Chronology of a Solo Artist
by Jon Stebbins and David Beard
(Expanded Liner Notes)
By the dawn of the Seventies Dennis Wilson had emerged as a surprisingly prolific source of songwriting, arranging and producing talent. “He could do anything,” insists Brian Wilson. “His vibe and touch were energetic, graceful and beautiful.” While many were astonished at the unexpected sensitivity and intimacy Dennis’ music revealed, others perceived his emotionally raw songs and permanently hoarse voice as a square peg in the perennially sweet Beach Boys realm. A dozen of his songs were scattered across a half decade’s worth of the group’s albums and b-sides, and one solo single (credited to Dennis Wilson and Rumbo) was released in
the U.K. Predictions of a Dennis Wilson solo LP surfaced in the press in 1971 and then quickly vanished without a satisfactory explanation.
In 1973 he introduced a gospel-tinged rocker to the Beach Boys live set titled “River Song” which symbolized the expansive sonic direction his music had evolved toward. “Dennis used to play ‘River Song’ for me a lot,” remembers family member and sideman Billy Hinsche. “He used to explain to me how he heard it in his head, as far as the ultimate arrangement goes.” It was a much heavier sound than the Beach Boys were known for, and in a way it was the track that signaled liberation for Dennis.
As 1974 unfolded the Beach Boys’ popularity had only marginally recovered from its late Sixties nosedive in the United States. According to Grammy®-winning
producer James Guercio it was Dennis who traveled to his Caribou Ranch in Nederland, Colorado and approached him to help resurrect the group’s career.
Guercio remembers, “He said, ‘Jim, we need your help. Will you come see the band? Is there anything you can do for us?’” Guercio went on to play a crucial role in resurrecting their box-office appeal, while serving as part-time Beach Boys manager and bass player. “It was during that touring experience when I spent time with Dennis and encouraged him to finish his songs and complete the works,” reflects Guercio. While the mega-selling compilation Endless Summer prompted the band’s push into a nostalgic direction—and Guercio’s revamping of the group’s live presentation enhanced that perception—Dennis’ multiplying bundles of progressive songs simmered on the Beach Boys’ backburner. A forward aesthetic simply didn’t fit the oldies environment of the group’s 1976 release 15 Big Ones, which further motivated Dennis’ leap into the role of solo artist.
An essential element of Dennis’ growth was Brother Studio in Santa Monica. Designed, owned and operated by Dennis and younger brother Carl (after Brian opted out), it became a seamless extension of Dennis’ art, allowing him creative carte blanche only three blocks from the Pacific Ocean. After hearing several of Dennis’ promising tracks, Guercio signed Dennis to a solo record contract on his Caribou label and asked for three LP’s worth of material. Dennis went to work, enlisting longtime friend and collaborator Gregg Jakobson as his co-producer. In March of 1976 Brother Studio veteran Stephen Moffitt hired a youngster named John Hanlon to supplement a crew that included the multi-faceted engineer Earle Mankey and studio manager Trisha Campo. During Hanlon’s first week at Brother they gathered around the Clover mixing console and brought the faders up on four titles already in progress: ”River Song,” “Rainbows,” “Pacific Ocean Blues” and “Holy Man.” Three of them created the initial foundation for what would be the first solo LP by a Beach Boy, while the fourth became a legendary lost classic.
Among the first new recordings for the album—initially known as Freckles, and then Pacific Ocean Blue—was an ambitious track called “Time”; it revealed a genre defying sound palette. “Time” wound from melancholy piano ballad, to dark confessional, to operatic drama, to blue jazz with Brian Wilson-style undertones, to slamming electro-rock in about three minutes. Its painfully direct lyrics were clearly inspired by Dennis’ new wife, model/actress Karen Lamm, whose fiery influence is felt within the majority of the POB tracks. “Karen and Dennis had been fighting and making up and fighting etc.,” recalls Dean Torrence. “I think they liked it. They weren’t comfortable unless the relationship had an edge to it and felt tentative.” Lamm was seen as a divisive and destructive presence by many in Dennis’ circle. At one point she famously hurled a brick through a window at Brother during a session; on a different occasion she pulled a handgun on Dennis while he played the piano. But for all the agitation and conflict she brought to the proceedings there is no doubt she fired Dennis’ creativity with a palpable romantic tension that seared into his newest songs. From the giddy bliss of “You And I,” to the narcotic dreamscape of “Moonshine,” and the hopeless resignation in “Thoughts Of You,” Dennis recorded the truth in real time as it was occurring in his daily life. “People would start talking about notes, parts, the melody or the rhythm and he would say, ‘I just want the truth,’” says Earle Mankey. “That’s all that mattered to him.”
