Brian Wilson 10 Essential Songs

Few songwriters have managed to convey feelings of joy and sadness quite as beautifully as Brian Wilson. After breaking free from the confines of the Beach Boys’ early surf records, Wilson built a song catalogue virtually unrivalled in pop and characterised by envelope-pushing arrangements and groundbreaking adventures in studio recording. His death, on June 11, 2025, at age 82, was, of course, a moment of great sadness. But—as evidenced by these 10 song selections—he leaves behind an inimitable musical legacy.

“Surfer Girl” (Surfer Girl, 1963)

Following the nascent Beach Boys’ run of (increasingly sophisticated) surf singles, the title track of their third album tellingly credited Brian Wilson as the sole producer. Transcending novelty genre with an aching wistfulness that was soon to become recurrent in Wilson’s songwriting, “Surfer Girl” was dreamy doo-wop par excellence and fast became the group’s second Top Ten hit in the summer of ’63.

“The Warmth Of The Sun” (Shut Down Vol. 2, 1964)

A slow-burning song of loss and resilience co-written by Wilson and Mike Love on November 22, 1963, the day of JFK’s assassination. Memories differed however: Love said they’d begun working on the words and melody the previous evening; Wilson claimed it was in the aftermath of the shocking murder. Whatever the truth, “The Warmth Of The Sun” held what Love accurately described as “haunting” in a 2007 podcast.

“California Girls” (Summer Days [And Summer Nights!!], 1965)

Whether or not Brian Wilson wrote the Beach Boys’ first compressed epic during or after his first acid trip (his own accounts conflicted), it was nonetheless a huge step forward in terms of the musical complexity that could be captured in less than three minutes on a 45 RPM single. Aside from the hooks that burst out of transistor radios everywhere, the 20-second introduction hinted at even greater symphonic ambitions.

“Caroline, No” (Pet Sounds, 1966)

Originally issued—due to its absence of harmonies and divergence from the Beach Boys’ sound—as Wilson’s debut solo single in March ’66, “Caroline, No” was later chosen to close Pet Sounds. A composition of harmonic complexity and idiosyncratic instrumentation (harpsichord, vibes, massed flutes and drummer Hal Blaine creating a distinctive boing by hitting a water jug), it stands as one of Wilson’s greatest creations.

“God Only Knows” (Pet Sounds, 1966)

Famously the song that Paul McCartney has claimed to be his all-time favourite, “God Only Knows” redrew the boundaries of pop music with its shape-shifting chord sequence and broad sonic palette (plastic cups used for percussion, a tack piano with its strings taped to shorten their sustain). Incredibly, it was relegated to the B-side of “Wouldn’t It Be Nice” in the U.S.

“Good Vibrations” (Smiley Smile, 1967)

“I wanted to make a track that sounded very complicated and creative,” Wilson explained to this writer 20 years ago. He certainly succeeded, using over 90 hours of tape, four recording studios and a budget of more than $50,000 (approximately half a million dollars today). Breakthrough moments for the composer came with the addition of percussive cello and wailing Theremin to the choruses. A commercial smash, too, reaching Number 1 in both the U.S. and U.K.

“Heroes And Villains” (Smiley Smile, 1967 / Brian Wilson Presents Smile, 2004)

Intensively laboured over through ’66 and into ’67, when it appeared on Smiley Smile, “Heroes And Villains” was a grand design—the realisation of which further unsettled the increasingly troubled Wilson. An impressionistic tale of frontier America replete with a multi-movement arrangement that stretched beyond pop into musical theatre, or even opera, it’s worth revisiting in both its 1967 form and its 2004 redux version.

“Surf’s Up” (Surf’s Up, 1971)

Perhaps the greatest loss from the scrapped Smile sessions, “Surf’s Up”—with its byzantine lyrics by Van Dyke Parks that seemed to speak of some obscure spiritual epiphany—became further proof of Wilson’s genius when it crowned the album of the same name in 1971. More than any Wilson song, perhaps, it possesses an intangibly moving beauty that remains, more than half a century on, entirely mysterious.

“Love And Mercy” (Brian Wilson, 1988)

Wilson’s treatment at the hands of controversial therapist Eugene Landy was to become the stuff of dark legend, but the process certainly served to reconnect the patient to his creativity. The result was Wilson’s first solo album, and “Love And Mercy” was the anthemic standout, portraying a delicate, empathic man watching TV news and observing, “A lot of people out there hurting and it really scares me.”

“Summer’s Gone” (That’s Why God Made The Radio, 2012)

The concluding track of a four-song suite closing the Beach Boys’ final album now sounds like an elegy to the band, employing “summer” as a metaphor for life itself. “Old friends … they’ve gone their separate ways,” sings Wilson with affecting tenderness, adding to a poignancy that will surely only increase with the passing of time.