B-Sides make all the difference

I’m a Beatles guy. They’re my day one favorites, my bedroom is covered in posters of the group, I can identify nearly all of their 305 recordings within the first 5 seconds of them being played, and I’ve dressed up as John Lennon for Halloween—I’m a proud fanboy. They’ve been an especially formative group insofar as they’ve introduced me to the music of another of my favorite groups, the Beach Boys. The Beach Boys were the only group that gave the lads from Liverpool a run for their money in the 60s record market, and their masterpiece is certainly Pet Sounds. Brian Wilson’s brainchild is an ode to human emotion, from love to suffering to fear to anticipation, all wrapped up in a painstakingly crafted album of pop music that draws more from Mozart and Bach than from Buddy Holly and Chuck Berry.

Each song is a gem, but two of my less-popular favorites are “You Still Believe In Me” and “I Know There’s An Answer.” “You Still Believe In Me” is the second song on the album. It opens with a simple and beautiful hummed melody, combined with a hand plucked piano. This hauntingly beautiful start quickly transitions into some of Tony Asher’s (Pet Sounds’ primary lyricist) best poetry: “I know perfectly well I’m not where I should be / I’ve been very aware you’ve been patient with me / Every time we break up you bring back your love to me / And after all I’ve done to you / How can it be / You still believe in me.” He captures, with noble simplicity, the confounding nature of unrequited love. The pinnacle of the song is found in Wilson’s adept harmonization of the opening melody. His soaring melody and underscoring harmonies are filled with longing, exuberance, hope, and a dewy-eyed sigh of relief upon receiving a love he doesn’t think he deserves.

“I Know There’s An Answer” is Wilson’s deep-seated complaint about the selfish and superficial culture of his time. His brash arrangement, with its repeating arpeggio and, believe it or not, prominent use of bass harmonica prove a fitting accompaniment to his struggles with people who “isolate their heads and stay in there safety zones,” whose lives he wants to make better but whose egos refuse him the opportunity. The bass harmonica solo in the second half of the song is a highlight of this song and the album as a whole. It’s bold, flippant, and frustrated, and it gives the song an unmistakable aural texture.  

Paul McCartney, of the aforementioned British band, states:

“It was Pet Sounds that blew me out of the water. I love the album so much. I’ve just bought my kids each a copy of it for their education in life … I figure no one is educated musically ’til they’ve heard that album … I love the orchestra, the arrangements … it may be going overboard to say it’s the classic of the century … but to me, it certainly is a total, classic record that is unbeatable in many ways … I’ve often played Pet Sounds and cried.”

If that testimony doesn’t convince you, nothing will. Wilson’s work on these two songs alone is more than impressive–it’s downright progidic. He brings the bruised-yet-innocent heart of a young man and the musical wisdom of a once-in-a-generation composer to set the human language to song in a way that is all at once exuberant, reflective, and deeply cathartic. Far from merely being a simple surf-rock group, the Beach Boys have, in Pet Sounds what is certainly one of the most monumental musical works of the 20th century.

Zach Pearson is a freshman studying music and the Program of Liberal Studies.  He thinks “Wouldn’t It Be Nice” would make the ultimate summer montage song, and he hopes you do, too. Contact him at zpearson@nd.edu.