Brian Wilson died, and he was in a band too.
Three brothers, a cousin, a family friend. Their parents give 'em grocery money, they use it to rent instruments. Fast-forward 4 years of touring, production, and nonstop physical abuse, Brian Wilson is ready to get off the merry-go-round. The chief writer and producer, our one-eared autistic précocité decides to stay in the Angel City and make the greatest thing ever. He hears a folk-rock album some faggies from Eng-Land conked ... read more
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This is the most beautiful thing I have ever heard in my entire life. Tears are streaming down my face and my tip is leaking.
this is Pet Sounds if the Wilsons grew up on the other side of LA
I demand a 50% cut. Delete this and fuck off NOW