Ever since he was a child, Brian Wilson had been fascinated by the concept of ESP. David Marks’ mother had claimed psychic powers, and impressed many of the people in their community, including the Wilsons, when Brian was growing up. But when he came to write a song about it, he didn’t think of Marks’ mother, but of his own. He had asked her, when he was a child, why dogs seemed to like some people and be angry at others, seemingly with no reason, and she had told him that dogs picked up “vibrations” from people — some good, some bad.
So when in February 1966, Brian went into the studio to record a song about ESP, the obvious title was Good, Good, Good Vibrations, especially since he was currently recording an album that would end with dogs barking and that was titled Pet Sounds — because sounds are, of course, a type of vibration too.
But the track he cut wasn’t quite right — it had the basic structure of a decent pop song, somewhere in between God Only Knows and Here Today from the album he was working on, and with the electro-theremin he’d used on I Just Wasn’t Made For These Times, but slightly funkier than any of those. But that’s all it was, a decent pop song.
What Brian Wilson had in his head was something more complex than that — not just a pop song, but a “pocket symphony”, a piece of music that would be at least as complex and interesting as Rhapsody In Blue, with distinct movements and changes, but in a three minute span.
He worked at it intermittently over the next few months, going into the studio every few weeks to cut a new version of his track, with different permutations of instruments — maybe a Hammond organ instead of the harpsichord? Maybe a bass harmonica? — but never getting the sound he wanted.
He put it aside for a while, eventually convinced that he just couldn’t get the record out of his head and onto vinyl, and considered offering it to an R&B artist like Wilson Pickett, whom he thought the song might suit — presumably thinking that the two-chord shuffle of the chorus as it was originally conceived (although even in the earlier versions, the song goes up a tone halfway through the chorus, a trick Wilson reused from California Girls), which was clearly inspired by Marvin Gaye’s Can I Get A Witness?, would better suit Pickett’s stye than the Beach Boys’. However, a few months later Wilson’s friend David Anderle asked if he could have the song for Danny Hutton, a new singer with whom he had been working. Persuaded of the song’s commercial possibilities, Wilson returned to it.
But there was a problem. He needed a set of lyrics for the song. Tony Asher, the lyricist for much of Pet Sounds, had come up with a set of lyrics for him to sing to get a feel for the track, but those lyrics (“she’s already working on my brain/I only look in her eyes, but I pick up something I just can’t explain”) were only scratch lyrics, far too on the nose, and Asher had never got round to finishing them before going back to his advertising job.
Around this time, Wilson encountered Van Dyke Parks, a young session musician and arranger. Parks was younger than Wilson, but he had already had a rather extraordinary life — among other things, he had played music with Albert Einstein as a child, had appeared as Tommy Manicotti in The Honeymooners [FOOTNOTE: He was one of multiple actors to play the role, and isn't the actor in the surviving episodes, but definitely appeared in at least one episode, and probably more.], and had been the arranger on The Bare Necessities for the Disney film The Jungle Book.
Parks was a hyper-intelligent, astonishingly talented man, and he and Wilson quickly hit it off and began writing new, experimental, songs that were wildly different from anything the Beach Boys had done before, with allusive stream-of-consciousness lyrics. Parks refused to write new lyrics for Good Vibrations — he didn’t want to get involved in a song that had already had seven months’ studio time, off and on, and thought it best that it be completed without him — but he did suggest the final missing element for the song. Carl Wilson had already suggested a cello be used in the choruses, but Parks’ suggestion that the cello be playing fast triplets gave the chorus the rhythmic impetus it needed.
Wilson eventually edited together an instrumental track using bits of five different sessions — the verses from the very first session in February, the quiet organ bridge from a session in September, and so on — and rather amazingly, it all came together perfectly. The result was a perfect mixture of psychedelia, R&B, and sunshine pop, a glorious, euphoric rush, but evoking almost religious feelings in the extended bridge section, and with a strange, haunting, eeriness in the chorus. It’s a perfectly-structured song, and a lesson in dynamics that puts Phil Spector to shame.
It still needed lyrics, however, and Mike Love eventually came to the rescue, writing the lyrics in the cab on the way to the studio for the final vocal session. Love’s lyrics are far, far cleverer than they’re normally given credit for, grounding the listener in the real, sensory world in the first verse, talking about how the woman in the song looks (“the colourful clothes she wears and the way the sunlight plays upon her hair”), sounds (“the sound of a gentle word”) and smells (“the wind that lifts her perfume through the air”), before the chorus and its extra-sensory concerns, and the altogether stranger second verse. It’s still a boy/girl love song, but it’s infinitely more well-crafted than the original, clunky, lyrics. Love is not always the most original lyricist, but when given really good material he can rise to the challenge, and this is his finest moment, and every bit the triumph for him as it is for Wilson.
