Ah Rocky and Bullwinkle, the Beach Boys world’s own Glamour Twins.  The times they had reading their Archie comic books and dead-lifting the maid’s Volkswagen Beetle! Where have those days gone? I think of those boys when I see Saturday Night Live reruns of Hans and Franz. Those two jokesters, dressing as Phil and Ronnie Spector for a Halloween party!

Let’s all remember there were good times. I was thinking today how Brian used to say “Man could I go for a peanut butter and jelly sandwich!” Simpler times. How is eyes would sparkle!

But sleaze sells so I won’t recount in my memoir many of the giddier tales – the time Alan spent two days in front of Brian’s house pretending to be a garden gnome. Now that is dedication to a practical joke! Yes Brian was badly flustered when the “gnome” suddenly spoke to him – “Hey, how about trimming the lawn, Mr. Rock Star?” But I’m convinced the prank was the genesis of the “Mount Vernon and Fairway” fable so it served a grand purpose.

The time Denny hid Bruce’s Nair and nearly caused him to refuse to take the stage that evening – the real reason “Disney Girls” was added to the live set…

The time Brian had the Wrecking Crew join him in convincing the Boys they were recording a cover of the Bosco commercial jingle for their next album… “Oh, I love Bosco! That's the drink for me! Chocolate flavored Bosco is mighty good for me. Mommy puts it in my milk for extra energy. Bosco gives me iron and sunshine vitamin D. Oh, I love Bosco! That's the drink for me!” It took a darker tone, though, when Brian became convinced Phil Spector had bugged the session and would do the project Brian really coveted – a cover of the Brylcreem jingle. “Brylcreem, a little dab'll do ya. Brylcreem, you'll look so debonair. Brylcreem, the gals will all pursue ya. They'll love to run their fingers through your hair.” The project died in any case over Michael’s obvious lyrical objection.

Van Dyke was cheeky, without question, and not just after he put on the extra weight. But Michael is, as you know, quite competitive, and the idea of a trump being played right out of the box infuriated and perplexed him. “Who leads with a trump???!!!” he screamed, tossing a chair that nearly struck a group of nuns fresh from Belize and waiting for a connecting flight. When the nuns retaliated by each flinging trays at the hapless Beach Boys, it was “on,” as you young folks so colorfully say.

Alan managed to duck a ham salad sandwich, but Carl was hit flush in the face by a cucumber. Carl recognized, of course, that Michael’s action precipitated the food fight. Thus Carl sneaked his own tuna salad into Michael’s nearby turban, while Van Dyke distracted Michael by playing a jaunty “Happy Wanderer” on his ever-present accordion. Bruce would later cop the wonderfully engaging “Val-deri,Val-dera! Val-deri! Val-de-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha! Val-deri,Val-dera!” section as the bridge of “I Write the Songs,” leading Michael to threaten a lawsuit.

Meanwhile an ever clever Denny slipped a stashed ace of hearts from the knapsack on his back, and when he won a disputed hand, created even more chaos. Alan has said the band nearly broke up over the incident. My recollection is that the situation wasn’t quite so dire, though Billy Hinsche did force Van Dyke to watch him pack his luggage at the hotel that evening, causing the tick that Van Dyke still suffers with to this day.

The joke was on our entire entourage, of course, as the supposed “nuns” were in fact extras from the Elvis movie “Change of Habit,” and Denny spent the evening teaching Mary Tyler Moore everything she would ever know about the fade-out of a rock song. Elvis himself was not on the scene, though he and I met later to compare our recipes for pickle relish (his was too salty, in my estimation). At the concert that evening, when Michael donned the turban, well shall we say, you can tune a piano, but you can’t tuna fish, not on stage in front of thousands of bellowing fans.

Michael is not without legitimate grievances – and that night was not without a fan club of very hungry cats.

Hmmm… “I Am Hank Briarstem.” Catchy. But too avant-garde?

While I am wary of providing too much milk before the cow is procured, you are correct in your assessment of Michael’s “Tang Problem,” which he has, of course, on many occasions, spun as his “Tang Mastery” – many of you might recall the Rolling Stone article, “Mike Love, Master of the Tang.”

But it is clear that during at least one concert Michael was under the influence of Tang, forced as he was to depart the stage in the middle of “Shut Down” in order to relieve himself. Which one of us wouldn’t have emulated Denny’s practical joke by bestowing upon Michael a box of adult diapers during the next night’s performance?

Michael was infuriated, of course, and accused Denny of treachery.  But insiders knew that Carl accompanied Denny to the pharmacy and might have actually paid for the contraband.

In any event, Michael seemed to cut back rather dramatically on the Tang, at that point, so who is to say that the Wilson brothers’ prank didn’t save Michael a good deal of further embarrassment?  This band has, as you know, a rather complicated history. He said, she said, though who “she” is escapes me at the moment.

Perhaps a nap.

