For a moment, I thought I killed Brian Wilson

It’s probably fair of me to say that there is nothing analytical or expository I could say about the Beach Boys—certainly not Pet Sounds—that would be revelatory, profound, or even new information. I do, however, have a story to tell.

I work at a restaurant in an affluent Brooklyn neighborhood. Serving people with varying levels of celebrity comes with the territory. Sometimes it’s Michael Cera, sometimes it’s your coworker’s friend’s insane ex. The code of conduct is to be super normal and chill and shoot an eyebrow raise at your coworker when they aren’t looking. That’s about it. It does make one feel a bit self-conscious, the act of wrangling in surprise or awe and making that oat milk cortado as usual. But I think the number one rule for myself is to never, ever, ever mention to a celebrity that I, too, am an artist. Ever. But maybe sometimes I send that information silently. It’s an embarrassing, pathetic desire, this need to feel seen.

One morning last June, Paul Dano came into the restaurant. I’d seen him come in once before with his wife, who I equally admire; they were both warm and unassuming. This specific morning, however, he came in alone, so I sat him at the bar. To confess: I think Paul Dano is just awesome. I don’t know exactly what it is about him, but he exudes a curiosity and sensitivity about the real world that you can feel in his fictional characters, all of which are both full of life and delicately close to combustion. One of these “characters” is his portrayal of the very real, very legendary Brian Wilson in the Beach Boys biopic Love & Mercy.

I hate most biopics, and the hate usually grows retroactively. Yes, the trailer for Bohemian Rhapsody gave me full-body chills at eighteen. But this had almost everything to do with the titular song. I think maybe it should be illegal to use “Bohemian Rhapsody” in a trailer. It’s a false promise—a cheat code to activating a bliss point in our nervous systems, like Doritos. Remember the Suicide Squad trailer? Same song, same false promise. The reviews were so bad that I never saw the film. The only biopic I’ve seen that I don’t feel at least sixty-five percent negatively about is Love & Mercy (there are plenty of articles and subreddits for you to look at if you want a critique or an analysis of the film). As for me, I especially like Dano’s portrayal of Brian Wilson.

On June 11, 2025, Mr. Dano sat at the bar of my restaurant. He ordered coffee and avocado toast, minding his business. His vibe: positively neutral. I continued working, served him his toast, and then I had a great idea. Well, actually, it was less of an idea and more of an impulse to do something. I went over to the iPad at the host stand and typed in “beach boys” on the Spotify app, scanning around to make sure no one was looking. But what should I queue? I thought first of what songs would be most meaningful to him, as someone who had once so beautifully embodied the indisputable genius in his early life. Then I tried to think of what I could pass off as a coincidence. How could I toe the line to obscure that I, a stranger serving him coffee, was singling him out in an attempt to… what? Connect with him? No. He could never know which employee did this deed. If I got caught, he would feel really weird. And I would feel even weirder. He would never be able to return to his neighborhood cafe for fear of me being there, waiting on aux, smiling at him like a cheshire cat in a tree. It had to be anonymous, a music cue from the gods. This was the only way to do anything besides do nothing, which may have been the better choice. But there was no way for me to know what would happen later.

So, I made my queue. “God Only Knows” went first, because it’s the best Beach Boys song, followed by “Wouldn’t It Be Nice.” Then I cued “Just The Way You Are” by Milky to throw off the scent and finally “Good Vibrations.” I couldn’t just hit play on Pet Sounds; that would be too conspicuous. Hits only.

Once the music began, I suddenly was unable to even glance in his direction. I felt like a dog who chewed up a pillow and couldn’t look his owner in the face. I was suddenly interested in every customer other than Paul Dano, trying to signal that I had nothing to do with the music playing right now because I’m actually incredibly normal and chill and just doing my job. 

I’m not sure exactly what reaction I was looking for, perhaps just a slight shift or change in his mood. At best, I figured maybe he would be reminded of the time he spent working on this character, this portrayal. Maybe Love & Mercy was an amazing time for him, the time in his life when he was steeped in the music and the lives of the Beach Boys, and maybe he would hear this music and think fondly of that period and, maybe, it would color his whole day a little bit brighter. At worst, he’d be a little weirded out.

Turns out that, at worst, Brian Wilson dies.

A few hours later, he’d come and gone, and I had all but forgotten about the whole thing; it was just a stupid moment I made for myself to chuck a little excitement into my day. I was refilling water carafes when my manager approached me with a strange look on her face.

“Did you hear?”

“Hear what?”

“Brian Wilson died.”

“…What?” I felt immediately sick. I hadn’t told her about what I’d done earlier that day. 

“Brian Wilson, from the Beach-”

“The Beach Boys, yeah… that’s so sad, oh my God… I have to pee.” I turned quickly to the bathroom, shut the door, pulled my pants down, and sat on the toilet—not peeing, but crying hard. The tears passed quickly, like a baby that is shocked by a fall, only to realize they’re actually fine. I sat there on the toilet for a few more seconds before getting up, washing my hands and splashing and drying my face, checking the internet to see that yes, he did die. Brian Wilson died today, and it’s all my fault. It’s all my fault because the coincidence is too great. I hit play, and it sent a bolt through the natural order of things and one of the greatest living musicians is no longer alive. And Paul Dano knows it was me. What have I done? 

Sometime in the five minutes I was in the bathroom, I shifted from my self-involved panic to a deep, sentimental sadness. Yes, the coincidence freaks me out to this day. But no, I had nothing to do with Brian Wilson’s death. And when that grand facade faded, all that was left was the fact of the matter: a musical hero of the world was gone. How awful, but how lucky we were to have had him on earth.

I left the bathroom, cleared some tables, and beelined back to the iPad. This time I just hit play on Pet Sounds.“Wouldn’t Be Nice” filled the restaurant for the second time that day, this time shamelessly. I could tell which customer’s ears perked up to the song. I told my coworkers what had happened earlier that day. Shit, that’s crazy. It felt crazy. I went back to doing my actual job, serving tables instead of crying in the bathroom and DJing. Multiple tables stopped me to say something about the music and Wilson’s passing, ranging from a “so sad,” to a “thank you for playing this today.” I agreed and nodded. Of course. Strangely, these interactions reflected what I’d perhaps been aimlessly searching for earlier that day: an acknowledgement, a pause. 

Pet Sounds rang out for 37 minutes, joyous and haunting through the Sonos speakers. When I got off work, I walked over to the Pratt Institute campus nearby. In my headphones, I ventured through Smiley Smile and Wilson’s Smile, literally smiling at the trees and sculptures as I walked through them. 

[Postscript: I’d be remiss not to mention the Beach Boys’ defining use of harmony, and Brian Wilson’s strangeness and fearlessness. I’m positive this torch has been passed to countless musicians, but I certainly hear it in Panda Bear/Animal Collective’s work and, more recently, in Worldpeace DMT’s sound. Animal Collective’s “College” could easily be passed off as a Beach Boys song to an unsuspecting listener. And while Worldpeace DMT’s inspirations are less obvious, my first experience of watching member Leo Fincham perform at Nublu last summer immediately brought to mind Panda Bear and Animal Collective and, subsequently, Mr. Brian Wilson. I love the Beach Boys, I love Brian Wilson, I love music.]

Alana Markel is a musician from Brooklyn, NY, making experimental pop music and working at a cafe. Her latest EP, I Love You, is out now everywhere you listen. 

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