#15 Dennis Wilson, Moonshine - 1977

“Moonshine” is the third track on Pacific Ocean Blue, the only solo album released by Dennis Wilson.

Dennis Wilson’s contribution to music has long been overlooked. In recent years, though, time has been kinder to his work—as it often is with great art that’s initially underappreciated. There’s something oddly contemporary about his sound, even grungy. Known as the drummer of the Beach Boys—a band that sold the California dream of girls, cars, and surfing—Dennis’s solo work feels like the opposite: it lifts the lid on the sunny fantasy and exposes something far more fragile, haunted, and human.

I actually find the album quite tiring—but not in a negative way. Listening feels like sinking into the psyche of someone trapped in cycles of love, loss, addiction, and the intensely bizarre, dysfunction of Los Angeles. There are moments of joy and euphoria, but they’re always laced with melancholy. It’s the sound of a deeply troubled man, wrestling with his reality.

As much as I absolutely love the Beach Boys, Dennis’s solo work is probably the most unguarded and relatable that came from any member of the band. “Moonshine” is one of my favourite tracks. It fuses raw, emotionally cracked vocals with expansive, forward-thinking production. The song is about someone leaving, and the writing is strikingly simple—direct but no less powerful for it. A metaphor like “like the end of a beautiful play” is clever and quietly tragic. It suggests he’s framing his pain as something theatrical, perhaps even mocking his own drama. The reference to “moonshine” might be symbolic too—cheap liquor masking deeper wounds.

The more I listen, the more the lyrics reveal. Take lines like “Hold her hard and started to cry,” or “you said you love me now, in another way.” These are devastating, quietly delivered, and buried inside poetic verses. The brevity of the lyric, combined with Dennis’s cracked delivery, gives the sense of a man at his limit—emotionally drained and probably near the end of a long bottle.

The production is lush and beautifully layered. The tack piano introduction is like the opening of a theatre performance. Angelic female backing vocals provide contrast to the rawness in Dennis’s voice, almost sweetening the emotional blow. Early 70s analogue synthesizers add texture and atmosphere, giving the track a timeless quality. It closes with a haunting crescendo, Dennis repeating “gone, gone away” as the song gently dissolves. From a production standpoint, it holds up better than much of what came out of the same era. I hear echoes of it in the work of several contemporary artists.

Pacific Ocean Blue is a must-listen. Tracks like “Time” and the title track “Pacific Ocean Blues” are stunning in their own right and show just how versatile Dennis was. I’ve also spent time with the demos, many of which are just as powerful—especially “River Song,” which sounds even rockier and more urgent than the final single release.

Listen to Dennis Wilson at your earliest possible convenience!