When I was 16 and experienced my first breakup, it was the most tragic experience of my life. I would never love anyone again. How could I? It was over. At 16, my life was over. I had lost everything- there was nothing under the sun left to live for and no one else for me. I still remember the afternoon I got dumped- so does my old bookshelf. It didn’t survive the night.
In the ensuing weeks, the only disc that got any spin on my portable CD player was “Pet Sounds” by the Beach Boys. I took it from my dad’s huge musical collection in the attic because I certainly wasn’t going to go buy a copy- my weekly allowance back then was mostly spent on huge bags of candy from the mall, Nickelodeon magazines, and Stephen King novels. My financial savvy started early and so did my propensity to scare the shit out of myself until I couldn’t sleep.
I was sure he wouldn’t miss it since it also was his favorite album ever. No risk there.
Eventually, my dad asked for it back (with mercy, he knew I had been through the wringer), but not before I had listened to the album probably 100 times more. That brought my lifetime Pet Sounds tracker to about 1,000, if I was to guesstimate. My parents introduced the album to me as a baby and the earliest I remember listening to it was around 5 years old in my dad’s van on Route 3. The memory is etched into stone, because the unique Christmas-like chords and closing harmonies from “You Still Believe In Me” were unlike anything I had heard before or since. I don’t remember much else from back then, but I remember that. I was confused, moved, and excited- mostly confused because the best chord progression I had heard prior was likely “When You Wish Upon A Star”. This blew that beautiful Disney shit out of the water, and I didn’t even understand why. Little did I know how much more there was to discover. I soon found out.
My dad and I ONLY played The Beach Boys on road trips- that was my request, and he was more than happy to acquiesce. My early musical training was listening to their entire catalogue from 1961 to 1988, reading the liner notes aloud from the old Capitol CD jackets, and telling my dad facts he already knew about them. By the time I was 12 years old, I knew every one of their songs by heart, all the subtle sounds, the studio noises he organically implemented. All of it. I was obsessed. The chords were simply elegant. The lyrics reflected a man who just wanted to tell the world that everything would be OK through the best way he knew how. He was not afraid to be vulnerable! (“God only knows what I’d be without you” being the greatest proclamation) The harmonies carried me into orbit. Those harmonies have always been built into my DNA. I was just simply reacting organically to what was already inside.
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My grandma (Mim) lived with us from the day I came home until I was 21. She was an instrumental part of our household. She might have been the smallest person I’ve ever met- I still think she was 3’9’ even though she was much closer to 5’ than my mind imagines her now. Her frame betrayed the fact she had a heart the size of the universe and would do anything in her power to keep us safe and happy.
The fact was, I feared the dark for a very, very long time. Much longer than most average kids who suffer from such things. An old school Catholic (but much sweeter than a lot of old school Catholics), Mim would say her rosary beads in my room until I fell asleep and then would welcome me at the foot of her bed if the nightmares got too overwhelming and woke me up. Never once, not once, did she get exasperated or upset, as if knowing she was the last wall standing between me and a mental break. If you know what it’s like to be tormented by demons that are right behind you until you pass out from exhaustion as the sun slowly rises, you know what it’s like to have a protector from them. I miss her.
When Mim passed on an early summer’s day in 2008- all I could think of was every single night she saved me. Years. Of course I went back- it was our strongest bond. And I cried harder than I thought anyone could cry.
And the only thing that saved me? The Beach Boys. Mostly in my car that summer. I even had my own copy by that point. It probably took 10,000 more Pet Sounds listens to fully get past her passing. Some days it felt like Brian Wilson was right next to me, holding me through my massive grief. His harmonies were the line between here and the unknown, just simply keeping me right there in the moment to experience the full range of beautiful emotions that accompany losing someone you can’t replace. Death was OK- it was just part of life. No one truly ever died, did they? There might even be more.
I trusted Brian to carry me since by that point I had already considered him God’s instrument.
Brian has earned my trust countless other times, ranging from the most painful hangovers imaginable to the day I asked my wife to take my hand. He will be there for every other turn between here and heaven- all just one listen away to make my entire day better. I'm sure he's serenading the angels right now with that brilliant falsetto.
I wish I had met Brian Wilson- it’s my life’s one big regret. In many ways though, we’ve met countless times.
Rest easy, Brian. Love and mercy, always. I love you.
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