Fans jam Beach Boys concert
by Donna Hartman, North Adams Transcript, September 1, 1977
‘Good Vibrations’
“Fun is in. It’s no sin. It’s that time again.
Close to 40,000 screaming fans knew It was “that time again” last night as they jammed the aisles and overflowed the amphitheater and grounds of the Saratoga Performing Arts Center for an end-of summer fling with the Beach Boys.
The masters of summertime music can still set crowds of fans from 15 to 40 into a frenzy after more than 15 years of entertainment.
The Beach Boys’ lyrical hymns to surfing, California, fast cars, dates, sun-bleached blonde hair, tanned skin and free, endless summer days and nights sent the crowd into a raging ecstasy—just like last year and the year before.
It was 8:45 p.m. when brothers Carl and Dennis Wilson, cousin Mike Love, friend Al Jardine and Brian Wilson, cult hero and mastermind behind the group, just emerging this year from nearly 10 years of depressive seclusion, came on stage.
Crowds began to gather at the gate of the arts center yesterday at 1 p.m. Inside seats had sold out a week after Mother’s Day.
After those who were lucky enough to get tickets filled amphitheater seats, masses of others continued to stream onto the already packed lawn.
Tension and apprehension filled the air. Security guards and ushers, joining forces at the four entrances, were nearly mowed down.
Fans gave Ricci Martin, Dean Martin’s son, virtually unknown to Beach Boy worshippers, a courteous but impatient round of applause after his short repertoire of tunes.
The heads of Mike Love and Al Jardine, under white cowboy hats, could be seen bobbing behind the set as the stars engaged in a casual game of Frisbee—teasing over anxious fans.
The announcer approaches the microphone. Silence descends.
“And now, ladies and gentlemen, the Beach Boys.”
Unrecognizable silhouettes appear on the dark stage. The opening chords of “California Girls” are accompanied by a tickling, distant drum beat.
Colored lights flood the stage. They’re there. The bubble of tension bursts.
Mike Love conducts the show. He sings most of the leads, flashing around the stage. He steers the base of the microphone stand like a car, singing rocking car songs “Little Deuce Coupe,” “Fun, Fun, Fum,” and “I Get Around” in his familiar nasal voice.
On most tunes, he and Al Jardine are in the spotlight. Short and thin, blonde and balding, Jardine looks almost like a miniature of Love.
Carl Wilson, midstage where brother Brian once stood, anchors the group. He belts out “God Only Knows,” a song he says “Brian wrote for me to sing.”
Drummer Dennis Wilson, the darling of the damsels, enters center stage singing “for all the girls” his rendition of Brian’s ballad to girls on the beach, “Surfer Girl.”
The real star, however, is Brian Wilson. Although he never surfed, he wrote a decade of tributes to the sport, his native state, California, and all the dreams of white middle-class American youth of the 1960’s.
With the advent of the late 1960’s and his music’s flagging popularity, Brian went into isolation for a number of years.
But with the calming advent of 1970’s escapism in popular music, Brian began touring again this year.
Sporting a Beach Boys tee-shirt, a thinner, bearded Brian sat alone at his sand-colored piano at the right of the stage.
He sang few songs, and spoke not a word through the entire two-and-one-half-hour show. Mike Love taunted him with good-natured stares now and then. Carl and Dennis gave him encouraging looks.
His solo performance of “In My Room,” a ballad he wrote, drew tremendous applause. But the old wailing falsetto was missing from what has become what some call his theme song.
Later, the audience nearly hit the ceiling jumping, clapping and singing: “Gotta keep those lovin’ good vibrations,” Dennis bidding. The band just played. The audience screamed out the tune.
“Brian started it all. He made this song,” cried Carl. Fans called for an encore, lighting up the entire amphitheater with lit matches and cigarette lighters held high above their heads.
Dennis’ solo “You Are So Beautiful* under dimmed lights prompted sighs and cries of “Dennis, I love you.”
“Do you want to go surfin’?” he cried. The other members of the group rushed back on stage for a rocking half-hour encore that could hardly be heard over the din of the audience:
“If everybody had an ocean across the U.S.A., then everybody’d be surfin’ like Cal-i-for-ni-a.”
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