The worst music is always your parents’ and older relatives’ music-- because via second-hand, this music is an intricate part of your childhood nostalgia, a strange cultural familiarity, but you will never get a chance to live or access it. Every time I listen to the Beach Boy’s “Wouldn’t it be Nice,” I inexplicably remember UCLA and Carmel-by-the-Sea in the 1970s, which is a completely arbitrary setting from my dad’s youth that I’ve never been in. I will never live The Beach Boys ideal. How will I live with myself

















