In the back pages of rock and roll folk lore, it is rumored that Brian Wilson, the brilliant yet troubled singer/ songwriter of the Beach Boys, took copious amounts of LSD while listening to the Beatles' album Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band. Wilson became a notorious shut-in for several years—overreacting, perhaps, to the sense of inferiority Sgt. Pepper inflicted on him.
Here's an entirely fake entry from Brian Wilson's journal. With the symmetry of Dark Side of the Moon and Wizard of Oz, it chronicles his thoughts on the Beatles album he found so incredibly inspirational it made him feel like giving up completely.
8/30/67
12:50 pm—My lady-friend seemed kind of miffed 'cause I slept in again today. She tried to rouse me out of bed at 9, but I could only moan and quip, “I guess I just wasn't made for this time.” She didn't laugh. I'm starting to think the only tunes she recognizes from my last record are the hits.
Oh, well. Not long after I woke up, I took a pretty mighty dose. And now I can't wait to celebrate the psychedelic ecstasy of the record that shattered my soul and waylaid my will to live.
1:00 pm—Man, that guitar riff has such a great melodic sting to it. The orchestral touches are so precise yet ambient that I wanna stick my head in an oven. Plus, apparently they finally found a guy to replace Ringo: a fellow by the name of Billy Shears. I'm really looking forward to getting a load of his chops as a vocalist.
1:02—Oh, that's right. It turns out Billy Shears and Ringo are one and the same. I forgot: the Beatles are going for an “alter-ego band” sort of approach. I gotta stop jotting down reminder notes on rolling papers that I later smoke. Anyway, this tune is totally groovy. My one qualm is that you really don't need friends in order to get high. I'm living proof!
1:05—I dig the ethereal keyboards and far-out imagery, but I can't help but wonder if there's a hidden meaning in its name, some kind of an inside-joke for the counter-culture. Hmmm... “Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds.” Lucy. Sky. Diamonds. I love it, but I'm drawing a blank. Maybe the “I,” “T,” and “W” in the title are a clue, a small piece to a puzzle that's, like, bigger than a million universes put together, ya know? “I.T.W.” Think, man, THINK... Internal Transcendental Wonderment? Intergalactic Thai-stick Wantonness? Golly-damn these Beatles; I can't crack their CODE!
1:09—I've got to admit, the happy demons in my skull are getting better all the time.
1:12—After Rhonda pounded on the locked door to my bedroom, she asked me what the you-know-what I'm doing in here. I groaned and quipped, “I'm fixing a hole where the rain gets in!” She didn't laugh at that one, either. She screamed something about how I can't tell the difference between a hammer and my own “fanny” 'cause even though I can sing and write and she really likes that and stuff she doesn't think I'm a real man. Then I heard her muffled cry from the other side of the door and I got a vision of tears pouring out of her eyes. I puffed on a reminder-paper and sang along to the chorus about fixing a hole where the rain gets in and couldn't help but feel lousy when I considered what it all meant.
1:14—It didn't take long for Rhonda to pack her things and drive away from this place. She must have planned it beforehand. She was nice enough when I barely heard her say, “bye-bye.” I guess she's leaving home. Trippy.
1:18—This band does way too many drugs. Yet they're so brilliant I wish I could plummet from the moon blindfolded onto the piercing peak of Mt. Everest...or maybe just get a hug from somebody.
Dude! More Stories, and Additional Stories is the name of that eBook you've wanted for so damn long!
No comments:
Post a Comment