Featured Essay: Remembering Brian Wilson

by Dan Chambers

I have so many memories of the Beach Boys’ music, but there are three that speak directly to my connection with their music, music generally, and vinyl records particularly.

The first: I am 8 or 9 years old and a Beach Boys song comes on the car radio—I don’t know which song exactly—and I realize that something was happening to me. Hearing the music did *something* to me more than just hearing songs in the background. In some way it changed me, on a basic level. I remember thinking, “oh, this is really good. I need to pay attention to this. I guess this is what music is like.” It is the first time in my life that music isn’t something I observed, but something that affected me. I have been chasing that feeling ever since. Whenever I hear a Beach Boys song, I feel that feeling all over again. Thanks, Brian.

The second: I am nineteen or twenty, and building my identity, going home, scouring my father’s record collection, and snagging some classics from his collection. My father died when I was twelve. He had a smallish vinyl collection, mostly Johnny Cash, Bob Dylan, Simon & Garfunkel, but also a few Beach Boys records.  And because the Beach Boys were in the collection, I *knew* that this was a legitimate record collection. I felt pride that I had such obviously amazing music. Dad had some ‘best of’ albums, but also “All Summer Long”, which he wrote his name on, and which is, to this day, my 2nd favorite Beach Boys record. The title track, with its xylophone intro, and descending harmonies is something I can close my eyes to, and be transported away by. It happens to this day.The third: My wife, daughter and I are in Chicago in 2018, visiting some of our dearest friends. We go into Reckless Records near Bellmont & Clark and I find a reprint of “Pet Sounds” for $24.  At this point, I’d acquired a few dozen albums beyond Dad’s collection. Finding Pet Sounds is an affirmation that I need to find the records that move me, so I can enjoy them as I like. Once I get home from that trip, I put Pet Sounds on the turntable, and of course, it’s amazing. It’s still amazing.

Over the next few years, I will snap up all the records I can find that make me feel like I do when I’m listening to Pet Sounds or All Summer Long. Of course, these other records can only fall short. It’s not their fault. They’re up against Brian Wilson. But I keep snapping them up, regardless.

In the Disney documentary about the Beach Boys that aired last year, Al Jardine (I think?) says something like “Brian Wilson was so lucky to have us sing his dreams.” Brian really was. The Beach Boys sang dreams. Theirs, mine, so many other people’s dreams. More than any band of that era that I can think of, the Beach Boys harmonies painted a concrete picture of an inner emotional life. Our turmoil, our joy, our isolation.

A final memory. It’s March 2003. I see my wife walk down the aisle on our wedding day, and “Our Prayer” cues up in my mind, and breathes itself to the conclusion. It just happens automatically. Whenever I hear that wordless chorus, I go back to St. Paul’s in Beaufort in March, 2003. There is a long white train, a veil. I’m the happiest I’ve ever been.

Brian Wilson’s inner life became songs that soundtracked key moments in my life. I’m grateful. We’re all just so grateful. There will not be another of his caliber anytime soon.

Dan Chambers lives outside Baltimore. He loves the Beach Boys, but who doesn’t? You should listen to the Skatalites. Everyone should. Did you hear the new Mannequin Pussy album? Can we agree that Cock Sparrer are every bit as good as the Buzzcocks? Wrexham, amirite? It’s just good for the soul. Totally.

Do not ever cross a picket line. Of course, you knew that already, I know.