Ahh… the romance. The soft gush of amore in the setting sun, the hum of the languidly crashing waves, the wind tickling your summer skin and a pair of strong shoulders to lean upon. The bittersweet taste of knowing this surely cannot last, making you a bit weepy somewhere inside, a bit nostalgic even though you have only just arrived. And you weren’t even there. You only heard Beach Boys on the radio. In the middle of gridlock, in your car, at the end of the day, hungry, tired and about to cry. It’s 2012 and The Beach Boys are less sun and surf and more law suits and moments of clarity amid confusion. Brian Wilson has been coaxed back to join the rest of The Boys to record a brand new album to celebrate 50 years of rock’n’roll history (Surfin’ Safari came out in 1962) and possibly, to generate rewards from a massive summer tour. The music industry has shifted from music sales to ticket sales; last year *nostalgia* acts revved up guitars on stage to the sweet sound of about $800 million big ones. No wonder they lured Wilson on the road again. Cynical, yes – true, probably, who knows. And I don’t even care. All I want to do is immerse myself in the liquid gold of those four-part harmonies and go back to that beach that never even excisted.
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