're exhausting in this context. On the Beach Boys' actual studio albums and on the better greatest hits packages, there isn't that feeling of a roller coaster constantly climbing higher and higher without relief. Perversely when you consider that the target audience is the band's first-gen fans who by now were well into middle age, it has the quality of dulled, instant gratification that's always getting attributed to my age group. But this catalog is nothing if not malleable, and this certainly does indicate where the cash grab impulses sat as of '95-'00.

The Beach Boys: Ultimate Christmas (Capitol 1963-77/1998) [r]
The concept here is to gather Christmas Album in its entirety plus the bonus tracks from the original CD release of same (sans "The Lord's Prayer," for some reason) as well as the Beach Boys' strangest single of all, 1974's "Child of Winter (Christmas Song)" with Brian in full Pied Piper / "Amusement Parks USA" mad scientist mode, and -- most interestingly for longtime fans -- the existing outtakes from what was meant to be the band's second Christmas album in 1977 before it was scrapped, its backing tracks weirdly used to form the bulk of MIU Album. Along with Endless Harmony, this disc optimistically opened Capitol's three-year Beach Boys reissue project, which quickly went off the rails. If you ever wonder why fans gripe about the way it all turned out, just pull out Ultimate Christmas. The title is the worst thing about it. You can just flip through the booklet (look at those photos!!) and tell that it was a labor of love for everyone involved -- Andrew Sandoval, Brad Elliott, etc. The set is all-inclusive, brilliantly executed, and intelligent, with great liner notes. The reissue sounds amazing, too, correcting the problems that the original Christmas Album CD caused. (Mark Linett mismatched mono and stereo tracks on the old disc, while inexplicably remixing other ones; it remains well-nigh impossible to find a complete mono version of the album on CD, which would bother me more if I actually liked the album much.) For the most part the 1977 material is awful, the major exceptions being Brian's clever "Winter Symphony" and Dennis' majestic, pained "Morning Christmas," a real find, evoking his Pacific Ocean Blue peak in the same year. The songs that became MIU are no better in this form, though there is some unintentional comedy, and one must admit that "Christmas Time Is Here Again" is an improvement on the sterile cover of "Peggy Sue." (That track is omitted from the more recent edition of this release, retitled Christmas with the Beach Boys.) The speech-only cuts that close the disc are unnecessary. I would probably be hesitant to recommend this -- I'm not a fan of Christmas music generally, and Beach Boys don't improve it for me much -- if this golden treatment had become uniform for the catalog; instead, this is a bittersweet picture of what might have been.

The Beach Boys: Greatest Hits Vol. 2 - 20 More Good Vibrations (Capitol 1963-70/1999) [r]
One of the few compilations that actually gets the Beach Boys right, this still isn't as good as Endless Summer because it skirts past their quirkier side save "Friends," and because it won't attract casual fans, but it is a bracing, wonderful listen even for the seasoned follower, and it has the ultra-rare 7" version of "Don't Worry Baby" plus some equally scarce edits and mono mixes. Greatest Hits Vol. 2 concentrates mostly on the ballads in the band's '60s catalog, but it's certainly no less exciting than its predecessor, and is more compelling by a mile. It even takes a major risk by venturing past Pet Sounds into the entirely different world of Smiley Smile, Wild Honey, Friends and 20/20, collects the two absolutely wonderful non-album singles, "The Little Girl I Once Knew" and "Break Away," and corrects the twofer's erroneous omission of Al Jardine's production of "Cotton Fields." Major flaw: the chronological arrangement. Hopping from "Darlin'" to "Friends" to "Do it Again" will do nothing but confuse a new convert, and stacking "In My Room" and "The Warmth of the Sun" side-by-side at the beginning makes the band seem like a one-note presentation. Still, a collection of virtually perfect songs.

The Beach Boys: Surfin' (Varese Sarabande 1961-62/2000) [r]
Every Beach Boys fan needs a good ripoff Hite Morgan compilation, just like every Beatles fan needs a straightforward disc of Tony Sheridan material or Decca auditions. If you don't want to seek out the more extensive collection Steve Hoffman mastered in 1991 or the sparkling new one from 2016, I recommend this one. To begin with, it uses all the right mixes and edits, is cheap, has great liner notes (from Brad Elliott), has fine sound quality and is on a decent label. The sound quality is fine, and it throws in a bonus -- four Gary Usher tunes with some of the Beach Boys as backing musicians. The main interest, of course, is in the standard Candix/X stuff, and each of the nine songs recorded is represented here, including both sides of the debut single, plus "Barbie" and "What is a Young Girl Made Of" in their original mono guises, and "Karate" and "Judy" slightly edited. There's an extra version each for "Surfin' Safari" (the laughable stereo mix) and "Surfin'" (the acoustic demo). If you have Becoming the Beach Boys you'll find this unnecessary, but if you've been looking for a good, succinct, no-bullshit disc of the pre-Capitol tracks, this is it.

The Beach Boys: Greatest Hits Vol. 3 - Best of the Brother Years (Capitol 1970-86/2000)
The second attempt to compile the Beach Boys' Warners/CBS material falls as flat as Ten Years of Harmony but in different areas. In fact, the two tracklistings are so similar, this collection is almost redundant, but it would be impossible to reprint Ten Years because of rights issues, so this is a, um, acceptable substitute. It succumbs to two fatal flaws: the decision to include all charting singles of the era, and the lack of any evidence of Dennis Wilson's emergence as a brilliant composer. Couldn't we have been spared the rather worthless "Susie Cincinnati"? "Forever" would be a shoo-in, but it's not here, while "Peggy Sue" and "Rock 'n' Roll Music" make it. Of course, for collectors this is nice, like the other two volumes, because it uses rare single mixes, but overall this is a slanted and irritating portrayal of the Beach Boys' '70s and '80s output. Sorely disappointing. And by the way, why do both the Brother comps include only one track from Love You, the one '70s Beach Boys album that actually stands up to their best '60s output? And why the hell would anyone (particularly the casual fans targeted here) want to hear the Beach Boys play "California Dreamin'"? Nice artwork, anyway.

The Beach Boys: Very Best Of (EMI 1962-88/2001)
Another UK-targeted mishmash with a fairly rote tracklist. It's as good as any other, really; the only point of distinction is the presence of the sizable European hit "Lady Lynda," giving Al a bit of wallet padding. Interestingly, the same song didn't show up on Best of the Brother Years, and the British smash "Tears in the Morning" (no, really!) isn't on either. The package claims to be the first single disc to survey the band's entire career, but that assumes that two songs from after 1970 constitutes "entire career," and anyway Made in U.S.A. got there first. It gets pretty monotonous keeping track of these compilations, but you have to figure that some of them will be as formative for a new fan out there somewhere as Endless Summer was for kids in the '70s.

