Brian Wilson: The 'Pet Sounds' in his head

Paul Simon was playing Darien Lake Performing Arts Center in the summer of 2001. It was, as expected, a professional show. Although as I noted in the review, “watching Paul Simon practice Tai Chi exercises while someone’s taking a guitar solo is not nearly as interesting as, say, watching Kiss’ Gene Simmons vomit fake blood.”

I didn’t remember any of that, I had to look it up. But here’s what I do remember: Brian Wilson.

Wilson was the opening act that night. He played a lot of the Beach Boys classics, “but he continues to hone his lonely craft with unerring precision,” I wrote. “Songs such as ‘Til I Die’ from the Surf’s Up album, and ‘Love and Mercy,’ with its line about ‘all the loneliness in the world, it just isn't fair,’ suggest the kind of intense, passionate isolation that has driven him all these years.”

And this: “Perched for most of the show on a stool in front of his keyboard, he looks eerily pale for a Beach Boy, staring somewhat grimly into the middle distance like a truck driver waiting for the light to change.”

But I failed to include one important observation in that review. The thing I most remember to this day. How hard the crowd of 5,500 people was pulling for Wilson. The people there knew his history. The drug use, the erratic behavior. I don’t think I’ve ever felt an audience want so hard for a musician to succeed.

And he made it.

More than 16 years later, Wilson returns to western New York. He’ll be presenting Pet Sounds in its entirety Sept. 19 at Kodak Hall at Eastman Theatre. He’s been doing it for a while, but apparently this tour is the last go-round for Wilson and Pet Sounds.

Pet Sounds is an extraordinary album. It’s not the Beach Boys you may be thinking of, the “I Get Around” and “Good Vibrations” Beach Boys. Which is certainly good enough. But if you sit in a darkened room, no distractions, and listen — really listen — Pet Sounds is a miracle, one of the greatest, wildly experimental, most influential albums of all time. It was influenced by The Beatles’ Rubber Soul. And Pet Sounds, in turn, was an influence for Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band. Pet Sounds was released in the midst of an era of great albums: Dylan’s Blonde on Blonde came out the same day as Pet Sounds.

I ask Wilson if it’s true that he ran up to his wife after hearing Rubber Soul and said he was going to create the greatest pop album of all time.

“She said, ‘Brian, I know you could do it,’” Wilson says. “She just knew, she had faith.

“I tried to out-do it,” he says of Rubber Soul. “I didn’t really out-do it. I was more inspired by it.”

I had heard that interviewing Wilson by phone is a challenge. Lots of yes and no answers. I got those, although it wasn’t like he was bothered by the questions. More like, he was agreeing with my questions as statements. He does seem guarded, and uncomfortable. But when the question catches his attention, the answer is good. As when I ask him about the 2014 film about his life, Love & Mercy, using two different actors to portray Wilson at different stages of his life — John Cusack as Wilson in the 1980s and Paul Dano as Wilson in the '60s.

“I loved it, I thought the actors portrayed me very good,” he says.

And yet he admits, “It was rough. There were some things I’m very proud of, some things I didn’t like. Like the time I took psychedelic drugs.”

Does he wonder what might have been if he hadn’t inflicted that damage on himself?

“I thought about it. There’s no way to know, no way to know what would have happened if I didn’t take drugs.”

The Little Theatre is showing Love & Mercy again on Sept. 17 if you missed it. It’s a compelling film. The day after I saw Love & Mercy, I was back at The Little for Amy, the documentary on the amazing, and tragic, Amy Winehouse. I told Wilson how I was struck by the fact that both he and Winehouse were young musicians struggling under the influence of domineering men. Among others, for Winehouse it was her father, for Wilson his psychologist-manager (Paul Giamatti, you are a devil). How did he break free?

“Right,” Wilson says. “I didn’t break free. I got used to it. I was so jacked up on my career, my solo career, after a while I didn’t notice it.”

Pet Sounds is a Beach Boys record, but in essence it is a Brian Wilson solo record. The other Beach Boys’ contributions are limited to glorious harmony vocals. “I’m most proud of the way I sing and the way the guys harmonize,” Wilson says. The music itself was performed by the legendary California studio musicians known as The Wrecking Crew. Including Glen Campbell on guitar. Otherwise the entirety of Pet Sounds comes from lyricist Tony Asher and the sounds in Wilson’s head. Including the barking dogs and soft-drink cans percussion.

“They told me, ‘Brian this is not commercial music,’” Wilson says. “I said, ‘I know, but people are going to like it anyway.’ And it didn’t sell, at first. But then it did.”

Does selling records even matter to Wilson?”

“It does, as a measure of success,” he concedes.

And a few moments later, the 75-year-old Wilson has had enough. “I’ve gotta go,” he abruptly says. But not before guaranteeing, “When this tour is over, I’m going to record a rock and roll album that’s gonna blow you out.”

You know, he’s said that before.

If you go

What: Brian Wilson presents The 50th anniversary tour of The Beach Boys’ Pet Sounds.

When: 8 p.m. Sept. 19.

Where: Kodak Hall at Eastman Theatre, 60 Gibbs St.

Tickets: Ranging in price from $36 to $135, with a VIP Sound Check $250 and VIP Meet and Greet $499, available at http://eastmantheatre.org.