The most painfully touching moments in this former Beach Boy’s autobiography occur after he began his recovery from years of addiction, obesity and mental illness. Schooled by his shrink in everything from sobriety to table manners, the fortysomething Wilson had progressed to making his way through basic social situations. While practicing his new skills at a party, he spoke to a young girl “with shiny cheeks and a bright smile.” Sticking out his hand, he said, “Hi, I’m Brian Wilson.” The girl’s smile “turned into a look of shock. I wondered what I’d done wrong. “Daddy!’ she exclaimed, aghast, “don’t you know me?”’ He hadn’t recognized his own daughter.
Bullied by a tyrannical father (who once took out his glass eye and made his son stare at it and the empty socket), Wilson grew up shaky and rabbity, ready to duck at any sign of trouble. Music was his solace and his one great gift. The brains behind the Beach Boys, he had his first top-40 single when he was 20. By the time he was 25, he had written and produced an enormous catalog of extraordinary music, culminating in the pop landmark “Pet Sounds.” At 30 he was washed up, the victim of his own perfectionism, paranoia and self-indulgence. He abandoned the studio for the sanctuary of a darkened bedroom where, stoked on cocaine and Twinkies, he proceeded to go slowly and steadily nuts.
“Wouldn’t It Be Nice” spares no one, Wilson least of all, as it recounts how he regained his sanity. The only thing, ironically, that he won’t discuss at length is how he made all that joyful music. But if the most wondrous part of Brian Wilson is missing here, the book ably enhances his gossamer melodies with its dark counterpoint.
