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Capitol Records / Brother Records 72435-25692-2-9
Produced by The Beach Boys
Management: Elliott Lott, Brother Records, Inc.
Chief Engineer and Mixer: Stephen W. Desper;
Cover Photo: Ricci Martin;
Original Art Direction and Innerspread Photography: Ed Thrasher
Special Thanks to: Michel Colombier for arranging “Tears In The Morning” and “Deirdre” and arranging strings for “Our Sweet Love.”
Thanks also to Daryl Dragon.
All selections published by Brother Publishing Co., (BMI) except “Tears In The Morning” published by Artists Music, Inc., c/o BMG Songs, Inc., (ASCAP);
Original Release Technical Notes: This album was recorded at the studios of Brother Records and utilizes the most advanced recording techniques in the industry today. All original recording was done on a special 3M 16-track tape recorder, supplied by Wally Heider Recording Inc., of Hollywood, using 2-in wide tape. Microphones used include: Neumann U67, U87, KM-85, RCA DX77, DX44, EV 666, and RE-15. A custom-built 30 position mixing console, manufactured by Quad-Eight Corporation, provided extreme flexibility and special effects for this album.
Tape to disk transfer was done at Artisan Sound Recorders, Hollywood, using the latest Model Neumann computer Controlled mastering lathe, equipped with a Neumann SX-68 helium-cooled, dynamic feedback cutterhead. The songs on this record were recorded in true stereophonic sound; they are not 16 monophonic signals placed somewhere between the right and left speakers blended together with echo, but rather total stereo capturing the ambiance of the room and the sound in perspective as heard naturally by the ear. Although more difficult to perfect, this type of recording is far more satisfying to hear, as will be demonstrated upon playing this album.
P.S. Thanks to Nick from all the Beach Boys.
Produced by The Beach Boys
Chief Engineer and Mixer: Stephen W. Desper
Original Art Direction: Ed Thrasher
Management: Elliott Lott, Brother Records, Inc.
Original Release Technical Notes:
Original recording was done on Brother Records’ cassette tape recorder at 30 i.p.s. on 2 inch-wide tape with four long lasting flashlight batteries. The following microphones (with built-in remote switch) were used. U2 Boat mike, F111 Throat model and DC456-1414. A 30-position toy-mixing console was used to transfer the original recording to my Brother 2-track recorder.
All rights reserved. Lyrics Used by Permission.
The Beach Boys
Brothers-In-Arms: The Pioneering Road to Sunflower and Surf’s Up
By Timothy White
It was one small contractual step for a pop-rock band but a giant leap of faith in the second stage of The Beach Boys’ artistic destiny. On November 18, 1969 – the day after the U.S. – U.S.S.R. Strategic Arms Limitation Talks began in Helsinki, Finland, and mere hours before two Apollo 12 moon astronauts landed their “Intrepid” module on the Ocean of Storms lunar plain – The Beach Boys embarked on a bold new beginning by signing their own Brother Records label to a multi-album deal with the Reprised division of Warner Bros. Records. After seven years with Capitol Records, the group was eager to bridge the artistically rich but commercially quiet late-Capitol era of Smiley Smile, Wild Honey, Friends and 20/20, with a fresh creative and popular span under Warners’ wing. And the resurrected Brother imprint, first utilized in 1967 for the Heroes and Villains/You’re Welcome single, subsequently Smiley Smile album and the Brian Wilson/Mike Love single Gettin’ Hungry/Devoted To You, seemed to signal a revived confidence on the part of the band.
But such soothing scenarios soon got detoured as the first Beach Boys entry for release experienced a bumpy splashdown. Under the informal (two word) heading, “Sun Flower,” the Boys had assembled a 14-song reel late in 1969 that included a selection of the roughly four dozen studio tracks they had accumulated in the prolific period after 20/20. (The running order: Slip On Through, Walkin’, Forever, Games Two Can Play, Add Some Music To Your Day, When Girls Get Together, Our Sweet Love, Tears In The Morning, Back Home, Fallin’ In Love, I Just Got My Pay, Carnival, Susie Cincinnati, Good Time.) this was the period during which interest from Polydor, CBS and MGM fell by the wayside as Warner Bros. president Mo Ostin, initiated serious negotiations leading to his pact with The Boys.
