Brian and Me

One of my favorite jokes:

Q: How did the hipster burn his mouth?

A: He ate pizza before it was cool.

I can relate to this joke because while I am far from being a hipster, I was a fan of Beach Boys leader and pop genius Brian Wilson way before it was cool. From the time I first discovered the Beach Boys in 1976 to well after I graduated college nearly a decade later, I would get teased and dismissed for liking such an unhip group. I put up with it because I knew I was right and in the 1990s, many of the newer bands who came to prominence would give Brian his props in interviews, and elements of Pet Sounds-like strangeness would seep into their music. By this time, Brian had finally established his solo career and through a series of albums and tours his image and reputation evolved from being an underappreciated visionary to an acknowledged musical genius and worldwide treasure.

In 1976, I was a thirteen-year-old ball of insecurity. Though I had friends, I was a shy loner at heart, with incredibly low self-esteem, fear of girls (of rejection, really), and a pervasive feeling that I didn’t quite belong in this world. Then a friend of mine and I decided to join the RCA Record Club together. Compared to the Columbia Record Club, RCA had a distinct advantage: with them, two-record sets counted as a single selection, not two like with Columbia. So my friend and I decided to pick a two-record set to get maximum value from our starter order. I believe he chose Frampton Comes Alive, certainly a popular pick at the time.

As for me, I wasn’t a big radio listener at the time and most of the albums and 45s I owned were things I stole from my older sister. This included the Monkees, the Osmonds, the Jackson 5,  Carole King, and Three Dog Night. Beyond that, I didn’t really know bands and songs, other than what I might hear passively when a radio was on and nearby.

My friend recommended the Beach Boys’ Endless Summer, the 1974 collection of hits and deep cuts from the early 1960s that surprisingly went platinum and reenergized the band’s flagging career. “Do I know any of their music?” I naively asked. He said yeah, he thought was “Barbara Ann” was on it (he was wrong; that was Spirit of America, the 1975 follow-up collection to Endless Summer). So we sent in our order and were terribly excited when it arrived. However, one of the albums I had selected (the group and title long since forgotten) was back-ordered and a coupon was included so I could order a different album.

Meanwhile, I distinctly remember my first listening of Endless Summer. Side one began with “Surfin’ Safari.” Oh, I know this, I happily exclaimed. The second song was “Surfer Girl.” I know this, too! Third song: “Catch a Wave.” Familiar. “The Warmth of the Sun.” Not as familiar but gorgeous as heck. The side ended with “Surfin USA,” the most familiar of all of them. Wow!

On to side two. “Be True to Your School” and “Little Deuce Coupe” come out of the gate strong. Was it possible I knew all these songs? Even eighty percent of them? But it was the third song on side two that really got me. “In My Room.” Whew. I didn’t know the song but it instantly became my favorite. I couldn’t believe such a song existed. To that point, I thought songs were just entertainment, that they didn’t have anything of importance to say other than I love you, let’s dance, and one bad apple don’t spoil the whole bunch, girl. I didn’t know a song could lovingly rip open your chest, gently puncture your heart, and compassionately hold up a mirror to your soul. With “In My Room,” Brian Wilson showed me that he saw me, that he heard me, and that it was okay to feel what I was feeling. Brian wasn’t just an abstract figure behind a catchy song I liked, he was someone just like me, a friend who shared my anxieties and problems.

It was an amazing and highly emotional experience. I ravenously consumed the rest of the album (“Fun, Fun, Fun!” I Get Around!” “Don’t  Worry Baby!” “California Girls!” “Help Me, Rhonda!”) and thought, Well, I have 20 songs by the Beach Boys that I love, might as well get 20 more. So I used my coupon to order Spirit of America and my life as a Beach Boys nut and collector of music began. It being 1976 was a boon to me, as the Beach Boys had just released 15 Big Ones, their first album of new material (though half were covers) since 1972 and the group was celebrating its fifteenth anniversary. There was a television special and fan magazines about the group, and I began to learn about their history. I also learned what had become of Brian Wilson and his troubles with mental illness, drugs, and weight. It didn’t matter. Brian was my now my idol and I would feel protective and paternalistic about him until his death on June 11, 2025.