The Beach Boys: Hawthorne, CA (Capitol 1960-99/2001)
When Capitol announced plans to revamp the Beach Boys' catalog in 1998, mammoth deluxe editions of each individual album were planned, with stereo and mono mixes, outtakes, session material, and other goodies, including some unreleased songs. When this didn't pan out and the twofers were released instead, a two-disc set of rarities, mostly from the Brother era, was announced and the myth of it became a sort of holy grail for fans -- very little unreleased material from the '70s has surfaced officially. What we ultimately got was something else entirely, and in that sense the grab bag of Hawthorne, CA was yet another disappointment from a record company and band clueless about how to deal with the fan base. With time having passed and acceptance of the lack of a Brother rarities set taking over somewhat, this can now be heard as an inoffensive set of odds and ends, but one that is far too short and spotty to justify its two discs and cost. Much of it, truth be told, is just unnecessary -- the "speech" segments are almost invariably boring -- but some of the other uncovered material is nearly as strong as that found on Endless Harmony. Highlights: a staggering piano demo of "Little Deuce Coupe" on which Brian cuts loose and rocks out, such a welcome and rare display from him; several new stereo mixes, since added to the digital versions of the canonical albums save "Let the Wind Blow"; vocal tracks for "Add Some Music," "Kiss Me, Baby," "I Went to Sleep," and "Forever," topping the regular version in that last case; some lovely session material for "The Little Girl I Once Knew"; a clean cut of "Devoted to You" without the Party! overdubs (since superseded by a whole album of that stuff); instrumental tracks for "Good to My Baby" and Dennis' perfectly orchestrated "Be with Me"; an insanely funny bit of "Vegetables" ad libbing from Hal Blaine and Brian, plus a marvelously overblown introduction of Carl by Dennis; revelatory outtakes of "With Me Tonight," "The Little Girl I Once Knew," "Breakaway," and particularly "Time to Get Alone." The problem, again, is just that there's not enough here -- only fifty-odd minutes per disc -- and some of the included material is worthless: who wants to hear vocal-free renditions of "Surfin' U.S.A." and "Fun, Fun, Fun"? What are "The Lord's Prayer," "Happy Birthday Four Freshmen," and "Their Hearts Were Full of Spring" doing here? Did they really think "Old Man River" belonged? Why is the overall tone so sappy? And why the self-indulgent coda? It doesn't matter. What does matter, and what takes precedence above all else, are the two new songs. Dennis' "A Time to Live in Dreams" is distant and chilling but still beautiful, lyrically and musically. The mysterious "Lonely Days," composer unknown, from the Wild Honey era, is one of the strongest and shortest tunes in the catalog -- with its heartbreaking melody and vocals from Bruce and Carl, in less than fifty seconds it defines the band with grace and subtlety. This track alone justifies the album's existence.

The Beach Boys: Classics, Selected by Brian Wilson (Capitol 1963-2002/2002) [r]
Released for seemingly no reason, after Capitol had claimed that they were done throwing out stuff like this, this skimpy twenty-song collection benefits from wonderful liner notes by Brian and a smart track selection that touches on hits like "I Get Around" and "California Girls," acknowledged classics including "The Warmth of the Sun" and "Don't Worry Baby," and utter obscurities from "Busy Doin' Nothin'" to the off-the-wall Friends-era outtake "We're Together Again." Brian insisted stereo mixes be used when available, so you do get "God Only Knows" and "Heroes and Villains" in stereo with startling clarity, plus the single edit of "Caroline, No" (no train, no dogs) in stereo for the first time. Otherwise, there's nothing unique here unless you count the error-ridden Mark Linett remix of "California Girls," which suffers from a sync discrepancy that makes my ears bleed. Fifteen demerits for that, and also for the pointless addition of a Brian Wilson solo take on the unreleased "California Feelin'," a mediocre song to begin with that is practically unlistenable here. A Brian Wilson solo song simply does not belong on a Beach Boys compilation; in its own way that's as bad as Mike and Bruce recording their own Beach Boys album. Anyway, Classics is a passable introduction with the novelty of Brian's personal touch, and the music is great of course, but you can find far better.

The Beach Boys: The Warmth of the Sun (Capitol 1962-86/2007) [r]
This followup to the mammoth hits collection Sounds of Summer -- issued four years later; nothing like striking while the iron is hot! -- does a serviceable job of investigating the Beach Boys' second tier hits. There inevitably are a few annoying omissions, and a number of bizarre inclusions ("Then I Kissed Her", "Why Do Fools Fall in Love", and especially "Don't Go Near the Water") that don't belong at all. But the two discs in combination make, I'd imagine, for an introduction nearly on a par with the classic Pet Sounds / Endless Summer combination (which is no longer possible, with Summer, still the best greatest hits collection for the band ever, long out of print). The formula of "big hits" and "fazed cookies" has been tackled before, of course, but these two discs taken together offer more songs and far more bang for your buck than their predecessors. Warmth does gloss over too many of the band's characteristic eccentricities, however; despite the full scope attempted of the group's songwriting ("Feel Flows" from Carl, "Forever" from Dennis, "California" from Al), their lively, occasionally surreal sense of humor is ignored, so the picture isn't really complete. Also, several marks come off for the use of the alternate "fuller" version of "Breakaway". But there's a ton of great music here, with several songs offered in new stereo mixes, some bad ("You're So Good to Me", "Kiss Me Baby"), some good ("All Summer Long"), a few wonderful ("Please Let Me Wonder", the stunning "Let Him Run Wild"). The remixes are the primary incentive for hardcore fans, and they're now easily available in more sensible contexts. But you'll want to listen to this all the way through regardless and you'll only have to hit the skip button once or twice, special emphasis on ignoring "Don't Go Near the Water", which is the type of thing I feel the fragmented remains of the Beach Boys should work to shield from the public, not bring to their attention. Overall, a pretty good album; who knew that you could put together a good quality single-disc collection that encompasses both "409" and "The Little Girl I Once Knew"?

The Beach Boys: Fifty Big Ones (Capitol 1962-2012/2012) [r]
We ought to know better than to expect Capitol and the Beach Boys to keep their word about anything, but it vaguely stings that we're still on this Möbius strip. Not only have plenty more best-ofs ensued after each "definitive" collection, not only has the old twenty-track rule gone to the dogs, but now the emphasis is on new stereo mixes rather than the actual hit versions of these songs. This is all right in the sense that it provides a chance to hear a few errant Wild Honey tracks in stereo, and the tracklisting on this behemoth collection is fairly good at least ("Kiss Me Baby" and "Please Let Me Wonder" both show up!), but the quality of these mixes varies wildly, and anyway it's a false representation of the Beach Boys' actual hit singles, which live and breathe in mono. It's hard to object to much that's here, though it remains incredible that a compilation can include this much stuff and still have obvious omissions that some people will really miss ("Surfin'," "409," "Break Away," and while I have a hard time crying over this, "Be True to Your School"). The '70s are under-represented, but when you get down to it, the material from that era just isn't as essential and the casual fans to whom this is geared aren't looking for it anyway. The world's changed, but the Beach Boys' appeal hasn't; load this into your Spotify playlist and go to town.

