The best albums we can't buy

August 5, 2001

BY JIM DEROGATIS pop music critic

Whether it was because of a record company feud, a musician who got cold feet, or sounds that were simply too far ahead of their time, some of the most famous albums in rock history have never been officially released.

That doesn't mean that fans haven't heard them--or helped to spread their legends.

The odd history of ''lost'' classics has been brought into the spotlight by the controversy surrounding ''The Lillywhite Sessions'' by the Dave Matthews Band. No less a pop-culture barometer than Entertainment Weekly called the aborted disc ''the biggest phenomenon in bootlegging since Bob Dylan's 'Basement Tapes' surfaced three decades ago.''

The story holds that the platinum-selling groove band had finished recording a rather dark and downbeat album last year with its longtime producer, Steve Lillywhite (a veteran of sessions with U2 and XTC, among many others). The band's label, RCA Records, heard the disc and balked: The company didn't hear a single.

''I'm not feeling this record as a fan,'' RCA exec Bruce Flohr allegedly told Matthews.

Surprisingly, given the band's reputation for doing things outside the mainstream music industry, Matthews agreed and/or acquiesced. He went back into the studio with mega-hack producer Glenn Ballard, the sort of ultra-commercial pro that bands like Aerosmith turn to when they're short on inspiration. (Ballard also co-wrote many of Alanis Morrissette's songs of twentysomething female angst.)

The result was ''Everyday,'' Matthews' most polished and radio-friendly album. Ten months after its release, the disc is still sitting at No. 25 on the Billboard chart, with certified sales of 2 million copies. But RCA had expected even better, given the group's position as the best-selling touring act in America.

It turns out that many of Matthews' most devoted fans were disappointed by ''Everyday,'' finding it overly slick and glossy, and lacking in the extended interplay that characterizes the jam band onstage. They were thrilled when ''The Lillywhite Sessions'' began to surface on the Net in March--the album that had been shelved not only sounded like the ''real'' DMB, but many thought it was the group's strongest recording ever.

In addition to being much more of a collaborative band effort (though with a minimum of the traditional instrumental wankery), ''The Lillywhite Sessions'' find Matthews digging much deeper lyrically than his usual Hallmark card banalities. Influenced by the deaths of two close relatives, songs such as the concert staple ''Bartender,'' the lilting ''Grace Is Gone,'' and the Peter Gabriel-flavored ''Grey Street'' question Dave's place in the universe and ''what it all means.''

As aural diaries of rockers' midlife crises go, it's pretty potent stuff. I give it * * *, compared to the * * I awarded ''Everyday'' upon its release.

Responding to the fans' enthusiasm, many radio stations began playing tracks from ''The Lillywhite Sessions.'' This fueled speculation by conspiracy theorists who posited that the band and the label were endorsing if not actively promulgating the underground release of the sidelined album in an attempt to woo back any Daveheads who might have been alienated by ''Everyday.''

Matthews played several of the Lillywhite songs during his recent concerts at Soldier Field, adding more support to this plot. But folks were overlooking the fact that neither RCA nor the band was making any money from an album that was being distributed electronically for free.

Two weeks ago, RCA sent threatening letters to radio stations ordering them to ''cease and desist'' from playing the bootlegged tunes, or face serious legal ramifications. Most stations, including WXRT-FM in Chicago, quickly complied.

Will ''The Lillywhite Sessions'' ever be officially released? Neither RCA nor Matthews' spokesmen are commenting. Right now, it's anybody's guess, though it remains easy to find copies of the disc on the Net. (A quick web search will turn up a dozen or more options for an instant download.)

Of course, the mystery surrounding the album makes it even more alluring, which has been the case whenever an artist's work has been withheld from the public, regardless of the reason. After the Morrison/Hendrix/Joplin truism (''Death is a great career move!''), the most accurate cliche in rock is that nothing sparks interest in a recording more than not releasing it.

The most famous lost album ever is probably ''Smile,'' the Beach Boys' aborted followup to the masterful ''Pet Sounds.'' Brian Wilson began this ill-fated collaboration with Van Dyke Parks in late 1966, following the success of the ambitious single, ''Good Vibrations.''

Wilson set out to record an album of ''teenage symphonies to God'' called ''Dumb Angel.'' But the Beach Boys' songwriting genius was taking speed and smoking marijuana constantly, and he suffered bouts of depression and paranoia. He built his infamous sandbox in the living room and refused to leave his bed for weeks at a time.

The nadir came when Wilson tried to destroy the tapes of a track called ''Fire'' because he thought it was starting blazes around Los Angeles.

In May 1967, Capitol announced that the album had been abandoned, despite the fact that ads had already run featuring the finished artwork (it had since been renamed ''Smile''.) The group cancelled a headlining appearance at the Monterey Pop Festival, and things were never the same for the Beach Boys again. Hyperbolic rock academic Greil Marcus famously wrote that Wilson's artistic reputation would forever be based largely on music that no one ever really heard.

In fact, the songs from ''Smile'' that were salvaged for the later album ''Smilely Smile'' and those that eventually appeared on a 1993 box set show flashes of inspiration, especially ''Surf's Up'' and ''Heroes and Villains.'' But the rest of the music isn't nearly as brilliant as ''Pet Sounds,'' an accomplishment that is shortchanged by all of the obsessing over its followup.

Based on tapes from Beach Boys fanatics who've rounded up fairly accurate approximations of what the unfinished ''Smile'' would have sounded like, I'd have to say that it was a * * * effort, compared to the * * * * ''Pet Sounds.''

And so it goes with many of rock's ''lost'' classics. A few of those that have belatedly seen the light of day have indeed turned out to be the masterpieces that were rumored. But most loom much larger in legend than they do on actual tape, vinyl, or CD.

Here is a look at some buried treasures that remain deep underground, followed by a list of lost classics that eventually found their way into record stores. If you know or have heard of others, email jimdero@aol.com, and the Sun-Times will run your additions in an upcoming edition of Sunday Showcase.

Brian Wilson, ''Sweet Insanity'': Not as infamous as ''Smile,'' but close. The followup to Wilson's 1988 Warner Bros. debut was a solid collection of pleasant pop tunes written in collaboration with his controversial psychiatrist, Eugene Landy. The disc was shelved when many around Wilson started attacking the good doctor's ethics, but aside from some dumb lyrics and a painful attempt to rap, it's at least as strong as other recent Wilson solo discs.

Chances it will ever be officially released: Slim. Wilson dodged the question when I asked him about it last year.