My parents are, in the simplest of terms, ex-hippies. There are more pictures of my father wearing bandanas than there are of us together and my mother still dances like a girl on Haight Street. Growing up, my house was always full of ’60s and ’70s music. Of all the records my father used to spin on our Technichs turntable, none impacted me more than Pet Sounds.
At 16 and a half, on a warm April day, I finally got my driver's license. Driving with the windows down and my girl by my side, the first song I listened to was “God Only Knows.”
This winter break I searched my parents’ record collection for albums to bring back to school. There was Pet Sounds, right on top of the stack. Maybe it’s because of the bitter cold outside or the approaching reality of life after of college, but Pet Sounds hasn’t stopped playing in my room since.
