Brian Wilson Is Burning Up (The Brian Wilson Story, Chapter 1)

But somewhere along the way, Brian Wilson lost his mind instead. This is his story. H Hello, this is Rhonda Masson. I'm a recording engineer who has been working with the legendary Beach Boy Brian Wilson since around My current project, however, is rather unique. I've been tasked with trying to reconstruct the infamous lost Beach Boys album Smile from its original tapes the ideas that will compile the songs for a

box set. I thought it might be fun to record my process as we go through this project, but it's a it's gonna take a while. There's over a hundred tapes of Brian's recorded material and not All the stuff here is from those Smile sessions. There's also an extensive amount of Bryant's home recordings. Some are songs, some are demos, some are just his thoughts. There's an array of usable and unusable material here. In fact, let me play you something at random. Oh, okay, here we go. Some of

this stuff is pretty out there. Let me see if I can find something from the Smile sessions. Okay, this looks good. This has dated novemb Okay, let's get the microphone right into the flames. Make sure we really hear the sound of the crack. That's is it? Okay? Are we rolling? Great? Great? Great? I want it all in this session. Everything. Let's get the fire on the songs. Let's get in terror into the music, and let's get it. Let's get in blood on the tracks. Chapter one, Brian

Wilson is burning up. This is one oh five point four b r I a n f M broadcasting live from the Temporal Loo to an audience of one. We never stopped never, never, never stopped talking. And whoa, it's another hot one out there today. Be care of temperatures are on the up, and there's also been reports of high pressure pressure pressure. I know about pressure. Things are pretty calm around here at the moment, but sometimes they get a little shaky. Sometimes they get to be a

little too much. You'll understand that soon enough. I guess where are we We're in my mind, of course, the mind of Brian Douglas Wilson. It's a place that's been expanded that over the years. It's now huge. I mean, it's vast. There are a lot of things in here, songs, melodies, ideas, but it's so big that there's a lot of dark corners, corners for things to lurk in, for people to lurk in. Well, good evening. This is Phil Specter taking over b R I a n f M because Brian's father on the mike.

Not now. I uh, I'm not even sure where to begin with all of this. You know, there isn't one single moment where my mind became like this. It was more of a collection of things, I guess, drugs, pressure, family, but mainly a failed masterpiece. Have you ever had something you knew was going to be the best thing you ever did, the best thing you've ever made. Have you ever watched that slip away right in front of your eyes? Watched it crumble in your hands after you've labored over

it for so long. That's what happened to me when an album we were going to call a Smile. It was supposed to be the best thing I'd ever made as an artist, but it got lost, or more truthfully, I got lost. One song in particular, summed up that project's demise, breaking about fire ranging through downtown everywhere. We're rising everyone to stay in their homes. We were recording a track for Smile called Fire. It's all about the great Chicago fire, but it was me who was burnt out.

I envisioned the track as kind of a freak out in the middle of the record. It was part of an ambitious four section movement based on the classical elements air, fire, earth, and water. I had written it in big Sir, up in the mountains, in the snow, down to the beach and out to the pool, I mean everywhere. I wanted to experience the physical surroundings to get that feeling onto tape. After writing an Big Sir, I wanted to bring that feeling to the studio, so I had to set the scene.

Let's get the fire on the song. I went to a local toy store and bought as many fire department helmets as I could find. I made every musician where one so that we could all get into character for the song. As I sat in the control room, however, I knew something was missing. We needed something else. The scene wasn't quite set. I spun round in my chair and saw a studio hand. We called him Brother Julius, and I shouted at him louder than I had intended. We need a bucket. He gave me a blank stare

a bucket. I shouted again, is there one? He muttered something about taking a look and some wood. I shouted, wood is more important than the bucket. Minutes later he came back with both. As I came crashing into the main room, the musicians all looked confused sitting there in their helmets. I threw the bucket down and began piling bits of wood into it. I was sweating profusely while

everyone looked at me an utter confusion. When the bucket was full, I shouted, we're ready, let's get the microphone. Right into the flames. In came Brother Julius with a burning rag. I could smell the lighter fluid and feel the heat as he walked by in the bucket. I demanded, just full of glee. I sat and watched the wood take light, then watched the smoke snake up to the tiled ceiling. It was beautiful, it was perfect. I turned to the musicians and said, now you can play. Let's