The Beach Boys, Brian Wilson, et al.: The Big Beat 1963 (Capitol 1963/2013) [r]
The problem of copyright extension in Europe -- whereby any unreleased songs that have been bootlegged slip into the public domain after fifty years if a record label doesn't do something with them first -- has led to an influx of archival releases from several major '60s artists in the last few years, especially Bob Dylan and the Beach Boys. This is one of the strangest and most interesting collections to result. Issued only in digital formats, it's more a companion to the splendid Brian Wilson compilation Pet Projects than a proper Beach Boys release, gathering the lion's share of discarded material he worked up for other artists in 1963. The Honeys dominate the package -- including five demos Gary Usher, intertwined as ever, made that don't have a big Brian connection -- but there is a great deal of fascinating material here for Beach Boys hardcores, including a number of songs that later were rewritten and released under other titles. First we have Bob & Sherri, a short-lived duo for whom Brian initially wrote "The Surfer Moon" (issued as an impossible-to-find single in 1962, available in abysmal quality on Youtube), performing a weird nostalgic number called "The Big Beat" that eventually became the listless, vaguely sardonic "Do You Remember?" on All Summer Long. Bob Norberg isn't much of a singer and the arrangement is strange, but right out of the gate that cut indicates why this is such a great historical document of Brian circa 1963: the weirdness is there already, before he really started letting it run rampant on the public stuff. He immediately upstages himself with an almost atonal, "Surfin' USA"-derived instrumental called "First Rock and Roll Dance" and the legendary discarded Beach Boys rock-out "Gonna Hustle You," in poor quality (sourced from an acetate or cassette) and deeply sexist but kind of a buried gem; Jan & Dean released it as "The New Girl in School" the following year. Other basically finished Beach Boys songs include the even wilder "Mother May I," which starts out as a conventional enough ballad for the verse then devolves into sweet insanity when Brian takes on his screeching "Mom" voice for the genuinely bizarre chorus; a lovely demo of "I Do," one of the best of all formerly unreleased Beach Boys songs; and the lilting ballad "Thank Him." Brian also sings lead with the Honeys backing him up on "Marie," another solid early ballad. No less than three tracks show up that later formed the basis of the personal favorite "Our Car Club": the Honeys' awkward "Funny Boy" provides the backing vocal ("we'll start a car club" = "he thinks it's funny"), the Boys' own "Mother May I" has verses that were recommissioned as the later song's bridge, and the unfinished Honeys outtake "Rabbit's Foot" uses the entire, memorably jazzy and rhythmically unorthodox backing track. Make no mistake, there's a lot of stuff here you won't listen to more than once or twice; hearing Gary Usher sing is always an endurance test, especially on a soppy slow one, and only strong advocates for Beach Boys' stripped-down early sound are likely to understand the appeal of instrumentals "Bobby Left Me," "Side Two" and the sweetly swaying demo of "Ballad of Ole' Betsy," though I find myself glad to hear all of them... and in all honestly, this delving into Brian's creative psyche in the early days is a more complete portrait of his impulses than many of his albums, excluding stuff like Love You and Pet Sounds. For a certain subset of fan this is just a polishing of bootlegs (though it has several things I'd never heard before), but it's so well presented that the only objection you can raise is wishing it was longer.

The Beach Boys: Keep an Eye on Summer - Sessions 1964 (Capitol 1964/2014)
The second Beach Boys copyright extension set is a bit more conventional than The Big Beat 1963; it's a fairly straightforward collection of session material and alternate mixes with only a few actually unreleased songs (the instrumental "Let's Live Before We Die," the bleak rockabilly cover "Endless Sleep" with Larry Denton on vocals, a couple of orchestral fragments left off Christmas Album), but it's fun to hear the vocal arrangements taking shape, to have the wind taken out of the tired, outdated theory that the Beach Boys didn't play on their own records, and to witness fly-on-the-wall conversations (Dennis: "Murry's gone so that gives us a chance to screw around all we want, you know") and Brian cursing at a xylophone on his 43rd attempt at the intro to "All Summer Long." Most of this material has been bootlegged, with the significant exception of a few tracks from Shut Down Vol. 2 that were long thought lost, but it's nice to have this sort of obsessive-targeted material readily, legally available -- even if the only reason it exists is to secure Universal's future copyright stake. Some live-in-the-studio and solid BBC takes round out the generous, 156-minute collection; a pity that an equivalent release for 1965 never happened.

The Beach Boys: Party! Uncovered and Unplugged (Capitol 1965/2015) [r]
My god, the record industry has changed drastically, even in just the eighteen years since Beach Boys bootlegs became a part of my life. Not very long ago it was truly unthinkable that this sort of exhaustive set of outtakes for a relatively forgotten Beach Boys album would ever be put out officially by a major label. Now we get two and a half hours of material dedicated not to Today! or Summer Days (And Summer Nights!!) but to Party!, of all things. Thereby, the slapdash Capitol-satiating collection of acoustic covers with artificial "party" sound effects added becomes only the third Beach Boys LP to be granted its own full-fledged archival dump that you can buy from real retailers with real money. The copyright extension packages being prepared by Universal seem to be diminishing slightly in ambition each year and this really is getting deeply into the obsessive fans-only sector, incorporating the majority (though not quite all) of the material thrown at the wall during the extremely disorganized, informal sessions for the album that seem to have been largely shepherded by Carl. That's not to say it's a bad time by any means; though the multiple takes get repetitive, it's oddly fascinating -- if creepily voyeuristic -- to listen to the band's conversations about pot, girls they know and records they like; and their mocking of the fake-party concept provides more laughs than anything on the actual album. You're also afforded a chance to hear just how skilled Carl and Al were as guitarists; even their noodling never sounds as listless as Mike's endless schmoozing and the plainly uncommitted vocal arrangements. None of the unreleased material, bootlegged or otherwise, is a revelation; as with the unofficial Sea of Tunes boxed set of sessions, one's major takeaway is wonderment that Brian managed to edit down a functional album from all this mess. The most interesting outtake is Al tackling "Blowin' in the Wind"; it's a mystery that this wasn't used instead of "The Times They Are A-Changin'." Other discarded covers of the Coasters and the Beatles aren't bad either. The entire package opens with the original record in its entirety, presented sans overdubs for the first time (officially), and this is enough of an improvement to be significantly worth hearing for even casual fans. In fact, it deserves to supersede the original record entirely. As noted in our review of Party! itself, it features several lovely covers and the absence of the superfluous chit-chat and cutting up takes the entire experience up a notch, especially Dennis' heartfelt "You've Got to Hide Your Love Away," newly rendered something of a treasure. You can get this undubbed Party! on vinyl, or you can just pull the set up on Spotify and tune out after track twelve unless the genesis of this extremely minor Beach Boys album is incredibly alluring to you. Looks like we're still stuck with the illegitimate collections of outtakes from the two proper 1965 albums for now.

The Beach Boys: Becoming the Beach Boys: The Complete Hite & Dorinda Morgan Sessions (Omnivore 1961-62/2016) [r]
The Beach Boys' first recording sessions for Hawthorne small business owner and semi-pro record producer Hite Morgan (no stranger to brushes with fame -- Sam Cooke recorded in the Morgans' living room, and Dorothy Parker was a family friend) have been released on a seemingly infinite number of counterfeit LPs since the mid-'70s, often on discs that claim to be greatest-hits packages. In fact, although "Surfin'," "Surfin' Safari," and "Surfer Girl" all were recorded at the sessions, the last two are unfamiliar, tentative versions never really meant to be heard by the public. The only material the Beach Boys actually released from these sessions is on their first 7", "Surfin'" backed with "Luau." The remainder, released in its greatest quality and quantity on this brilliantly executed two-disc set, will be of varying interest to fans. The disc is really a mixed blessing, because even though in theory hearing take after take of Beach Boys music is fun and interesting, the songs are so simple here -- and the band so surprisingly tight -- that it's often monotonous. What matters, though, is the music, and this is the best place to get most of it; the stuff you won't listen to more than a couple of times is still nice to have for archival reasons. These songs, many of them written by Morgan's wife Dorinda (though initially credited to their son Bruce), are actually quite good, particularly the two sung but not played by 3/5 of the Beach Boys and released under the "Kenny and the Cadets" pseudonym, "Barbie" and "What is a Young Girl Made Of." Both feature the Wilsons' mother Audree, the most the Beach Boys ever sold the reality of themselves as a stark family affair, the Californian equivalent of front porch bluegrass, especially on the chilling bridge of "Barbie." "Young Girl" is beefed up by one of Brian's most exuberant performances on record, including a spontaneous glide into falsetto that charms infectiously. "Lavender" is excellent, especially in the a cappella demo, and so is Brian's incredibly hard-rocking original "Judy." The instrumental "Beach Boy Stomp" (also released as "Karate") and early takes of "Surfin' Safari" and "Surfer Girl" aren't so hot; the band sounds uncertain and at times even more amateurish than you'd expect on their own material. The studio chatter is interesting to hear but will prove boring to many. If you're looking for a simple package of the Hite Morgan songs, I'd recommend Varese Sarabande's Surfin', but you get more bang for your buck with this package, which does everything right -- especially taking into account the fascinating liner notes by Jim Murphy, author of a superb book of the same name. One only wishes for such lavish, niche-targeted treatment to be afforded the group's whole career, at least through the mid-'70s.