Carl Wilson took the lead beautifully (with Brian dropping in the phrases “I hear the sound of a” and “when I look”, which go out of Carl’s comfortable range — luckily at this point the two brothers were practically indistinguishable vocally, and most people can’t hear the edit until it’s pointed out to them), and Love’s doo-wop bass vocal part instantly became one of the most memorable hooks of the Beach Boys’ career.
The song became their third US number one, and their biggest hit to date. To this day it often tops critics’ lists of the best singles of all time. The Beach Boys were on top of the world, and with these new songs Brian and Van Dyke had been writing, things could only get better…
Composer: Brian Wilson and Mike Love
Line-up: (NB, this lineup contains everyone who played on any of the sessions that were used for the final master. Some of them may have, for example, only played on the choruses on a take where only the verses were used) Brian Wilson (vocals, tack piano, Carl Wilson (vocals, Fender bass, rhythm guitar, percussion), Dennis Wilson (vocals, organ), Al Jardine (vocals), Mike Love (vocals), Bruce Johnston (vocals), Ray Pohlman, Lyle Ritz, Bill Pitman, Jimmy Bond, and Arthur Wright (bass), Larry Knechtel, Don Randi, Al de Lory, and Mike Melvoin (keyboards), Hal Blaine and Jim Gordon (drums, percussion), Frank Capp, Tony Asher, Terry Melcher, and Gary Coleman (percussion), Paul Tanner (electro-theremin), Plas Johnson, Jay Migliori, Steve Douglas, Jim Horn, and Bill Green (woodwinds), Tommy Morgan (harmonica, bass, harmonica, jew’s harp), Jesse Erlich (cello), Emil Richards (vibraphone)
Original release: Good Vibrations/Let’s Go Away For A While, The Beach Boys, Capitol 5676
Currently available on: Smiley Smile UMG CD, plus innumerable compilations.
Rubber Soul had been a shock to Brian Wilson’s sense of the music industry. When he heard the Beatles’ most recent album in late 1965, he realised for the first time that it was possible to do a whole album with a cohesive feel and no filler [FOOTNOTEIn fact the album he heard, the American release, was not the album the Beatles had put together -- four tracks were removed from the British release and two added from Help!, giving it arguably a more coherent style than the original album.]. He’d already started work on the Beach Boys’ latest album, having recorded a version of an old folk song, Sloop John B, and a new track he called In My Childhood, but hearing the latest work from his rivals pushed him on to decide that the new album would contain none of the joke tracks, doo-wop covers, or generic surf instrumentals that had been featured on the band’s previous records. This would be an entire album with only good tracks on it.
With the Beach Boys touring for much of the time without him, Wilson had to turn to different methods of making records. While up until early 1965 the band themselves had played on nearly every backing track, now the majority of the sessions were to feature the Wrecking Crew, and with Mike Love not around Wilson had to look for a different songwriting partner.
He found the lyricist he wanted in Tony Asher, an advertising copy-writer who had little previous experience of songwriting. What Asher did have, however, was the ability to understand and empathise with Wilson on an emotional level, and translate Wilson’s feelings into words he felt comfortable singing. In a period of a few weeks, the two had written Wouldn’t It Be Nice, You Still Believe In Me (based on the earlier In My Childhood), Don’t Talk (Put Your Head On My Shoulder), Caroline No, I Just Wasn’t Made For These Times, Here Today, That’s Not Me and God Only Knows — the core of what would become the Pet Sounds album.
Of all of them, probably the most meaningful for Wilson was God Only Knows, one of several songs where, inspired by a suggestion of Asher’s, the two tried to craft a song that would stand up alongside standards such as Stella By Starlight and Stardust.
Taking initial inspiration from the melody of the Lovin’ Spoonful’s You Didn’t Have To Be So Nice, Wilson turned the initial melodic idea into possibly the most beautiful thing he ever wrote. There’s only twelve bars of actual musical material, other than the key change for the instrumental bridge, but those twelve bars have a wonderful harmonic ambiguity to them, full of minor sixths, diminished chords, and dissonant bass notes, with the song only resolving straightforwardly at the end of the verse, yet the whole thing feels beautiful, effortless, and inevitable.