get the microphone right into the flames. I ran back into the control room and shouted, okay, take one into the talk back mike. The sound swelled through the speakers. It was like a fire truck coming down the street. Swirling drone grew louder and louder with every bar. Those weird chords, those pounding drums, God, they were stirring my brain like it was soup. It louder and louder. I felt sick. I started thinking, oh God, I'm flipping out here, but I wasn't scared. I liked it. In fact, I

loved it. It was addictive, like I was caught in a trance. Let's get terror into the music. The sound grew and grew. The weird strings sounded like they were tearing a hole in reality, opening something in my mind. I wanted more and more, but then it was too loud, too strong. It was like my mind was overflowing. I felt hot, It was like I was burning. Terror. I began to hit my arms because I thought they were engulfed in flames. I couldn't be in that room anymore.

I crashed through the studio doors and ran as fast as I could down the corridor and out onto the street. I sucked in as much air as I could hold. It felt redemptive, like I had escaped the pressure, the suffocating pressure. But then I smelled it. I thought I had imagined it at first, like my mind was playing tricks on me. But soon it became so clear. I was smelling smoke, actual smoke. Hear the sound of the crowd.

I thought it must have been from the bucket the studio, But it was stronger this time, a different kind of smell than in the studio, more pungent. Then I looked up and saw it. I still remember the terror of seeing it, the guilt of seeing it. The large brick building opposite the studio was in flames. It was burning to the ground. I stared with my mouth open and my eyes streaming from the smoke. I couldn't look away. I couldn't stop asking myself the same question. It reverberated

inside my head. What had I done? If you're gonna be hanging around for a while, I guess I should lay down some ground rules. You gotta be groovy, Okay, no bad vibes here. Vibes are very important. I've got enough on my plane without another distraction plate. I mean enough on my plate. Okay. I guess you should know the full story. I started to spend a lot of time poking around and here in my head. That is, after I caught a flight one day. We were heading

to Houston from l A. This was Christmas nineteen. I think the Beach Boys were on tour, and I had a moment where all the pressure I've been feeling over the last few months finally came to a head. You see, we were pretty famous at this point. We had hit songs like Surf in USA, Surfer Girl, be True to Your School, and Fun Fun Fun. Another song, Surf and Safari, went to number one in Sweden. We laughed about that. It just felt preposterous to have a number one song

in a country you'd never even been to. It felt like this thing we'd become was bigger than we could have ever imagined. In May of nineteen sixty four, we released I Get Around and got a number one in the US too, our first gold record. I was happy with the success, of course, but it made me feel dizzy. When I started, I just wanted to make music with my brothers and my friends. I didn't care about the business side of things. I left that all to my dad.

But that year things changed, Things got scary. I also got married around this time. I was pretty young, too young. I loved Maryland, my first wife, but I struggled with the institution. I kept asking myself over and over again, how do you ever know if you're the right person for someone? And how do you know if someone is the right person for you? Sure I loved her, but I was so uncertain about everything, everything except music. That is. One day I caught her talking to my cousin, fellow

beach boy, Mike Love. Mike is funny, friendly and good looking. We have a whole history. The two of them were standing close. It looked like they were having fun. They looked a little too friendly. I guess it got me thinking, what am I doing with this woman? Does she really love me? Did I make the wrong choice? The more I thought about it, the more unsettled I felt. I felt so out of control. I was under so much pressure in my professional life. I couldn't bear being out

of role in my personal life too. Later I confronted her about it. Do you like him? I asked, sure. She said he's a great guy. I said no, I mean, do you like him? She called me ridiculous, and I erupted, I mean I lost it. I'd never lost it like that usually, but it was the sign of what was to come. As I sat on that plane that day in December, waiting to take off of Houston, I couldn't stop thinking about it over and over again. Mike was talking to me, but I didn't hear what he was saying.