The year was 1966 or possibly 1972 or any year in between except 1968 when I was indisposed following the mayonnaise jar incident. I was at Brian’s house listening to a boogie woogie take on “Edelweiss” about which the Great Man had been obsessed for months. I recall him pleading with the boys to include it on the new album, but there was much resistance, though Michael – then in his “Gilligan hat” phase – saw potential and had written new lyrics, hoping to re-title the song “Mary Ann’s Pie.” Alan objected to the suggestiveness  – “Professor please perfect my chemistry. I’d maroon on a tropical isle just to get a taste of coconut cream pie.” Bruce wasn’t on board merely because he was a Ginger guy.

Jealousy among band members had reached a bit of an apex. Michael was quite proud of a new spatula he acquired while at a Medallion store in Ottumwa, or perhaps Des Moines or even somewhere other than Iowa. Who am I, Rand McNally? Michael was quite proud of his omelet-making prowess and claimed the little twist he employed when flipping the eggs made his the world’s most exquisite. Denny bought a cheap knock-off spatula from a fence who specialized in kitchen appliances, altered it to look exactly like Mike’s and made the switch, resulting in Mike’s eggs sticking to the pan and a ruined breakfast.

Ever the peacemaker, Carl tried to salvage the eggs with some ketchup, but Mike was furious, much to Denny’s delight. The incident was opaquely recounted in “Slip on Through” and contributed mightily to the discomfort Bruce felt at the time – though it’s also true he never quite got past being forced to squeeze into Alan’s pants. Matters weren’t helped when a highly amused Brian greeted Michael every time he saw him the next three months with “That your spatula?”

Denny loved to gig Michael – I recall him referring to his band mate as Linus during Michael’s white robe phase and showering him with peanuts during a performance of “Monster Mash” in Sacramento. Come to think of it, the song might have been “Long Tall Texan” and the venue might have been Tulsa. “If time were not a moving thing,” as the well-covered pop song laments…

In any event, Brian became obsessed, at one point, with my third wife’s cousin – Martha, I believe her name was, though it might have been Mark at the time, as she was a bit of a sexual pioneer. Martha/Mark frequently wore a pair of chartreuse pedal pushers, and Brian begged Marilyn to buy a pair. Young and insecure, Marilyn became quite upset and confessed to Carl that she and her husband were growing apart – and that chartreuse simply wasn’t her color.

Brian and his brothers were at the time hitting rather too heavily a potent concoction of Tang and Moet, occasionally chasing it with Cheerwine. Denny was known to use a double scoop of Tang. Michael was concerned, as was his wont, and in a private meeting with Al said – “Tang is going to kill this band.” Alan told Michael he was being a bit paranoid. Years later the comment would lead to Alan’s ouster, though not before Michael had his own little bout with Tang…

These and other seminal Beach Boys events are recounted in my upcoming memoir “Briarstem, the Fifth or is it the Sixth, Seventh, Eighth or Even Ninth Beach Boy,” which will likely be published if and when my sixth wife Netta Faye drops her unfortunate lawsuit and releases the garnishment of my property. Many photos will be included – most of them reproductions of slides taken during my various summer vacations.

You’ll learn that Brian was convinced once that Phil Spector was lurking in a chest of drawers, that Michael, during a brief “back to nature phase” had a torrid emotional affair with a raccoon (loosely recounted in the song “Wrinkles”), that Denny authored under a pseudonym a children’s book called “Spot the Red Dog,” that Carl had a guitar built in the shape of an abacus, that Alan has tattooed on his left buttocks “Dirty Al,” that Bruce was the inspiration for the ZZ Top classic “Legs” and that David Marks actually wrote the lyrics to every song of which Michael has claimed authorship.

Brian once said – “Hank, if you could write a book...” Of course he was speaking at the time to baseball slugger Henry Aaron, but the spirit of those words lives within me, and voila!

