The Beach Boys Love You Album, What's the explanation for my newfound love? Options

[Ruint Domino]

Then again, maybe not.

From REVOLUTION IN THE HEAD, an excellent book about the Beatles' records, by Ian MacDonald:

Primarily a hit record, "I Want To Hold Your Hand" makes less sense considered as a song. So much of its melody line is disguised harmony that singing it without chordal support makes for comic results, while its lyrics are embarrassingly perfunctory... (T)he real reason for the group's lyrical blandness at this stage was that they didn't care what words they sang as long as they fitted the overall sound. It was the record rather than the song that interested them... McCartney and (particularly) Lennon were more devoted to spirit than form. To them, the sound and feel of a record mattered more than what it literally said; hence, the first requirement of a lyric was to not get in the way of the general effect. (p. 99-103).


I've always kind of ignored the Beach Boys' lyrics, particularly from about WILD HONEY on. Those albums had their charms, a lot of them, but the lyrics sometimes... oof!

Ian MacDonald's book is far and away the best commentary on the Beatles' songs out there (and I've read a bunch of them), and this particular assertion is very well stated. And the same idea about lyrics vs. spirit could be said about many, many Beach Boys songs.

And, by the way, who are you three guys out there who think I need a pat-pat-pat on the butt-butt?

[john k]

And, by the way, who are you three guys out there who think I need a pat-pat-pat on the butt-butt?

Don't be angry, Bruce. It might be three lovely ladies.

[Ruint Domino]

Don't be angry, Bruce. It might be three lovely ladies.

[Holly]

And, by the way, who are you three guys out there who think I need a pat-pat-pat on the butt-butt?

Don't be angry, Bruce. It might be three lovely ladies.

Okay I admit it. I know I'm guilty.

[brianmargo67]

I, on the other hand, admit nothing.

[Holly]

I, on the other hand, admit nothing.

So you plead the 5th and temporary insanity?

[brianmargo67]

From a book I'm reading entitled Questions About Music, by the composer Roger Sessions. This passage pretty much parallels how I felt when I first heard LOVE YOU and how my feelings about it changed with repeated listening:

"One can outline some of the possible phases in experiencing a new, unfamiliar, or difficult piece of music. One's first impression may be a quite negative one: the music may seem opaque, chaotic, crabbed, dissonant; one may be tempted to suspect the composer of a deliberate intent to mislead or baffle, of perversity, incompetency, pure celebration, or any number of other shortcomings... But if we keep our ears open and willing, and listen attentively, we may easily discern, here and there, moments or passages of which we feel the impact immediately, however fleeting this sensation of contact or recognition may be. One may even tell oneself: 'This at least is "striking"--or "graceful," or "amusing," even "moving," "beautiful," or simply "interesting."' This means that we have begun to recognize features in the work and to sense its character; and if we are interested or patient enough to pursue the matter further, we will find that these moments grow longer. The moments of contact are likely to spread-- I myself used to think of the process as akin to the expansion of a drop of ink on a blotter. We may become more and more aware of contexts and may also find ourselves beginning to discover additional points of contact-- eventually with the piece as a whole. When this last has occurred, and possibly even before, we presumably have opened the way to other contacts of a similar nature-- with other works of the composer in question, with works of other composers whose styles present similar problems, and eventually with any music that on first hearing seems strange or baffling to us. By this time we know there may be something worth discovering, and know how to go about the process of finding it. Eventually, if we persist, the music will become familiar to us and will present no more problems to us than does any music with which we are quite familiar.

"What has happened is that our ears have not only accustomed themselves to the sounds, but have exercised the primary and most characteristic function of the musical ear-- that of discovering, through its pursuit of its own satisfaction, patterns and relationships on an ever-widening scale...