Asher’s lyrics had a similar sense of simplicity, but were in their own way at least as experimental. Starting the song “I may not always love you…” and having the word “God” in the title of a secular song were both bones of contention between him and Wilson, but Asher prevailed, and his lyrics, which on the surface are a simple love song but in fact communicate as much about depression and insecurity as any of the songs on the album that are more explicitly about those subjects, remained intact.
The song took time to get right in the studio, too. Wilson’s original idea for the instrumental break — a lounge sax solo — was so bad it could almost have sunk the record, but thankfully he took on pianist Don Randi’s suggestion to play through the chord sequence staccato, and one of the most effective instrumental parts of any Beach Boys track was created. And while it was obvious from the start that Carl Wilson should sing lead on the track, as the youngest Wilson brother had recently blossomed into an astonishing vocal talent, what the rest of the vocal arrangement should be was less obvious. At one point during the sessions, all six Beach Boys, plus Brian Wilson’s wife and sister-in-law, plus Terry Melcher, were all singing “bop bop” backing vocals as block chords.
Thankfully, Wilson stripped this down, and the end result features just three voices. Carl Wilson sings lead, with Brian Wilson and Bruce Johnston adding backing vocals in the middle section, while at the end there’s a simple call-and-response vocal round, with Brian Wilson taking the high and low parts while Johnston answers him in the middle.
The result is one of the most beautiful recordings in the history of popular music, perfect in every note from the French horn and flute on the intro through to Brian Wilson’s falsetto “What would I be without you?” on the fade. The song is one of the best ever written, and Carl Wilson’s double-tracked lead vocal is so astonishingly good that from this point on, for the next few years, he would be the band’s de facto lead vocalist, even though he’d only taken two solo leads before.
The only question now was how Brian Wilson could top an album many were already calling the greatest ever…
God Only Knows
Composer: Brian Wilson and Tony Asher
Line-up: Carl Wilson (vocals, guitar), Brian Wilson (vocals), Bruce Johnston (vocals), Hal Blaine (drums), Jesse Erlich (cello), Carl Fortina and Frank Marocco (accordion), Jim Gordon (percussion), Bill Green and Jim Horn (flute), Leonard Hartman (clarinet, bass clarinet), Carol Kaye, Ray Pohlman and Lyle Ritz (bass) Leonard Malarsky and Sid Sharp (violins), Jay Migliori (saxophone), Don Randi (piano), Alan Robinson (French horn), Darrel Terwilliger (viola)
Original release: Pet Sounds, the Beach Boys, Capitol T 2458
Currently available on: Pet Sounds Capitol CD, plus innumerable compilations.
It might have seemed in 1964 that Brian Wilson was on top of the world. Not only had the Beach Boys managed to withstand Beatlemania, despite the British band being on the same record label as them, but unlike almost every other American group they’d actually become more successful, having their first number one hit with I Get Around. Brian’s songs were still becoming hits for Jan and Dean, as well, and being covered by bands like the Hondells. He was a massive pop star at the point when pop music seemed like the most important thing in the world, and he was engaged to be married.
But there was an increasing pressure on Wilson, who had by the end of 1964 been responsible for writing, producing, and performing on eight Beach Boys albums, as well as working on other people’s records. He was trying to become a more mature artist at the same time, writing instrumental arrangements of increasing sophistication, which required him to augment his band in the studio with more and more members of the Wrecking Crew. Meanwhile his original strategy to take the pressure off — retiring from touring — had had to end after David Marks had quit, so he was back on the road as well.
And the signs of the stress were showing — while there had always been a melancholy edge to the Beach Boys’ ballads, their uptempo songs had generally been cocky and full of confidence, but now there was a restlessness, an anxiousness, an insecurity to the songs. “I’m getting bugged driving up and down the same old strip”, “you’ve got to be a little nuts, but show them you’ve got guts, don’t back down from that wave”.
Nowhere was that insecurity more obvious than in Guess I’m Dumb, one of two songs Wilson wrote with Screen Gems staff writer Russ Titelman in mid-1964. Here the bragadoccio is totally gone, and for the first time we see the themes of male insecurity that would haunt Wilson’s music from here on, without even the fig leaf of a car race to mask it. The song opens with “The way I act don’t seem like me/I’m not on top like I used to be”, and while it ends with a statement of hope that “this time girl it’s gonna be for ever more”, the protagonist isn’t fooling anyone — the constant tug to the minor fifth in the chord sequence is telling us this is a dark, depressing, mood, not a hopeful one.
