The Sensitive, The Spiritual & Brian Wilson

One thing I've struggled with regarding social media usage over the years is watching myself and other people feel the need to announce their commentary on a current event, under the presumption that people have been waiting for you to break your silence and finally share your thoughts on the topic via the Internet. 

Brian Wilson passed away 3 days ago. I wasn't going to spill any Internet ink on this. But I've brought this up in conversation with multiple people. And apparently people in my actual life don't know anything about Brian Wilson.

As opposed to giving you a bunch of facts you can find on Wikipedia, I wanted to write this in his honor for very personal reasons. I know his work has been highly influential to tons of artists over the last 60+ years. But forget those people. Brian Wilson's work has been influential to me.

THE SENSITIVE, THE SPIRITUAL & BRIAN WILSON

I have my own Bandcamp page with a bunch of my songs scattered around there, with only a few I actually like. One of those good ones is a Beach Boys ripoff called "Shoulda Tried To Hold Your Hand." I've often wondered if I could make an entire album centered around that sound. Something The Beach Boys would have recorded in '65 or '66. 

On summer nights, my mind tends to reside in the thematic spirit of this music. Somewhere between dreaming of a girl you have a boyish crush on, or looking up at the skies at God in a state of yearning for purpose in your confounding life. Something about being outside in the night air after a sunny day. A lot of existential pondering and burning emotion.

At this point in my life, I often feel like I failed at adolescence and young adulthood. Feeling like I walked away from it unfinished. Like I didn't have enough fun. I didn't make enough mistakes. I didn't love enough. I didn't explore enough. I didn't find the stable, mature sense of self that was supposed to naturally come about. And now I'm supposed to commit to stuff as if the world assumes I actually live life with any emotional fulfillment whatsoever. At age 34, I'm still living in lyrics sheet for Pet Sounds. 

Let's go over some songs. Perhaps Pet Sounds songs like "That's Not Me" and "I Just Wasn't Made for These Times" are the best examples of how that album works as a spirit guide for me. Honest to God, I was gonna insert an italicized section here with the most relatable lyrics from "I Just Wasn't Made for These Times," and realized I was just sharing the whole song.

I guess I'll give a brief shoutout to Brian's rather nonsensical opus Brian Wilson Presents Smile, which is easily my 2nd most-listened-to work of his. But let's get back to early Beach Boys, as that's more of an era for personal inspiration.

Ever since I was a teenager, I've been drawn to The Beach Boys' 1963 ballad "In My Room." I never had my own bedroom until I was 16, and I suddenly connected with the list of things that happen in that song: Dreaming, scheming, lying awake, praying, crying, sighing, laughing, telling my secrets, locking out all my worries and fears. I wrote a paper about this song in junior college and my teacher pulled me aside to tell me it was the best paper he read all semester.

The band's early work is full of sentimental melodies to the ladies, which is perhaps best represented on Side B of their 1965 album The Beach Boys Today! My personal favorite song here is "Please Let Me Wonder" and has Brian on lead vocal. Perhaps it's lame for a a guy over 30 (or even over 20) to be so drawn to a song that definitely sounds like a diary entry of a teenage boy with a dreamlike crush. But it's the "wondering" that always strikes me with this era of Brian's music. He questions life itself, which means he also must question love. If I had to work with Mike Love, I'd be "questioning love" too.

Sorry, had to. 

Anyways... Growing up in California, it was normal for my parents to play their cassette tape of The Greatest Hits -- Volume 1: 20 Good Vibrations on a summer drive to a NorCal beach. So my earliest Beach Boys memories probably begin at age 4. And naturally, I associate this band with going to the beach. But I've left all those childhood memories washed up in the sand. It's the coming-of-age yearning that lives on within me.

I've long felt the emotional weight of Brian Wilson's music in my own soul. I associate it with self-discovery and romance, both of which seem like impossibilities in my life. I also associate it with youth, which is half my life ago at this point. At some point, boys have to grow up. I sometimes wonder how things will be "when I grow up to be a man," but then I realize I've already been living on the other side of that. And now, the "boy" who wrote that song isn't alive anymore.

If you came into this blogpost not knowing anything about Brain Wilson, I'm sure none of this helped out at all. I'll always see him as a spiritual figure among my favorite songwriters. He drew a line between how I personally view modern art and God. I can only assume he was good man in real life. But in the music world, he was the best damn boy who ever lived.

