The Inner Brian

Brian Wilson 1942-2025. 

When The Beach Boys hit the scene in the early Sixties with their song Surfin USA, I was puzzled. Here was a Chuck Berry remake by a group of white guys with high pitched voices.

As they continued to produce nasal-like harmonies of bubble gum hits, I wasn’t impressed. My good friend Paul claimed they sang out of tune. 

Another high school friend, Andy, began collecting every one of their albums. He was hooked on surfing and in my opinion, riding the wave of the latest trend. 

We came from Pomona, a valley town. The culture was changing from lowrider to something else yet to be determined. As the story went, The Beach Boys were booed off stage at our most popular nightclub dance venue, Rainbow Gardens.

I believe the year was 1962. I didn’t know anyone who was there that night, but my research did reveal that the up-and-coming band from Hawthorne was forced to leave the RG stage due to a Latino music event scheduled on the same day.

I took that as a sign of honor. Probably because, in those days, I was a cynic. We didn’t want no stinking Beach Boys in our town.

I laugh about it today. My cynicism was palpable and directed at most authority figures and especially whatever struck me as trendy and popular. I chose The Rolling Stones over the Beatles because they were renegades.

I laugh even more when I consider how straight I really was.

I blew off The Beach Boys. It wasn’t until many years later that I recognized the genius of Brian Wilson. I still consider many of the band’s tunes vacuously annoying. 

Ironically, I didn’t realize that Brian’s pain as a young man represented how I felt at that time of my life. Granted, as I’ve learned, Brian had mental challenges and a tyrant for a father. I had neither. But I felt really bad and alone.

I’m not prepared to talk about my problems here, other to say that I felt abandoned. Suffice to say that when I listen to some of Brian's very personal musical compositions today, I choke up. He hits a nerve of  adolescent loneliness that resonates with me.

In his well-researched book, If Everybody Had An Ocean (2021) author Willian McKeen, explains the harsh family background and musical genius of Brian Wilson. We learn how Brian's brilliant studio work attracted musicians from around the country to Los Angeles in the late 60s. They included the Mamas and the Papas, the Eagles, Crosby-Stills & Nash, as well as Neil Young and Joni Mitchell from Canada.

As we now know, The Beach Boys Pet Sounds album opened up a new world of complicated arrangements and inner person feelings that were outside of the standard fun-in-the-sun Beach Boys repertoire. When released in 1966, Pet Sounds was not a commercial success, far from it. Over the years, with high marks from music critics, Rolling Stone Magazine has consistently rated the album No. 2 on its top 500 list.

On an early sunny morning in 1964, I was riding with my surfing buddies down PCH through Laguna Beach when a Beach Boys song began playing on the AM radio, probably station KRLA. The mood of the tune caught my ear, not just the lyrics. It seemed to define the opening of a new day. We were on our way to Doheny with surfboards. Nick, Andy, Bill, Pat? I don't remember exactly who was there.

The song was Don't Worry Baby, which, as I learned later, Brian defined as his greatest musical accomplishment as of that date, according to McKeen's book.

Brian had been gobsmacked by musical producer Phil Spector's release of Be My Baby by the Ronettes. The production featured Spector's new "wall of sound." Brian was jealous and told his girlfriend, "I'll never produce a song like that." She replied: "Don't worry, baby," reassuring him that he would.

Here was Brian Wilson achieving his own wall of sound with that tune and inserting the poignant lyric from his personal conversation.

McKeen's book explained to me why that piece of music, mostly the arrangement, had made such an impression on me.

I have since discovered more about and gained more appreciation for Brian Wilson from documentaries and the feature film, Love and Mercy (2014). I purchased Pet Sounds for my musical library.

Brian died a few days ago at 82. Thank you Brian for revealing your inner feeling so artistically so that we may understand our own lives a little better.