Having checked my files, I found rather to my delight that I was able sometime in the early 70s to nab an exclusive interview with Bruce Johnston’s nascent beard. This was about the time Arlene left me and ripped my world completely apart, a subject likely to be one of the emotional linchpins of my upcoming autobiography, “Big Sir: The Life, Love & Times of Hank Briarstem.” Unfortunately, a bout of heavy drinking and nearly a year of psychological therapy took their toll, and my files are, to be frank, a mess. The interview might have been done more recently, or not at all, still I hope you find the information useful, if not entertaining.
Hank Briarstem: Good to see you. Do I detect just a hint of fluffiness?
Bruce Johnston’s Beard: We use conditioner.
HB: Excellent! Love the look!
BJB: I long for the time I begin to go gray. We need some gravitas given that we made Surfer’s Pajama Party.
HB: Indeed. Can you talk to me about Deirdre? There is wistfulness, longing…
BJB: Bruce longed for facial hair to resemble Mike Love’s, and those feelings of fear, perhaps a bit of regret, but ultimately, affirmation certainly informed the music. We think Brian’s contribution was magnificent, by the way, as of course is true of any beard he grows. The man has a way with beards, no question.
HB: Tears in the Morning?
BJB: Bruce had shaved. There were regrets.
HB: Just a heartbreaking tune. It is apparent Bruce dearly wanted a Wilson-caliber beard.
BJB: I do my best, but the Wilson follicles have a genius few can match. Check Denny’s beards. Carl’s. These are world-class beards. Mike’s is solid. Bruce feels he can match it, but he is hesitant to try.
HB: Why the hesitation?
BJB: Put two and two together.
HB: Disney Girls. This is one of Bruce’s greatest tunes. The subject matter interests me.
BJB: Bruce longed for a simpler time, when beards weren’t an issue. Also, girls rarely are able to grow beards. He felt comforted and unthreatened. The line “Clearing skies and dryin’ eyes” was originally “Naked cheeks in Martinique.” He didn’t want to create tension with the rest of the band. But the line “I see your smile” speaks for itself, I think. Let’s just say that Mike had his suspicions.
HB: Did anything come of those?
BJB: Mike “pantsed” Bruce at a concert in Des Moines. It was all kept hush-hush. Mike had a pair of Bermuda shorts underneath the long pants, and he was deft in making it appear that this was merely an on-stage costume change. Murmur from the audience subsided when the band quickly swung into Little Deuce Coupe. This band is nothing if not durable.
HB: Bruce’s next move?
BJB: The undercurrent? Dance music. Imagine Surf’s Up set to a dance beat. Think Denny’s Drums. We’ll have to see.
HB: Thanks for your time. Good luck with the gray.
BJB: Hair today, gone tomorrow!

Isn't that the interview that got you fired from the Checotah Penny Saver, Hank?

That and something about the drawer full of Scotch. No soda.

Briarstem!!!  Great name.  Thanks for this hilarious fun-poking at those of us who often take our Beach Boys fandom way too seriously.

Ah yes, I recall like it was yesterday - though it was long ago - my first purchase of a Beach Boys album. It was Best of the Beach Boys Vol. 1. I had heard it first at my cousin Agnes' house -- she of the unfortunate wart. How I thrilled to Little Honda! How my young heart groped to understand the feeling behind the Warmth of the Sun.

In the ensuing years, many of them less than optimal as I battled a tendency to whine, the Beach Boys were decidedly uncool. And yet they were mine! There were no fans among my friends. Blame Black Sabbath. And there was no Internet, where I might have found like-minded souls.

Most of the original albums were out of print, though some I found among the Perry Comos and the Zager & Evans in the cut-out bin. Smiley Smile was located at Medallion, Surf's Up at Skillern's Drug Store.

But most were procured in odd form - releases by Pickwick and the like that didn't include every cut of the original -- Today and Summer Days & Summer Nights, housed in purple covers with more recent photos of the band; Concert, an album of early cuts such as Luau and What is a Young Girl Made Of.

Some albums were won by trade - originals scored from the collections of friends' older brothers and sisters - Party was nabbed in a trade of a Deep Purple album. Pet Sounds came by trade. So did All Summer Long.

Oh! The fun was unimaginable! The surprising finds -- Sunflower in a store that sold and repaired televisions, Holland, So Tough, LA, Love You, Keeping the Summer Alive.

Aged and decrepit, I still own every album. I watched the stores closely, for new releases seldom stayed long on the shelves - not because they went like hot cakes but because record shops stocked few, if any. And they moved quickly to cut-out status.

But they were and still are my treasures! When I joined the football team as a brief, painful cure for my unpopularity with girls - surely a product of my persistent hiccup, which was only cured when a duck feather was found lodged in my trachea - I recorded songs to my cheap little tape recorder -- one side fast songs, the other slow. On the bus to games, I played the fast ones. On the bus home, I played the slow ones.

Such healing power!

And as my nomadic and rather odd life wound from one stop to another, my records came along. Penniless I wouldn't have taken a thousand dollars for one of them.

And so they remain.

I learned the history of the band slowly and over decades. As a child, I had decided who sang what solely based on their pictures. I envisioned Al singing the parts that are Mike Love's, Dennis wailing the high voice. But I had no idea any of their names. It was all based on photos. Mike had to be the drummer because he had a beard.

Ah to be a child!

I learned the history and the genius of Brian Wilson. I attended concerts. I had neither the money nor the ability to take it all in large gulps. It came to me slowly. And so it still comes.

Yet it was all about the music! When Endless Summer rocketed up the charts, there were "I told you so's" galore. And when Pet Sounds was recognized as genius by more and more people, friends were reminded who was ahead of the curve. Occasionally they would become annoyed and answer with whoopee cushions, exploding cigars and the like.

But my secret - my great love - remained my own, whether shared or not. The music was mine.

It was about love, and it was about fun. I related to the emotions.

It isn't possible for me to forget what the music was and is about. It is impossible for me to accept it as divisive. Both Brian Wilson and Mike Love contributed in great measure to an important part of my otherwise largely unsuccessful life. Did they contribute in the same measure? No. But I feel no need to count.