Summer Time

I don't really have anything to say about summer. 

I do have a lot of thoughts about summer. 

So like most people, I'm using the internet as an outlet for producing words without actually saying anything.

Summer Time

Summer memories aren't always good. I've been alive for 34 years. Only a few summers stick out to me. And they were all a pretty darn long time ago, at this point. 2008, 2009, 2013, 2015. Everything outside that was something less than memorable. 

But yeah, I remember friends and feelings and music and experiences from all these summers. They're all pretty darn different from each other. There's a buddy of mine from summer 2013 whom I've spent a lot of time with recently. He once claimed that old summer to be his "peak" era as a college kid in his 20s. I have to bring this up, because I was there, and I liked it too. On the downlow: I prefer spring over summer. And it's no coincidence that I'm writing this blogpost on the last day of May, as I feel like spring has officially turned into summer. I had a good spring. So I'm really banking on the change of the season not screwing things up.

Summer 2013 was like a group of friends trying to get through a checklist of all the cliché American summer experiences you're supposed to have while you're still young. It was also really weird. For me.

It's been a remarkable point of discussion with my therapist. Even 8 years after graduating college, I still think of my life in terms of "semesters." I remember each year, and each season, and I tend to divide everything up that way. In college, each semester felt like I was a totally different person. So it's like... I've always considered 2013 to be a great year. Fond memories of all 3 semesters. But my memories of it all come with a thick haze. Summer 2013 seemed to have nothing to do with my life in either spring or fall of that year. But I mean, hey. At least it was fun.

I've only recently discovered an important tie-in as to why college years were so divisive and my post-college years have been sucky: The Fragmented Self. I'll try not to get too deep into this. But I've gone my entire adult life without really having an essence of self that seems connected to a "through line" of character development as life goes on.

Perhaps that's why those other summers stick out to me. They seemed to be developmental or spiritual times in my life, in a rather pivotal way. I don't really think of summer 2015 as a time full of having a bunch of fun with a bunch of friends. But I felt like I was learning stuff. Like, actual edification. I'd dare say that summer kicked off a "though line" within myself. This would eventually fade out when college graduation came around. I once was lost, but now I'm found--Oops. Lost again.

There's been a lot of days recently that remind me of summer 2008. I have no idea why. That was a summer full of having a bunch of fun with a bunch of friends. And I was still a teenager. This is half my life ago. Holy crap.

I absolutely loved being in a local production of The Laramie Project. Me and some dudes went on a backpacking trip in the Sawtooths. I have vivid memories of the Jerome County Fair, for whatever reason. There's a video of me somewhere dancing like a moron in a church parking lot to "Rock Lobster." I was getting grounded a lot for always coming home after midnight. None of these things have anything to do with my current life. But those were some good times, and I don't mind those feelings resurfacing.

Anyways. I'll always consider ages 17-18 as a "through line" in my life. Summer 2009 after my senior year of high school is a time I actually put too high on a pedestal. Not that I think of this time (or any other time of my life) as "perfect." But a lot of internally important stuff ended when that summer ended. Not just my childhood, but this streak of development I didn't know how to hold onto when my life went through a seemingly minor change. This has become a common reoccurrence throughout my adult life. How I define myself has since been chopped into different versions of myself for each semester of my life. Which brings us to summer 2025.

To reference the intro to this blogpost: I don't have much to say, but there's a lot of important thoughts at hand. By all means, I spent much of this blogpost talking about the past. But I've been making an active effort to not think about the past this much. There are plenty of good and bad things happening in my life right now that are starting to feel very real to me. Namely: Life itself. And that thing usually doesn't feel real to me. 

To say that "life is real" sounds super obvious. But to actually experience life, and for that to feel real... That's seemed increasingly impossible to me, the older I get. And yeah, I'm 34, and suddenly the realization that life is real has brought me some new senses of joy and pain. Summer has arrived, and there's a lot of intensely bittersweet summer feelings going on right now. It's enough to make a person execute some questionable actions.

I thought I'd write a blogpost about this season where the kids are out of school and the weather's so hot that you only want to be outside when the sun's down. It's a good time be young and a strange time to grow old. And it's literally where we are right now. Summer Time. 

TPAB Turns 10

To Pimp a Butterfly. What kind of album title is that? Even after hearing the album a million times and getting the context of what that phrase means, it will never easily roll off the tongue. I don't want to write about what "to pimp a butterfly" means. Instead, I'm writing about what To Pimp a Butterfly means.

