Goodbye Surfing Tee

ORDERS OPEN: 7/16/26
ORDERS CLOSE: 7/20/26
TO PRINT: 7/20/26

PRINTED ON LAA GD1801 BLACK TEES.

ALL ITEMS TAKE BETWEEN 3-4 WEEKS TO PRODUCE AFTER THE ORDER PERIOD ENDS. You will always receive your item unless otherwise contacted. All items are final sale. We are not responsible for lost, stolen, or misplaced packages. 

By the dawn of the 1970s, Brian Wilson was but a ghost of his former self, having all but officially resigned from the hit making pop group he had co-founded with his two younger brothers, first cousin, and former El Camino College roommate 10 years prior. The road to The Beach Boys’ second decade had been rocky, to say the least. Plagued by in-group animosity, drug abuse, a brief affiliation with the Manson Family, and Wilson’s worsening struggle against then-undiagnosed schizoaffective disorder, the five youths from the working class Los Angeles suburb of Hawthorne were watching their chance at maintaining their status as unrivaled pop music revolutionaries dwindle before their very eyes.

Released 30 August 1971 on the group’s own Brother label, their 17th studio album Surf’s Up received favorable reception. The painted depiction of John Earle Fraser’s sculpture End of the Trail on the uncharacteristically stark album cover emphasizes the group’s departure from its earlier interests—gone were the days of surfing, fast cars, and girls on the beach, now replaced by the haunting reality of The Beach Boys’ transition from fresh-faced all-American youths to husbands and fathers sporting full beards and shoulder-length hair to obscure their sunken features. With the exception of four tracks, Brian Wilson’s presence on the album was minimal at best, leaving the remaining members—sans Dennis, who was recovering from a nasty hand injury—along with group manager Jack Rieley, to their own devices. Their efforts were ultimately rewarded, with Surf’s Up quickly charting higher than any Beach Boys release since Wild Honey. 

Surf’s Up continues the group’s transition from the baroque glee of their ’60s output to the mellowed-out murkiness prevalent in early-’70s rock, placing on full display the group’s capabilities independent of Brian Wilson’s direction. On the idealistically eager opening ecological protest number “Don’t Go Near the Water,” which features a distant piano melody and trippy aquatic “boings” against a low, crepsecular backdrop, while still retaining the group’s signature doo wop harmonies, Mike Love sings, “What’s happened to the water/It’s going bad.” The use of experimental techniques such as vocal distortion and “issues”-oriented lyrical content reveal the culturally-aware Rieley’s significant influence on the band’s creative direction during this period, helping to hone some of the most unique and innovative work of their post-Pet Sounds career.

Surf’s Up is an especially intriguing entry in The Beach Boys’ catalogue, not only in that it is one of their most uniquely experimental efforts to date, but also due to the scattered remnants of Brian’s shattered psyche present within each of his four contributions to the album. As the aforementioned line suggests, the confessions present on Surf’s Up are thinly veiled and plainly spoken, in sharp contrast to those of lyricist Van Dyke Parks’s pun-and-metaphor-strewn, stream of consciousness poetry from the Smile recordings or the often whacky comedown daydreams of their post-Smile releases. Whether intentional or not, Brian has left a trail of creative breadcrumbs for the listener to follow, hinting at many of the issues which would plague him throughout the rest of his career.

Brian Wilson’s final two contributions, “‘Til I Die” and “Surf’s Up,” triumphantly close the album, compensating for any flaws heard on previous tracks. The former serves as the final thread between wounded genius and the world beyond its increasingly foggy windowpane. Undeniably one The Beach Boys’ most significant recordings and quite possibly Brian’s finest composition of the ’70s, “‘Til I Die” depicts Brian at his most confessional, singing, “I’m a cork on the ocean/Floatin’ over the raging sea.” In the second verse, Brian becomes a “rock in a landslide/Rollin’ over the mountainside,” then a “leaf on a windy day,” adding, “Pretty soon I’ll be blown away.” Something of a final stand for Brian Wilson, or at least the most final he believed he would ever take, the artist offers what remains of his vision to the sweeping grey sea below him. The ruins of his teenage palace gathering rust far beneath the waves, the time he had counted so closely now scattered in the sudden breeze. Most stirring, perhaps, is Wilson’s weary acceptance of his fate, concluding, “These things I’ll be until I die.”