The late Maurice Gibb once said of the Beach Boys on the Endless Harmony documentary: "[they offered us] great teaches of feel and great teaches in soul music. And I'm not talking about black soul; I mean from the heart." It's hard to argue that most of what made the Beach Boys such an incredibly appealing group, both artistically and commercially, came down to the effortless skill of the group's young genius -- that his music just reached an emotional level that very few artists have even rivaled, let alone topped. And even before he'd release some of the most truly moving pop music in its history with tracks like "God Only Knows," "'Til I Die," "Surf's Up" or "Don't Talk (Put Your Head On My Shoulder)," he exercised an unparalleled ability to make any subject, no matter how complex or inane, an unforgettable pop gem. The kind of skill that could overshadow even his own lyrical handicap -- which, as can be evidenced by "'Til I Die," was never a permanent disability.

The kind of inexplicable skill that has kept fanatics like myself optimistic about any or all Wilson releases. After all, what if he just -- unlike every "matured" songwriter like him, mostly because they are just that: unlike him -- snapped out of his painfully average post-Love You haze and somehow once again regained his mysterious talent. After all, no one that could write songs like "Good Vibrations," "Surf's Up" or "Don't Worry Baby" could ever just lose the ability to write a great song. Could they?

In reality, of course, we can't -- or at least shouldn't -- be coming into this record with great expectations. His eponymous '88 solo debut was hardly a triumph (a case for "too many cooks in the kitchen" if there ever was one) and Imagination (1998) dove head-first into adult contemporary cheese, his lyrics so elementary that it'd make Polyphonic Spree collectively blush. Then there was the hugely disappointing and long-awaited collaboration with Smile co-writer Van Dyke Parks (whose first two records, Song Cycle (1968) and Discover America (1972), are also very highly recommended), Orange Crate Art (1995), which bottoms out pretty badly after the opening title track. Most recently, he also -- with backing group Wondermints in tow -- performed the Smile tour, piecing the entire record together as one elongated piece (comprised of four suites) for the first time. . . well, ever.

With the new resurgence of Wilson's interest in what is arguably his most sophisticated and rewarding collection of songs, some of us may have assumed -- contrary to all that his solo material has allowed common sense to dictate -- that it may re-inspire him to write the solo record we hope he still has in him. But, like the previous record, we're immediately hit with the major block in this naivety: his vocal delivery is as lifeless as his stage presence, which has been forever, at best, a deer-in-headlights gaze into unknown dimensions. But in concert, you can at least respect the courage when his voice begins to waver -- because, after all, this is a man of the studio, the man who had quit touring with the Beach Boys before discovering pot and making his first two complete masterpieces, Today (1965) -- often disregarded as being just another "early surfing record," but they couldn't be further from the truth -- and Pet Sounds (1966).

And, just as fans could no doubt hear a drastic change in Wilson from Today through his last significant effort with the group (Love You being the closest exception), Surf's Up (1971), his long and arduous output as a solo artist has continually challenged the lengths of devotion of his cult fanbase, deteriorating from sub-par Beach Boys throw-backs to flat-out embarrassments. While Brian Wilson had enough inspiring moments to make it less than infuriating -- the opening three cuts in particular, along with sections of "Rio Grande" -- Head, like Imagination, has so little going for it outside of the artistic context that its few saving graces are more like depressing "I can still do this" posing than another contribution from pop's great songwriter/producer/arranger.

Even the album's most anticipated tracks -- like the finally completed '90s cut "Soul Searchin'," for instance, which features vocals from Carl Wilson -- are impaired badly by its dreadful lyrics (par for course on the album, unfortunately) and the comical baritone harmony of its chorus. Opener "How Could We Still Be Dancin'" -- a "Sail on Sailor" rewrite with vocals from a "raucous" Elton John -- is slightly more successful in its harmony arrangement, but once again we're given a repetitive, stilted melody that only comes to life for its pre-chorus, on which Wilson's voice sounds strained, at best; at worst, it sounds ravaged and defeated.

None of which would be as frustrating without some proof that Wilson is still an above-average arranger ("City Blues" excepted, which is a shame considering how hard he pushes his voice on the otherwise laughable cut) and that he, at times, still has an ear for a weighted pop hook. "Gettin' In Over My Head" is adorned with what is very possibly the best production on a Wilson solo record yet; his voice even sounds livelier and in control, temporarily broken free of the restraints that both his age and mental tribulations have placed upon him. He even adds a piece of nostalgia with the decent "Desert Drive," which harkens back to the earliest days of the Beach Boys, when Chuck Berry's influence was still greater than that of Phil Spector.

The Paul McCartney duet, "A Friend Like You," is also a minor highlight -- again, only if you can ignore the almost purposely unpoetic, saccharin lyrics. But, like the title track and "Soul Searchin'," it at least contains a hook that still tops anything from any post-Love You Beach Boys album. "Rainbow Eyes" takes a more straight-forward route (strangely enough, it sounds like a peppier version of something his brother Dennis would have written, but maybe that's just me), though, like "Fairy Tale," the cutesy feel of the track (not to mention the vocal missteps in the latter) makes it almost impossible to take completely seriously. Lastly (skipping over "Don't Let Her Know She's An Angel" should be made mandatory, so let's not waste our time), there's the Van Dyke Parks collab "The Waltz" -- which, as could have been expected, simply sounds like the rest of Head with more ambitious lyrics that still regularly fall flat on their face. It appears that Wilson isn't the only one of the pair that has lost their edge over the years.

Head might also sound like a patchwork, and for good reason; though several of these songs are new, several others come from earlier sources -- re-arranged versions of tracks from the back vaults, including a handful from an unreleased album, Sweet Insanity. As such, the album strains to come together as a whole, and though it's an effort we can admire, it never even comes close. It's not so much that he's over his head as much as just past his prime, and though his love of creating music that aims to communicate a very simple and honest message is respectable, he's ultimately unconvincing and awkward with tepid melodies, gimmicky guest spots and subpar lead vocals.

Let's face it: Wilson's place in pop music history is already set in stone, and though releases like this are frustrating and unfulfilling, they do prove that blood still runs through the man's creative veins. Celebrated artists from the '60s and '70s will likely continue to release similar nostalgic trips until their dying day (Neil Young being one of the few exceptions I can think of; 2003's Greendale crushes almost all of his '80s material, in fact), and really it comes down to how we want to react to the oncoming disappointment. Should we chastise Wilson for staying in the business far longer than he supposedly should have? Fuck no; he's earned his right to record and release as long as he damn well pleases, and I, for one, will continue listening -- still convinced that it is possible, in some unexplainable way, for him to return with his first great record in decades. Whether the upcoming re-recorded release of Smile will be that miracle, well, no one knows quite yet. But even a naive fan like myself has to admit that Gettin' In Over My Head doesn't give us much to base our optimism on.