Richie Unterberger (All Music Guide)

The best Beach Boys album, and one of the best of the 1960s. The group here reached a whole new level in terms of both composition and production, layering tracks upon tracks of vocals and instruments to create a richly symphonic sound. Conventional keyboards and guitars were combined with exotic touches of orchestrated strings, bicycle bells, buzzing organs, harpsichords, flutes, the theremin, Hawaiian-sounding string instruments, Coca-Cola cans, barking dogs, and more. It wouldn't have been a classic without great songs, and this has some of the group's most stunning melodies, as well as lyrical themes that evoke both the intensity of newly born love affairs and the disappointment of failed romance (add in some general statements about loss of innocence and modern-day confusion as well). The spiritual quality of the material is enhanced by some of the most gorgeous upper-register male vocals (especially by Brian and Carl Wilson) ever heard on a rock record. "Wouldn't It Be Nice," "God Only Knows," "Caroline No," and "Sloop John B" are the well-known hits, but equally worthy are such cuts as "You Still Believe in Me," "Don't Talk," "I Know There's an Answer," and "I Just Wasn't Made for These Times." It's often said that this is more of a Brian Wilson album than a Beach Boys recording (session musicians played most of the parts), but it should be noted that the harmonies are pure Beach Boys (and some of their best). Massively influential upon its release (although it was a relatively low seller compared to their previous LPs), it immediately vaunted the band into the top level of rock innovators among the intelligentsia. The 1990 CD reissue added a few interesting but inessential outtakes, and a 1999 reissue added a new stereo version of the entire album to the original mono program.

Jerry McCully (Amazon.com)

If you need some pointy-headed pundit to sell you on the merits of Pet Sounds, your money might be better spent on an ear specialist. Brian Wilson's gift to 20th-century music elevated this pop album into a beguiling musical and emotional cogency that still operates outside pop culture's fickle space-time continuum--and limited critical lexicon. There's never been another record to compare (Rubber Soul, its inspiration, is close; Sgt. Pepper's, its response, misses the point), and certainly no album has been as dissected, overanalyzed, and predigested for public consumption. In 1997 Capitol Records devoted an entire four-disc box set, The Pet Sounds Sessions, to its thorough deconstruction. The techno-marvel centerpiece of that project--the album's first true stereo mix, painstakingly conjured out of multitape session sources by producer-engineer Mark Linett (under Wilson's supervision)--was at once heresy and revelation. Now the label has gratifyingly seen fit to offer both mixes on a single disc (along with alternate versions of "Hang On to Your Ego," the original title of "I Know There's An Answer"), an idea that should please the orthodox and heretics alike. And while the album has always clearly been The Brian Wilson Show featuring the Beach Boys, David Leaf's concise new notes attempt to be more inclusive of a wider band perspective. The result (three of the five band members claim credit for the album title) sometimes resembles Rashomon. If Pet Sounds forever crystallized the band's various creative (in)differences, it also became Wilson's grand karmic joke on his band mates; its burgeoning reputation (Mojo magazine's panel of pop experts once elected it greatest album of all time) guaranteed they would sing its songs--and praises--until the end. And if putting two different versions of the same album on one disc seems like overkill, look at the bright side: it's a perfect excuse to listen to the glorious Pet Sounds twice.

Andrew Mueller (Amazon.co.uk)

This was pretty much the only occasion on which Brian Wilson managed to articulate his extraordinary musical vision over the length of an album. As such, Pet Sounds is not merely one of the greatest records ever made, but also one of the towering masterpieces of 20th-century art. Every song here, from the exuberant introduction of "Wouldn't It Be Nice" to the concluding, wistful lament of "Caroline No", is definitive pop music. Wilson's fantastical orchestrations and harmonies support a collection of lyrics which are childishly innocent almost to the point of appearing sinister--no album has ever started with a less traditionally rock & roll sentiment than "Wouldn't it be nice if we were married?". When delivered in Wilson's anguished whine, the effect is gloriously heartbreaking--as statements of naked vulnerability go, "I Know There's An Answer" and "I Just \ Wasn't Made For These Times" remain difficult to top. Popular legend has it that when the fiercely insecure and competitive Wilson, a year on from Pet Sounds, heard the Beatles' Sergeant Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band, he was devastated. He needn't have worried. Pet Sounds wasn't trumped then, and it won't be anytime in the future.

