I realized recently that I’m approaching 30 years (!!!) of seeing my faves in concert—I’m on year 27, which kicked off with Mr. Coyote and I seeing the band Chicago at Casino Rama in April. Amazing start to the year!

I saw my first concert in 1996, The Beach Boys at Kingswood Music Theatre inside Canada’s Wonderland amusement park near Toronto with my dad, a lifelong Beach Boys fan. The longest I’ve gone since then without a single show—and I’m counting virtual pandemic-era shows here—lasted from July 10, 2001 until June 10, 2004. I’m giving myself a pass for those years, partially because there weren’t many shows I was interested in at that time, and mainly because of the reason why.

In 2001, a show broke my heart, and I swore I’d never go to another concert again.

After Carl Wilson passed away in 1998, I was absolutely devastated. I’ve struggled with depression my whole life, and music has often been my only source of purpose. I looked up to my musical heroes greatly, and swore I’d meet them some day. That was my driving goal on bad days; my something to look forward to when there just wasn’t anything else good in my life. So when Carl passed on, it felt like my then-15-year-old world was turned upside down.

I tried to channel that grief into creating a walkathon in his memory, to some success; as the internet was newly a thing, I wound up being able to connect with the organizers of the main memorial events in California, and they gave me some help along the way. They connected me with some people on the management side of things for Carl and the Beach Boys, and some members of Brian Wilson’s backing band were gracious enough to reach out and give me some of their time to help.

I don’t talk about this often because, 20 years later, I still see it as a great failure on my part. (I’m also majorly doxxing myself; hello, everybody, and welcome to my easily-searchable “dark past”! Lol. It’s really not that bad.) But long story short, others did not; I was a teenager after all, and the walk did take place on a small scale, raising approximately $2500 in Carl’s memory.

The part I glossed over involves a lot of hard times, including getting scammed by a vendor that promised to provide services to walk registrants but never did (this person now works for Brian Wilson providing the same services, in part due to their experience “working” on my event, and it drives me bonkers!). We had to change our location and date as we had trouble securing a good spot, and trouble being taken seriously by the beneficiary and sponsor, the Canadian Cancer Society. So many discouragements were a lot to take for 16-year-old me, and after awhile I dramatically threw up my hands and declared defeat.

Except it wasn’t that easy, and my dad could see that. This was in roughly January 2000, with the walk scheduled for June. We had t-shirts on order, we were still trying to get this scammy vendor to provide their services, we had registrants, we had promotions on local radio stations and in record stores. Brian Wilson himself even called in to a local radio morning show to talk about the walk (now that was a trip—hearing your musical idol say your name and phone number on a popular radio broadcast!). We even still had the potential, at that point, of having some performers. It was past the point of no return, but I’d reached my breaking point.

My dad paid, out of his own pocket, for the t-shirts. This was a great expense for us at the time that we couldn’t afford, but he didn’t want to see me fail. (I see this now; at the time this just felt like the ultimate failure, having to be bailed out.) He continued to help with anything I needed to just see this thing through.

But it drove a big wedge between us; after all, this thing was my project, not his—he didn’t exactly ask to take this on! And I was not handling my ‘failure’ well.

The walk took place in June, and raised a decent amount of money. A quick Google search tells me that our $2500 in 2000 is the equivalent of over $4000 in today’s dollars! So it was hardly a true failure, but it felt like a personal one to me.

I moved away to Virginia for awhile, with friends who I’d met through the walk and had provided moral support.

One of the band members I’d been speaking with, J, actually arranged for backstage passes to a Brian Wilson concert my friends and I were attending in Atlanta, Georgia. He said that Brian wanted to thank me for “all that I’d done” for Carl. I was ecstatic because it meant that my friends would get to meet Brian, which was a dream come true for them! This was, of course, my own dream too—but at that point, I didn’t feel deserving. I only wanted the people who helped me along the way to have that honour.

Unfortunately, when we got there, the venue misinterpreted our passes. Ours were guest passes, with pre-show access; there were also ones that had been purchased publicly for an after-show experience, but those were not actually meet and greets. They would not allow us in before the show, despite my pleas. When we finally got backstage after the show, J asked where we had been—we could no longer meet Brian, as he was too tired after performing all of the Pet Sounds album plus a greatest hits set.

Understandable! But geez. Failure #47000 for now-17-year-old me.

In spring 2001, I was back in Toronto, living apart from my parents as the wedge that developed the year before had now created a rift the size of the Grand Canyon. My dad wasn’t really speaking to me. But when Brian Wilson and Paul Simon announced a tour stop in Toronto, I borrowed a friend’s credit card and bought two 5th row seats: one for me, one for my dad. And, determined to get my dad to meet Brian, I reached out again to J to let him know we would be coming. There were more passes left in my name.