The Beach Boys: 1967 - Sunshine Tomorrow 2: The Studio Sessions (Capitol 1967/2017) [r]
A digital-only collection of leftovers from the physically released Sunshine Tomorrow copyright-extension package, offering an implication that the earlier set could've been even more amazing. Admittedly this does head into fans-only territory, with vocal-only mixes and versions with lead vocals mixed out, plus even more material from the Lei'd in Hawaii debacle, but the dissection of the band's music from this period from so many angles is a pleasure and an education that's long overdue. If the standard Sunshine Tomorrow CD demonstrates Brian Wilson's continued vitality as a producer on into the late '60s, this makes a similar point about the Beach Boys' tightness as a band, which you can hear in the oddest of places, like an unfinished Dennis song called "Tune L" and marvelously gritty takes on backing tracks for "Barbara Ann" and "Surfin'." The big revelation here, though, is the complete backing track of "Time to Get Alone," which is so thrilling and beautiful you could cry. If Capitol continues delving into the catalog in this vein in the years to come, we have much to look forward to indeed.

The Beach Boys: 1968 - Wake the World: The Friends Sessions (Capitol 2018) [r]
These godsend copyright dumps from Capitol continue unabated; if the Friends volume isn't as revelatory as the 1967 collection, it's nevertheless a vital new document of Brian Wilson and the band's mastery of the studio far later than conventional wisdom would have it. This set is mostly recommended for those who deeply love Friends; among its many alternates, early takes and expansions of the released cuts, the highlights include a more restless attempt at "Busy Doin' Nothin'" called "Even Steven" and am even more sensual interpretation of "Be Here in the Morning" which adds "Darling" to the title. Perhaps most remarkable, in my view, are the stunningly elaborate backing tracks for "Friends" and "Little Bird," which is clearly the sound of Brian and Dennis forging a close collaboration that it's heartbreaking they never got to fully explore. This is a grab bag, very much along the lines of a bootleg, but the deep dive is absorbing and rewarding for those who love this era of the band's music. Interestingly, it closes out with a few breaks in chronology: Brian's actual Smile mix of "Child Is Father of the Man," from an acetate followed with a 1966-vintage fragment of "I'm in Great Shape" that somehow missed the flurry of Smile vault extractions several years ago; and the 1971 revision of "Passing By" that bizarrely added lyrics, part of a weird initiative to make the Beach Boys' older work more "contemporary" or something. Capitol seems to be releasing pretty much everything that's at all salvageable at this point. Come at this archive of recordings with the right attitude and you'll be engrossed.

The Beach Boys: 1968 - I Can Hear Music: The 20/20 Sessions (Capitol 2018) [r]
Because 20/20 was mostly recorded in 1968, this came to us on the same day as the above Wake the World; while Friends is a far better record than 20/20, this collection is somewhat more interesting because of the myriad threads it has to follow since the album it chronicles was a hodgepodge rather than a specifically focused project. Again, revelations are thin on the ground, but pleasures are not: the beautiful demos of "I Can Hear Music" and "Be with Me" give the two "lesser" Wilson brothers a chance to show their growing abilities, the version of "All I Want to Do" with Dennis singing renders Mike's version obsolete despite Denny's own uncertainty, and it's fascinating as usual to hear the Beach Boys' songs pulled apart in such interesting ways. A very early version of the Sunflower highlight "All I Wanna Do" is possibly the biggest treasure among the other new outtakes, but the glut of unheard Dennis Wilson material is exciting, like discovering a missing step in his progression to a master songwriter, and those who like to get their kicks from the band's sheer eccentricity will find much to digest, peaking with the bizarre proto-rap "Oh Yeah," with a random kid from the street on lead vocals, and Dennis' Manson-like rant "The Gong," which may somehow be weirder than Brian rambling about smog. The other big news here is Brian's obvious retreat from the hot seat in the studio, with comparatively little of his voice and almost no new compositions here, though we do learn that "Do It Again" could have been a much meatier song than it turned out to be, which might well have altered the band's direction entirely. Those with archival impulses will have a field day here, and as ever, a huge thank-you to Capitol for putting this stuff out for us to hear.

The Beach Boys: 1969: I'm Going Your Way (Capitol 1969/2019)
That whatever's left of Capitol Records actually bothered not only to release these three songs in some form (albeit digital only) but to give it amusingly sketchy cover art and a title is welcome proof that we, the weirdo contingent in the Beach Boys fanbase, won in the end. We're a long way from 20 Good Vibrations. This isn't very consequential -- at this length, how could it be? -- but it does indicate a certain welcome commitment to continuing to mine the archives as the fiftieth anniversaries of the band's catalog milestones pass. (What will they do when we get to the late '80s?) This appears to have been a stopgap release in advance of a large-scale boxed set covering the Landlocked (yes, I know it's not real)-Add Some Music-Sunflower period in considerable detail. If it's as extensive as rumored, it will probably be a superior release to Sunflower itself. "I'm Going Your Way," an obvious candidate for inclusion on that box, is a solidly soulful Dennis Wilson number, heard here with a different vocal performance than the oft-bootlegged version of the track; it's also obviously much clearer here. If you like Dennis' sound in this period, the official reelase of this is the kind of momentous thing you wait for. (Will we ever run out of beautiful Dennis songs the larger public never got to hear? Sometimes I wonder.) Speaking of Dennis, the early instrumental version of his "Slip on Through" was floating around before but not with this kind of clarity; Al's oddity "Carnival (Over the Waves)" is a bootleg staple, but in much shorter and lower-bitrate form... not that it's anything you likely want to hear more than once. Still, if the idea here is to build excitement for the forthcoming box, it works.

The Beach Boys: In Concert (1972-73)

(Reprise 1974)

HIGHLY RECOMMENDED

The Beach Boys are much more universally remembered for their vocal harmonizing and for Brian Wilson's writing, arrangements and production than for their pure musicianship. This is largely for good reason; in the first half of the '60s they were deservedly known as primarily a studio phenomenon, though there exists audio and filmed evidence that they were often a tight, skilled band on stage, they were just as often done in by both massive screaming audiences and the limiting conventions of stage shows at the time. Throughout the '60s, however, they gradually came into their own as a live band, especially in the years after Brian left the road, staying off tour to work up new material in the studio.