Once on board with Reprise, Brother Records’ star act hastily issued a trial single on February 23, 1970, Add Some Music To Your Day/Susie Cincinnati, which spent a modest five weeks on the Billboard Hot 100 chart, peaking at number 64. Meanwhile, Beach Boys’ leader Brian Wilson, brothers Carl and Dennis and fellow Beach Boys Mike Love, Al Jardine and Bruce Johnston worked with chief engineer Stephen W. Desper to winnow and refine their latest output into a twelve song 16-track master entitled Add Some Music, subheaded An Album Offering From The Beach Boys.
Delivered to Warner Bros., president Mo Ostin early in 1970, it was digested corporately, and much deliberated over in various offices in the company’s Burbank headquarters – with even its album jacket fully executed by Warner art director/photographer Ed Thrasher with a cover shot by band friend Ricci Martin (Dean Martin’s son, whom Beach Boy Carl Wilson later co-produced for Capitol) – but ultimately the record was rejected as too weak for a debut album under the dawning Brother/Reprise marquee. The original pre-release track listing as detailed beneath the “ingredients” banner on the back sleeve, was as follows: (Side One) Susie Cincinnati, Good Time, Our Sweet Love, Tears In The Morning, When Girls Get Together, Slip On Through, Take a Load Off Your Feet, Pete, This Whole World, I Just Got My Pay, At My Window and Fallin’ In Love.
As discussions on a stronger lineup ensued, Warner A&R executive Lenny Waronker visited Brian’s Bel Air mansion (site of the ‘Brothers Studios’ home recording rig on which most of the current material had been cut) and he was stunned to hear Cool, Cool Water, a song of Brian Wilson’s and Mike Love’s that Brian had performed alone at his piano for Lenny.
Waronker was deeply moved by the sheer beauty of Cool, Cool Water, whose inspired simplicity seemed to dovetail with the transcendent commercial complexity of Brian’s masterpiece of four years earlier, Good Vibrations. Waronker deemed both songs to be works of great intuitive grace, and made a mental note to himself: “If I ever get the opportunity to produce Brian, I’d encourage him to do something that combined the vividness of Good Vibrations with the non-commercial gentleness of Cool, Cool Water.” (Waronker got his chance in 1988, when he co-produced Rio Grande for the solo Brian Wilson album on Sire/Reprise).
On June 29, 1970 Brother/Reprise sent out another Beach Boys single, Slip On Through/This Whole World, as a stalking horse for the impending album, but it failed to chart in Billboard. Finally, the inaugural Beach Boys long-player for Brother/Reprise reached stores on August 31, 1970, and the same album jacket fashioned earlier by Ed Thrasher proved to be its packaging, the sole change surrounding Ricci Martin’s toddler-filled and rainbow-framed front portrait of the group being the title, which now read Sunflower in crisp purple type.
The final revised song sequencing for Sunflower is the one preserved on this reissue, which marks the first time Sunflower has been on compact disc since its brief appearance in the U.S. on Caribou/Epic in October 1990 (with concurrent release in Europe in Epic and Japan on Sony).
Sunflower opens with the surging throb of Dennis Wilson’s breath-stealing Slip On Through. It has a serpentine bass line, inside-out drum patterns, and the clangorous knell of a cow bell that launch an introductory kaleidoscope of four-tiered vocals; one layer of intersecting harmonies, another of organ punctuations or percussive phrases like “believe, believe,” topped off by Dennis’ beautifully insistent lead singing. A clutter-free triumph of arranging flair, Slip On Through is also a sophisticated step beyond the dream-walking Pet Sounds esthetic, and it rocks hard thanks to convulsive drum breaks and nimble conga tattoos.
“It was a really dynamic song,” recalls Brian Wilson, of Slip On Through, Wilson talking at his home in Los Angeles in April 2000 as he offered an exclusive commentary on each of the tracks in this historic join Sunflower/Surf’s Up reissue. “Dennis, I was very proud of, because he really rocked and rolled on that one. Dennis did really interesting energetic things on that.”
