The death of Brian Wilson the other day, just a few days short of his 83rd birthday is more than just the passing of a uniquely creative musical genius.

Brian Wilson didn’t just write catchy tunes with clever lyrics sung in exquisite harmonies with his bandmates. He was the 1960s version of what today we might call an influencer. He presented that era’s joys in the glories of beaches, sun, surfing, cars, and girls in such a way that simply imagining such a lifestyle evoked a sense of comfort unavailable anywhere else to those of us who were boys back when the Beach Boys themselves were boys.

Those were simpler times, with simpler values, and, dare I say it, more innocent views of life and its possibilities.

Yes, his and my generation began the era of entitlement and self-absorption that has now gotten completely out of hand. But back then it was still charmingly innocent.

Wilson and his brothers Carl and Dennis, cousin Mike Love, schoolmate Al Jardine, neighbor David Marks, and later Bruce Johnston, along with a host of talented sidemen (including briefly Glenn Campbell) released some songs with what I consider profound and moving lyrics.

No, we’re not talking Nobel Prize-winning poetry. But rather words that struck at the very heart of what it was like to be a young person in the ‘60s, struggling with the challenge of evolving into adulthood.

No one ever wrote a song like “When I Grow Up To Be a Man” that seriously asked the question, will I be a cool guy or will my kids think I’m a square, and “will I love my wife for the rest of my life?”

Questions that transcended whether or not the surf was up or imagery like “gotta be cool now, power shift here we go.”

Or how about “Be True To Your School,” with the repeating line “rah, rah, rah, rah, sis boom bah”? Sounds wildly corny today, but back then school spirit was a value that taught us loyalty and respect for our teachers and the education they provide us, which was quite solid in those years.

“In My Room” was a profound recounting of the singular peace and joy that could only be found in your bedroom at home.

Who could not be moved by “God Only Knows,” or totally blown away by the never-before-heard sounds in the opus that was “Good Vibrations”?

I saw the Beach Boys, arguably the quintessential American band, twice in concert, once in the 70s and once in the 80s. Brian Wilson had stopped touring with the band by then, and, sadly and unfairly, they were considered by some to be an unhip, oldies-type act during the counterculture years and beyond.

But they kept touring and releasing music, even as Dennis died tragically, Carl died in his 50s of cancer, and the others formed two competing versions of the band.

Brian’s genius never wavered, even as he struggled with life issues as many of us do.

But now he is gone.

Never again to put together a compelling chord progression, an infectious bass line, or a heart-grabbing turn of phrase.

His death is a huge loss to the music world.

To me, it’s a sign of the never-ending march of time, an unavoidable notice that eternity awaits me. The Beach Boys are no longer boys. They are either old men, as am I, or dead, as I will be at some point sooner rather than later.

Not complaining, by any means. I’m ready for it and am grateful that I lived at a time when someone like Brian Wilson was making music.

Ron Somers used to play drums in a classic rock cover band that unfortunately never covered a Beach Boys song.

Image: PxHere