In My Room - Remembering Brian Wilson
I made a home, late night, one take live recording of In My Room as I was processing the news of Brian Wilson’s death a couple of weeks ago.
It’s not even that I was a huge Beach Boys fan, although I’ll note a few things. First, I have long been aware, as a fan of music before I became a musician, of the reputation Wilson has had among music knowers as a genius. For me, as a music consumer, I enjoyed some of the songs, but the style and vibe felt niche to me. I bought Smile when it came out in 2004 and appreciated it, but mostly experienced it as one might experience a museum exhibit for another time and place: with appreciation for the craft and creativity, but somehow I was not as moved by its relevance to my experience in the here and now.
Second, when I was a boy, the first full record LP I got at maybe age 9 or so, other than the many records my parents had bought for me as a little boy (mostly 45’s of singles I loved from the radio), was The Beach Boys Endless Summer, accompanied by The Eagles Greatest Hits. These were gifts from my aunt and uncle, really from my older cousins, who were trying to introduce me to music. I suppose. That began my preadolescent explorations of music that did not come from my parents. I appreciated both records and did play them and learn songs (I was always a lyrics sponge), but that was that. I was still a child.
Third, as I have become a musician, I have gained greater appreciation for Brian Wilson’s mind, music, and process as I have uncovered my own experience of songwriting and creativity, so when I hear him talk about his process in interviews, I get it. I know what he’s talking about. I also hear things in my head, not like he did of course, but still. The growth of my openness to music and to the unconscious has also brought me closer to a kind of spirituality of consciousness, and so the particular way Wilson also experienced this and expressed it through his choices of themes and most of all through his divine harmonies also resonates for me. I get it. Furthermore, his genius of writing what may well be, as many have claimed, a perfect pop song in God Only Knows really stands out to me.
Wilson’s passing affected me much more than I ever would have expected because it caused me to reflect on and experience his artistry, which then touched me deeply. What also stands out in his music is his gentleness of spirit and his profound, almost painful sensitivity. That sensitivity is so nakedly apparent in his earlier, simpler composition, In My Room. My recording is of course a shadow of an homage to the original, and my voice wavers with late night fatigue, but I left all that imperfection in the recording not only because I avoid pitch correction as an artistic choice but also because I feel that the imperfections and the straining of my voice suits the song. My interpretation functions as a reflection by an older man looking back on a full life of experience, while the original from Wilson’s channels the experience of an adolescent. Mine channels the reflections of an older version of a similar adolescent looking back at a life fully lived. As Wilson’s lyrics in the opus masterpiece Smile observe, the child is the father of the man.