early history

As far back as I can remember, there's been music in my life.

— Brian Wilson

Without Brian, there wouldn't have been any Beach Boys.

— Recording engineer Chuck Britz

Some people would say that the Beach Boys were born on Labor Day weekend, 1961, when three brothers, one cousin, and a friend rented the equipment required to make their first demo recording. Others might contend that the group didn't emerge until "Surfin' USA" — their first big hit — entered the number three spot on the Billboard charts in 1963. Then again, a convincing argument could be made that the fate of the band was sealed with the birth of Brian Douglas Wilson on Saturday, June 20, 1942.

In reality, it all began with a radio.

"In junior high school Brian would eat dinner, and he'd go into his room and that radio would be on constantly," his mother Audree explained. "I remember [Brian's father] Murry once saying to me, 'Do you think we should worry about him?' I said, 'No. He's just loving the music.'"

Music — and the tiny transistor radio he kept hidden under his pillow at night — became Brian's constant companions, exposing the boy to a wide variety of genres and styles. "My favorite [station] was KFWB in Hollywood," Brian said. "Every record had something you would listen to; every record had some kind of twist in it that gave you that feelin', and you'd say, 'Oh, man.' You'd go to the piano and say, 'Now, how did they do that?' You'd start learning about it — it's an education. Anybody with a good ear [was] gonna pick up on those records."

Brian's passion delighted his parents, and it was a rare day that Murry — an aspiring songwriter — didn't hammer out his latest creation on the family's piano for Brian's entertainment. For her part, Audree shared her small record collection with her son, beaming when he begged to hear Glenn Miller's big band rendition of "Rhapsody in Blue."

The Wilson Family

In the early 1940s, the Wilsons lived in a small house at 3701 West 119th Street in Hawthorne, California, an inland town off the Pacific coast area known as South Bay. Hawthorne was a blue-collar town, and Murry tried hard to provide a comfortable life for his family, who also benefited from the support of various relatives scattered throughout the area. Brian forged a special relationship with Audree's father, who, until his death in 1948, would take the boy on explorative flights in his single-engine prop plane. The family was also close to Audree's sister Glee Love, who lived in nearby View Park with her husband Milton and their six children: Michael, Stanley, Stephen, Maureen, Marjorie, and Stephanie.

By the end of 1946, the Wilson family included two more children: Dennis (born on December 4, 1944) and Carl (born on December 21, 1946). All three of the Wilson boys were gregarious and athletic, and they engaged in the harmless pranks typical of boys their age. From a distance, the Wilsons appeared to be a happy family who enjoyed the idyllic environs that southern California had to offer. In reality, relations within the family unit were neither healthy nor respectful.

As a father, Murry Wilson was an inscrutable failure. While he appeared to be a strict disciplinarian who wanted the best for his children, he was a ruthless egomaniac whose parenting philosophy was skewed by his own experience as the child of an abusive, alcoholic father. Life in the Wilson house wasn't easy, and each of the boys dealt with the dysfunction differently.

Carl, who died of lung cancer at age fifty-one on February 6, 1998, was the least affected by his father's misdeeds, and emerged as the family mediator.

Dennis, the rebellious middle child, endured the most punishment. As a youngster he was beaten frequently, and he responded to provocation with a quick temper and fists. Throughout his life, Dennis seethed with anger, and the physical confrontations between father and son lasted well into adulthood. Dennis was the first of the brothers to experiment with alcohol and other drugs; after two decades of reckless behavior exacerbated by chronic substance abuse, he drowned in a drunken stupor on December 28, 1983, in Marina del Rey, California. He was thirty-nine.

Brian suffered, too. While his wounds were more psychological than physical, Murry didn't refrain from hitting him. One of Brian's most vivid childhood memories is of his father slapping the side of his head — a punishment that he once blamed for the deafness in his right ear.

Music in the Air

To compensate for his lack of emotional intelligence, Murry indulged his boys with music: pianos, a Hammond organ for the family room, and lessons all around. When the Four Freshmen performed at the Crescendo, the man who mercilessly belittled his children struggled to find the money to buy tickets so Brian could attend.

Murry was difficult, but listening to and writing music was one of the few things that tempered his coarseness. He was particularly proud when pop arranger Jimmy Haskell recorded two of his songs, "Fiesta Day Polka" and "Hide My Tears," in the early 1950s. Later, the Bachelors recorded his inane "Two-Step Side-Step," which was subsequently featured by Lawrence Welk and his orchestra on a radio program originating from Santa Monica's Aragon Ballroom. But as hard as he tried, his songs were just too schmaltzy for the rapidly evolving pop market, and except for a few tunes issued as 78-rpm singles, Murry's music went unnoticed.

At home, music became Murry's sole emotional connection to his children — a rare gift bestowed with unrestricted love. "I remember that music was always present," Carl told journalist Geoffrey Himes in 1983. "We always had a couple of pianos and a jukebox in the house. We had a garage that my dad fixed up into a den. We'd all get around the piano; my mom would play, and later Brian started to play. By age 10, he was already playing great boogie-woogie piano!"

Brian also sang in the choir at Inglewood Covenant Church, where the director discovered that, even with his hearing loss, the boy had perfect pitch. He blended nicely with the main choir, and his clear soprano voice projected beautifully when he sang solo. While it was apparent that he was the one blessed with an ear for music, Brian encouraged Dennis and Carl to join him in singing hymns. "The three brothers used to harmonize in bed," Brian remembered. "We'd all sleep in the same room. We used to sing this song, 'Come Down, Come Down from the Ivory Tower.' We developed a little blend, which aided us when we started getting into the Beach Boys stuff."

Music became Brian's escape. He mastered and outgrew his child-sized accordion, and...