The backing track was recorded in October, and then set aside for vocals to be recorded after Brian returned from touring — the Beach Boys spent the next two months on the road.
But on the 23rd of December, 1964, just three years to the day after the Beach Boys’ first gig, Brian Wilson had a breakdown on a flight to Houston. He’d had mental health problems before, but this breakdown was much, much more serious. He managed to get through that night’s show, but simply couldn’t continue with the tour.
The Beach Boys needed someone to cover for Brian quickly, someone who could join the band the next day and take over Brian’s parts. And there was only one man who fit the bill.
Glen Campbell was a member of the Wrecking Crew. While he couldn’t read music, he was one of the most in-demand session musicians in LA, thanks to his proficiency on guitar and banjo and his ability to play anything from bluegrass to loud rock and roll. The band knew him — he’d played on several sessions for their upcoming album — and he knew the songs, having played on enough Jan and Dean or Gary Usher sessions making remakes and knockoffs of them. Campbell also had a parallel career as an unsuccessful country singer, but his lack of success wasn’t down to a lack of talent — he had a strong tenor voice reminiscent of Roy Orbison (a favourite of the Beach Boys’) and could easily sing the parts.
Campbell flew out, quickly rehearsed, and fit into the band straight away, staying with them for almost five months. But while he was apparently offered the chance to become a full-time Beach Boy, it didn’t appeal to him — Campbell wanted to keep making his own records, and so towards the end of his time in the band, Brian Wilson gave him Guess I’m Dumb to release as a single as a thank-you.
And by God does it work. Head and shoulders over everything else Brian Wilson had done to this point, the track seems equally influenced by Bacharach, Phil Spector, Orbison, and mariachi music, a big, swelling, intense, orchestral pop song, with the Honeys (a vocal group consisting of Wilson’s wife, her sister, and their cousin) adding girl-group backing, Brian and Carl Wilson providing wordless backing vocals that can only be described as a mumbled moan of despair, and Hal Blaine providing a broken drum part that eerily prefigures much of the Beatles’ more interesting drum parts of the next year.
And over this, Campbell delivers an absolutely breathtaking performance, singing at the top of his chest range, with occasional smooth, seamless, moves into falsetto. Hearing him on this material it’s immediately obvious why he was chosen to replace Brian Wilson on the road — both men could move between chest and head voice on the same word without a break, a far rarer gift among vocalists than many would expect, and something that’s absolutely essential to get the right effect on Wilson’s melodies.
One could argue perhaps that there’s less vulnerability or fragility in Campbell’s tone than in Wilson’s, which in general terms is probably a good thing but on this particular track may be a weakness, but that’s just nitpicking — at the end of the track you can faintly hear Brian Wilson telling Campbell “that was outta sight!”, and it is. This is a truly remarkable record.
Unfortunately, the listening public didn’t think so, and the track didn’t even make the top 100. It would be interesting to imagine what would have happened had Campbell stayed with the Beach Boys, rather than gone back, at least for a time, to being a session player. But by the time this track was released, Campbell had already been replaced. Bruce Johnston, who we’ve heard from previously in the Gamblers and the Rip Chords, was now a Beach Boy…
Guess I’m Dumb
Composer: Brian Wilson and Russ Titelman
Line-up: Glen Campbell (vocals, guitar), Brian Wilson (backing vocals, piano), Carl Wilson (backing vocals, guitar), Marilyn Wilson, Diane Rovell, and Ginger Blake (backing vocals), Tommy Tedesco (guitar), Larry Knechtel (bass), Hal Blaine (drums, percussion), Roy Caton and Ollie Mitchell (trumpets), Lou Blackburn and Harry Betts (trombones), Steve Douglas and Jay Migliori (saxophones), Sid Sharp , Leonard Malarsky, Arnold Belnick, and James Getzoff (violins), Alexander Neiman and Darrel Terwilliger (violas), Jesse Ehrlich and Anne Goodman (cellos)
Original release: Guess I’m Dumb/That’s All Right Glen Campbell single, Capitol 5441
Currently available on: Rhinestone Cowboy: The Best of Glen Campbell EMI CD
I still, two years after the end of the Beach Boys’ reunion tour, get people coming to my blog looking for an answer to this question. I thought it probably worth laying out the facts for those people.
The simple answer: he didn’t. For the longer answer, read on.
At the end of the Beach Boys’ reunion tour in 2012, there were a lot of news reports claiming that Mike Love “fired” Brian Wilson from the Beach Boys, and that he owned the Beach Boys’ name. This is wholly untrue, but to see why, we have to look at a bit of history.