My dad, however, declined to attend. For months I tried to change his mind, but he wouldn’t budge. So, the friend whose credit card I borrowed was a big Paul Simon fan, and we decided to go together.

I did not pick up my backstage passes. Do not pass go, do not collect $200. Heck no. The walk was not my sole accomplishment, and the opportunity to meet Brian Wilson would not be my sole reward.

We watched Brian’s set from my excellent seats, and I saw J look at me a few times and wave, but I did not respond. He knew I was there, but I just wanted to see the show and disappear. I felt bad even being there without any of the others.

On that tour, Brian was doing an autograph signing—for no extra charge!—during the intermission, with J assisting. I purposely stayed far away from that line.

My friend, though, needed to use the washroom which was right across from the signing area. I waited outside, back turned to the signing booth, anxious to return to the relative obscurity of our seats.

Suddenly, J appeared in front of me.

“Hey! Where have you been?? Didn’t you get the passes?”

“No,” I stammered, “My dad couldn’t come.”

“That’s too bad, but still! You’ve got to meet Brian! He wants to meet you. Come with me. He’s going back to the bus soon, we don’t have much time.”

J took my hand; I planted my feet.

“No, I’m waiting for my friend, he’s in the bathroom…”

“He’ll find you at your seats won’t he?”

“No, no, I’d like to wait—“

At that very moment, my friend reappeared. Bad timing!

“Is this him?”

“Yeah,” I said reluctantly, as J pulled my hand again and I started to move.

He flipped open a backstage gate, catching the attention of a nearby security guard who held out an arm to block me from entering the backstage area. For a moment I thought this would be the answer; security would stop us. I simply could not do this alone.

“It’s okay, they’re with the band,” J said, continuing full speed through the gate. The guard backed off, and I followed J down the stairs. I probably would’ve turned tail and ran if I could, but my friend was behind me.

This was just the way it was gonna be.

This is also the reason my favourite Eagles song is “After The Thrill Is Gone.”

“What can you do when your dreams come true

And it’s not quite like you planned?

Eagles, “After The Thrill Is Gone”

We reached the bottom of this steep metal staircase, and J took off to find Brian. My friend had zero context for what was going on, so I turned to tell him what happened while he was peeing—

And found he was gone, too.

So, there I was, on my own, about to live out my longest held dream that I’d had since I was 10 in the worst way possible, feeling sad and alone and just like a big old phony.

Again, I probably would’ve turned and ran, but there was the added mystery of where the hell did my friend go? to deal with now.

Before I could answer that question, I saw J coming down the long backstage walkway with Brian Wilson.

I steeled myself not to cry.

“Brian,” J said by way of introduction, “This is KC. She ran the walk in Carl’s memory here in Toronto.”

“Thank you for what you did for my brother,” Brian said warmly, taking my outstretched hand and holding it in both of his.

“Thank you, but I can’t take the credit,” I said. Failing all else, I had to speak my mind. “My friend and my dad, especially my dad really made it happen.”

“Don’t do that.” Brian still held my hand, looking me straight in the eye. His tone was kind, but his message was clear. “Don’t do that. Was it your idea?”

“Yes, but my dad finished it…”

“No. Thank you to your friend and your dad, too, but you did a good thing for my brother, and it means a lot to us. Thank you.”

“Thank you,” I replied, unconvinced but humbled. “Thank you for everything, you and your music have saved my life.” He thanked me for my kind words.

“We need a picture!” J announced. “KC, do you have your camera?”

My camera!!!

At some point on our way down the stairs, I think, my friend had taken my bag to hold it for me. But he was still MIA.

“No!” I exclaimed. “My friend has it and I don’t know where he is! That’s okay.”

“No,” J insisted, knowing how much I’d wanted to meet Brian (but not knowing how much I wanted to pretend this moment wasn’t real). Someone else on the crew had a camera, and he used that to take the picture. Brian stood beside me, towering over me with his 6’3” figure to my 5’3”. We had a laugh over trying to fit us both into the point-and-shoot’s small frame.

Brian thanked me again, and he and J walked off into the sunset. Quite literally: it was an outdoor venue, and the way they were going was actually west of where I stood, so I watched them retreat into the bright golden-hour sun.

Suddenly, my friend reappeared.

“Sorry, some guy dropped his camera off the bridge back there so I went to try and fish it out of the water for him. I got it, I don’t think it survived though. Did you meet him?”

