Boneyard Media

Another thing I like about Indianapolis, other than the Indiana Historical Society, is the Lovemeknots, who were a hard-working staple on the club scene until ‘95 when they called it quits. They put out 3 CDs and a vinyl 3-song EP called Home Tonight which I’m particularly fond of. The presentation has that vintage college rock understated feel that almost begs you not to notice it, which is fine, because when you take it for a spin and listen to its jangly goodness and find yourself completely charmed you sorta start wanting it to be your own little secret anyway. “Winchester 73″ is the EP’s bruiser, complete with righteous BÖC cowbell.

And now that I’ve talked about them in the past tense, I should let you know that they’ve resurfaced of late and may possibly be in it for the long haul, so keep an eye on that town with the capital I. OK, and I better come clean and admit that Lovemeknots singer/guitarist/songwriter is a friend of mine named Kyle, but don’t let that stop you from digging his other band Hitchhike, which he currently plays in with his wife Lisa on drums. Oh yeah, and you can sample and download pretty much all of the Lovemeknots’ stuff here.

The Lovemeknots - “Winchester 73″

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Ever since its publication in 1986 (regrettably reprinted in 1995), Steven Gaines’ “true story” has been the standard, most abundantly available version of the Beach Boys’ history, which is unfortunate for at least four reasons:

1 - The book has done more than a little to surgically attach the freak show features one now tends to associate with the Beach Boys. I’m the first to admit that the tabloid approach makes for some fast and furious page-turning. But you never ever get the impression that Gaines’ motivations go beyond that. In the book’s intro, Gaines talks about first being transfixed by Brian Wilson’s eyes, “those cold, blue eyes” which eventually turned his alleged “fascination” with the Beach Boys into a “passion.” When all’s said and done, we learn that those happen to be the eyes of a “schizophrenic” invalid who is now safe in the hands of Dr. Eugene Landy, who declares himself “practically a member of the band” on the last page. (If you’re not familiar with Landy, he’s the Svengali doctor who misdiagnosed Wilson, it turned out, abused him emotionally, and lost his license in the early ’90s over his unorthodox practices.)

2 - The book’s mistitled. Gaines’ decision to handle his subject from a sensationalistic point of view makes little room for any discernible heroes other than, perhaps, Landy. And while Wilson’s mother Audree and his first wife Marilyn are treated sympathetically, they are done so as pitiable victims.

3 - Gaines can’t write about the Beach Boys’ music. I say “can’t” instead of “is unwilling” because he actually makes occasional, tossed off, critical attempts but stumbles badly when he does. Here’s Gaines’ complete analysis of the group’s cult favorite, Friends: “a boring, emotionless LP.” Here he is on The Beach Boys Love You: “The best promotional campaign in the world couldn’t have helped [it].” But those are acquired-taste cult albums, you say? Here’s Gaines on “Surfin’ “: “The song was no knockout…nasal, whining, and childlike”; and here’s the real head-exploder - his take on one of the group’s uncontested core albums, The Beach Boys Today: “The album was not one of Brian’s best works, consisting mostly of a melange of uninspired car tunes.” I’m not even sure what album he’s really talking about here, and if he’s just gotten his records mixed up, I can’t figure out which one he might have really meant.

4 - “And this leads to the book’s biggest problem, which is that Gaines evidently despises the Beach Boys’ music enough to disregard it as a significant part of the story. And I’d say that if having a tin ear when endeavoring to write about a cultural phenomenon that happens to be of a primarily musical nature is perhaps forgivable, the consistent failure to acknowledge that phenomenon for what it is is much less so.

(The happy time I spent with Carlin’s Catch a Wave over the past few weeks has inspired me to do a laundry list of Beach Boys books over the next little while. So stay tuned.)

Just finished this and, as a Brian Wilson cultist, I’m ready to rank it among the very best books about him or the Beach Boys for at least four reasons:

1) It’s got a happy ending. Carlin hammers home the recurring theme that every stage of Wilson’s life is affected by a dynamic creative/business collaborator for better or (often) worse, then he leaves us with the clear impression that Wilson circa ‘06 is in the hands of folks (wife Melinda being at the forefront) who equate his personal creative vision and personal happiness with financial success. And it’s about time, we sigh.

2) It frames the Beach Boys saga, with all of its familiar, sordid aspects, in the context of Wilson’s creative frustration. Carlin emphasizes that the perceived rejection of Wilson’s Smile material by the rest of the group, and eventually by radio and the buying public, played a major role in his late-sixties collapse. This wasn’t the only factor, of course, but it was a huge one, and Carlin doesn’t let us forget it.

3) It plays down the “heroes and villains” model so much Beach Boys writing drifts toward (and I’m not necessarily thinking Steven Gaines’ Heroes and Villains here, in which everyone’s a villain). The Brian vs. Mike concept, for example, is one that Brian fans eat for breakfast, and although Carlin is obviously on the Brian team (is anyone on the Mike team, come to think of it?), he goes out of his way to give us as sympathetic an image of Mike that a book aimed squarely at Brian fans could possibly give.

4) Carlin speaks the language of the true Brian Wilson faithful. This is perfectly OK because this ilk deserves a book that puts the music front and center, and while Carlin can and does talk about the music on its own merits with a critical eye, it’s shaded with the Church of Brian doctrine that while translations of the Truth may go awry (productions, arrangements, lyricists), Brian’s essential musical vision is 100% pure and reliable. Thus, The Beach Boys Love You is rightfully heralded, song-by-song, as a “darkly lovely” masterwork, Friends as “transcendentalist” (Carlin’s audience will know that he’s not just talking about nature and Thoreau here), and the unlikely 2004 miracle of Smile as a catalyst for redemption. You can’t believe everything you read, but because this is what most of us want to believe anyway, it sure feels nice.