Make sure we really hear the sound. I just kept thinking about him in Maryland. My mind flashed back to the two of them talking, and then I saw this image of the two of them kissing, and my pulse quickened. All of a sudden, I felt like I had to get out, get out of my marriage, get out of this band, get out of this plane. Open the doors, I yelled. I need to call my mother. I begged him for a phone, and I begged someone to open the doors. But I knew no one could help, because

by this point we had already started moving. I could feel the air and the plane's cabin getting thin the crowd. I thumped the arm rest of the seat as the plane went faster and faster down the runway. God, it kept going faster and faster and faster. My pulse was skyrocketing, now going as quick as we were down the runway. Then we were in the air. I thought I might feel a bit calmer when the plane evened out, but calm never came. The pressure in my head was like

being buried under a ton of sand. I couldn't take it anymore, so I clipped my seat belt and fell into the aisle. Someone shouted at me to sit down, but I couldn't. I grabbed a pillow from the seat, it over my mouth and screamed into it as loud as I could. I was crying now, too big, tears soaking through the polyester. I closed my eyes and saw Marylyn my kissing again. Then I saw the billboard chart. The Beatles were at the top, the beach Boys were

at the bottom. Then I saw myself as a kid, stood in front of my dad as he took off his belt. Then my ears rang, then nothing, blackness. When I woke up, I was sitting back in my seat. Tears on my face had mostly dried up. I don't remember saying anything for the rest of the flight. I just stared out the window. I carried on staring from the car that picked us up after we landed, and also later when I sat in my hotel room. Hours passed and the only thing I said was I want

to go home, and so that's what I did. The rest of the band played the scheduled shows right up until Christmas, and I went back to l A. After the tour finished. I had the whole band round to my house, Carl, Dennis, al Mike, all of them. I felt calmed by this stage. I was ready for what I had to tell them. I can't do this anymore, I said, looking at all their faces, one by one. What you saw on the plane. That's how I've been feeling inside. Not all the time, but that's the worst

it's been. My brother Carl asked if I was quitting. I told him I was quitting touring. I didn't want to get on stage anymore. I wanted to stay home and write songs. That's okay. The guys didn't believe it at first. It took me a while to convince them. I kept coming up with all the positives for it. How I could make albums quickly, they could drop into the studio between oos and record their vocals. How I could concentrate fully on making the songs as good as

they could be. It was really the best idea. Finally they came around to it. Glenn Campbell had been doing such a swell job as pinch hitter in my place on tour anyway, so it all made sense. You know, I never really liked the road anyway. It was never what I wanted. I'm always nervous before a show. I never know how an audience is going to respond. It's the uncertainty of it. That's what I can't process. I'm afraid of most things, to be honest, I was born

scared that all disappeared in the studio. Though I knew if I had the time in the studio, I could create something wonderful, and I did, but I just didn't know what it would turn into into. One or five point four b r I a n FM is experiencing some technical difficulties. Please dan By. While we try it. We'll be right back after this word, word were I kept my word After that playing incident, I stayed at

home while the rest of the Beach Boys toward. When Glenn Campbell's solo career looked like you could take off, Bruce Johnston was called in to replace him. Bruce was a staff producer at Columbia Records. He played in a group called the Rip Chords. He had a similar falsetto voice to mind, so I guess he was a good replacement. I was thrilled. Honestly, everything was working as I hoped it would in the beginning, anyway, with the band jetting

off to wherever. I got to work in the studio on songs, and those songs turned into albums, albums like the Beach Boys Today and Summer Days and Summer Nights, and then those albums turned to pet Sounds, and then pet Sounds turned into Smile, and then Smile turned into well you'll see Beach Boys Today. LP was the first to come out. That record had a song on it called help Me Rhnda. It's a story of a man who is in love with a woman who finds another man.

It's not based on a real person. Despite what you're thinking, it's not. It's not It's not sorry about that. It's just that song. It brings back memories, but not about my marriage, about my father. Jeez, I don't want to talk about it right now. Maybe later. Another song from that record was called Don't Hurt My Little Sister. That song was a strange one. It saw me sort of work with Phil Spector Man. I love Phil's records. They meant everything to me when I was learning how to

become a producer. They still mean a lot. You know what, Phil had control. You can't be under pressure if you have control. He was Mr Control. His song be My Baby changed my life forever. I loved it so much I even wrote a little homage to it called Don't Worry Baby. Years later, when I wasn't doing so good, I'd get someone to loop the chorus of be My Baby on high fidelity tape. I'd run it through an echo chamber so it sounded huge, and then I'd sit at my home in my living room and listened to

it in the dark. I remember one day I listened to it for over four hours straight. I couldn't stop, literally couldn't. I even kept copies of the song everywhere so I would never be without it. I kept them inside my home, my car, my studio, even the kitchen, everywhere. I still remember the first time him I heard the song too. I was driving and it came on the radio out of nowhere, like it had fallen from the heavens. Man. I had to pull over to the side of the road.