I could no more dislike Mike Love than I could dislike Brian Wilson. There is too much I owe to each of them -- and to the others who formed this wondrous band, the Beach Boys.

Joy!

I am bemused when someone eschews the humor and the fun. These are so much a part of this great music! Brian surely understood.

I learned much from those beautiful melodies, the harmonies, the wonderful music. I learned a great deal about tears and a great deal about laughter. I learned something of the depth of love and emotion. I still learn.

There is much to be said for scholarship, and I appreciate the information. But the heart is set aside for something perhaps less tangible but certainly more valuable -- the vast array of emotions. Sadness at times? Yes. But overwhelming happiness.

I've spent my life in pursuit of the girl who got her daddy's car and cruised through the hamburger stand. Occasionally I have caught her.

And I have listened to In My Room at times my heart ached most.

I have fallen asleep to Pet Sounds and in love to the second side of Today.

And I have chosen to believe the essential truths of The Beach Boys Party. An old man can still imagine sharing an icy Coke with a nubile blonde. And he can still chuckle at a send-up of I Get Around.

Heroes & Villains has its place. So too does Hully Gully.

Now for a vodka Milk of Magnesia! It is Saturday and my gout is calm!

Look out Edna!

No need to apologize, young man! I was able to produce this without the need even to iron my shirt. There was a time, of course, when the lovely Rose would do my ironing, but that was before the incident with the Colombian line dancer and the parakeet feathers.

As to whether we can create such a board, I am clueless, only recently having learned the intricacies of the abacus. But perhaps there is hope. My fourth wife rarely belched after our second year of marriage.

Carl Wilson, love his golden heart, once told me "It's great to be here tonight performing our music for you folks." That he, while on stage, would have picked me out of a crowd of thousands -- a lonely man sitting in the 47th row behind a restless peanut vendor -- says something about his affection for his fans.

It is a lesson for all of us who love the Beach Boys: "The smile you send returns."

Surf in USA!

My apologies to OP but can we make a separate sub-board for stuff like this? Sorry.

Hank, if I were able somehow to enter the parallel universe where Mike works at the gas station and stack the racks with copies of The Beach Boys Salute Nascar cds, what would happen? Would it create a simple time paradox or are we talking a whole rip in the time/space continuum? Please advise.

This question has been studied quite deeply by Alan Boyd, and if he is to believed, the probability of the latter circumstance is roughly 58.732%, in which case there is some possibility that Mike Love would become the composer of Smile and would also own a chain of Church's Chicken franchises. In the less dire alternative, he would merely be the composer and lead singer of God Only Knows. In neither scenario would Al Jardine exist.

I recall my last interview with Mike Love, though he didn’t participate. That’s Mike. When he isn’t participating, he simply isn’t participating. I’m reminded of Verna and that night in Barcelona, when she didn’t participate. Ah death, where is thy sting! We return to the bar again next time, amply fueled by rejection.

Mike would have been dressed in natty chinos, a color-splashed Tommy Bahama tropical shirt, John the Baptist sandals, an orchid beret and an ironic chastity belt – bountiful rings. 7-Up to sip, spiked with V-8. A Mars bar.

HB: Michael, so good to have this sit-down. It’s been too long. How are you?

ML: Do I know you?

HB: Kidder. I’ll get right to the interview. Quite an enticing Mars bar… No? Perhaps hunger will train my mind as we cover some very important ground – your life as a Beach Boy.

ML: How did you get in here?

HB: Never mind me, young man! You’re the subject du jour! You have toured as a Beach Boy for substantial parts of six decades. What is your best memory?

ML: I feel as if I should call security.

HB: So you feel secure on the road… and no wonder! You are a consummate entertainer!

ML: It’s all about positive vibes. The lyrics to Good Vibrations say it all – excitations.

HB: What do you say to the charge that you once kept Brian Wilson locked in a cellar, only root vegetables and hardtack to eat, for the better part of five years?

ML: What?

HB: I need you to focus. At what point did you think it fair for you to claim credit for lyric contributions that frankly you had made?

ML: From the beginning…

HB: So you admit that you always wanted to be credited for your own lyrics! Insightful. Very.

ML: If you had contributed to valuable…

HB: So you say it’s all about the money?

ML: I don’t believe that’s what I…

HB: You sure you’re planning to eat that Mars bar?

ML: Can we stick to the interview?

HB: When did you first implicate Brian in the Manson murders?

ML: Huh???

HB: Do you acknowledge that your on-stage dance moves and gestures are, shall we say, a bit odd?

ML: Would you get your grubby hands away from my Mars Bar?

HB: Now Michael, I am the interviewer and you the interviewee. I believe that makes me the questioner.

ML: Security!

HB: Yes, to me that’s the comforting theme of so much of Brian’s music – an insecure man determined to employ his musical gifts to make the listener feel loved and secure. Why do you hate Brian?

ML: I don’t hate my cousin! Where do you come off? I have known Brian since childhood!

HB: I hardly think it’s constructive to refer to Brian as a child.