As the POB sessions gained momentum Dennis proved he could literally go it alone by playing nearly all of the instruments himself on many of the tracks. He started
with inventive chord progressions played on the studio’s Steinway grand piano, Fender Rhodes electric keyboard or Hohner clavinet. He constructed basic tracks around drum patterns performed by himself or sideman Bobby Figueroa. “I remember him being very empathetic… there was a lot of freedom there, and doing your own thing with him guiding you in the right direction,” says Figueroa. Dennis then methodically layered in Moog bass lines, synth string ensembles, Hammond organ, massive bass harmonicas, and even added primitive but effective tuba, trombone, cello, marimba, glockenspiel and zither parts himself. “He picked up whatever instrument was lying around the studio and found a way to get something out of it, and work it into his music,” said the late Karen Lamm in 1999. Dennis also utilized a core of familiar Beach Boys sidemen, session pros and in a few cases his own engineers Mankey and Hanlon to supplement his instrumentation before topping off his unique arrangements with hired sections of woodwinds, brass and strings. “The album’s sounds were huge,” says Hinsche. “They were big and bold in a way that I hadn’t heard before.” “He would always go for the deep, deep, deep tones,” says Mankey. “Dennis wasn’t happy until you could feel the vibrations way down inside your bones.”
Vocally the tracks displayed a few choice Beach Boys- style harmonies but relied more on epic choral elements instead of close blends. For backing voices Dennis used whoever happened to be around, and luckily his brother Carl was a regular presence. The most controversial element within the otherwise lush Pacific Ocean Blue framework is Dennis’ incredibly raspy lead voice. “Somebody forgot to tell him he wasn’t a great vocalist,” laughs Jim Guercio. “You’re going to hear passion, pitch variations, timbre variations, etc., that are sitting out there naked, but there’s so much emotion and creativity behind it; it works.” Earle Mankey relates, “He worked very hard on his vocals, very hard.” With Dennis’ voice it’s always an acquired taste; some people insist those scorched pipes are precisely the thing that sets POB apart
and truly make his songs great. Brian Wilson’s opinion is unequivocal: “He had a very expressive voice, and he should be remembered as a great singer.”
One of the LP’s most touching tracks materialized when Dennis resurrected elements of a previously recorded track known as “Hawaiian Dream,” adding a heartbreaking but hopeful lyric built around the line “Farewell My Friend.” This song was in memory of Otto “Pop” Hinsche, Billy’s father, who had passed away the previous May. “Pop died at the UCLA Medical Center… in the arms of Dennis,” says Billy. “He then called to inform my mother, Celia, and me of our loss.” Dennis’ way of grieving was to pour his feelings out on tape. “It was something very personal to him,” says Billy. “It was almost something he recorded in the still of the night. He didn’t broadcast [or] share it like he did with his other
songs. He kind of kept it to himself.”
In early April 1977 Dennis and Gregg Jakobson constructed a 12-song sequence that placed “Farewell My Friend” as the LP’s final song. Before April had ended Dennis added a final masterful touch to the LP, finishing off a track titled “End Of The Show” by adding Bruce Johnston on backing vocals. “It was almost like a wrap party, that final session with Bruce and everybody. Dennis knew he’d made a great record and it was like a celebration,” remembers John Hanlon. To make room for “End Of The Show,” now the LP’s natural closer, “Farewell My Friend” was moved into the third to last position. Up to that point that spot had been slated for
the magical “Tug Of Love,” which was pulled from the POB lineup at the last minute and has remained unheard by the public until now.
As summer 1977 approached, and with Pacific Ocean Blue mastered and awaiting its release date, Dennis kept writing and recording at a prodigious pace. “Dennis tended to want to record at a moment’s notice at 10 or 11 p.m. at night,” remembers Hanlon. “He’d want to get into the studio to record when he felt it; he wanted to capture a moment. He wanted to record when the muse hits and to record at any other time is a complete fucking waste of time. To record forcefully when you’re not into it is a joke, and a lot of people do that…Dennis did not.” One truly inspired track was the gorgeous “Love Remember Me” which appropriately featured Hal Blaine on drums during its Spector-like closing section. That summer Dennis also laid down the autobiographical song “He’s A Bum.” “Some girl told him he was a bum,” laughs Gregg Jakobson. “Dennis kind of agreed with that. He always related to the homeless and Venice Beach street people as his peers in a way, so we cranked that one out right away. It’s really just a very honest description of Dennis at that time.”
By September Pacific Ocean Blue was in the stores and receiving great reviews—Rolling Stone magazine called it, “...a truly wonderful and touching album.” It was announced the follow-up LP would be titled “Bamboo;” few knew that Dennis actually preferred the spelling Bambu (like the rolling paper). That fall Dennis and his alliance of sidemen tried out some of the POB tunes live, opening several Beach Boys concerts in Canada with an under-rehearsed mini-set. By early October the LP was moving up the charts and a solo tour was booked.
Before the month ended an array of Beach Boys sidemen, including a full horn section, were undertaking serious rehearsals under Dennis and Carl’s direction at Brother Studio, nicely working up an entire POB set. Before performing a single concert date, the Dennis solo tour was mysteriously cancelled. Some insist this is the precise moment his personal slide into darkness began.
