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For the last quarter-century, no one shared more musical moments with Brian Wilson than Darian Sahanaja, who was part of the Beach Boys architect’s solo band from his return to live shows in 1999 through his final tour dates in 2022. He was also an essential ingredient in bringing the “Smile” album back to life in the form of a solo Brian reconstruction, and served as supervising music consultant on the 2014 biopic “Love & Mercy.” Variety invited Sahanaja to share his thoughts about Wilson, who died this past week at 82.
How ironic is it that Brian, the eldest of the three Wilson brothers… the “troubled one” with all the physical and mental health challenges… would end up being the last man standing? I mean, the guy lived twice as long as his brother Dennis, who was the physical ideal of an all-American surfer boy. Then again, he was always defying the odds. From the very first concert I played with him in March of 1999 — when it was predicted that he may not even make it through a song, let alone an entire show — through to him overcoming some serious demons to find closure to the unfinished post-“Pet Sounds” album “SMiLE,” the man could somehow reach deep down and find the will power to get through most any challenge.
The process, however, might not have been a smooth one. In fact, nearly all my favorite Brian stories are a product of him having to “work through the moment.”
His awkward attempts to get past an uncomfortable situation could result in pure comedy gold, or might even be perceived as “genius.” If he wasn’t in the mood to meet visitors backstage before a show, they might say “Hi Brian, it’s an honor to meet you,” and his typical five-word response would be “Thank you … enjoy the catering!” Always sincere and never meant to be hurtful. Like the time I was standing with him post-show when Eric Clapton walked over, immediately gushing about the music. Brian looked at the both of us and said, “Well… rock ‘n’ roll is here to stay. (Pause.) It will never die” — then turned around, walked 10 feet to his dressing room and slammed the door behind him. Eric and I turned to each other with palms up and just had to laugh. Genius? Perhaps. Honest? Absolutely.
I write all of this as we in the Brian Wilson Band are preparing to join Al Jardine for some shows that will highlight songs off of the 1977 album “The Beach Boys Love You.” The album is one of my favorites in the catalog because I find it to be Brian’s most personal effort after “Pet Sounds.” Even though 11 years had gone by, with his voice no longer angelic, the songs were as beautiful and heartbreaking as ever. And unlike the collaborative approach of the 1966 album, this time around he authored the lyrics to 11 out of the 14 tracks on his own. Are the topics complex, the words deeply thought-provoking? With songs like “Johnny Carson,” “Airplane” and “Solar System,” one would be led to believe they are not. But you can’t deny the sincerity, the heartfelt beauty of the chords and melodies.
The other thing about that album is that Brian produced and played nearly everything on it. If there’s anything I know about Brian Wilson’s creative process, it’s that he was always going for immediate gratification. You can even hear throughout the “Pet Sounds” session tapes him getting impatient between takes to get everyone back to playing together again. Not because he was a control freak, but because he was so anxious to hear the parts come together. Even with us in his band, he would quickly feed each of us a part to sing or play and just couldn’t wait to hear it all come together.
By the time of “The Beach Boys Love You” in 1977, he had several keyboard instruments at his disposal that could now mimic a string section, and others that could sound like a fuzz bass or brass. Most all of them were of the newfangled analog synthesizer variety, and so instead of having to get string or brass players, or even having to strap a bass on, he’d simply grab a Minimoog or ARP synth keyboard and lay his ideas down in a quick and raw fashion, getting the immediate gratification he so wanted. Then, just as he did with “Pet Sounds,” he’d have the guys come in and lay down their vocal parts. What we got in the end was a thoroughly unique collection of songs and an album that sounds like no other Beach Boys record. Some folks even cite it as being the first synth-pop record. At times awkward, but mostly gorgeous, catchy and sincere. Genius? Perhaps. Honest? Absolutely.
In this past year, a few of us would visit him on a regular basis, just to sit and sing with him — just wanting to keep his musical gears spinning. Sometimes he’d join in, but mostly he just sat and listened, choosing to immerse himself in the sound of live vocal harmonies and instruments. For me, it was the least I could do. To be able to give back even a fraction of the joy he’d given me. But also for helping to make me the person I am today.
As a pre-teen, I was ridiculed and even physically abused by my so-called friends for favoring Beach Boys music over the heavier FM rock acts of the mid-’70s they deemed as “cool.” Yet even that amount of peer pressure wasn’t enough to sway my opinion — a testament of how good that music was to me. By the time I got to junior high, I was much better equipped to manage criticism and was able to develop a solid understanding of what I did and didn’t like.
I wanted to thank him for that. I wanted to show him how grateful I was for all the opportunities he gave me. To live out the dreams of every musician. To play Carnegie Hall, the Hollywood Bowl, Sydney Opera House, Royal Albert Hall, Madison Square Garden… to share the stage and mingle with the likes of Paul McCartney, Neil Young, Bruce Springsteen, Elton John, Pete Townshend and even the Queen of England after performing for her at Buckingham Palace.
I mean, how does one possibly show gratitude for all of that? By singing a song by the Ronettes and making him smile.
Brian Wilson passed away in his sleep, at home, in his room. Just as he would have wanted it. The news did not upset me. I was saddened, yes, but mainly I felt relief. I was relieved to know that a man who had suffered nearly every day of his life in a struggle to find a little bit of peace and love was suffering no more.
And without getting overly New Testament here, I’ve always felt that it was through his struggle, his yearning, his reaching to find a better place, that we were given such beautiful music. How lucky are we to have been alive while he walked this earth?
English (US) ·