Next is Brian’s This Whole World, whose rhythmic floor is an impeccable vocal parquetry of various tonal parts. Carl’s graceful intonation on the heartfelt lyric about global amity makes unsurpassed use of his swooping falsetto range and his catch-in-the-throat vocal sob to convey the emotional breadth of the music’s message. The song’s ability to traverse a half-dozen separate moods and settings in an evolution of less than two minutes is similarly arresting, making the quasi-elongated This Whole World, the most ingenious of Brians’ mini-opuses.
“I do that on my live album (Brian Wilson: Live at The Roxy Theater), at my concerts,” Says Brian now of This Whole World, adding, “It’s one of my very favorites. Structurally, it rambles, but I just remember I said (at the time it was first recorded), “Listen, this is a really spiritual tune.” We double-tracked our singing on that one; but we always double-tracked our voices, always. Carl sang the lead and I did the voices in the background. It was inspired by my love of the world, how I love people, and how people should be free.”
This Whole World’s extended fade is also a deft transition into the gradual build of the song that follows, Add Some Music To Your Day. Written by Brian, with Mike Love and friend Joe Knott. Add was the eldest Wilson’s consummate appraisal of music as the great equalizer and companion of the common man. The song starts with hushed praise for the “Sunday morning gospel” that begins the week for many citizens and then traces music’s gentle but pervasive influence as it pours from neighbors’ homes, dentists’ offices, the carts of ice-cream vendors, and the alters of wedding ceremonies, gladdening passersby as much as direct participants. Indeed, the lyric is eerily reminiscent of Wilson family rituals that occurred two generations prior to Brian’s time. Wilson’s 19th century forbears in Hutchinson, Kansas were pioneer stock who migrated there from Ohio, and initially entered California circa 1904. As this writer learned during a trip to Hutchinson in 1983 to interview Brian’s 87-year old great uncle Charlie and other surviving kin, these Wilson ancestors played mandolins, fiddles and piano, and during their regular Saturday evening recitals at their family home in Hutchinson, they’d open the windows – much as Brian later innocently envisioned in Add Some Music – so passersby on the prairie streets could enjoy the music too.
“Well, I’ll be gosh-darned,” says Brian with a laugh when told of is distant ancestors parallel practices. “What a spiritual family! I had no notion of that, so it’s a scary little lyric, isn’t it?” he concludes with an impish laugh. “My family before me, for a couple of generations, that’s one of the missing links in me – and it’s a fascinating thing, that missing link.”
“We wrote Add Some Music in 1970,” adds Brian. “I think we wrote it my house in Bel Air. It was written by me and Mike and Joe Knott, who was a friend of mine who wasn’t a songwriter but he contributed a couple of lines. But I can’t remember which ones! The lyrics are wonderful. When I do my shows, I always tell the people, “Listen to the lyrics of this song, You’ll like them a lot.”
Dennis’ Got To Know The Woman (“That,” notes Brian with a giggle, “sounds like a Dennis title!”) is one of the few Beach Boys songs that could honestly be called funky, its tinkly Dixieland piano a perfect foil for the coarse frivolity of the verses, which contain a boorish come-on to the object of one’s lowest bump-and-grind fantasies. Increasingly caught up in the track’s pulsating groove, the singer’s absurdly overstated ardor has pushed him by mid-song into open embarrassment; his familiar macho pose toppling into a knowing laugh that listener’s can share.
Brian and Bruce Johnston penned the dazzling Deidre, a stroll-tempo devotional to an idealized, red-haired goddess; its stippled use of flutes plus the spacey filtering and compression techniques in the vocal mixes giving the track a celestial grandeur. “Loved it,” says Brian. “One of my very favorites. I thought Bruce’s harmonies were beautiful – harmonic genius.”