ML: I didn’t…

HB: In a parallel universe, where do you think the gas station at which you are still pumping fuel would be located?

ML: This is the most ridiculous…

HB: How dare you tour?

ML: Look chump…

HB: Michael, can you not understand how a Brian Wilson fan might be upset at the idea of you singing Fun, Fun, Fun while knowing the great man is home watching Wheel of Fortune?

ML: Brian enjoys game shows.

HB: So this is a game to you?

ML: What are you implying?

HB: When did it first occur to you to steal Brian’s legacy?

ML: I never…

HB: As early as 1964?

ML: The Beach Boys are a band, and all of its members…

HB: So Brian is unimportant?

ML: Who said that?

HB: But we have been sitting here for 6 minutes and 22, make it 23, seconds, and you have not offered a single word of praise for your meal ticket, er, cousin!

ML: Brian is America’s greatest living composer and a pop music genius.

HB: But he falls short, in your mind, as an entertainer?

ML: This is ridiculous!

HB: That is the thanks you give Brian for saving you from a life of unfiltered Camel cigarettes and refrigerator repair? You call him ridiculous?

ML: Look you bloviating alcoholic!

HB: I can’t understand why this must be personal.

ML: You’ve insinuated yourself into my life and made the most absurd charges…

HB: Why did you sleep with Marilyn?

ML: I never!

HB: Then it was Al Jardine?

ML: Al Jardine never slept with Marilyn!

HB: But you slept with Al Jardine! And when your little romance cratered, you tossed him from the band!

ML: Are you on drugs?

HB: Always with the drugs… No discussion with you about Brian Wilson can avoid that subject, it seems. I notice you haven’t touched the Mars bar…

ML: Look, if I give you this candy bar will you get out of here and never make me see your ugly…

HB: This is delicious! Now where were we?

ML: You were leaving.

HB: Ah yes! Um, where was I going?

ML: How would I now?

HB: I must have mentioned something.

ML: Is this some kind of joke? Am I on Candid Camera? That’s it! Hey, this will make a great segment. Is Stamos in on this?

HB: Can we agree that you are the devil incarnate?

ML: Hey John! Good luck with Fuller House!

HB: Do you still find Brian to be a third-rate singer?

ML: This is really hilarious! Any idea when this piece will air? I think you ought to consider getting some footage of Johnston being ambushed. His shorts alone will get a lot of laughs.

HB: An entire interview all about Mike, Mike, Mike. I think we have all we need. No wonder Brian couldn’t complete Smile. It’s a wonder he finished Pet Sounds.

ML: Man, I’ve never been on Candid Camera! Far out!

HB: You don’t have another Mars bar?

I need a time machine so I can get into this parallel universe.

How did Brian manage to convince Capitol to let him go so he could switch to Liberty?

Brian was quite clever; always underestimated. He convinced the suits at Capitol he merely wanted to buy an insurance policy from Liberty Mutual. Papers were signed. Capitol was out-smarted. The bad feelings were chronicled in "Don't Back Down."

Do I owe you money, perchance?

You were never one to borrow. In fact, how many times have I heard you say: "the next rounds on me?" Generous to a fault. But let's stay on topic. I had forgotten that was you at the Jimi Hendrix concert (Santa Clara fairground 1969, if memory serves me correctly). You were the guy in the aloha shirt and panama hat nimbly dancing with your gf on folding chairs for the entire concert right in front of me....yes, I remember Mike Love shouting at you two to sit the f**k down and spilling coke all over her blouse.
Time for badminton.

If I recall correctly, my girlfriend at the time, one Beatrice, was a minor player in the destruction of my second marriage, though it might have been my third - or perhaps Beatrice was my second wife. How did I introduce her to you?

Such sparkling, giddy times! We were all certain that the slump would be short-lived and a single release of "Fire" would change everything. Of course we hadn't counted on the Crazy World of Arthur Brown, but so it goes.

I remember the cow prod you used to carry to concerts and how you'd playfully goose me with it when I blocked your view. Al Jardine found it hysterical until I leapt 18 feet and wound up at his feet, whimpering from the pain.

Magnificent times! I wonder whatever happened to Raoul? You must have stayed in touch. I believe I had heard he was living near Baltimore with Beatrice.

Is there a concession stand anywhere near here?

Do I owe you money, perchance?

Is anyone planning to eat that pear?

What an incredible tale, incredibly told. But it was the last line that blew me away. :=) 

The late Averell Harriman and I salute and thank you.

He said the Bishop thing was just a phase, though he did sojourn to Worcester. Ultimately he had to be home with the armadillo. It's a shame he detested me.

An old acquaintance - I'll call him Shake, though that was his name - thought "Don't Worry Baby" was the root of the cord; that being the umbilical cord. He thought it was life - somehow both in a universal sense and in a manner quite specific to him.

The opening drum beats sounded so much to him like his own experiences. And then the soothing, soaring harmonies.