It blew my mind, but it became this kind of curse. I was always trying to make something as good as that song, trying to but failing. Brian Wilson, I never thought he was that talented. I'd be more impressed if someone with a brain idolized me. When I heard it, I knew I had to write better songs, produce better albums, just be better. I became so obsessed, too obsessed, I guess, so much so I started to hear Phil Specter in here in my mind. That's how much it was embedded

in my brain. You can imagine how thrilled I was then when he asked me to come into studio to work on something. I submitted that song Don't Hurt my Little Sister to Phil, and we were due to record it with the whole band all of Phil's people, but it didn't go so well. When I got to the studio, I could feel the the pressure. Why don't you play piano on this one? Brian? Phil said, God, I was so nervous playing piano in front of someone like Phil Specter. Jeez,

I didn't feel worthy. I took a seat at the old White Grand, and within seconds he barked, are you going to play? Then? Sure? Sure, I said. I ran my hands over the keys, I fumbled around and played a bump note man. Phil looked pissed. I apologized and started again. I ran through the song on the keys and I sang to It was pretty good, at least I thought so anyway. However, when I finished, Phil turned to me and looked me dead in the eyes and just said no. I didn't know what to say. Let

terror into the music. Then Phil announced he'd rewritten it. I was taken aback and kind of sad. Was it not good enough? I asked him that, but he didn't reply. He just produced these papers from out of nowhere, papers that had a new arrangement written on them. At the top of the page. I also saw a new title for it, his new incarnation of my song was to be called things are changing for the better. Now play, he cried, thrusting the paper under my nose. This time

I actually jumped, I mean physically jumped. When he shouted. I got straight back to the piano and played as Philed mumbled through the melody. Right, he snapped after I had finished, let's try it with the band. Yeah. We did a couple of takes, and again I thought they were great. I kept thinking to myself, you're playing with Phil Specter. You're playing with Phil Specter. Suddenly I got carried away. I thought this song could become the new be My Baby, a new smash hit for Phil written

by me. I thought this could lead to us making an album. He could even work on a Beach Boys record with me. What a gas that would be. But as this was all going through my head and I caught a glimpse of his face, he looked like he just swallowed a bottle of vinegar. I'm not sure this is working, he said quietly. When we finished, I could tell he was disappointed, disgusted. Even I was stunned. I

didn't know what to say. I started to say I was sorry, and he snapped at me, don't apologize, that's weak. Then he made some excuse about having to be somewhere. I felt ashamed, to tell you the truth. I wanted to get out of there as quickly as possible. But as I was leaving, it got even worse. I heard him say to someone in the room. I thought he was supposed to be a genius. What a drag. It took me a while to get over that, but in

a way it was good. It made me smarten up, so much so that when I walked into the studio some months later to record a new song, I felt determined to make something. Phil Spector could never make something new, something incredible, and I guess I succeeded. I called it Good Vibrations. October eight pm, Chicago. The Coved street was quiet. Katherine O Leary closed the door door burn and headed northeast. Inside the barn, her five year old red Brangus cow

stood still. After a few minutes passed, the cow decided to lie down, and as it did so, its back leg clipped the large oil lantern burning brightly behind her. The flame from the lantern licked the hay in the wood, and within moments the entire barn was engulfed in flames, the red Brangus was burned alive. At first, the rest of the Covin Street remained quiet, but that all changed in a matter of minutes. The flames from Katherine o leary's barn began to jump to the wood frames of

the nearby buildings. One by one, more buildings were now burning. The neighborhood was in a panic, and the fire brigade was called, but they were sent to the wrong address, and so for now the fire was left to cause its devastation. The flames rushed through Chicago structures, street after street, showing no mercy, gaining pace and energy with every second. More buildings, more structures, and then the city's lumber yard,