Side one of the vinyl version of Sunflower concludes with It’s About Time, a flat-out rocker by Dennis, Al Jardine and writer Bob Burchman that was the first-person account of a fallen artist nearly destroyed by his fruitless search of “a lost elation.” “That’s another Dennis one, really good,” Brian reflects. “Dennis was very creative, a creative guy.” The Santana-like Latin pivot of its percussion gave the song a nice tension, and the personal renewal described by the song’s central character triggers a driving guitar break that makes his second chance seem both plausible and thrilling. And undidactic commentary on rock indulgence and self-redemption, it was also a wishful scenario regarding both Brian and Dennis Wilson’s sporadic personal troubles.
Tears In The Morning on Side Two of the original LP is Bruce Johnston’s melodramatic but ably sung story of a love asunder; its string section, tactical Broadway-style pit drumming, Parisian accordion, and horn/piano coda were vaguely redolent of Sinatra’s Nelson Riddle-arranged songs for films such as Can-Can and Pal Joey. The unusual approach for modern rock-pop is redeemed by the tracks’ production clarity, which makes for a neat contrast with the eerie, buzzing reverberance of Brian and Mike Love’s ghostly love vow, All I Wanna Do. “Tears In The Morning was lovely,” says Brian, “and All I Wanna Do, that was a real nice one. (Sings) “All I want to do/Is always be good to you.”
Forever by Dennis and buddy Gregg Jakobson and Our Sweet Love, a Brian-Carl-Al collaboration, are pristine ballads that would not have been out of place of Pet Sounds but for their absence of pessimism. “Forever has to be the most harmonically beautiful thing I’ve ever heard,” Brian now declares. “It’s a rock and roll prayer. And Our Sweet Love, I wrote that for Carl. After I wrote it I said, “Hey, he could sing this good” so I gave it to Carl.”
At My Window, Al and Brian’s ode to a bird on a sill, is a childlike consideration of a good omen. “Al wrote the lyrics,” says Brian. “It’s a fantastic song; the sound of it, the overall wall of sound we put into it, was really good.” Window also serves as a fit prelude to the meditative innocence of Cool, Cool Water, which incorporates a portion of the spooky, droned canticle of I Love To Say Dada from the shelved Smile album.
“Well, I’m proud of Cool, Cool water,” Brian assures, “because that was a divinely inspired song. I had just moved into a new house on Bellagio Road in Bel Air, in March of 1967, and the first day I moved in, there was a piano there, and I went to the piano and wrote Cool, Cool Water. I sat down and wrote the gist of it, the basic song. It was finished much later of course. (Sings) “Gimme some cool, cool water.”
Gone from the final Sunflower lineup were Al and Brian’s Good Time – “That was a very good cut; it brings back pleasant memories.” Brian now recalls. Gone as well, were Brian and Mike’s When Girls Get Together, and another Brian and Al effort, I Just Got My Pay (“That’s another one we did that was a really cool song,” Brian now assures, “and we harmonized real good on it.”) The former cut landed on Keepin’ The Summer Alive (1980).
Also dropped was Dennis’ Fallin’ In Love (featuring a string arrangement by Daryl Dragon on The Captain and Tennille fame); the song later appeared under the title Lady as the B-side of Dennis’ 1970 Sound Of Free solo single on the Stateside/EMI label, both tracks credited to Dennis Wilson and Rumbo. Among other finished cuts left in the can were Games Two Can Play, an instrumental called Carnival (sometimes referred to as Over The Waves), and San Miguel, which surfaced in 1981 on the Caribou Ten Years of Harmony (1970-1980) anthology.
The direction of The Beach Boys would take in the 1970’s was determined in no small part by audience reaction to the keen self-assurance of Sunflower, which Brian considered at the time to be “probably one of our best albums.” But Sunflower sold a piddling amount after its release on August 31, 1970, soaring no higher than 151 on Billboard’s Top LP chart during its scant four weeks on the survey. Since the commercial response to such an exceptional work was one of utter disinterest in the marketplace. The Beach Boys creative direction swerved downward, away from the hopefulness that had characterized the band’s new beginning at Warner Bros.