(Michael Ochs Archives/Getty Images / Getty Images)

But back in 1976, I was alone in my worship of Brian Wilson. No one took seriously the profound impact his music had on me. Even when I graduated from pop and soft rock to heavy metal and progressive rock, my love for Brian’s music never ebbed even a little. Indeed, Jon Anderson of Yes has come out as a fan of Pet Sounds and my favorite prog group, Gentle Giant, with its breadth of instrumentation, intricate vocal fugues, and inventive arrangements, seemed to me to be very much a kindred musical spirit.

In 1978, when I was 15, I saw the Beach Boys for the first and only time. It was at Providence Civic Center, and my friend and I were driven there and back by his mother. Brian was there but boy, he didn’t want to be. It was a sad situation. The band was trying to get him back to touring with them, but he had no interest. He would walk offstage during a song and come back with a beer that he would place on his piano. At one point, Carl Wilson surreptitiously walked near the piano and in one quick move grabbed the bottle and flung it offstage. Brian turned to yell at him and banged on the keyboard three times in succession. What was interesting is that the song they were performing had just come to an end, and it ended with three blasts – even in a confused and angry state of mind, Brian managed to play the end of the song perfectly.

The last straw was Brian wandering off again, only to trip over a power cord and fall. That was it, I decided. I would never again see the Beach Boys unless Brian was present and healthy. He stopped appearing with them, and I stayed home. Then in 1988, to the surprise of many, he launched a solo career. It started slowly and tentatively, with some critical support but without bothering the album charts. It was about eleven years before he began touring again. At each of his early tours, I would expend an enormous amount of psychic energy trying to shore up Brian, so that if he wasn’t feeling well or flubbed a lyrics, he wouldn’t panic and make it worse. I would leave his shows thrilled but exhausted, as I had worked so hard to make the show a success! After a while, I felt I no longer needed to do that. Brian was indeed back and if his self-doubts, stage fright, and disdain of the limelight never went away, once he took in the huge ovations and began the first song of this shows, he delivered the goods like a pro.

It happened gradually, people coming around to admitting they liked Brian Wilson. Typically, I would hear, Oh I don’t really like the Beach Boys but Pet Sounds is a great album. Personally, I’ve always felt that a lot of people claimed they liked Pet Sounds because that was the album you were supposed to like. There was plenty of brilliant music in the albums preceding and succeeding Pet Sounds, but I appreciated that the tide of public opinion was turning.

He lived long enough that there were many tribute albums and shows, and the classic rock greats bestowed much love and respect on him: people like Eric Clapton, Pete Townshend, Paul McCartney, Neil Young, David Crosby, Bob Dylan, and Elton John. Nowadays you see artists like Petra Haden, Chris Thile, and the Lemon Twigs covering the Beach Boys, writing songs about him as Barenaked Ladies, Tears For Fears, and John Cale did; and groups like Fleet Foxes and Weezer who wear their Brian influence on their sleeves. As far as I’m concerned, I was there first.

And now he’s gone. It’s immensely sad for me but I know he was suffering. The candle in my heart for Brian Wilson is an eternal flame and I will never lose the light and warmth it brings me. He remains my all-time, number one personal hero and musical idol. My favorite Brian song, you may ask? It’s my favorite song, period: “Surf’s Up.” With hints of redemption and reincarnation (“columnated ruins domino” and “aboard a tidal wave” lead to “A children’s song/Have you listened as they play/Their song is love/And the children know the way”), this song is not only musically breathtaking and lyrically brilliant, it is, for me, the apex of Brian’s canon and a fitting epitaph to his life and his legacy.

Click to read an appreciation of Brian that I wrote for The Arts Fuse.