Steve Simels (Barnes & Noble)

The Beatles adored it, and the Rolling Stones took out an ad in the British music papers urging everybody to buy it: Pet Sounds is not only the Beach Boys' best album but also one of the undisputed classics of the '60s. Written (save for an adaptation of the old folk song "Sloop John B.") by head Beach Boy Brian Wilson and a young advertising copywriter named Tony Asher, the album is a melancholy meditation on adulthood, desire, and failed romance. Featuring stunning melodies ("God Only Knows"), intricate vocal arrangements ("Wouldn't It Be Nice"), and innovative instrumentals ("Let's Go Away for Awhile"), Pet Sounds was, in 1966, also a staggering technical accomplishment. Working the old-fashioned way -- that is, without the benefit of synthesizers and samplers -- Wilson created a rich, symphonic sound by blending multiple vocal tracks and conventional keyboards and guitars with harpsichords, flutes, and Hawaiian-tinged strings, then added a panoply of sound effects: bicycle bells, Coca-Cola cans, a Theremin, barking dogs. Although only a moderate hit upon its release, Pet Sounds has proved hugely influential over the years. In 1997 it was rereleased as a four-CD box set, including one disc of a never-before-heard stereo mix. The 1999 reissue marks the first release of the stereo version (plus the mono original) on a single CD. Bottom line: A masterpiece.

(CD Universe)

The Beach Boys: Brian Wilson, Carl Wilson, Dennis Wilson, Mike Love, Bruce Johnston, Al Jardine.
Additional personnel: Glen Campbell, Tommy Tedesco, Jerry Cole, Billy Strange, Barney Kessel (guitar); The Sid Sharpe Strings (strings); Tommy Morgan (harmonica); Carl Fortina, Frank Marocco (accordion); Steve Douglas, Jay Migliori, Roy Caton, Lou Backburn (horns); Leon Russell, Al De Lory, Don Randi (piano); Ray Pohlman, Carole Kaye, Lyle Ritz, Julius Wechter, Bill Pitman (bass); Hal Blaine (drums); Gene Estes, Frank Capp, Jim Gordon (percussion).
Producer: Brian Wilson.
Reissue producer: Cheryl Pawelski.
Engineers include: Larry Levine, Chuck Britz, Bruce Botnick.
Recorded at Gold Star Recording Studios, Western Recorders, Sunset Sound, Hollywood, California in 1965 & 1966. Includes liner notes by Brad Elliot and Brian Wilson.
Digitally remastered by Ron McMaster (1999, Capitol Mastering, Hollywood, California).

This is more than just an album by a great American band; it's THE great American pop album, an ambitious foray into the intricacies of harmony and melody. Masterminded by Brian Wilson, it changed the rules of rock & roll. Wilson's production brought record-making to a new level. He perfected Phil Spector's wall-of-sound into a more complex, stunning approach. He was inspired by the Beatles' RUBBER SOUL, and PET SOUNDS was, in turn, an inspiration for SGT. PEPPER.
The devoutly romantic "God Only Knows" and the hopeful "Wouldn't It Be Nice" reflect an innocent time of yearning post-adolescence. From the complex upward progressions of "You Still Believe In Me" to the heartbeat bass of "Don't Talk (Put Your Head On My Shoulder)," Wilson paid attention to every nanosecond of sound. The traditional folk song "Sloop John B," with its thickly interwoven vocals, was a major hit for the band, but PET SOUNDS' astonishing power comes from its less familiar songs. The shifting moods and devious instrumentation of "I'm Waiting For The Day" and the revealing "I Just Wasn't Made For These Times" are further testaments to Wilson's tortured genius. Wilson has said that angels were overseeing the production of PET SOUNDS; there is no doubt about it.

