Inside the Studio: The Secret History of Legendary Albums

Do you know, I was just thinking about that Nirvana story we were on about, all that noise and fury packed into sixteen days. But the story we have tonight, Earl, it’s a different kind of storm altogether. A much, much quieter one, brewed inside one young fella’s head. Mm-hmm. That’s the truth, Maeve. One was a hurricane, you could see it coming. This one… this was more like a change in the tide. Something deep and powerful that you don't see until it's already pulled everything out from under you. And it all started with him hearing another band's record, is that right?

That's the story. Young Brian Wilson, the fella who was the brains of The Beach Boys, he heard The Beatles' album, Rubber Soul. And it just… well, it changed him. He told his wife, "I'm gonna make the greatest rock album ever made." And I mean, he wasn't boasting. It was like he was stating a fact that hadn't happened yet. God love him. That’s a heavy burden to put on your own shoulders. It is. And the first thing he did was tell the rest of the band he wasn't going on tour with them anymore. They were off to Japan, a big deal, and he stayed home. Said he had to get the music that was in his head out into the world.

He was, uh, all of twenty-three years old. Twenty-three. Sure, he was only a child. And left to his own devices. Well, not exactly. He called up a group of studio players in Los Angeles they called The Wrecking Crew. These weren't rock and rollers, Maeve. These were the best musicians on the West Coast. The folks they called when Frank Sinatra or Dean Martin needed a band. So he had the good room ready for his big ideas. Oh, the best. He had Hal Blaine on drums, Carol Kaye playing that electric bass… and the things he asked them to do. I mean, it wasn't just guitars and pianos.

He was using bicycle bells, horns from a toy fire engine, Coca-Cola cans… whatever it took to get the sound he was hearing in his mind. Wait now—Coca-Cola cans? Yes, ma'am. Percussion. They spent hours, sometimes a whole day, on just a few minutes of music. He was building it layer by layer, like a master carpenter. The other Beach Boys, they were singers. Brian was building the whole house, from the foundation up, before they even saw the blueprints. And what happened when the rest of them came home from their travels? All sun-tanned from Japan, and him pale from the studio.

Whoo, boy. That's where the trouble started. They came back, ready to sing about cars and surfing, and Brian plays them these… symphonies. Songs about being anxious and losing your faith and wishing you were older. His own cousin, Mike Love, the lead singer, he listened and said something like, "Brian, this is beautiful stuff, but who is gonna listen to it?" Ah. The eternal question. Is it art, or can you sell it? Exactly. There was one song, "Hang On to Your Ego," and Mike just hated it. Said the lyrics were too "out there." So they changed it to "I Know There's an Answer." But that was the tension.

Brian was pushing into brand new territory, and the rest of the band… well, they were worried about getting lost out yonder. Sure, you can't blame them. They had a good thing going, and he was changing the rules on them. Can't blame 'em at all. At the end of one session, Mike Love supposedly joked, "Who's gonna hear this stuff? The ears of a dog?" And that's where Brian got the title. Pet Sounds. He took the joke and made it the name of his masterpiece. Oh, the cut of him. That’s the way to do it. Mm-hmm. And if you listen to the very end of the album, after all the music… you can hear a train going by, and then dogs barking.

That was Brian's little joke, right back at 'em. So it gets made, this strange, beautiful thing. Did people listen? Not in America. Not at first. It did alright, but it wasn't the smash hit they were used to. It confused people. But over in England… oh, over there they understood it right away. Paul McCartney from The Beatles said it was the best album he'd ever heard. Said it was the reason they went and made Sgt. Pepper's. So the one record was an answer to the other, and then his became the question for them to answer back. Like letters between two people who've never met.

That's a right smart way to put it, Maeve. A conversation across an ocean, with vinyl records. And over the years, folks came around. Now, you ask any musician, any producer… Pet Sounds is on the list. It's the album that showed everyone what a recording studio could really do. It just took the world a while to catch up to what that boy was hearing in his head. God rest him, all that noise must have been a lonely place to be. I reckon it was. But, I tell you what. He got it out. He got it on the record. And that, friend, is about the size of it.