We happy few who attained consciouness, however minimal, in the sixties can count ourselves lucky, especially those of us who were alive and alert in May and June 1966. In June, Bob Dylan’s double album Blonde on Blonde was released and, in May, the Beach Boys’ Pet Sounds appeared in the LP racks. Either can still legitimately claim the title of greatest record ever made.

Dylan is 84 and still touring; Brian Wilson, the presiding genius of the Beach Boys died this week, aged 82. No cause of death has been given but he was suffering from dementia, and mental illness, with various diagnoses, had dogged him for most of his life. This was made worse by a cruel and overbearing father and a partnership with Eugene Landy, a psychologist of sorts who, at first, did him some good and then exploited and controlled him ruthlessly, even giving himself a writing credit on some of Wilson’s songs. Perhaps his own drug consumption – notably LSD – didn’t help.

Two things should be said at once about Wilson – he was, incontestably, a musical genius. His best arrangements were dizzyingly complex and yet instantly accessible. He had perfect pitch and his own singing voice was superb. The second thing is: he did not surf, he just didn’t like the idea of it.

‘I wasn’t into surfing at all’, he said, ‘my brother Dennis gave me all the jargon I needed to write the songs. He was the surfer and I was the songwriter.’

Surfing, sunshine and sand dominated the first ten studio albums released by The Beach Boys and it wasn’t until the eleventh, Pet Sounds, that form and content merged in the Wilson oeuvre.

Three songs in particular signalled that his own voice  had broken through. God Only Knows is a poignant and ambiguous song about the possibity of lost love and I Just Wasn’t Made For These Times with the opening line, ‘I keep looking for a place to fit in’, was explicitly autobiographical.

And then came a single – Good Vibrations – the complex composition of which effectively created entirely new styles for pop. This has been described as ‘the most influential pop recording in history.’ Wilson had turned the studio into a single instrument, an innovation that introduced psychedelia into rock and roll. His equals acknowledged the depth of his talent.

Bob Dylan remarked, ‘That ear! I mean, Jesus, he’s got to will that to the Smithsonian.’

That singular ‘ear’ was unintentially ironic. Wilson had lost much of his hearing in his right ear, possibly as a result of a blow from his father. This made him speak from the side of his mouth giving people the impression he had experienced a stroke.

Paul McCartney, meanwhile, described God Only Knows as ‘the greatest song ever written’, and of Pet Sounds he said ‘I figure no one is educated musically until they’ve heard that album.’ Wilson admitted ‘The Beatles inspired me, they didn’t influence me.’ He was an almost exact coeval of McCartney – they were born two days apart in 1942.

In truth, the Beatles drove him to ever greater efforts in the studio. He clearly wanted to make the Beach Boys the greatest band in the world; equally clearly, he often succeeded. Speaking in 1966, he said, ‘The Beatles invasion shook me up a lot… So we stepped on the gas a little bit.’

The problem that haunted the Beach Boys in the sixties was Wilson’s instability. In 1964 on a flight from Los Angeles to Houston – it was the start of a two week tour – he broke down, sobbing uncontrollably. He played Houston but was replaced by Glen Campbell for the rest of the tour. In 1966, he said it was ‘the first of three breakdowns’.

There was a sense in which Wilson’s talent thrilled everybody else but seemed to trouble him. He believed that all music ‘starts with religion’ and spoke of a ‘high being who is better than we are’ while insisting that he was not ‘traditionally religious.’ The effects of LSD were to enhance the sense of something beyond. He certainly thought of it as a religious experience: ‘I learned a lot of things, like patience, understanding. I can’t teach you, or tell you what I learned from taking it.’

After 1966, he went downhill. In 1973, his father died and, for the next three years, he became a bedbound recluse. In 1974, he leapt on to a stage wearing a dressing gown and slippers while jazz musicians were playing. He then delivered a crazy rendering of Be-Bop-A-Lula. There was a revival in 1975, helped by Landy’s control mania – this also led to a massive drop in Wilson’s weight. His bed years had caused him to balloon to 350 pounds.

He had limited luck in marriage. The first ended in divorce in 1979 after 15 years; his second ended with the death of his wife after nine years. They left nine children.

What was this all about? First, there can be no doubt about his musical genius. In another life, he would easily have been a great classical composer; in this life, he raised the artistic ambitions of pop, rock, blues and jazz. He added new stylistic and poetic layers to the expressive range of popular music. He lifted the spirits, and deepened the understanding, of the young.

But he told one big lie. One of his most beautiful and obviously autobiographical songs was entitled I Guess I Just Wasn’t Made For These Times. Oh yes he was. He fitted perfectly into the postwar years of peace, plenty and neurotic searching for meanings. He was one of the very best of those troubled but lucky generations.