Mike Love does not own the Beach Boys’ name. The name is owned by Brother Records Incorporated (BRI), who are in turn owned equally by Love, Wilson, Alan Jardine (another former member of the Beach Boys) and the estate of the late Carl Wilson (another former member of the band). BRI in turn license MELECO, a company owned by Love, to put on shows as “the Beach Boys”. That license has various conditions attached — Love must pay a (hefty) fee to BRI, must use only male vocalists, must do shows that feature a lot of fun and sun songs, and so on — in order to make sure that Love’s band don’t damage the value of the Beach Boys brand name, so Love definitely doesn’t own the name.
That license is non-exclusive, but between 1999 and 2012 Love was the only person to have been granted a license. However, in 2012, a second license was issued by BRI, to a company called 50 Big Ones. This company had three owners — Love, Wilson, and an outside producer, Joe Thomas.
Thomas was an integral part of the reunion. He had control of a number of tapes of songs he’d co-written with Wilson which were needed for the reunion album, he had experience putting on live shows for TV specials (which was part of the package), and he’d worked with all the Beach Boys without too much of a problem in the past. But while he was someone who was (at least at the start) acceptable to both Love and Wilson, he was definitely “Brian’s man”, and this meant that Wilson had de facto control over the reunion, although both men had to compromise enormously.
(The other Beach Boys didn’t really get any say over the reunion. David Marks and Bruce Johnston aren’t corporate members, and Al Jardine, while a full corporate member, isn’t part of the family. More to the point, Love is the frontman and Wilson was the one who would make the reunion a big event that would get news coverage and record company interest).
We know that there were things Love didn’t like about the reunion tour — in particular, he complained about the large band (mostly Wilson’s musicians, although two crucial members were from Love’s band), disliked the album (into which he had comparatively little creative input — it was mostly Wilson and Thomas’ work), and didn’t like the experience of working with Brian’s “people”.
On the other hand, he did like the setlists (which were one area where he was in charge), working with Jeff Foskett (Wilson’s right-hand man, who he’s since hired for his own band), the intro music (which he’s kept for his own shows) and the video screens used during the show. He’s also kept some of the changes that were made to arrangements during that tour.
So Love didn’t think it was a wholly positive thing, but nor did he think it was a wholly negative thing. So why did the tour end?
The reason was only recently made public, in a Facebook comment by Love’s daughter, but it’s been obvious to those who have been paying attention since it happened.
The reunion tour was originally meant to last fifty shows only, almost all in North America. But a short while after the tour started, an agreement was made to extend the tour by twenty-something shows and visit Australia, Japan, and the UK.
And when that agreement was reached, an email was sent to Love, by someone in Brian Wilson’s organisation with the power to make statements like this, saying that “these will be absolutely the last shows for Wilson”. This was an open secret among Beach Boys fans a while ago, and was made public in that FB comment. I have spoken to people who’ve seen the email in question, and I know those people to be trustworthy.
Having been told a fixed end date, after which the reunion tour was over, Love booked shows after that date with his MELECO license, for the band he’d been touring with for years.
However, in the last week of the tour, long after contracts had been signed and tickets sold for Love’s band’s shows, it became clear that Brian Wilson and Al Jardine were both quite keen (at least at that moment) to continue with the reunion tour, and Wilson said in a statement “it feels a bit like being fired”. This, and similar statements from Jardine, along with a hell of a lot of jumping to conclusions from reporters, led to reports that Love had sacked Wilson, Jardine, and Marks.
Now, it’s entirely possible that Wilson was not informed of the ultimatum sent out by the person in his organisation. It’s also possible that he forgot it or changed his mind between then and the end of the tour. We can’t say for sure whether Brian Wilson brought the tour to an end and later regretted it, or whether someone in his organisation overstepped themselves and messed things up as a result. But what we can say is that Mike Love didn’t fire him.
It may well, of course, be Love’s choice that there hasn’t been any further reunion activity — I don’t think he was especially unhappy for the reunion to end — but he didn’t set the end date on it. Someone else did.
(An extra note for the hard of thinking — I am NOT saying that Mike Love didn’t do whatever other bad thing you’re about to accuse him of, nor am I calling Brian Wilson a liar, nor am I “taking Love’s side over Brian”. Brian Wilson is responsible for at least 85% of what I like about the Beach Boys, and a vastly more talented artist than Love. If I had to pick a side, I would pick Brian over Mike every time, but I simply don’t think there is any value whatsoever in choosing goodies and baddies and fighting for one side in interpersonal problems between people I don’t know.