Each of the first three Beach Boys live albums presents a very different portrait of a working band. Concert, which unlike the others captures the original lineup prior to Brian's departure from the road, is all youthful energy and goofing off, the very opposite of their methodical records from the time. Live in London, recorded in late 1968, a time when they remained at their studio peak but were receiving little credit for it, has the band playing in a country that appreciates and respect them and feeds off the energy of a loving crowd; accompanied by a bass section, its performances of the Pet Sounds and Wild Honey material are sparkling and surprisingly exuberant, even romantic at times, but they're marred slightly by Mike Love's often painful emceeing.

They continued getting better and gaining a deserved reputation as a dynamic, endlessly surprising live act, with deep, varied setlists and versatile performances showing off a band willing to evolve dramatically without losing touch with its past, especially after new recruits Ricky Fataar and Blondie Chaplin of South Africa's the Flame joined up, rejuvenating and transforming the dynamic and breathing new life into old standbys. With Carl Wilson serving as a sort of ringleader during this period, which coincided with the fine albums So Tough and Holland, they almost feel like a fresh new group with simultaneous origins in California and British power pop and the more modest, less macho side of crunching, blues-infected stadium rock, with a bit of Stevie Wonder in the mix. They remained in most ways as idiosyncratic as they'd been in the late '60s and as effective at pleasing crowds as in their commercial peak, but they also were a group of musicians who were just plain great, and a thrill to listen to. In Concert captures them at their all-time stage peak, and it's an unmitigated joy to hear them attach reverence to their '60s work but to never be thoroughly stuck in it.

The unforced energy and depth of this performance owes everything to Ricky, Blondie and Carl, but the rest of the band slides in impeccably. Mike mostly shuts up for a change (or the compilers were kind enough to edit out his prattling), and Carl, Al and particularly Dennis have excellent chemistry with the audiences when they step forward. Though it doesn't achieve the intimacy of Live in London, this record honestly feels like it approximates the sensation of seeing a big band on tour in the '70s, only that band doesn't sound like the stagnant nostalgia act that the Beach Boys were soon to become, it sounds like a new band, one with so much potential in its future but mostly one that exists in a beautiful nostalgia-free moment of just reveling in the joy of performance. It's one of those rare times when a fan can be proud of this band for what they were once capable of.

The double album gathers up performances from a slew of different shows, not listed specifically on the package, so there's almost a Time Fades Away-like sense of life on the road chugging along within it. The best way to listen to it, though, is -- assuming you're already a big enough fan to know the albums of the period well -- to not look at the tracklist beforehand but rather just start playing the record and let the selections surprise you.

All twenty performances are exceptionally good, with the possible exception of a ridiculously fast-paced "Sloop John B," but the best performances are interestingly on the new material, much of which is superior to the studio versions, because -- presumably -- the songs have developed and loosened over time, the way a real band does. "Sail On, Sailor" soars without the wheezing Holland production; Carl sounds much more sure of himself when putting on "The Trader" live; "Marcella" and "Funky Pretty" become miraculously confident rock songs; the emotionally wrenching "Leaving This Town" slows down and sprawls out into a generous but not indulgent jam. An otherwise unreleased (except on certain rare copies of Holland) new song, "We Got Love," blends in nicely with these songs as well.

That's not to say that the Beach Boys sleep through their classics here; indeed, one of the strengths of In Concert is the way it builds to a climax of searing new arrangements of several of their most fondly remembered singles. The common denominator is that in this context, the songs still feel alive, not like the mere dredging up of past glories. It's also wonderful to hear the generally excited crowd -- who seem often confused but persuaded by the new stuff -- explode when "Wouldn't It Be Nice" and "Good Vibrations" start. There aren't a lot of lesser-known album tracks from the '60s here, but the beautiful take on "Let the Wind Blow" alone might be enough.

Brian's absence is felt here, but Al and Carl fill his vocal parts in nicely; it's especially moving, if a bit haunting, to hear Carl talking about his brother as though he's no longer alive then launching into "Caroline, No," a song you might never have known you needed to hear him sing but you did. It's hard to contemplate the Beach Boys as a complete unit without Brian -- this is the only essential Beach Boys release that doesn't somehow involve him as a performer -- but In Concert firmly demonstrates the tremendous skill and showmanship of the rest of the band, especially as they matured beyond their formative period. It certainly is the last word on how they fared as musicians, with Carl in particular demonstrating astounding range and restraint as a guitarist, something hard to get a sense of on the group's records. The biggest disappointment about this album comes from the knowledge of how quickly this mind-bogglingly creative, sensitive, ambitious period, when Carl saw a way forward for the Beach Boys in a radically changed landscape for rock bands, unceremoniously ended.

The Beach Boys capsules: live albums

This includes all of the Beach Boys' officially released live records with the exception of In Concert, addressed separately.

The Beach Boys: Concert (Capitol 1963/1964)
The band sounds pretty good, basically, and although their act is amateurish, their youthful performances here -- recorded at a couple of shows in Sacramento, with overdubs -- are exhilarating and charming, thronged by masses of screaming teenagers. It may not be as exciting as The Beatles at the Hollywood Bowl, but it still kicks. However, the setlist is a major drawback, consisting of a ratio of six covers to seven originals, and one of the originals ("I Get Around") is just the regular song with audience screams added. It's fun to hear Dennis sing Dion's "The Wanderer" -- that outrageous audience reaction after he grumbles the opening line, wow -- and Brian's introduction of Mike for "Monster Mash" is cute, but what the hell is the point? Why did a band with six albums need to dabble in the material of others? Why only one song from their newest release at this point? Didn't the band know that "Long Tall Texan" makes Mike sound like a complete idiot? (Probably.) I have to say, however, that the version of the Four Freshmen's "Graduation Day" here is lovely, warm, and funny, and defines much of what I love about this group. Of course, they negate it quickly with a flat "Johnny B. Goode," but hey. I would like to quickly note that of the actual Beach Boys songs here, "In My Room" and an energetic "Hawaii" come off the best. For some reason, this album was a blockbuster.

The Beach Boys: Live in London (Capitol 1969/1970/1976) [r]
Since they couldn't seem to scrounge up a second followup to Endless Summer, Capitol's 1976 method of competition with one of the most eagerly awaited releases of the decade (15 Big Ones) was to issue a formerly import-only live album in the States... and this is a damn good cash-in. This late-'60s show was recorded on a European tour with a full brass section that beautifully fleshes out late-Capitol material like "Darlin'," "Wake the World," "God Only Knows," and a gorgeous "Aren't You Glad." The relative lack of Friends material is lamentable, but the Wild Honey stuff is so good it's forgivable. In fact, every track here is worthwhile and shows the band as tight as they ever were on stage. Mike Love's schmooze-act is annoying and hard to ignore (and on the CD, difficult to skip), and this doesn't quite stand up to In Concert, but its brevity and those irresistible horns, plus the setlist, make it even more enjoyable in certain ways.

The Beach Boys: Good Timin': Live at Knebworth 1980 (Eagle 1980/2003)
With a beautiful package that contains long-archived, long-promised unreleased material, this obviously couldn't be Capitol Records product. Instead it's from a UK-based label; nobody pretends this show from arguably the twilight of the Beach Boys' creative era is any kind of a revelation. It's just an interesting artifact for fans. The band (in one of their last full six-man lineup performances, although Brian seriously doesn't do much), indeed, sounds unusually enthusiastic for the post-Endless Summer oldies revue era. The harmonies are top-notch, and pretty much everything about the performance is above average except the setlist, which of course concentrates mostly on the tired classic material. There's a nice "Do It Again," a lovely singalong of "Good Vibrations" (probably the disc highlight), and a stellar medley of "Cotton Fields" and "Heroes and Villains," but the band's most divine moments come from the newest material. "Keepin' the Summer Alive," "Lady Lynda," "School Days," and "Rock & Roll Music" all sound vital and energized, blowing the corresponding studio versions out of the water entirely. It's remarkable to hear firsthand how beloved they were in the UK; even with the band playing material that was ancient by 1980, they connect fully with their fans in a sense that is missed sorely. Dennis Wilson particularly is possessive here of an adoration of the crowd that is endearing and heartwrenching. He even makes "You Are So Beautiful" sound not the least bit trite. And when his brother Carl sings "God Only Knows," time sort of melts away. Worth a perusal for fans.