Surf’s Up, The Beach Boys subsequent 1971 release, was named for a song salvaged from Smile, and also featured a Sunflower outtake, Take A Load Off Your Feet (with the “Pete” tagline deleted). Brian initially opposed the use of Surf’s Up, in this context, but then relented, and he fought to overcome the group objections to the mournful ‘Til I Die.
Looking back with some thirty years of hindsight, Brian is philosophical about these once-heated issues. “Right, yeah,” he concedes of the controversy concerning utilization of Surf’s UP as the signature track, adding, “But I liked it eventually. The vocal on that was a little bit limited. It’s not my favorite vocal I ever did, but it did have heart. Nevertheless, it’ll be out there again with this reissue,” he says with a laugh, “and I’ll be naked to the world!”
“The lyrics for Surf’s Up were very Van Dyke (Parks); only he could have done that – only Van Dyke could have written those lyrics. We wrote that at my Chickering piano, I think, in my sandbox (i.e. eight truckloads of refined sand emptied into a low-walled, keyboard ensconced enclosure in the dining room of his Bellagio Road home) and it took us about an hour at most to write the whole thing. We wrote it pretty fast; it all happened like it should.”
But the rest of the latter day initiatives resulted in the album (originally dubbed Landlocked but retitled Surf’s Up after that song was appended to it) happened as a Beach Boys records shouldn’t: through stress, strife, brittle compromises and minimal overall involvement by Brian.
‘Til I Die and A Day In The Life Of A Tree are his two truly active bursts of participation in the bumpy project, the latter cowritten with KFPK deejay Jack Rieley, who became involved with the band after interviewing the then-reclusive Brian for his show on the Los Angeles-area Pacifica station then offering a six-page August 8, 1970 memo ruminating on how to stimulate “increased record sales and popularity for The Beach Boys.” Part of the advice focused on translating the group’s ecological and political concerns into a more contemporary image. Three years earlier, Carl Wilson had refused to step forward to be sworn in for the U.S. Army after receiving his draft notice; stating he was a conscientious objector, he was drawn into a four-year court battle before being permitted to perform community civic duties in lieu of military service because of his moral convictions. The Beach Boys’ revived status as a concert attraction, precipitated by a carefully promoted show at Carnegie Hall, (booked by Michael Klenfner, Chip Rachlin and George Brown’s Krab Productions), followed by a series of benefits and an appearance at a 1971 May Day anti-war rally in Washington, D.C., helped the cause as well.
Recalling the uneasy era and his contributions to an album that encapsulated it, Brian confesses, “I was thinking about the Surf’s Up songs, ‘Til I Die and A Day In The Life Of A Tree. ‘Til I Die is moving; I was feeling kind of small, and I wrote a song about how small I feel. (Recites) “I’m a cork on the ocean/Floating over a raging sea. I’m a rock on a landslide…/I’m a leaf on a windy day/Pretty soon I’ll be blown away.” It’s just a humble song. It had a nice smooth melody and I was really touched by it. A Day In The Life Of A Tree was a very spiritual number; it had some spiritual love to it. But Student Demonstration Time I didn’t like that, didn’t like the lyrical content. I thought it wasn’t Beach Boys enough.”
This open ambivalence toward so respected a Beach Boys album indicates the tension and turmoil surrounding the often-perplexing popular impasse the group faced during this period. Trying to fit in culturally while remaining in tune with its own collective Muse proved so difficult that the album is an unwonted ledger of The Beach Boys’ early ‘70s growing pains. Don’t Go Near The Water by Al Jardine and Mike Love gives voice to the forlorn attitude shared by the band members at the time, each of them fretting over what seemed like a poisoned well of what had once been mass appeal, even as the elemental existence they had always championed seem spoiled. The polluted ocean and atmosphere had become hostile environments, much as radio’s airwaves had become for The Boys. “Mike and Al did an unbelievable job on that – I loved it,” say Brian admiringly of the provocative track, which he appreciated primarily because it showed uncynical caring.