and coal storage facility. The explosion of fuel and heat shattered the city's peaceful evening as the flames turned what felt like the entire cosmos of bright red. It was only now that the whole of Chicago realized its fate. Within hours, three point three square miles of the windy city was destroyed. One third of its inhabitants were homeless. On the other side of town, Catherine O'Leary, still walking

heard the bang and quickly pivoted around. She saw nothing but red, orange and black looming in the night sky. The thick smoke was moving closer to her, now hanging overhead, like at any moment it could come crash into the ground and swallow her hole. She opened her mouth and screamed. Brian Wilson woke up with a shock. For a moment,

he wasn't sure where he was. The dream it was so real, the cow, the fire, Katherine O'Leary screaming on a Chicago street, and Brian looked around and get his bearings. Gold Star Studios, Los Angeles. He was in the control booth on the couch he'd fallen asleep, still wearing that plastic fire helmet, the ky and he made everyone in the session, where he rubbed his eyes and looked over

to the studios mixing desk. He saw the tape for the song Beach Boys had recently recorded Fire, Mrs O'Leary's cow, and beyond the desk, Arnie Geller the band's road. He stood in the doorway. You okay, Brian? Ernie asked another dream about being on fire Na. It was a new one this time. In this dream, Brian saw how it all began, but Brian didn't want to talk about his dream. He wanted to talk about what he had asked Arnie to do, to go find out if what Brian suspected

to be true was actually true. Had there been an increase in fires in the l A area ever since they started recording their song. Arnie confirmed that it was true. Brian pulled off his toy hat and put his head in his hands, crying, What have I done? He muttered to himself, I told you it's voodoo. This is voodoo.

Arney tried to reassure Brian that it was just a coincidence and that there was no way what Brian had been doing in the studio had any actual connection to what was happening in the real world, but Brian wouldn't listen. He knew what he had to do next. He grabbed the fire tapes from the desk, and then a bottle of whiskey from the table opposite, and ran from the

control room. He snatched one of the buckets, say it used to burn wood it, and as he looked at the charred oak at the bottom of it, his mind's eye pictured the Chicago barn and the burning cow from his dream. He closed his eyes and shook his head

violently to cast the images from his head. His pace quickened as he moved out of the building and into the parking lot, and there with Arnie on his heels, and Brian threw the tapes of the Curve Song into the bucket, ripped the cap off the whiskey bottle with his teeth, and deulsed the tapes with alcohol. Gasping for air, he pulled a packet of matches from his pocket and struck one straight away. But before we went any further,

he stopped. He listened. He heard something firetruck siren, faint at first, but got louder and louder, and he turned to Arnie. You hear that, he yelled. Ernie looked worried. It's a coincidence, he shouted back, A coincidence, Brian. Brian took a deep breath. He had to finish when he had started. He tossed the lit match into the bucket and took a step back. His flames erupted from it.

The heat rushed past his face and smoked course up his nose, and for a moment he stood on the concrete outside gold Star Studio staring at the flames engulfing the tapes, and then at the hollowed remains of the building across the street that had caught fire only a few days before, and the sight of that burned out building sent the chill down his spine. He closed his

eyes and he couldn't look anymore. He started to talk to himself, and at first Arnie couldn't make out what he was saying, and Brian's lips moved fast as the nearby flames painted them orange and yellow. It sounded like something about fire or tracks, and then suddenly it was more intelligible. Arnie could swear that Brian was repeating, you can't erase Blood on the Tracks. Blood on the Tracks. Produced by Double Elvis in partnership with I Heart Radio.

It's hosted an executive produced by me Jake Brennan, also executive produced by Brady sath Zeth Lundy is lead editor and producer. This episode was written by Ben Burrow, mixing and sound designed by Colin Fleming. Additional music and score elements by Ryan Spraaker. This season features Chris Anzaloni is the voice of Brian Wilson. Sources for this episode are available at double elvis dot com on the Blood in

the Tracks series page. Follow double Elvis on Instagram at double Elvis and on Twitch at s Grace Sland Talks. And you can talk to me per Usual on Instagram and Twitter at Disgrace Land. Poe rock and roll Dad