On March 6, 2015, Kendrick Lamar announced he would release an album on March 23. I was stoked. I had spent the previous couple years obsessed with good kid, m.A.A.d city. That 2012 album alone had me convinced that Kendrick was the greatest artist alive, of any genre. After getting acquainted with a couple funky promo singles, I wasn't sure what to expect on March 23. Surprise: Kendrick released it on March 15. 

The critical acclaim for this album immediately went through the roof. Kendrick himself did a handful of interviews and waited a few months before doing any live performances, but the TPAB love was everywhere. I was part of it. I was posting stuff about it on Facebook like an annoying fanboy. I wrote a small review for The Utah Statesman where I gave it a 10/10. I was onboard with all the music publications instantly declaring it the best album of the decade. A little hype never hurt anyone, right?

Here's the deal. I understand rap way more now than I did back then. Like, I honestly loved Kendrick, but I didn't love the genre for what it is. In hindsight, I can see fair reasons for people disliking TPAB. Maybe it's preachy. Maybe it's a flawed tracklist. Maybe it's too self-serious. Maybe it's too much of an "Obamacore" thing. And you don't want to hear a white college guy who reads Pitchfork sharing any of his opinions on rap. I was hyping this album like it was some culturally significant moment, and I didn't even know what I was talking about.

I mean. I was right. But, yeah.

People don't really talk about TPAB the way they used to. Perhaps there was a revived love for it at the end of the 2010s when publications were releasing their lists for the best albums of the decade. This ended up being the aggregate #1 by a longshot. But the discussion around TPAB doesn't feel the same at all. A lot of that has to do with the change of political climate over the years, and therefor cultural climate. 

There's kind of an unspoken embarrassment among The Millennial Left when it comes the Obama hype in 2008. It seemed to gradually fade with each year. It should be noted that TPAB was released in the thick of Black Lives Matter protests across the country. I definitely remember the couple of videos going around of protestors chanting the chorus of Kendrick's "Alright." The album was a soundtrack for a moment where liberalism suddenly didn't look as appealing as actual revolution. People who once endorsed Obama started questioning if he actually cared about systematic racism, but had yet to start questioning if that future could (and will) get worse. 

It seems like the narrative behind the TPAB love has become tied with the smug "Obamacore" mindset. The idea that we'll never have to worry about The American Right again if we just ignorantly dismiss them, as we're too high-minded for their childish ideals. But I personally don't think I can tie TPAB to that. It's political, for sure. But track-per-track, it's centered around Kendrick's own story. It's his experience with fame, identity, poverty, racism, the music industry, spirituality. The politics on TPAB is totally sensible. It's just that over time, it's harder to evaluate political music because it can never possibly be accurate enough. A valid take, but just a reminder: These songs are really freaking good.

I'll try not get into my old "this album is objectively great" ways. I used to tinker with that too much. I just think that even with super pessimistic hindsight, the overloaded praise for TPAB was justified. Taken at 100% face value, the album shares a personal story that could have existed any time in the last 100 years. Much of it gets pretty dark, and that's what gives the optimistic messages on the record more conviction. And I actually think I've underestimate the album's sonic qualities. This sounds amazing through your speakers in 2025. 

I think there's room for more optimism in music. I've never been an optimistic person for longer than 5 minutes. I don't think any of my moments of hope ever really came from a political figure. TPAB is just as much about black unity as it is about going through your own metamorphosis. The idea of metamorphosis comes off corny to me, but the actual possibility of it happening to me is inspiring. 

I love this album. A lot of people do. Maybe it doesn't need more acclaim. My deal is, I've often called this the best album of the last 10 years. And today is the last day I can say that.

I'm really, really not from here

I still feel awkward when people ask me where I'm from. 

I was born in Central California. I lived there for 15 years and 8 months. 

My family then moved to Idaho. I lived there for 3 years and 8 months, before serving a mission.

On my mission, I told people I was from Idaho. Until I had a companion who had lived in Idaho his whole life. He told me I couldn't tell people I was from Idaho because I only lived there for 3 years and I've never been fishing before. He didn't seem very serious when he said this. But he was correct.

LOGAN

I've lived a collective 10 years of my adult life in Logan UT. I've kinda adopted the place as "where I'm from" over the years. But there's become a contradiction in recent years. The longer I live here, the less it feels like home. 