Poor Shake was blessed and cursed to have what women want and to be attracted to danger as an insect is to light. And so it was that he was constantly careening from one challenge to another, somewhere deep in his restless soul wishing for a mate - that at the truest depth.

And there she was! "Don't worry, baby. Everything will turn out alright." That she was an invention of a Mr. Wilson and for a shining moment a Magic Christian bothered Shake not at all. For she was his - as real to him as any flesh and blood. And while he held many other women, she held him.

The song spoke to Shake much beyond this introduction of this wonderful, beautiful, understanding woman. It spoke to his soul and to the gunshots that had rung out, to the fists that had flown, and to the breathtaking curves of those wild mountain roads, in advance of which he pressed the accelerator for reasons which God only knows.

It spoke as well to those elements of Shake that loved Van Gogh so well and that treasured the sonnets. Beauty is truth, it said, and he believed it. No, no, no - it was given to him, and thus he knew it - given to him by Mr. Wilson.

Shake said a day never passed that at some point DWB didn't play, whether from a speaker or from inside his head. And it carried him, whenever and wherever. It belonged to him and it to him.

He recalled a night when life had become perilous and confrontation inevitable. He sat near the calm water of a moonlit lake, a blonde angel holding his hand and looking deeply into his soul. She said, "It will be alright," and he started to cry.

She thought he was frightened, overwhelmed. She couldn't hear Mr. Wilson's song soar through the summer night. "Don't worry, baby." Maybe she never understood that what scared most hardly touched him at all. It was what he did. What scared him was the fact he could do it.

Then he kissed her for what would be the last time, and went out to do what was necessary. And somehow, years later, he realized it was alright.

Though he's never met Mr. Wilsoon, Shake would give the man his right arm if it was needed. Don't worry, baby, indeed.

Many of us don't like to imagine a life without the music of Brian Wilson. Some of us might not have been fit to live one.

Ah the ramblings of an old man. Forgive me. Is anyone planning to eat that pear?

I would have called the film Love & Cello and focused on Mike's gift for the hook and the triplets VDP is said to have fathered.

Indeed we were at the same show, Tab, when Jimi Hendrix shouted "you'll never hear surf music again," and Jan Berry gave him a noogie, while the audience cried out for one more chorus of "Don't Worry Baby," the success of which caused Phil Spector to be laughed from the industry as "a has-been who couldn't stay in touch with today's sounds."

My second wife Alicia, if that was her name, fathered Dennis Wilson's child, prompting Brian to  pop the question a second time to Marilyn Rovell Wilson Rovell who of course said yes. And Brian and Marilyn Rovell Wilson Rovell Wilson and Spring had a major hit with "Do It Again," to which Mike Love as the only legitimate gas jockey in their circle added the lyrics "it's automatic when he cleans the windshield the girls go wild just to get their oil filled."

Shocking for the time.

And the hits just keep on coming. And the surf just keeps on pounding. The cars are fast. The women wear their hair long. The fries are salty and hot.

And Carl Wilson tops the chart with the song his brother produced for him, "God Only Knows."

Everything would be cool if I could find my darn bifocals. Anyone seen them?

At the same time, I don't want to come off as one of those people that just comes here to troll and rag on someone.

Hi Paul, I didn't think you were trolling, and I appreciate where you're coming from. As it happens, I was into Van Dyke Parks before I knew he co-wrote the Smile tracks (this is back in the late nineties when I was in my teens), but I admit this is probably untrue of most people, especially here.

But Brian did invite him to work on that album 50 years ago, and then again eleven years ago, and they did work on it together both times. (Incidentally, does anyone know the financial arrangements in 2004? I believe Parks was salaried in '66, right, as well as receiving writing royalties?) Van Dyke might think that that - as well as "Sail On Sailor", OCA, TLOS contributions etc - should mean he has earned some consideration and due credit when those collaborations are covered in an authorised Brian Wilson product such as this movie. Whether you or I are here because of Brian Wilson or Van Dyke Parks or Mike Love or Darian's Astonishingly Tall Hair is really beside the point.

As a matter of fact, I came here when the old Smile Shop Boards shut down (which indeed was largely why these forums were created), so no - I'm not here because of Brian Wilson. I'm here because of the SMiLE album, which is primarily a collection of songs conceived of and written by Brian Wilson and Van Dyke Parks, with documented musical input from both. Who approached or paid who in 1966 simply isn't relevant. I'm here because of a thing they did together. And even if I wasn't, this is a thread devoted to Brian-focussed activity on Van Dyke Parks' personal Twitter account. Am I not understanding the internet again? Isn't this a reasonable place to talk about this, in an open, reasonable and reasoned way?

Do you actually feel this thread shouldn't be open to a more considered or balanced discussion of those tweets than just "[Van Dyke] is behaving like... a horse's ass"? Or are you simply not interested in any position less equivocal than "Brian is great, Van Dyke is being mean"? Which is totally fair enough - that's completely your call, and I suspect quite a few folk agree with you. But - and I'm really not trying to be a jerk here - if that's the case, maybe a thread dedicated to exactly the subject matter making you so disgruntled isn't the best place to hang out? Or should I have seen the Thread title and realised this probably wasn't the place for the kind of discourse I think's worth having? Quite possibly.