Throughout the first half of 1978 Dennis continued recording tracks at Brother during breaks in the Beach Boys’ heavy touring schedule. Simultaneously his lifestyle choices veered into self-destructive territory, and his support system virtually crumbled away. By mid-year Jakobson, Lamm, Moffitt, Mankey and Hanlon would all be gone from Dennis’ creative routine. One positive addition was the talented Beach Boys sideman Carli Munoz who became heavily involved in constructing tracks for Dennis’ new LP. “He was really into my music,” says Munoz. “Then he asked me to produce a record for him. I suggested that we co-produce because I didn’t feel as though I was ready to produce [on my own].” Together they tackled Munoz’s ballad “It’s Not Too Late” and turned it into a chilling masterpiece. “Dennis and I flipped out over this song,” says Munoz. “He wanted everything in it. He wanted strings, a choir, etc. We had a whole string section. It’s beautiful and uncanny that we got Carl to sing the chorus. It became the sweetest thing…the perfect combination of voices.”
Adding to Dennis’ growing difficulties was Carl’s decision to take a straighter personal path, meaning he was less involved with Dennis socially and creatively from this point forward. “It’s Not Too Late” in a way represents a fork in the brotherly road. “Dennis protected Carl, and Carl protected Dennis, both in different ways,” says Munoz. “I can’t tell you how emotional it was for Carl to come in and pour his soul out; it became a true reflection of the situation.” Soon Carl ended his business partnership with Dennis at Brother, and within months the studio was sold to cover increasing debts. More than anything the loss of Brother Studio signaled trouble for Bambu.
While Dennis and engineer Tom Murphy continued work on the project at a host of other locations, the continuity of environment and pure sound of Brother could never be replaced. Murphy, whose positive and patient makeup were essential under worsening circumstances, built a makeshift studio in his home and remained devoted to Dennis and his music. “It was right on Venice Beach,” recalls longtime friend and promoter Fred Vail. “The thing I remember most is how cramped it was inside. Everywhere I turned there were musical instruments, amplifiers and cables running here and there. The grand piano was in the dining room. Drums were set up in the living room. Guitar amps were scattered about in hallways, in the bedroom, in closets. If I recall, the recording/mixing console was in the kitchen!”
Before long Munoz had joined the ranks of the disappearing. “Those were the days when Dennis was living in Venice and he was around terrible influences. I got away because he was really going downhill. He rebelled so much that he became a bum. He was attracted to the low road.” On September 29, 1978, after a nearly incoherent session in Hollywood for the rambling “Time For Bed,” Dennis checked into a Century City hospital to detox. The results had no lasting effect.
Though saddled with a worsening substance problem, Dennis’ intention was to finish Bambu. Between November 1978 and January 1979 he engaged in recurring overdub sessions for the slippery track “Love Surrounds Me” at a half-dozen studios (a Beach Boys- sweetened version ended up on their L.A. Light Album released in March). It was at one of these sessions that Dennis met Christine McVie of Fleetwood Mac, and within weeks the couple was cohabitating at her Coldwater Canyon estate. The creative potential of this partnering was hinted at when Christine added her lilting voice to “Love Surrounds Me,” demonstrating something
that certainly could have been great on a larger scale. The couple wrote together, even working out a short set as a duo that witnesses described as fantastic. The Los Angeles Times announced their first joint performance at a Hollywood charity benefit in mid 1979. Like so many things in the final years of Dennis Wilson the appearance was cancelled at the last minute.
As the Seventies ended Dennis worked sporadically with Tom Murphy attempting overdubs and mixing on Bambu tracks. “It just became very sad and difficult because Dennis was pretty messed up; he’d erase things that I thought were really good,” says Murphy. “But I had no control over the situation; I just tried to support his attempts at working on his music as best I could.” Even though the end wasn’t pretty, the impact of Dennis’ great solo work deeply affected those who recognized its uniqueness and depth of heart. “If you didn’t know Dennis personally and you really wanted to know the essence of Dennis you could listen to Pacific Ocean Blue and tell a lot about who the human being was,” says former Beach Boys manager Jerry Schilling. “Dennis’ music to me was hauntingly beautiful. That’s almost a contradictory term. Just talking about his music right now I can hear his music immediately. That tells the longevity and how powerful it really was. The haunting part that you could hear through his music…[sigh]…the troubled soul that he had…to talk about Dennis is pretty heavy.”
“Everything that I am or will ever be is in the music. If you want to know me, just listen.”
Dennis Wilson, September 1978
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Jon Stebbins is the author of the biography Dennis Wilson – The Real Beach Boy www.thejonstebbins.com
David Beard is the editor and publisher of the acclaimed Endless Summer Quarterly www.ESQuarterly.com
Photography: All photos by Dean O. Torrence / Kittyhawk Graphics; except page 4 (bottom): Michael Putland / Retna; pages 6 (both) and 9 (bottom):
Ed Roach / roach-clips.com
