The first time I saw the Beach Boys, it was at Chastain Park in Atlanta. My Aunt Dee had turned me onto them after she’d been a student at UGA. She was listening to Squeeze, R.E.M., and others. I loved one Squeeze album in particular, several songs from R.E.M., but the band who gripped me was the Beach Boys.

The harmonies, of course; we all get that. The beach sounds; we all get that, too. But there was a tragic innocence of Brian Wilson that was endearing. It’s similar to the ways in which one might appreciate Walker Percy or Pat Conroy or Dickens in the literary medium.

Each had a slice of life he was uniquely equipped to exploit beautifully. For Wilson, it was the world of sounds.

There’s no telling how many millions of fans around the planet tonight are listening to the same album, Pet Sounds.

You were a troubled, beautiful, musical soul, Mr. Wilson. Thank you for using your gifts with us.