(CMJ New Music Report, issue 548, December 1, 1997)

Simply put, Pet Sounds is probably the most brilliant album anybody will ever make. In the words of Brian Wilson himself, "I was in a loving mood for a while, and that love found its way onto tape." It's the kind of record to reach for either when things are really good or when the going gets tough. Conceived and written while composer/songwriter/genius Wilson remained at home and the Beach Boys were out on tour, it was born of and created in a situation that will probably never happen again. For one of the last times in pop music, the recordings were made by a bunch of musicians playing live in a room together. It was the last days before true multi-track recording, and Wislon would rehearse up to 20 musicians at a time, running them through take after take until he got what he wanted. Knowing only self-taught music theory, Wilson would simply translate the sounds he heard in his head to the small orchestra sitting in the room one instrument at a time, which is actually pretty incredible. The Pet Sounds Sessions gives us four CDs' worth of instrumental sessions, backing tracks and vocals. You can eavesdrop and hear the album taking shape either instrumentally without the vocals, or the vocals without the music, and more. Although the title song itself was originally known as "Run James Run," these are clearly Wislon's pet sounds - specifically, his adventures trying to find sounds that make the listener feel loved; the toy piano notes that open "You Still Believe In Me," the incredibly deep, wandering bass lines, the infamous "big-bongo" beats - these are the strangely affecting sounds that make Pet Sounds its own little world. It's an area that not even the Beatles explored consciously - quite often their string arrangements and sound effects weren't there for specific, explainable reasons other than the fact that they sounded neat ("A Day In The Life," "I Am The Walrus"). Hearing Brian Wilson's own "pet sounds," it's hard not to be bowled over.

Dave Feitch (JAM! Music / Calgary Sun, August 15, 1999)

Finally, every home should have a copy of the new Pet Sounds disc, Brian Wilson's breathtaking 1966 pop masterpiece (and, frankly, one of the best records ever made).

Finally, on one disc, you can hear the original mono mix as well as a new, true-stereo mix that was previously available only on the 1997 Pet Sounds box set. You've never heard Pet Sounds until you hear it in stereo, as the separation between the instruments (including piccolo trumpets, Christmas bells, timpanis and harps) reveals the brilliance of Wilson's arrangements and the jaw-dropping beauty of the music, all of which nicely complements the melancholy poignancy of the lyrics.

Absolutely essential.

Ryan Schreiber (Pitchfork Media)

The Beatles claim it inspired Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band. Some critics say it's better than anything the Beatles ever released. NME even called it "The Best Album of All Time." I guess I can see how someone might think that... but I don't.

See, at the time of its original release a mere 33 years ago, this was a historic recording, a classic. Brian Wilson's complex vocal arrangements, elaborate recording techniques, and orchestral flourishes were groundbreaking enough to permanantly alter the course of music. On the other hand, a lot has happened for music since Pet Sounds. For instance, compare Pet Sounds to Pink Floyd's Dark Side of the Moon, My Bloody Valentine's Loveless or Radiohead's OK Computer. To these young ears, Brian Wilson's masterpiece just doesn't stand up.

Sure, the genius of songs like "Don't Talk (Put Your Head on My Shoulder)," "God Only Knows," and "Caroline No" is undeniable-- to this day, few people have come close to penning sweeter melodies. But this style of straight- forward pop music, despite its appeal on an instinctual level, has become passe and cliched. If this were not the Beach Boys, but some indie pop outfit on Parasol Records, it might make a few critics' Top 10 lists, if it didn't just vanish into obscurity.

Also, this long- awaited reissue contains both Mono and Stereo versions of the album, a pretty asinine manuever on the record company's part. The Mono version of the album has been available on CD for years-- there's not a Beach Boys fan in the world that doesn't already own it, and anyone interested in purchasing the album at this point will most likely not really be interested in having to skip ahead to Track 15 every time you want to hear the Stereo mix.

Of course, you've got to give the album credit for influencing people like Weezer, Burt Bacharach, and... oh, the Beatles. And it still remains a seminal pop album-- one of pop music's quintessential works of perfection. But, like its creator Brian Wilson, it just wasn't made for these times.

Peter Kane (Q Magazine, February 2001)

Pet Sounds is always there or thereabouts on the list of all-time greatest albums. Rightly so. This is the jewel in Brian Wilson's considerable crown and a landmark for pop music on its way from gangling adolescence to something approaching maturity. He may have only had one good ear, but he put it to impossibly good use on creating a cycle of songs that was the polar opposite of the Fun, Fun, Fun mentality that The Beach Boys had previously espoused. Amid lustrous harmonies and sculpted arrangements, here was a voice that was instead riven by a sense of isolation and self-doubt as youth's bloom inexorably began to fade. God Only Knows is the obvious centrepiece, but I Just Wasn't Made For These Times and Caroline No are equally exquisite examples of Wilson's timeless art. About as good as it gets.