The Beach Boys: Songs from Here and Back (Hallmark 1974-2005/2006)
For the dad rocker who has everything, Hallmark briefly offered the chance to get a cheap and breezy CD compilation of haphazardly chosen live Beach Boys cuts plus three "new songs" (that is, one new track each from the three split-off factions of the band as of 2006). The live stuff -- dating from either 1974 or (mostly) 1989 -- is not spectacular but it's tight and enjoyable, Carl's presence constantly in evidence and permitting a tragic contrast to the live Beach Boys band as it now exists. Since this was a bit of an obscure release -- you had to buy three greeting cards for the privilege to lay down $7.99 to own it, and it's never made it to streaming sites -- Brian, Mike and Al don't contribute particularly cutting-edge material for the new studio tracks. Brian's "Spirit of Rock & Roll" has been floating around since the Sweet Insanity era (1990) and is a lazily performed take on an utterly inconsequential number. Al's "PT Cruiser" is a simplistic pastiche of '60s car songs, those of Ronny & the Daytonas ("GTO") and the Rip Chords ("Hey Little Cobra") as much as the Beach Boys ("Shut Down"); Al's voice is as strong as ever. Ironically, Mike provides the most inspired and ambitious new song, something called "Cool Head, Warm Heart" that actually won't make you cringe. It's a good capper to a fairly decent fans-only release that's very easy to find cheaply in bargain bins.

The Beach Boys: Live - The 50th Anniversary Tour (Capitol 2012/2013) [c]
The so-called "reunion tour" of the Beach Boys with Brian Wilson, Mike Love, Al Jardine, Bruce Johnston and David Marks puttered around the nation for much of 2012, playing generous setlists to large, appreciative crowds. Brian even played bass once in a while, apparently. Judging from this studio-sweetened document, it's all very stiff and vile, the same old tired nostalgia peddling of the Mike & Bruce show with the supposed magic of two to three extra discarded original members. The closest this gets to tolerable is when Dennis and Carl Wilson are beamed in through projection screen to sing their leads on "Forever" and "God Only Knows." (Carl, the glue holding the band together for much of its existence, isn't important enough to merit the beyond-the-grave singing of one of his own songs, obvs.) At least it's not as bad as that execrable studio album they issued. I'm sorry for being a grouch, but my heart dies a bit every time someone talks about hearing this or being at one of these shows and being so impressed or moved to be in the presence of "the original Beach Boys." Two of the three central creative figures of the band are gone; to pretend otherwise is an obscenity. Mike -- still schmoozing his way through the opening "wheeeeeen" of "Be True to Your School," still slobbering all over these old youthful lyrics as he trudges through his seventies, still helping distance us from the memory that this band actually mattered and could do beautiful things at one time -- dismantled the "reunion" group to continue his magical mystery tour with Bruce later in 2012. At least people already know that version of the band is a joke.

The Beach Boys: Live in Sacramento 1964 (Capitol 1964/2014)
A copyright extension set gathering most of the material from the two shows recorded for the Concert album above. That album had a lot of repairs done in post, so it's nice to have the chance to hear the band -- competent, if barely professional -- at their highest youthful energy level and no doctoring. Sadly, the setlist is still dreadful, with too much inexplicable filler for such short gigs and such a large body (already) of available material. This official release is also somewhat inferior to old bootlegs collecting the same material, though it does feature one of my favorite heretofore-unreleased items, a rehearsal of "Papa-Oom-Mow-Mow" that showcases how hard the group could rock when they wanted to, with a particularly searing lead vocal by Brian Wilson, whose "rock & roll" voice was so criminally underused by the band. This is a slightly better package than Concert overall, so it can be considered a succession unless the original (one of only two #1 albums the band had, don't forget) is too iconic to be laid to rest in your estimation.

The Beach Boys: Live in Chicago 1965 (Capitol 1965/2015) [c]
The Beach Boys were recorded on a special two-night stand in Chicago in the winter of 1965 with Brian Wilson temporarily back in tow, the goal being to release a second live album (probably intended to be used as the stopgap that Party! later became). The Beach Boys were now soaring to new heights and reaching their peak in the studio, but you wouldn't know it from this, a disaster despite the band's enthusiasm. On the first show the biggest problem is that they're poorly miked by some incompetent sound engineer -- he hid Dennis' vocal mike inside a shoebox, it seems -- but also there's the fact that they don't seem to know the words to their own songs and are terribly out of tune. Brian stumbles through "Don't Worry Baby" and "Please Let Me Wonder," one of the few new-ish songs attempted here, and while things do improve on the second night -- some listeners actually celebrate the slightly calmer revision of "Wonder" as one of the best versions of the song -- it's still not a level acceptable for general, recreational listening. The Beach Boys could be tight at times, but this was a couple of off-nights, and obviously they wouldn't come into their own as a live band for another three years or so. It's hard to determine if Brian's normal absence from live shows is one reason they sound so under-rehearsed here. Maybe it also explains why the setlist is so dreadful, and barely distinguishable from shows they were playing a year earlier. (To be fair, it's not like the Beatles were doing much better on either count during this same period.) For hardcores only; it's a pity Capitol didn't see fit to dip into the 1965 sessions vaults, Party! aside, as the Today! and Summer Days sessions would be a lot more interesting for fans who aren't bootleg-enabled.

The Beach Boys: Graduation Day 1966: Live at the University of Michigan (Capitol 1966/2016)
The most notable thing about this release is the degree to which Capitol Records essentially dumped it onto the marketplace with no advertisement or fanfare and not even any real announcement (at least, as far as I noticed). Despite my regular checks, I only learned of its existence when searching for something else on Spotify. There are no liner notes and no physical release. You can stream it or buy it on iTunes; but based on the fact that they bothered at all, it's an easy assumption that these Beach Boys archival thingos must be somewhat profitable, especially with such scant overhead as this one requires. The Michigan performances -- which are engaging and competent, nothing more really -- were collected before unofficially on a Sea of Tunes box that I never tracked down myself, the first one also on the infamous (for its title, not its content) bootleg Mike Love, Not War. In some ways Capitol's treatment is commendable -- this is a no-frills gathering of two complete Beach Boys shows, both (as far as I can hear) unedited. The band performs well but the setlists are as uninspiring as ever for the mid-'60s Beach Boys... except for the second and third ever live performances of "Good Vibrations," some lovely treatments of the two big Pet Sounds numbers (Carl sounds angelic as always), and Dennis' outstanding rendition of the Beatles' "You've Got to Hide Your Love Away." It's never easy to know how to grade these pre-'69 Beach Boys shows, when they were still clinging to their past (understandably, judging from audience reactions) when they could've rearranged more of Pet Sounds or Summer Days, but if you love the band as much as you probably do if you've read this far, you'll enjoy this, and it's not like it requires much of an investment. Evidently we will need to keep a closer watch on Capitol in the future, and if they keep it up with unexpected live releases, I'm wondering if we'll see some really remarkable performances make their way out in the years to come.

