Brian, It Was Very Nice Indeed
Remembering Brian Wilson
“Wouldn’t it be nice if we were older,” the song begins.
When I was a kid, the lyrics to the Beach Boys’ “Wouldn’t It Be Nice” shaped my earliest ideas about love. The bright opening guitar sounded like the start of a daydream.
As I’ve watched my parents’ relationship evolve — through the calm and chaos, good vibes and bad, laughter and loss, and the occasional storm — somewhere along the way I began to wonder, Wouldn’t it be nice to end up with someone like my dad?
Dad wasn’t flawless, but he kept showing up — striving to be the best version of himself — not just for himself, but for us, his kids, his coworkers, and his congregation. And then there was the way he treated my mom, or at least the way I saw it. Steady. Thoughtful. Reverent in the quiet ways that matter most.
I didn’t fully understand what the song was really about at the time, but when I started thinking about my wedding playlist, I knew it had to be on there. It made me feel something about love — playful, devoted, complicated, but enduring. And Brian Wilson was the architect of that feeling.
I grew up in San Diego, California, in the ’80s, the daughter of a Catholic deacon and a Beach Boys superfan — which meant two things: Everyone got baptized, and the first two kids were named Mike and Brian. (Matt and I got nice Biblical names, but my parents chose well.)
Mom wasn’t just a fan; she was a witness. She was still in high school the first time the Beach Boys played San Diego in their signature striped shirts, as teenage Mattie squealed from the third row on the concourse.
“I don’t know how I came up with the money,” she said, “but I was there.”
Somewhere in my own messy stacks, I’ve got proof — her carefully clipped KGB Radio charts, Top Ten lists, and whatever else she could squirrel away. Her fandom wasn’t just a phase.
“Brian (Wilson) was a genius,” mom said.
She’s not wrong.
Speaking of Brian (brother), it was often suspected he was Mom’s favorite, but do you know who got all of her Beach Boys vinyl? Me.
I came into possession of my mother’s music collection by way of my grandmother’s old record console, which I dragged into my apartment in need of something to spin and set things on. It didn’t take long for me to find Pet Sounds, and not much longer to claim it as my favorite. Mom and I were just talking about it last night, actually, about how “God Only Knows” always lands at the top for us, no matter how different our lives have turned out.
But I was this old, 46, when I found out that the Pet Sounds album cover was photographed at the San Diego Zoo — our zoo. The same place my mom sent us to “Zoo School” every summer. I remember it mostly being hot and me being perpetually cranky. My time there ended abruptly after I was swarmed by goats who mistook my brightly colored cotton skirt for lunch. That was the end of Zoo School for me.
But not for Mike and Brian. My brothers. They actually went on to work at the zoo as teenagers. Apparently, the place was more formative than I gave it credit for.
Caught a Vibe
My mom and I have talked more than once about Brian Wilson — not just his writing and arrangements, but the hurt he carried, and the heartbreak behind his harmonies.
My parents have weathered their own storms, so much of it was endured before they ever met. They both came from families that didn’t have much, but just enough. They worked hard, had faith, and held on to hope. Those circumstances and experiences could have broken them, but somehow they always believed in the next day.
I think that’s why Brian Wilson’s writing means so much to us. It doesn’t ignore the ache. It carries it. And with it comes the understanding that you can feel lost and still sing. That you can remember pain and still celebrate. That it’s okay to smile, even when you’re still healing.
Sarah’s Version
My fondest memory of the Beach Boys isn’t a song or a lyric; it’s the sight of my mom and the feeling of my dad as we watched the Beach Boys perform during the ’80s after Padres games at Jack Murphy Stadium. My mother is the kind of lady who dances with her arms in the air, eyes closed, hips swaying just a little too far for comfort in a public place. She has the most insane work ethic (four insane children, work, graduate school), and could run a pretty tight ship at home, so to see her let her hair down was/is my favorite version of her.
I know Surfer Girl was written as a dreamy, romantic song. But for me, it brings back a different kind of love: Being a little girl, dancing with my dad in the stadium stands.
Back then, I was still small enough to convince him to hold me. As the Beach Boys played “Surfer Girl,” the song swelled around us. People swayed and sang along, and my dad rocked with me, gently, in time with the music. It’s one of the only times I remember him moving like that. And that’s my favorite version of him.
The Last Time
In 2012, when I saw the Beach Boys were coming to San Diego for their 50th-anniversary tour with Foster the People, I didn’t think twice. I bought tickets and gave them to my mom for Mother’s Day. Her favorite band. My hometown. And a night out with my mom and my daughter, who was 12 at the time.
At that point, I had no idea I’d be moving to Iowa. I’d never lived anywhere else. And I definitely didn’t realize that night would end up being the last time it was just the three of us together, alone.
What I love most looking back is how the night wasn’t just about revisiting the past. We introduced my mom to new music, too. She danced right alongside us, fully in it — even during “Pumped Up Kicks.” I remember shouting over the music:
Mom: “What’s his name?”
Me: “Mark Foster.”
Mom: “Woooo hoooo! Maaaaarrrkk!”
She turned back to me, still moving to the beat, smiling, and said, “I like this one.”
There was something perfect about that exchange — her passing down her youth through the Beach Boys, and us offering up a piece of us in return. At one point during the show, Mark Foster paused to talk about the first concert he ever went to: a Beach Boys show after a baseball game with his dad in Ohio. He said that night changed him.
I remember sitting there, thinking how much I felt that. Gosh.
I felt it again in 2021, nearly a decade later, standing beside my mom at the Iowa State Fair. Just the two of us this time. It had been the longest day of sun and walking, but she was determined. She stood as long as she could — long enough to clap, sway, and sing along to “Be True to Your School” while John Stamos played drums. She didn’t care that the lineup had changed. Neither did I. Because the feeling? That never changes.
And then there was this voice. This familiar, striking, soaring falsetto on all the classics. Brian Wilson is here? I almost died.
I didn’t know who he was at the time, but later that night I posted something from the show. That’s when Kathryn Severing Fox commented, “That’s Brian Eichenberger…”
Turns out, Eichenberger’s not only the music director for the Beach Boys and a current member of The Four Freshmen, but also a 1996 graduate of Southwestern Community College’s School for Music Vocations — right here in Creston, Iowa, where I live now.
What a trip — someone with Iowa ties, in this tiny rural town, carry the sound of my childhood so effortlessly. The fact that he sings falsetto like Brian Wilson only made it more moving. Mom and I were wowed in the moment, but that connection — past and present, California and Iowa, memory and place — is a coincidence that traveled across time zones and generations to find us. Good music does that.
Here is the only clip I took at the ISF of my favorite song, “Surfer Girl”:
When I heard Brian Wilson had died, I cried. He gave us a reason to believe in things like harmony, and love, and forever — even if didn’t go as planned. At least we still have the music.
So, to answer your question, Brian — yes. It was very nice. Very nice, indeed.
Enjoy “Surfer Girl” performed by The Four Freshman, featuring Brian Eichenberger, a 1996 graduate of SWCC’s School for Music Vocations:
About Sarah and All Things IWC
Beach Boys were my 1st concert, 74 Ia St Fair. Ambrosia opened for them. Also saw Gerald Ford & met Miss Iowa that day!
YEEEEESSSS! Love this post.