Last night my friend scored tickets to see a live, intimate taping of Brian Wilson at the Nissan-Yahoo concert series. It was the two of us, Brian’s amazing band, and about 200 of our closest friends, including
Harry Shearer, a/k/a
Mr. Burns, a/k/a
And Rodney Bingenheimer and Darrell Hammond.
Plus we saw Kelsey Grammar walking by.
Star sightings aside, it reminded me why classics are classics. I was never a huge Beach Boys fan — never had anything against them. That music is just packed into the soundtrack of my life, along with Billy Joel and Earth, Wind and Fire and the Monkees and of course the Beatles. Among, oh, about a hundred other bands.
But last night, Brian, like a stately old king that had barely lived through many wars, headed up a band bursting with fresh young talent. They played classics and new stuff. And as hokey as “Good Vibrations” may sound on your AM radio, it brought me chills. He was masterful, rode easy on his legacy.
After a rendition of “California Girls,” I realized that’s what I am now. And that makes me happy.