Summer Days (And Summer Nights!!) [UPDATED]

I read a story on the Internet (very possibly apocryphal, of course) about how somebody got a skeptical Thomas Pynchon* to lie down on the floor and listen to Pet Sounds, after which he was wholly converted. Me, I always loved "I Get Around," thanks to the one-two punch of The Flight of the Navigator and Good Morning, Vietnam,† but I thought of the Beach Boys as occasionally enjoyable but for the most part cheesy pop garbage.

"I'm a real cool head! I'm making real good bread!"

The first step in my own Pynchonesque conversion to the cult of Wilson was hearing some bizarre music played loud on a friend's nice stereo speakers in college in 1997 (in retrospect, the song must have been the bizarre "She's Going Bald") and being stunned to hear that what we were listening to was Smiley Smile. At this point I still hadn't gotten wind of the rumor that Pet Sounds possibly even rivals Sgt. Pepper in the timeless-musical-genius category (not to mention helped inspire McCartney to make it), and I was still enslaved to the narrative of crappy pop musicians accidentally transforming into musical geniuses—the idea that the Beatles used to be bad and then somehow got good—so my response was, "Wow, the later '60s transformed all sorts of cheeseball bands into fascinating weirdos!"

Weird.

The second step came soon after my ex-wife revealed to me the fairly well-kept secret that the early Beatles stuff is incredibly good: that, along with the discovery (as I began to explore classic punk rock) that the Ramones both covered and imitated the Beach Boys on Rocket to Russia, made me reinvestigate the Beach Boys, from the classic-rock'n'roll (not to be confused with "classic rock") angle. I think the first song I got really excited about at this point (c.2002?) was "Dance, Dance, Dance."

[NOTE: It was brought to my attention that anyone not clicking the above link would, quite reasonably, believe me to be a divorcé. (Is that a word? Divorcée means a divorced woman. Do we not have a word for a divorced man?!) Briefly the idea of spreading misinformation about myself on the Internet tickled me, but I'm not advanced enough yet for that. Short Round: never married.]

Rock'n'roll.

Not sure what happened next‡—either Pet Sounds or the recognition that "Don't Worry Baby" and "You're So Good to Me" are two of the best songs ever written or recorded (I know it took me a while to get into Pet Sounds, and I think Frank Black's cover version of "Hang on to Your Ego" made a big difference there because I was really into the Pixies)—but really it's the last step (full sequence) that I wanted to write about anyway, so let's jump to that.

Come on, Brian: smile.

What I can't stop listening to now—and this is a new development—is shit like Wild Honey and particularly Friends. I also recently recorded a version of "I Can Hear Music"—probably my favorite non–Brian Wilson Beach Boys track—and suicidewatch reminded me of the existence of "Girl Don't Tell Me," which is basically a Help!-era Beatles song but/and is incredibly brilliant and excellent (and soon to be covered by Headfoot, I'm thinking).

Girl, don't tell me you'll write!

Here are a couple of Beach Boys songs I love that you might not know and should listen to immediately and repeatedly, preferably singing along at the top of your lungs:

• Aren't You Glad
• Darlin'
• Busy Doin' Nothin'

In "Darlin'," the way the melody goes up... I don't know how to talk about music: I don't have the right terminology. It goes higher when you wouldn't expect it to—"To let you know what you meant to me," "You pick me up when I'm feeling sad"—and I just can't fucking get enough. Also, the way it goes back into the verse after the chorus.

"They've got some funny little love songs on there."

But my favorite Beach Boys album at the moment is probably Friends. I almost feel guilty for listening to it so much. Not so thrilled about "Anna Lee, the Healer" or "Transcendental Meditation,"§ but otherwise the thing is almost unbearably wonderful. If you don't know it, get it, and if you listen to it and don't like it, keep listening to it until you do.

What a hot, sticky day.

In conclusion, the Beach Boys make my life better. We've been friends now for so many years. We've been together through the good times and the tears, turned each other on to the good things that life has to give. Days I was down, the Beach Boys would help me get out of my hole. The Beach Boys told me when my girl was untrue. I loaned them money when the funds weren't too cool. I talked their folks out of making them cut off their hair!

Ahhh, ahhh, ahhh, ah-ah-ah-ahhhhhhhhhh!

* Who, although very much a '60s guy, was born just early enough that his allegiance to popular rock'n'roll was bound to be shaky.

† Or, more relevantly, the Good Morning, Vietnam soundtrack.

‡ See "Getting the story straight, pathological preoccupation with" here.

§ When the Beatles got religion, they write stuff like, "to see you're really only very small, and life flows within you and without you"; when the Beach Boys get religion, they write, "Transcendental meditation can emancipate the man and get you feeling grand: it's good!"