(RollingStone)

Recorded and released in 1966, not long after the sunny, textural experiments of "California Girls", "Pet Sounds", aside from its importance as Brian Wilson's evolutionary compositional master piece, was the first rock record that can be considered a "concept album"; from first cut to last we were treated to an intense, linear personal vision of the vagaries of a love affair and the painful, introverted anxieties that are the wrenching precipitates of the unstable chemistry of any love relationship. This trenchant cycle of love songs has the emotional impact of a shatteringly evocative novel, and by God if this little record didn't change only the course of popular music, but the course of a few lives in the bargain. It sure as hell changed its creator, Brian, who by 1966 had been cruising along at the forefront of American popular music for four years, doling out a constant river of hit songs and producing that tough yet mellifluouis sound that was the only intelligent innovation in pop music between Chuck Berry and the Beatles.

Previous Beach Boy albums were also based on strong conceptual images, the dream world of Surf, wired-up rods with metal flake paint, and curvaceous cuties lounging around the (implicitly suburban and affluent) high school. It was music for white kids; they could identify with the veneration of the leisure status which in 1963 was the ripest fruit of the American dream. It wasn't bullshit, you could dance your silly brains away to "Get Around" or "Fun Fun Fun" if you felt like it.

But "Pet Sounds" . . . . nobody was prepared for anything so soulful, so lovely, something one had to think about so much. It is by far the best album Brian has yet delivered, and it paradoxically began the decline in mass popularity that still plagues this band. It also reflected Brian's preoccuapation with pure sound. In fact, the credits on the new edition of "Pet Sounds" read: "This recording is pressed in monophonic sound, the way Brian cut it." It's a weird little touch. The tone of it is so mythologizing it sounds as if Brian were no longer among us.

The love songs of "Pet Sounds" begin with the gorgeous theme of frustrated mid-Sixties blueballed adolescence, "wouldn't it be nice to stay together, hold each other close the whole night through? . . ." That question lays the entire premise of the album immediately in front of us. "You Still Believe In Me," with Brian's lovely harpsichord playing, carries the affair a little farther, through and past indescretion into the reconciliation of "Don't Talk (Put Your Head on My Shoulder)," sung in Brians' wrenching, melting butter falsetto with the gentle lyrics of Tony Asher, Brian's major collaborator in this period, at the top of their form. There are also the perceptive songs of anxiety, malaise and self-doubt - "That's Not Me," "I'm Waiting For the Day," a tribute to the larger-than-life echo chambers of Phil Spector, the striking choral ensemble of "God Only Knows" and the angst-laden "I Know There's An Answer." Each of these tunes has its own singular flavor, one little brilliant touch - the slur of a baritone saxophone or the luxuriant tintinnabulation of Brian's omnipresent chimes - that puts it apart from the body of the whole record.

The "Pet Sounds" story ends unhappily, or at least stoically. "Here Today" is an angry blaster, and portrays a pessimism and disaffection that jars with the previous optimism. It is the end of the affair, and our persona is clearly pissed. "I Just Wasn't Made For These Times" is an expression of general disenchantment with just about everything, rendered politely of course, in a low-key manner. These two tunes, like the rest of the record are great not only because of the lust, dramatic arrangements, but because the strangest of the brothers Wilson has his psyche on the pulse of universal subjectivity. Being extremely aware of fantasy himself, Brian knows how most people think.

Three cuts are impossibly dated and don't even enter into consideration: a boring cover of "Sloop John B." that had some success as a single (with all the genius on this record, Capitol Records chose this as the single because it probably sounded truest to preconceptions about the Beach Boy "formula"). The two instrumentals, "Pet Sounds" and "Let's Go Away For Awhile," are pretty mood pieces and that's all.

The final episode of "Pet Sounds" is "Caroline, No," three minutes of heartbreaking pathos, a haunting ballad that is the guts of hapless melancholy, the hollow and incredulous feeling at the loss of a lover.

© Frank Steven Groen