pet_sounds raze when brian wilson lost the hearing in one ear — when his father beat him halfway into deafness — he grew a third eye to compensate. an eye that could hear in ways it couldn't see. listen. the beach boys weren't just songs about girls and surfing. they were sandboxes and fire helmets. they were broken love and childlike wonder. they were pocket symphonies to god. they were sounds you could touch and be tamed by. brian's heart was the engine that made the music run, until the brothers and cousins and friends who were supposed to have his back sucked out his soul. you can't begin to understand how intricate and unusual some of those songs are until you try working them out for yourself. the fourth or fifth josh i was unlucky enough to know got an upright piano for his bar a year or two before he closed up shop. he did everything he could to convince me to play there. god knows why. i thought i at least owed it to him to give his piano a try. "pet sounds" was his favourite album. i wanted to surprise him. so i sat down and taught myself how to play "you still believe in me". the first thing brian and tony asher ever wrote together. chords that never stop climbing. words more wept than sung. i showed up with the lyrics scrawled on an unlined piece of paper and a stack of cds. he knew i was coming. he stood me up. the bartender wouldn't turn down the pop punk he was blasting, but he let me take the piano for a test run. i couldn't really hear what i was doing. i heard enough. it was a hunk of junk. something someone gave away because no one in their right mind would want to buy it. i went home and sang the song the man who owned that shithole would never hear coming out of my throat, knowing everything i worked so hard to learn would be gone by the time he remembered my name. 230108 ... kerry he was hired after me and warren fell in love with him right away. i wish i could remember his name because i remember so much else about him. he was taller than the rest of us and had this slinky, looping kind of walk that reminded me of a noodle. his hair was blond and fell over his eyes. he seemed completely harmless, soft-voiced and quiet but kind. he was a couple of years younger than me, which was part of why i resented him so much after our boss deemed him (silently but obviously) the golden child of the store. he liked boris and obscure psychedelic-garage rock. "pet sounds," he purred one day, "is brilliant." our boss was an old curmudgeon, always grumpy, but he looked at this kid like he'd never cared to see the rest of us. "yes. it's a masterpiece." and that was it. i resented "pet sounds," i resented this kid, i resented our boss when he nudged me to help the women and girls in the shop (supposedly our gender unites us in our taste in music?), i resented him when he wordlessly handed me a broom. he'd never handed the guys a broom. "what am i supposed to do with this?" i asked. "just--when you have a moment." that was one of my only victories in the store. i was there just before austin was hired and we were friendly with each other. he was bearded, round-faced, and about 27. he worked on the blog and special orders. i noticed a shift in him when the golden child arrived. his laugh was louder. he didn't talk to me as much. he invited me over to watch a movie one evening, a movie we'd talked about during our shift. he lived next door to a family i babysat for, in a tiny little symmetrical square house. when i got there it was very dark and i was nervous. he asked me what i wanted to drink and i said a gin and tonic because i was 20 years old and it was the first thing that popped out of my mouth. i remember him giving me a funny look that i couldn't really interpret, and i remember feeling more aware of the age difference between us than i ever did at work. but he made it for me and got himself a beer. after the movie we went into his room. the mattress was shoved into the far corner and the bed was unmade. i gave him a handjob because that's what he wanted and i didn't know what i was supposed to be doing, only that i'd thought when i arrived that maybe something new and not-bad was going to happen that evening, that i was totally out of my element, and the whole time--it felt like an eternity but was probably only a couple of minutes--i was thinking how this was not-horrible but that i wasn't enjoying it and he was kind of disgusting all of a sudden, helpless but still in control and i didn't exist in that dingy half-empty room anymore, just him and my hand, and when it was over he said thanks and i went outside and walked across the lawn to my car where it was parked on the curb and i got in and sat there for a few minutes and wondered what the fuck had just happened. the next time we worked together he barely spoke to or looked at me, and our boss put on "pet sounds" and the guys all gushed about how amazing it was while i stayed at the other end of the store doing inventory, wanting to turn into dust and be nothing. so for a long time whenever anyone brought up "pet sounds" i've made a face and said "ehh, overrated." but this was 15 years ago and now i know it wasn't the album i hated but the guys in the store. 230116 what's it to you? who go blather from