Long Promised Road, co-written by Carl Wilson and Jack Rieley is wistful but determined in its hopefulness and so Brian harbored fond feelings toward it. “It fits the description of “pioneer”-type song,” observes Brian. “Carl’s singing was gorgeous – he was my main man for vocals.” Thus, the heroic theme and his brother’s emotional investment in the saga certified the enduring worth.
Take A Load Off Your Feet, rescued from post-Sunflower oblivion albeit without its “Pete” tagline, is another slice of social commentary about rundown bodies as well as sullied beaches, its droll sound effects succeeding where a more heavy-handed scolding would not have done. The song echoed many of the sentiments behind Brian’s decision to briefly operate a West Hollywood health food shop called The Radiant Radish, where Brian says he first met Jack Rieley (the shop closed on July 29, 1970) but “Feet’s” lyrics kept its convictions lighthearted. “Al had a lot to do with that song,” Brian notes by way of praise for its inventiveness, “and I liked all the extra stuff. It was humorous.”
Disney Girls (1957), a mandolin-tinged dose of well-crooned nostalgia for “church bingo chances” and “old-time dances,” is pop perfection from Bruce Johnston’s skillful pen. “I thought it was marvelous the way he wrote the harmonies and chords,” says Brian. It evoked the sweeter Tootsie Roll-minded aspects of the second-term Eisenhower presidency, which saw the publication of Jack Kerouac’s On The Road, and Althea Gibson’s capture of the Wimbledon women’s singles tennis title, but soon grew gloomy as racial violence erupted in Little Rock, Arkansas, and the first atomic blast was detonated in Nevada.
Student Demonstration Time, a Mike Love rewrite of Jerry Leiber and Mike Stoller’s Riot In Cell Block #9, passionately reexamined the Kent State tragedy and other recent violence against student peace and civil rights activists. It has a certain gritty grandeur that either galvanized listeners or grated on them. In Brian’s case it was the latter, “It was a little too intense,” he says. “It didn’t hit the spot for me. It wasn’t too vocally intense but lyrically it was a little too far-out for me.”
However, Feel Flows, a song his brother Carl wrote with Rieley, is a track Brian found sublime, its fluttering flute passages, ominous guitar riffs and ethereal keyboard effects captivating to the leader of the band. “Feel Flows was Carl’s tune, and I though it was wonderful – really great to have created,” Brian enthuses, believing its more impressionistic endorsement of peace was effective in a way a more dogmatic statement could never be. “Come to think of it,” he asserts, “Feel Flows is a great commentary on things.”
Lookin’ At Tomorrow (A Welfare Song), a poignant mini-soliloquy from a jobless rounder, seems like a coda to Long Promised Road, the pioneer busted in his starry-eyed ambitions but still “looking at tomorrow” for a fresh potential.
A Day In The Life Of A Tree by Brian and Rieley is well-meaning in its open melancholy but not match artistically for Brian’s masterful ‘Til I Die, whose buoyant harmonies and unfussy personal testimony pierced the soul with their vulnerability. The organ-based two-and-a-half minute opus was a magnificent use of all the group’s myriad vocal shadings, with intersecting descants leading a cathedral-like mood to the last quarter of its spell-weaving.
As for the concluding Surf’s Up, (assembled from 1966 studio sessions immortalized on a 1967 Leonard Bernstein TV special), it was a pastiche of old and new that shouldn’t have triumphed but did, largely because Brian’s original melodic vision was so strong. Surf’s Up was issued on August 30, 1971, just one calendar day shy of a year after the release of Sunflower. Thanks to an effective promotional set-up by Brother/Reprise, it rose to No. 29 on the Billboard Top LP’s chart and got respectable exposure on FM radio, Long Promised Road b/w ‘Til I Die, was disappointing, the ode to the pioneer dream reaching no further than No. 89 on Hot 100 in the autumn of ’71. A follow-up 45, Surf’s Up b/w Don’t Go Near The Water, which might have been a better choice for the first trial balloon, came too late in the process to derive any benefit from dwindling promotional winds and failed to chart.