By the time I hit 30, I found myself surrounded by peers my age who have strong reasons to live here. Coming across more people who were born and raised here, and will likely never leave their family community. I'm even still in touch with a handful of college friends from wherever the heck else in America. Many have found a spouse here; some of whom have started their own family to focus on. I myself love the scenery here. I've explored every street in town and every trailhead up the canyon. I had a few cool semesters at Utah State University, where I graduated from 8 years ago. Am I just living here because the atmosphere makes me nostalgic for the flare of my young adulthood?

Ummm... Yes. 

CALIFORNIA v IDAHO

So it's hard to say I'm from Logan. And I can't say I'm from Idaho. Should I just say I'm from California? I would, except for the fact that I don't really remember it.

I should remember it though, right? That's where I developed as a human being for over 15 years. The orchards, the freeways, being "the token Mormon kid" in every class. All unrecognizable to me.

I usually think of my life as though it never began until I turned 17. My junior year at Jerome High School in Idaho. I switched from thinking of acting as something fun I was getting into, to treating it like an art of progress. I accumulated a lot of new friends. I started going through the pivotal adolescent emotional course. I was really molding as a person for a couple years there. Does this make Jerome ID the place where I truly feel like I'm at home?

The answer is apparently a hard "no." I've had a few stints of living in Jerome as an adult, and most of that time really sucked. I mentioned earlier that I've begun feeling like I'm just a long-term tourist stuck in Logan, surrounded by homebodies. Jerome is like that times 10. If you can imagine.

To me, for any reason, I never felt like my California upbringing was important. But I tell ya what. It's apparent that I definitely didn't grow up in any place like Jerome ID or Logan UT.

NOWHERE

I don't know where I'm from because no place feels like home to me. I'm living a life where I rarely feel any sense of security. Seems like I only feel at home when I'm listening to music or spending time outside. But come to think of it, this was once something liberating for me.

When I was 17, my favorite artist was Beck. A notably weird dude from LA who built a career on refusing to be defined by a genre. Looking back, I have mixed feelings about Beck's shtick, but I believe I totally needed an artist like him in my teenage life. His music never sounded like he was from California. Honestly, he doesn't sound like he's from any particular place at all. I don't think he represented counter-culture. I think he was laughing at the idea of "cultural significance" itself. There's a world of beautiful and terrible music out there. There are millions of people from California. I learned that being from California doesn't have to mean anything. 

It's kinda ironic that I never got into the hip Californian clichés until I moved to Idaho. Stuff like getting involved in theatre, siding with leftist political ideals and loving weird music. In fact, one of my favorite bands is this old 90s band from Stockton CA. I was a kid living in Stockton in the 90s. But I never knew this band existed until I was an Idaho teenager with internet connection.

The band is Pavement, and their album Crooked Rain, Crooked Rain was the soundtrack to my final days of high school. As senior, I could hardly recollect my California freshman year. But as far as I was concerned, this band's rather ugly sound was a close sonic approximation to what the streets of Stockton looked like. Their song "Lions (Linden)" is even titled after the farm-town high school I briefly attended.

As a teenager, it was as though developing my own aesthetic helped me grow my own community. Perhaps having a stronger sense of self and having a reliable community around you go hand-in-hand. And when no place feels like your home, you can always at least have your self. 

I wish that was the end of this blog post.

WHERE AM I FROM?

Where am I from?

I don't know. It's become harder for me to identify myself with any place--or any thing at all--as I've gotten older. I was always under the impression that this stuff would be less dramatic with age, and yet I find it more difficult than ever. As much as I glorify my teenage era of self-discovery, that progression was definitely cut short. An incomplete development, despite doing things that were supposed to make me my own man, like serving a mission and going to college and working fulltime jobs. 

The fact that my first 17 years feel irrelevant to my life might be a thing. Like maybe there's some inner-child stuff to work on there. Like maybe I was always a tight-wound sensitive boy and maybe that boy never went away and I hate that boy, but you didn't hear that from me.

Anyways... I live in Logan, but I'm really, really not from here. There's no real place or thing that makes me feel at home, or in touch with myself. Not for longer than a few minutes, anyways. At some point, I can't lean on my locale or my music taste or my past highlights to define who I am. I think I have to begin some things that are much harder to begin than anything I've ever begun before. 

So I'll tell you where I'm from when I get there.