Nor am I saying “Brian is being manipulated by people in his organisation”. He might be. Or he might be manipulating the situation. Or there could have been a genuine error. Or any of half a dozen other things.
If you don’t know why I add these caveats, just count yourself lucky — you’ve clearly never been involved in the less salubrious parts of Beach Boys fandom).
By late 1963 Gary Usher’s writing partnership with Brian Wilson was more or less at an end. He had been manoeuvred aside by Murry Wilson, who always wanted to keep as much of the Beach Boys’ success in the family as possible. Brian Wilson had briefly collaborated with Roger Christian, but that writing partnership, too, had largely come to an end within a few months, and Wilson was writing either on his own or with Mike Love, at least for the Beach Boys.
Wilson, Usher, and Christian all remained friends and collaborators outside the Beach Boys, though, although the increasing pressure on Wilson meant that those extra-curricular activities also tapered off. But in the early part of 1964 the three of them worked together on songs for the film Muscle Beach Party, and Wilson co-wrote a country single, Sacramento, released as a Gary Usher solo track.
So it’s unsurprising that Usher would pay attention to the Beach Boys’ ongoing career, especially since their hit album All Summer Long, which included the number one single I Get Around, contained one last Wilson/Usher collaboration left over from the year before, We’ll Run Away.
One song stood out to Usher, who had developed a lucrative sideline in creating one-off records by studio bands, often car songs, under band names such as The Super Stocks and Mr. Gasser & The Weirdos. Little Honda was clearly, obviously, a hit, even though it was only an album track. It made no sense for the Beach Boys not to have released it as a single themselves, except that they seeemed to be moving away from the surf and car sound of their early hits – I Get Around was their last car single, and All Summer Long contained one final song about surfing, a subject they’d otherwise dropped two albums earlier. Little Honda‘s four-chord rock, while undeniably catchy, was nowhere near as sophisticated as some of the other work Brian Wilson was producing, and would have been seen by the band as little more than filler.
Usher, though, saw the potential in it, and quickly booked sessions to record an album entitled Go Little Honda, made up almost entirely of new songs by Christian and himself, with titles such as Hon-Da Beach Party, Hot Rod High, and Two-Wheel Show Stopper, and with as its lead-off track a soundalike recording of the Beach Boys’ song. The album was ‘produced’ by Nik Venet, but as with so many of Venet’s production credits, this meant that Venet was the liaison between the people making the records and the record company — Usher was de facto producer, as well as arranger and backing vocalist.
For the backing, Usher of course used the standard Wrecking Crew session musicians who had become the go-to musicians for everyone in the LA pop business (even the Beach Boys, who were a self-contained band, were starting to incorporate the Crew to fill out their sound). And for the lead vocals, he turned to Chuck Girard.
Girard was a member of the Castells, a close-harmony group who had had a couple of minor hits in 1961 with Sacred and So This Is Love. The Castells had fallen out of popularity, and in January Usher had produced for them (with Wilson’s assistance) a Wilson/Christian collaboration, I Do, which had been unsuccessful but which showed that Girard could handle Beach Boys style material.
Girard sang under many names in Usher’s “bands”, performing at one time or another as a vocalist for about half a dozen studio concoctions, but for this album the band name that was settled on was The Hondells, to tie in with the subject matter of the single. The single peaked at number 9 in the Billboard charts, and prompted Capitol Records to release the Beach Boys’ own version as the lead track of an EP, Four By The Beach Boys, the only EP the band ever released in the US, in order to cash in on the song’s success.
The Hondells name went on to be used for several more records, usually produced by Usher and with Girard on vocals, but none replicated the success of Little Honda. Summer 1964 was the last gasp of surf and hot-rod music as a pop genre in the US, and while many of the people who had made that music would go on to even greater success, it would be with records that had little of the guitar-driven harmony innocence that had characterised the LA pop scene thus far. A more emotionally complex, intense, style of music, influenced by folk music and R&B, was starting to become popular, and Little Honda was the last big hit of the old style.
Composers: Brian Wilson and Mike Love
Line-up: Chuck Girard (vocals), Glenn Campbell (guitar), Richard Podolor (guitar), Hal Blaine (drums), Joe Kelly (vocals) and others.
Original release: Little Honda/Hot Rod High The Hondells, Mercury 72324
Currently available on: Go Little Honda/The Hondells T-Bird CD, plus innumerable budget surf and car compilations.