"Let me (quote) something that was said to me after a recent performance of a new symphonic work of mine. The work was beautifully played, and was received with reactions ranging from genuine and obvious enthusiasm on the part of a few to bewildered indifference or even occasionally hostility on the part of a majority in the audience. After it was over, the conductor said to me very warmly, 'Never forget: the ear is sometimes very slow, the mind is slower, and the heart is sometimes slower still.' We composers know that and learn to live with it. But it does not deter us from addressing ourselves with all the resources that we possess to the ear, the mind and the heart."

[RhondaLuvsAlan]

From a book I'm reading entitled Questions About Music, by the composer Roger Sessions. This passage pretty much parallels how I felt when I first heard LOVE YOU and how my feelings about it changed with repeated listening:

"One can outline some of the possible phases in experiencing a new, unfamiliar, or difficult piece of music. One's first impression may be a quite negative one: the music may seem opaque, chaotic, crabbed, dissonant; one may be tempted to suspect the composer of a deliberate intent to mislead or baffle, of perversity, incompetency, pure celebration, or any number of other shortcomings... But if we keep our ears open and willing, and listen attentively, we may easily discern, here and there, moments or passages of which we feel the impact immediately, however fleeting this sensation of contact or recognition may be. One may even tell oneself: 'This at least is "striking"--or "graceful," or "amusing," even "moving," "beautiful," or simply "interesting."' This means that we have begun to recognize features in the work and to sense its character; and if we are interested or patient enough to pursue the matter further, we will find that these moments grow longer. The moments of contact are likely to spread-- I myself used to think of the process as akin to the expansion of a drop of ink on a blotter. We may become more and more aware of contexts and may also find ourselves beginning to discover additional points of contact-- eventually with the piece as a whole. When this last has occurred, and possibly even before, we presumably have opened the way to other contacts of a similar nature-- with other works of the composer in question, with works of other composers whose styles present similar problems, and eventually with any music that on first hearing seems strange or baffling to us. By this time we know there may be something worth discovering, and know how to go about the process of finding it. Eventually, if we persist, the music will become familiar to us and will present no more problems to us than does any music with which we are quite familiar.

"What has happened is that our ears have not only accustomed themselves to the sounds, but have exercised the primary and most characteristic function of the musical ear-- that of discovering, through its pursuit of its own satisfaction, patterns and relationships on an ever-widening scale...

"Let me (quote) something that was said to me after a recent performance of a new symphonic work of mine. The work was beautifully played, and was received with reactions ranging from genuine and obvious enthusiasm on the part of a few to bewildered indifference or even occasionally hostility on the part of a majority in the audience. After it was over, the conductor said to me very warmly, 'Never forget: the ear is sometimes very slow, the mind is slower, and the heart is sometimes slower still.' We composers know that and learn to live with it. But it does not deter us from addressing ourselves with all the resources that we possess to the ear, the mind and the heart."

Well said!

[Ruint Domino]

Well said!

I second that, "Well said".

Many albums which are now favorites of mine became favorites for the very reason that at first they sounded just plain crazed . Maybe a part of that is due to a (rather narcissistic) feeling that I have allowed myself to 'open my mind' to a 'higher understanding'. Many albums which received strong negative reviews initially were, in time, recognized for being innovative or brilliant in a novel way. One of the albums in my all-time top five is Paul and Linda McCartney's Ram, which is just an amazingly euphoric, ecstatic honeymoon album that was released in 1971 to abysmal reviews, being seen as 'typical McCartney froth'. But there is no album in the world which evokes such strong feelings as that one for purely debauched, yet innocent, joy.

[Ruint Domino]

Okay I admit it. I know I'm guilty.

Guilty of being a lovely lady?

[Holly]

Guilty of being a lovely lady?

Now that you mention it, yes.

[RhondaLuvsAlan]

Perhaps this quote could apply to the 'Love You' album or any other album by the Beach Boys (or other artists for that matter):

"A work of art is one through which the consciousness of the artists is able to give its emotions to anyone who is prepared to
receive them. There is no such thing as bad art."

~~~Murial Rukeyser (American poet)

Something to think about.