Anyway, I thought NPP was a total blinder too - just fantastic.

Ah yes. "Barks" was employed as a verb in much the same way VDP might have done. And I do believe he is doing some barking.

I will say, with every tweet like that it's more difficult to read many of these links and posts as anything but gratuitously vindictive. Ah well. I'm pleased I tried, regardless.

EDIT: Actually, just read the article. Not exactly glowing, but not really damning either. Back on the fence I go.

I believe my description of the article as "rather less than wholly admiring" is accurate - unusual given my lapses in mental prowess. Yet it is the comment made to Twitter and the source of the comment that is far more intriguing, and certainly much more telling.

The plot thickens! The game is afoot! VDP linked a rather less than wholly admiring article about Brian with an accompanying comment from a tweeter who interestingly was making his first tweet and has but four followers, including VDP:

@BBC_Culture It's the myth that grates. He really represents a wrecked dream- that Beauty & Consumerism are two sides of the same nickle.
2:42pm - 9 Jun 15

Correction: James Cracknall has no followers. The account follows four, one of which is VDP. Cracknall a Song Cyclist?

"TM or not, Van Dyke, I'll shove that cello where the sun doesn't shine until you're singing involuntary triplets through your nose."

"I already walked out on you once, Mike."

Another dandy.

@elkensky "Love and Mercy" needed more @thevandykeparks VDP: Lithium has a detrimental effect on memory. That relates psycnet.apa.org/journals/abn/9…
5:17pm - 29 Jun 15

Terrific review and quite funny, as well. I am so happy that you enjoyed the show. My turn tonight.

Enjoy! I shall lift a Pabst to you.

It was rather warm during the Nashville sound check, and I was forced several times to take on oxygen. Unfortunately, while there was cold Pabst available in the bar at an on-site restaurant, there was none at the sound check. I made do.

Blondie and the band worked through “Sail Away,” and Blondie asked to do the same with “Sail on Sailor.” The band struggled some in determining the proper backing vocals to “Shut Down” and asked whether any of the 50 or so of us in attendance could help. Having at the moment had head stroke, I was unable to provide guidance, but the proper lyrics were determined, and all were pleased. The band had come up with a special intro piece to accompany “Wake the World,” but Brian rejected the idea, indicating that he wished it to adhere closely to the record. And so it was done.

The band ran through a nice, relaxed “Don’t Worry Baby,” which made my soul soar and brought cool relief for the remainder of the sound check.

After a rather sterling Italian dinner at the on-site restaurant (I had chicken saltimbocca and seven Pabsts), we re-entered the concert area to be treated to a lovely set from Rodriguez who was wonderful on his acoustic “I Only Have Eyes for You”. Blondie stood in the wings listening intently to the set.

The sun showed us mercy by sinking as it does below the horizon, and the impressive afternoon heat gave way to a splendid evening, “Our Prayer” offering the enthusiastic audience all the proof it needed that harmonies would be in abundance. The segue to “Heroes & Villains” brought the audience to its collective feet – most of which were clad in one type of shoe or another. Some were baffled, or so it seemed, by the “Cantina” section, but it was done so beautifully the brief confusion gave way to excitement.

As is always the case, with the first notes of “California Girls” the crowd erupted in ecstasy, or perhaps hives. The performance was immaculate, and by following with “Shut Down,” “Little Deuce Coupe,” and a driving “I Get Around,” the band forced the elders among us to the realization that seating would not be an option for much of the performance. A young man directly in front of me was either mesmerized by the show or seriously involved in an LSD trip.

“You’re So Good to Me” was a highlight. What an amazing vehicle for the guitar! Many in the crowd might have been unfamiliar with “This Whole World,” but the response to the song was quite wonderful. Al did his usual solid job on “Then I Kissed Her” and “Cottonfields” before Brian remarked that a nice ballad would ensue – “In My Room,” which was merely magical and which clearly moved the audience, including the LSD fellow. “Surfer Girl” followed, and I was moved to see the 60th businessman-type fellow in front of me sing his heart out with every word. It was an emotional highlight.

Matt Jardine simply nailed “Don’t Worry Baby,” and the harmonies were sublime. Brian then introduced “a love song for my wife” and credited Scott Bennett with his collaboration – “One Kind of Love.” The response from the audience was quiet, but not in a negative manner. Many had seen the film, it was clear, and a certain reverence prevailed.

Brian offered Blondie an enthusiastic introduction, referencing his time in the Beach Boys and his decade-long stint with the Stones. “Now he’s with my band!” The crowd was quite taken with “Sail Away,” and it was a somewhat surprising highlight of the night. “Wild Honey” followed – a blistering version. Blondie moves the band a step from pop and into the rock realm. Brian introduced “Sail on Sailor” as “Sail Away Sailor” and was corrected by Al, who was summarily executed. Years of clean-leaving prevailed, though, and Al emerged phoenix-like back on the stage. The performance was strong, and Blondie’s vocal was soulful.