The Beach Boys: 1967 - Live Sunshine (Capitol 1967/2017)
The lack of a recommendation here shouldn't be taken as a rebuke of this set's existence; it's just a lot of material (105 tracks) and doesn't particularly reward casual listening due to the repetition of songs across multiple dates. A clearinghouse for every recording (of acceptable quality) that exists of a Beach Boys concert from 1967, it opens with Even More Hawaii Material (castoff from the aborted live album that was to see release late in the title year), in this case the two complete concerts with Brian temporarily in tow, Bruce temporarily gone, but instead of bass Brian plays organ, rather badly. In fact the entire band sounds under-rehearsed and generally awful on the two Hawaii shows; despite the intrigue of hearing them play "Gettin' Hungry" on a stage in front of actual screaming teenagers, no one rises to the occasion in any sense, even though the actual plan was to play a show worthy of release. Dennis gives a particularly inexplicable performance, barely working any energy up beyond keeping a steady beat, and Brian's belching organ sounds like a deliberate act of sabotage. (This led, of course, to the often lovely low-key Wally Heider sessions mostly collected elsewhere.) It was never more obvious, incidentally, that the main reason "Heroes and Villains" didn't break records on the charts is how lackluster its grafted-on chorus is; the song's delightfully propulsive at first then stops dead, and at a noisy concert that's hard to ignore. Note also that the band's setlists still seem largely stuck in the past (no wonder they didn't feel prepared for Monterey), a problem that recurs to a lesser extent across this entire collection, and you have a recipe for disaster or at least embarrassment. The rehearsals for those shows, organized better here than in the past and on boots, are a bit more interesting; they do seem reasonably energized, including Brian, and discuss experimenting with oddball numbers like "The Lord's Prayer" but don't follow through -- it all suggests that the Hawaii problem was both just the jitters of the personnel shakeup combined with a failure of imagination in regard to what they could play onstage. The band's competence is vastly improved on the rest of the shows gathered here; setlist problems are still inescapable, with "Barbara Ann" and "Graduation Day" and even "Surfer Girl," great as it is, sounding like relics of a different band. In Detroit they go deep on songs from the then-forthcoming Wild Honey, with "Country Air" (!) and "How She Boogalooed It" appearing and coming off quite well, but two days later they've retired all but the title track and "Darlin'," which is a pity. Carl is the MVP on all these performances, killing it night after night on those numbers as well as "God Only Knows." There are still tough spots, but the band performances are mostly tight and enthusiastic; you hear a difference with Dennis immediately when they launch into "Barbara Ann" in Detroit on November 17th. The Washington show suffers from a seemingly lethargic crowd, not ideal for a band that feeds so much on the electricity in the room; but the show in White Plains, NY on the 21st of November overflows with infectious energy and an audience that's absolutely in love with the band -- that's the set to listen to if you want a taste of this. The biggest problem across the set is Mike's inability to shut up; some may appreciate his humor, but to me it comes off as a violation of a number of potentially emotional moments, plus he tends to repeat the same stock jokes from one town to the next, some of which (like "forgetting" the order in which songs are to be played) aren't even obnoxious so much as inexplicable. But as a harbinger of hopefully similar sets like this to come, specifically for the Ricky-Blondie period, I hope this makes heaps of cash.

The Beach Boys: On Tour: 1968 (Capitol 1968/2018)
This 114-track collection, another digital-only release, tells a few different stories. One is about the Beach Boys' growing accomplishment as a live band by the late '60s, and particularly Carl Wilson's remarkable aptitude at stage management and arranging. The group is joined at these shows by a brass band that follows them on the road through the midwest in July '68 and then, in a more robust configuration, to London five months later. The setlists are mostly the same from night to night and, as always, the band has good moments and bad ones, but by the London shows -- another example of which was officially released by Capitol way back in 1976, with incorrect date attached -- they sound as if they've grown fully into themselves on stage, eschewing most of the now-ancient early hits (only "Barbara Ann" and "California Girls" predate Pet Sounds) and fleshing out beautiful recordings like "Wake the World," "Aren't You Glad" and even "Bluebirds Over the Mountain," which is vastly better as a live cover. But then, of course, there is Mike Love, whose insistence on mugging with bad jokes that aren't funny the first time already derailed the otherwise fine Live in London release, and becomes worse on these accompanying shows when you learn how little he varied his routine from one night to the next. I'm the kind of fan who can live with eight shows boasting very similar setlists, but I'm not the one who's ever going to have the patience to sitthrough Love's bullshit again. It's not the compilers' fault, but boy is it a real shame. (Even more of a shame: just at the point when the Beach Boys are starting to become a fantastic live band, it appears that we won't get a live release next year because nothing properly taped from 1969 is in the vaults. Honestly, a huge disappointment to me.) One really stark contrast between the U.S. and UK shows here: the crowd response in London is positively enraptured, which is a lot of fun to hear.

The Beach Boys capsules: final albums + EPs

This post includes the last three Beach Boys albums, followed by the short-form EPs released in various contexts and formats throughout their career. The reviews of Still Cruisin', Summer in Paradise, Four by the Beach Boys and Mt. Vernon and Fairway were originally posted in 2003.

ALBUMS

The Beach Boys: Still Cruisin (Capitol 1988) [NO]
After the Cocktail soundtrack item "Kokomo" -- a John Phillips / Scott MacKenzie cowrite that's undeniably catchy but only catches fire during Carl's falsetto on the chorus -- hit the top of the charts for Elektra in 1988, an equally slick album was quickly assembled (with car-company sponsorship, no less) back on the old Capitol stomping grounds. Brian's sole contribution "In My Car" -- evidently an outtake from his solo album -- is soaked in ultra-modern synth stylistics and thuds to the ground, his voice the only element that survives. The rest of the material is devoted in large part to "songs from movies," though Mike later claimed this "concept" was "diluted" by "politics," and is dominated by Terry Melcher and Mike Love. It would be one thing if the band was using all the new technology at their disposal to do anything unusual, as on Love You, or at least trying to make modern music to match the modern noises, as on the previous album. Instead they soak themselves in laboriously conventional arrangements and repeat the clichés of their youth without any of the truth that used to drive every note of their music; they couldn't have made it any clearer, going so far as to toss on three older cuts that emphasize how far Beach Boys now sit from their artistic peak. The title track is the most difficult Beach Boys "hit" to sit through, ever. It's sad enough that they're doing a midtempo rewrite of "Getcha Back" under a new title, but what's even sadder is that "Getcha Back" was a rewrite of a rewrite of a rewrite anyway. On "Somewhere Near Japan," Mike and Terry join with "Kokomo" mastermind Phillips again hoping for lightning to strike twice. It didn't, and like "Kokomo," the song is inoffensive and boring despite one of the most fascinatingly lurid back stories of any song in the canon (it involves Phillips' daughter, One Day at a Time actress Mackenzie, calling him to ask for drug money). Al brings us "Island Girl," which is even less offensive and even more boring. If you want offensive, check out the Fat Boys collaboration "Wipe Out," which belongs here even less than the three "old songs" that find their way to the back end: "I Get Around," "California Girls" and "Wouldn't it Be Nice." Leave it to Carl Wilson to save the day. On the final new cut, "Make it Big," he is working undeniably with subpar material, but he lifts it to oblivion with that angelic voice and turns a third-rate power ballad into something moving. One wishes he could have been the singer on all the songs. As it stands, Still Cruisin' is a half-assed hodgepodge that brings the Beach Boys to new lows in whitebread adult-contemporary worthlessness.