Nonetheless, The Beach Boys and their Brother Records enterprise had managed an important artistic and critical beachhead after a long spell adrift. Indeed, during an April 27, 1971 concert bill at New York’s Fillmore East with the Grateful Dead, Bob Dylan turned up to catch the Boys’ set and then remarked aloud as a reporter stood within earshot, “You know, they’re fucking good, man.”
Brian Wilson himself attributes the staying power of Sunflower and Surf’s Up to the “spiritual love” of the music on both releases, an outlook complemented by the Brother Records logo – a Lakota chief on horseback with outstretched arms – that’s based on a 1909 bronze statue (at Boston’s Museum of Fine Arts) by sculptor Cyrus Edward Dallin titled The Appeal To The Great Spirit. Himself a son of Western pioneer stock, Dallin intended the statue to depict Native Americans plight as white settlers populated the continent. Dallin saw the Lakota’s gesture as common to all humanity: “When material plans and helps fail, we reach out to the spiritual.”
Timothy White is Editor In Chief of Billboard and author of The Nearest Faraway Place: Brian Wilson, The Beach Boys and The Southern California Experience (Henry Holt and Company), from which a portion of this essay was adapted. © 2000 by Timothy White; all rights reserved. Used by permission.
Credits: Produced for Reissue by Cheryl Pawelski and Paul Atkinson;
Tape Research: Andrew Sandoval
Digitally Remastered by: Andrew Sandoval and Dan Hersch at DigiPrep
Original Design by: David Larkham and Michael Ross
Reissue Creative Direction: Sam Gay
Reissue Art Direction: Darren Wong
Reissue Design: Chad Timmreck
Project Manager: Herb Agner
Liner Notes: Timothy White
A&R Administration: Michelle Azzopardi
Production: Bryan Kelley
Special Thanks: Elliott Lott, Roy Lott, Richard Cotrell, Bob Hyde, Mark Linett, Brad Elliott, Caroline Ray, Adam Varon and Lance Whitaker
All tracks 24-Bit Digitally Remastered
(p) 2000 Brother Records, Inc., under exclusive license to Capitol Records, Inc.
Sunflower original art: © 1970 Brother Records, Inc., Surf’s Up original artwork © 1971 Brother Records, Inc. This compilation (P) 2000 Brother Records, Inc., under exclusive license to Capitol Records, Inc., © Capitol Records, Inc. Manufactured by Capitol Records, Inc., 1750 N. Vine Street, Hollywood, CA 90028. All Rights Reserved. Unauthorized duplication is a violation of applicable laws. International copyright secured. Printed in the U.S.A.
1. Slip On Through (Dennis Wilson)
2. This Whole World (Brian Wilson)
3. Add Some Music To Your Day (Brian Wilson/Al Jardine/ Joe Knott)
4. Got To Know The Woman (Dennis Wilson)
5. Deirdre (Bruce Johnston/Brian Wilson)
6. It’s About Time (Dennis Wilson/ Bob Burchman/Al Jardine)
7. Tears In The Morning (Bruce Johnston)
8. All I Wanna Do (Brian Wilson/Mike Love)
9. Forever (Dennis Wilson/Gregg Jakobson)
10. Our Sweet Love (Brian Wilson/Carl Wilson/Al Jardine)
11. At My Window (Al Jardine/Brian Wilson)
12. Cool, Cool Water (Brian Wilson/Mike Love)
1. Don’t Go Near The Water (Al Jardine/Mike Love)
2. Long Promised Road (Carl Wilson/Jack Rieley)
3. Take A Load Off Your Feet (Al Jardine/Gary Winfrey)
4. Disney Girls (1957) (Bruce Johnston)
5. Student Demonstration Time
(Based on “Riot In Cell Block #9” by Jerry Leiber and Mike Stoller – New lyrics by Mike Love)
6. Feel Flows (Carl Wilson/Jack Rieley)
7. Lookin’ At Tomorrow (A Welfare Song) (Al Jardine/Gary Winfrey)
8. A Day In The Life Of A Tree (Brian Wilson/Jack Rieley)
9. ‘Til I Die (Brian Wilson)
10. Surf’s Up (Brian Wilson/Van Dyke Parks)