Brian then referred to Darian as “one of the greatest singers in the world,” and told the crowd he had written “Darlin’” for his brother Carl. Darian gave a remarkably strong performance – remarkably strong. I was, though, forced to be alert to avoid his spittle.

Al was quite effective on “Wake the World,” and it was fabulous in the outdoor setting. While it is a “deep cut,” it was sufficiently strong and well-positioned to do more than delight the crowd. “Busy Doin’ Nothing Followed,” and I much preferred the live version to the Friends recording, which I quite like.

Brian then said something to the effect of “this next song is 20 minutes long” and conceded that the title was deceptive. He followed with a mesmerizing performance of “Surf’s Up,” Matt Jardine somehow managing to be both strong and unobtrusive in providing the high parts. The younger Jardine’s vocals were impressive throughout the night. At one point, I noticed Al looking back at his son with quite obvious pride,” and I wept unashamedly until the man next to me threatened to have me removed.

“Surf’s Up” is a bit of an issue in such an eclectic set of songs. Brian was strong. Matt was strong. The band was beyond strong. But the song didn’t quite fit in context with the rest of the concert. The audience was respectful, no question. But being sandwiched between “Busy Doin’ Nothing,” and “The Right Time,” “Surf’s Up” left something of the impression of having visited an exhibit of Rockwell paintings and seeing in their midst a “Renoir.”

But “The Right Time: was done well, and Al was in great voice. As was the case with most of the songs from No Pier Pressure, the audience response was more enthusiastic than I had anticipated. The slight exception was “Runaway Dancer,” which followed. The version was quite solid, but the response was perhaps a bit confused. If there was a weak moment in the concert, this was probably it. That’s not to say it was a clunker – not in the sense that my third wife was a clunker, a Chevy Nova if you will.

Any brief loss of audience enthusiasm was recouped and then some with the opening strains of Wouldn’t It Be Nice,” and Matt Jardine sang it remarkably well. Thus began a half-hour or more of sheer perfection. “Sloop John B” was done incredibly well, and the acapella break was seamless. It was here, or perhaps earlier – forgive an old man’s memory – that Brian broke into a magnificent grin and shouted “Wilson and Jardine!” He and Al looked at each other, and it seemed as if for a moment they were transported back in time. I believe that Brian’s relaxed mood – and by his standards he was quite relaxed – might be attributable to Al’s presence on stage. Perhaps knowing he is near the end of his touring days, Brian finds some joy in being joined by his long-time friend and band mate.

Vocally, I thought “God Only Knows” was Brian’s highlight, at least this night. His voice was as pure as I’ve heard it in a long, long time. His phrasing was impeccable. Brian can have a tendency to “bark” lyrics, a bit, and it can be at least slightly noticeable that he is relying on a teleprompter. But he did a beautiful, fragile, nearly perfect “God Only Knows,” and this is the memory I will take from the concert. I was jolted.

“Good Vibrations” brought the crowd to its feet, was done beautifully, and closed the pre-encore show in a rousing, scintillating fashion, as one would expect. It remains remarkable to me to see the song done so well in a live setting.

The encore was strong. Paul introduced the band members individually, and they took deserved bows. He pointed out that they needed trombone for one song, and Probyn volunteered to teach himself to play. The crowd clearly appreciated this wonderful band.

“All Summer Long” opened the encore and was a crowd favorite. Al did a great job on “Help Me Rhonda,” and the noise level raised appreciably during the performance. The audience loves “Help Me Rhonda.” “Barbara Ann” isn’t a personal favorite, but it was exciting in its context and kept the audience dancing in the aisles. “Surfin’ USA” maintained the elevated mood. And “Fun Fun Fun”... how could this ever be anywhere but in its penultimate place in the show? Young and old, people were on their feet, singing along and pretending to be masters of falsetto. Powerful rock ‘n’ roll.

“Love & Mercy” closed the show, as always these days, and Brian did a nice job. As evidence of his relaxed mood, he played with the lyrics a bit – and it had nothing to do with memory or with stumbling over a lyric. It was intentional, and it was good. The backing vocals were superb. The audience would have loved another encore.

Random thoughts: Fred Vail introduced the band, and I found myself quite emotional. “I’ve known these guys for 53 years,” he said. He referred to Brian as his “hero.” And he riffed on the “gala concert” bit from the first live album. Many in the audience were reciting the words he used that night so long ago. It was a treat.

A random young woman – quite attractive – joined the band on stage during the encore and waltzed from one mike to another. She is either a Nashville country star or someone sufficiently attractive nobody bothered to check her credentials. She was not introduced.

Brian was humorous and – by his standards, at least – comfortable. More than that, he was happy. I would defy anyone who saw the show to think otherwise. This was, on this night, a remarkably happy man.