The Beach Boys: Summer in Paradise (Brother 1992) [NO]
The Beach Boys' only album without Brian (who'd more or less left the group by this point), printed independently of any major label because what would any of them want with the Beach Boys in 1992, this shunned (and now difficult to find) release lends some credibility to the somewhat unfair conventional wisdom that Mike Love is a hack. It's practically a Mike solo album, though Carl sings on it and Al and Bruce have some dull contributions. Covers of the Shangri-Las, the Drifters, and Sly & the Family Stone (!) all fall flat while violently destroying everything that made the respective artists' recordings great. That's nothing compared to the pure-horseshit originals. "Still Surfin'" is three times as bad as its title, and that's saying a lot; it's also the best song on the album. Mike Love attempts to "rap" on "Summer of Love" (pun intended) and the result is one of the most wrongheaded, worthless, horrible pop songs you are ever likely to hear ("Doing onto others is the Golden Rule / But doing it to you would be so very cool"). From the trite bohemia of "Strange Things Happen" (a sort of "Somewhere Near Japan" clone in that it attempts vainly to touch on adult emotions) to the title track, this stuff is obnoxious, lyrically irredeemable, and genuinely frightening. It's depressing to be confronted with so many attempts to have the "Kokomo" lightning strike again ("Island Fever," "Lahaina Aloha"), that single's success probably having been the catalyst for this album's existence, but I can't help but be even more offended, to a frankly appalling extent, by the idiotic "current" remakes of "Surfin'" and particularly "Forever," on which the band allows the inhumanely useless John Stamos to deface Dennis Wilson's most beloved composition. No grace, no restraint, no respect whatsoever. If you are thinking of seeking this out hoping for a "so bad it's good" treasure, I must kindly direct you elsewhere.

The Beach Boys: That's Why God Made the Radio (Capitol 2012) [NO]
After Carl Wilson's tragic death of cancer in 1998, the Beach Boys split into three factions -- Al Jardine fronting what amounted to a Beach Boys cover band, Mike Love still peddling the band's real name on the road but actually presenting something with far less integrity than Jardine's group (though it's alleged by many that they've improved in the last decade), and most improbably, Brian Wilson finally heading out on the road performing very successful shows as a solo artist despite a steadily declining voice and presence. It was only on the occasion of the band's fiftieth anniversary that they regrouped, with Bruce Johnston and David Marks in tow, but calling this a reunion is laughable; to my mind there are simply no Beach Boys with two missing Wilson brothers. Despite the fanfare, this horrific set of adult contemporary Joe Thomas mush is essentially "Winds of Change" and "Endless Harmony" stretched to forty minutes, not even rising to the rather lax standards set by Brian's own solo albums of the new millennium. His presence and Carl's absence are all that distinguish this from Summer in Paradise, because even if it's more carefully engineered to appeal to aged-out Baby Boomers it's equally goopy and insipid, and there's simply no way its flat cornball nostalgia could ever have any sort of innate appeal to anyone not predisposed to defend it. Even the celebrated closing suite doesn't sound inspired to me, and Brian simply no longer has the voice to put even his lazier ideas across. The rest is godawful cheese. I'm ashamed that a band I have stood by and defended for so many years would put its name on this, even with its supposed leading light back in the fold. The reunion stunt was over quickly; good riddance.

***

EPs

The Beach Boys: Four by the Beach Boys (Capitol 1964 EP) [r]
In Britain in the '60s, the EP was essentially what it later became in the indie underground: a chance to remain prolific without recording an album. The Beatles had a wonderful EP of non-album cuts, Long Tall Sally, in 1964; a large share of the Kinks' most enduring hits came not from LPs but from budget EPs. In addition, album "samplers" were often issued in this smaller format to satisfy those on a budget. The latter idea was attempted on the American market in one of Capitol's less fruitful stunts of the early '60s: the "4 By" series. The Beach Boys' entry gathered four of the most incredible cuts from All Summer Long -- "Wendy," "Don't Back Down," "Little Honda," and the completely jaw-dropping cover of the Mystics' "Hushabye" -- classics all. No point in seeking in this out unless you're completely obsessed (and you have lots of cash), of course. "Wendy" and "Little Honda" both charted as individual tracks.

The Beach Boys: Mount Vernon and Fairway (Reprise 1973 EP) [r]
A delightful curio indeed, Mount Vernon and Fairway was (and is) packaged as a bonus with the Holland album. It's Carl Wilson adding wonderfully imaginative production to a witty, surreal (and uniquely autobiographical) story by Brian, read aloud in side-splitting deadpan by Jack Rieley. Sarcastic art rock parody or straight-ahead weirdness from drugged-up madmen? You decide. It doesn't get much more obscure or just plain fun than this -- and it even holds up to repeat listens, amazingly. The rating above comes on the condition that the reader recognizes Mt. Vernon as the very definition of a "fans-only" work. From a neutral standpoint, temper the recommendation a little.

The Beach Boys: [Sub Pop Singles Club/Pet Sounds Sessions 7"] (Sub Pop [1966]/1996 EP) [r]
The most practical evidence of the Beach Boys' in-vogue period among scenesters, this rather nifty 7" from Seattle's most famous record label (in their long-running Singles Club format) provides a smattering of material from the then-forthcoming Pet Sounds Sessions boxed set. It also gave the first public taste of Mark Linett's Pet Sounds stereo mix with "I Just Wasn't Made for These Times," backed by the stunning vocals-only mix of "Wouldn't It Be Nice" and the "Here Today" backing track on the flip. To date it's the only vinyl appearance of any of the "stack-o-vocals" mixes, but it's an interesting item even if it doesn't offer anything unique.

The Beach Boys: Good Vibrations: 40th Anniversary Edition (Capitol 1966/2006 EP)
Cute but frivolous curiosity item is somewhat in the vein of the later, rather wasteful singles boxed set -- it duplicates artwork and the A- and b-sides of the original "Good Vibrations" 45, the biggest and nuttiest of the Beach Boys' three '60s number-ones, plus virtually every outtake construction or remix of the song that had been released up to 2006 as well as the Lei'd in Hawaii "rehearsal" version. There's nothing actually "new" or unreleased here, though one of the cuts was on the 1983 Rarities album and thereby hadn't been in print for decades. It's understandable that Capitol wanted to exploit the anniversary of such a landmark song but anyone interested enough to buy this had probably already heard the three discs of sessions illicitly issued by Sea of Tunes, rendering this package somewhat redundant. As an aside, this seems like an acceptably secluded enough place for me to state that personally, while I admire and enjoy "Good Vibrations," it means surprisingly little to me personally. I tend to prefer the Beach Boys when they're more emotionally direct and I find the song's fragmented nature and constant editing impressive but also a bit showy, even the tiniest bit empty, at least when compared to the prior single and album. It surprises me that anyone would name it as superior to something like "Strawberry Fields Forever" or "Eight Miles High," both of which are equally important to the evolution of psychedelia but seem far more emotional in the former case, riskier and more fluid in the latter. Still, the song's extraordinary and obviously a zenith for Brian Wilson and I wouldn't question that. It's just not my favorite. Hope I can still be your friend.

***