Brian Wilson’s passing has reminded me that I can remember exactly when I first heard his music. I have a friend called Nick to thank, also sadly no longer with us. 
Nick lived one minute from my house in Reigate, Surrey, but in a rather different sort of household. My parents were non-gambling, non-smoking, virtually teetotal evangelical Christians who regarded all pop music with deep suspicion. By contrast, on my first meeting Nick aged around 12, he offered me a cigarette and informed me that he had a bet on with his mum about what would make number one that week. (It might have been Spirit in the Sky by Norman Greenbaum.)
Sometimes I would go round to Nick’s and listen to music with him, his mum and their friends. As I recall, Nick was into rock – Led Zeppelin, Free – and maybe the cooler end of pop – Joni Mitchell, Neil Young. One summer evening, I’m guessing in 1972, he handed me a sleeveless LP and said “I’m not into the Beach Boys. Do you want this?”
“Ok, thanks,” I said, not really knowing who The Beach Boys were. At that point in my musical journey I’d discovered the impact of a rock back-beat from The Beatles and the Stones and the power of vocal harmony from a lifetime of hymn singing and a spell in a chapel choir. So when I put this record on, I was blown away. It was both of the above – a rock band with a choir on top. As you can see, I still have it. Still sleeveless, a bit scratched, but priceless.
The first thing I heard was Side Two, Track One – Do You Wanna Dance – actually a fairly routine cover but it sounded massive. Then came the originals: Help Me Rhonda; California Girls; You’re So Good To Me; and finally the sublime God Only Knows. And that was only one side. The other had upbeat hits like Fun Fun Fun and I Get Around, but also the beautiful In My Room – a song about escaping from one’s worries in the sanctuary of one’s bedroom – super-sensitive but brave in its honesty. And it spoke powerfully to a teenager in Surrey who was also learning to overcome shyness and enjoy being young, partly through music – listening to it, sharing it, playing it.
Delving into the Beach Boys story, I discovered that the music was written by a gentle giant of a genius called Brian Wilson who sang and played with his younger brothers, Carl on guitar and Dennis on drums, as well as cousin Mike Love, who sung many of the leads, and their friend and guitarist Al Jardine.
So how did Brian Wilson come to create that magical sound? He showed prodigious musicality from an early age and taught himself to play songs on the piano by ear. The first record he bought was the 1955 album Four Freshmen and Five Trombones, a choice with historic consequences. As you can hear, from the first track, Angel Eyes, the Four Freshmen specialised in rich harmonies. They sound uncannily like the Beach Boys. That was no coincidence. Wilson spent three years working out every note the Four Freshmen sang, understanding song structures, chord types and progressions, melody patterns and vocal techniques. You can read that whole story here. With that exercise and other playing, Wilson completed the 10,000 hours of practice that has been calculated to be needed to become world-class at something, according to neuroscientist Daniel Levitin (also a musician who has played sax with Sting and guitar with Blue Öyster Cult).
The choice of the Four Freshmen was critical. In the 1950s there were plenty of doo-wop groups like Dion and the Belmonts and The Marcels singing nice but fairly straightforward harmonies. But the Four Freshmen were more jazz than pop, with more variety and complexity in both harmony and melody. Brian then taught his younger brothers to sing that way – and being together every day, they did a lot of singing.
Meanwhile, Carl had spent three years learning guitar from John Maus (later one of The Walker Brothers) and had nailed Chuck Berry-style rock and roll licks. Dennis, the unruly, hyperactive one,
had learned drums and, just as importantly, become a surfer. Put those ingredients together, and you get Surfin’ USA in March 1963. Then a few months later, Surfer Girl, where the harmonies are getting more sophisticated and closer to the Four Freshmen, as you hear on this lovely acoustic version from 2012. In another few months came In My Room with those innocent lyrics that so many could identify with. On the day John F Kennedy was assassinated, Wilson and Love wrote The Warmth of the Sun, demonstrating how a pop song can simultaneously capture desolation and consolation, as well as changing key four times in six lines. From that point in late 1963, Wilson and his lyricist co-writers were working with a diverse and ever-expanding palette of sounds and feelings. The vocals were amazing, unprecedented in pop music – and because they had spent so many years singing together, they were able to reproduce the recorded sound effortlessly on stage, even with no instruments. Here, on live TV, they sing one of the few Four Freshmen songs they covered, Their Hearts Were Full of Spring.
Within a few years of that revealing night in 1972, I bought or borrowed plenty of Beach Boys albums, learning that, like the Beatles, they had gone on through the 60s to grow their hair, expand their minds and produce much more varied music, from the pocket symphony of Good Vibrations to the strange, beguiling lyrics and moods of Feel Flows and Til I Die.
Then in 1975 came the chance to actually see them in person when they played at Wembley Stadium’s Mid-Summer Music event on 21 June, on a bill chosen by the headliner, Elton John. The crowd warmed up to Joe Walsh and The Eagles – who had just released their top ten album One of these nights – a tough act to follow. The Beach Boys took the stage in the late afternoon. Massive stars and stripes flags dropped down at the back of the stage as they kicked off with Wouldn’t it be nice and I can hear music. The sound was so beautiful, perfect for a midsummer day. The band threw some of their later stuff at the crowd in the first part of the set, such as Surf’s Up, but then went into a back-to-back series of bangers. Don’t Worry Baby; Darlin’; Sloop John B; California Girls; I Get Around; Good Vibrations; and so on. They played 23 songs and I think it was so good because people hadn’t expected it to be so good. Each song was greeted with a roar of delight and not a little surprise. “Oh that one – I know that one!” Me and my friend Alan were die-hard fans, mainly there to see the Beach Boys. But like my mate Nick, a lot of people in 1975 thought the Beach Boys were a bit naff. However, once actually in the presence of these colourfully dressed Californian dudes with their five part harmonies and pop classics you’d half-forgotten, there was no argument. The Beach Boys won London.
Ironically, that day, Brian Wilson was absent, having giving up touring after suffering panic attacks on planes. I saw the band later in the 70s at Wembley when Brian was physically present but spent most of his time sitting on the stage without playing. He had developed schizoaffective disorder, which causes hallucinations, depression and mania, and spent the 80s in the care of a controversial therapist called Eugene Landy whose professional licence was revoked in 1989 after allegations of ethical violations.
Wonderfully, Wilson’s mental condition stabilized in the 1990s and he returned to performing with his own fantastic band, appearing live up until 2022. I saw him in Dublin in 2002 when he and his band played the entire Pet Sounds album, to admiring reviews.
The post 1970s Beach Boys story was often one of tragedy and tension. Dennis died in 1983 in a drowning accident, Carl died from lung cancer in 1999 and the remaining members were frequently suing each other or touring in competing versions of the band.
However there was one moment of joy in 2012 when the whole band reunited for a 50th anniversary tour, rivalries set aside. I was at Wembley again, this time with my own family, a chance to introduce another generation to the magic.
Tributes to Wilson have been powerful and heartfelt, from musicians of all kinds and others. The world has lost a unique talent. But the music is immortal and the sound is as breathtaking now as it was that summer night when I first heard it in 1972. Thanks, Brian. And thanks, Nick.
Pictures from Pixabay: Santa Monica by Richard Songo; Wave by PublicDomainImages