When a music fan ages, I’ve noticed a trend where fans examine (or re-examine) later-period works by legendary artists that were crucial in the listener’s youth. These are the lame-looking records they would previously dismiss sight-unseen. They are usually solo records by the lesser-known artists from huge bands that read as last gasps for relevance, or simply vanity projects. And their clout allowed it. Bill Wyman of The Stones made a forgotten solo record. As did John Paul Jones, John Entwistle, Bill Ward, Anne Wilson and countless others. Who the hell listens to a 2007 Anne Wilson solo record? Who listens to a 1999 John Paul Jones record? Weirdo completionists, that’s who.
Lately, I’ve had luck taking a chance on “completist” records. I really dig Hawkwind’s 80’s output. I like some 1990’s ZZ Top records. And I’ll defend Ornette Coleman’s 1978 fusion record Body Meta till my dying breath. But, I never even considered listening to them until my years crept up in age, and my old music-snob tendencies have almost completely dwindled. And since I had such good luck with Dennis Wilson’s incredible Pacific Ocean Blue, now was the time to test the waters of Carl Wilson’s self-titled record from 1981.
Carl Wilson is the textbook definition of a “for completists only” record. Full disclosure, Carl might be my lowkey fave Beach Boy, so I entered this fully biased in wanting to like it, and yet I still have to say it's a nothingburger flop of a record. Here’s why: Carl decided to fancy himself a full-on (bad) Lindsey Buckingham clone for the majority of the record. It’s kinda understandable, due to Rumours’ success, to ride the trends of the time. But his clone songs are too on the nose, generic, and forgettable.
The songs “Hold Me”, “Bright Lights”, “Right Lane”, and “The Grammy” has Carl changing his natural vulnerable and innocent vocal timbre changing into a raspy Buckingham belt. To make matters worse, he has a female vocalist foil on all of these songs to erase any doubt he isn’t trying to harness the vibes of Fleetwood Mac’s “Second Hand News” or “Go Your Own Way”. So, right off the bat, half of the album is trash.
But, miraculously, to open side B, Carl suddenly remembers he was the guy who sang the lead on fucking “God Only Knows”, and rips off two “Carl Wilson sounding” songs. The first is “Hurry Love” which would be the worst song on a good 70’s Beach Boys record (not bad!), with decent harmonies and the first use of a gorgeous falsetto. And the next song is the only reason to listen to the record: “Heaven” could have been the best song on a 70’s Beach Boys album. Here, not only are Carl’s vocals hauntingly beautiful, but the arrangement is lush, and truly inspired harmonies weave in and out in the peak way we expect from this pedigree. The album then peters out with AOR pop nothingness.
Is the record worth investigating? Hell no. “Heaven” is the only worthwhile song, so just buy that 45 and save precious space on your record shelf, even if you are a Beach Boys fanatic.