Sigh.

The rest of the evening is a blur in my memory. I could only think of the fact that I was going to have to explain, to my friends and my dad, that I met Brian. I tried so hard not to! But I did, and what was done was done.

My friends were devastated, and hurt that I’d taken this chance alone. It took a very long time to heal our relationship, and in some ways it never fully did recover.

My dad didn’t really comment one way or the other. (We’re so much better now than we were then.)

I even got chased off the message boards and out of the fandom thanks to Mr. Scammer I mentioned earlier. The person whose camera my friend had retrieved posted on one of the message boards, looking to say thank you to the man who fished it out of the lake. I responded that it was my friend, and the person said they’d actually been trying to take photos of me meeting Brian because they thought it was cool, and wondered how I got to meet him. Mr. Scammer, as well as some of the organizers of the California events jumped in and discredited me, making it sound like I stole all the money and did this for my own gain—to meet Brian. I did provide proof that the money was donated, and paid everyone back that had not received the services by Mr. Scammer out of my own money, but the damage was done and ultimately just made the whole thing even harder to take.

I lost contact with J—well, not sure if you’d say I lost contact, or cut off contact. I’m sure he heard about all of the above, and it still hurts to think that he may have been lead to believe it. (He had my address to mail that photo, but I never did receive it, presumably because of all this.) I never reached out to him again. I promise, all I ever wanted was to do a good thing. And when the “meet Brian” thing came up, I just wanted it for everybody else.

No one believed that I hadn’t tried to meet him, nor that I’d fought not to.

I was able to recognize that this was a dream come true, and honestly, an incredible conversation and connection with an absolute legend I’d looked up to all my young life. I could not possibly have had a better or more meaningful experience meeting Brian, and I was very fortunate. But the circumstances around it broke my heart.

I promised myself I’d never attend another concert, because I have randomly good luck around shows, it seemed, and I didn’t ever want to accidentally meet the artists ever again. I didn’t ever want to hurt anyone I cared about ever again. To 18-year-old me, this seemed the only solution.

By 2004, Fleetwood Mac was on tour behind their Say You Will album. I skipped the Toronto stop; I didn’t want to somehow repeat the same luck and hurt the same friends, who were also Fleetwood Mac (and Eagles) fans.

But I was also older, and beginning to see that…this wasn’t healthy. By that time, I think I was the source of most of my own guilt; it had been 3 years, and it’s not like I was bragging about the whole thing. I never spoke about it. Whether they realized it was an accident or not, I think everyone knew that it had hurt me, too.

I certainly suffered enough for it; looking back now, especially, I can see that I didn’t need to continue to punish myself for it.

And Brian himself told me not to discredit myself.

So late one night, I couldn’t bear to let the chance pass me by. I bought a ticket to Fleetwood Mac’s Camden, NJ concert, and ran through my house at 3 in the morning screaming “I’M GONNA SEE FLEETWOOD MAC!!!!! I’M GONNA SEE LINDSEY BUCKINGHAM!!!!”

That first show back was a homecoming. I knew I needed to be there; I only feel like I truly belong when I’m in an audience, coyote-howling. And I didn’t lose any friends—I actually gained so many new ones on the road.

Still, sometimes, I think about the promise I made to myself to never see another show. (Especially the times that I have wound up meeting my other musical icons.) And sometimes I feel guilty still. But that wasn’t Brian’s message.

He wanted me to know that it was okay, I was okay. I did the best I could.

So now, I just try and play this into an overwhelming desire to never take any of this for granted. I’ve seen and done so many things, and I’ve tried to take others along for the ride, bringing friends and family to shows and to meet our shared faves.

I’ve come to realize now that I’m the age that the California folks were, that…they weren’t the glamourous people they made themselves out to be. They were fans, who had met the band a lot and gotten to know some of them after years of following them on the road.

They were what me and my friends are to Lindsey Buckingham. That’s it. Fans who’ve been really lucky.

I very much hope not to gatekeep my fandoms the way they did. I have no “status” here. I’m just lucky.

That meeting changed my life in a thousand ways.

Not least of all. That friend? Who caused me to get found by J, then took off on some wild goose chase for a stranger’s camera in Lake Ontario?

He’s now known as my husband. Mr Coyote himself.

Yes, I married him anyway. 😉 Sister Coyote has always called that show our “first date,” though we swore we were just friends!

I’m thankful for the lessons I learned from this unanticipated meeting. I’m thankful that I got to speak to Brian Wilson, and tell him what his music meant to me. I’m thankful beyond belief that I had such an incredibly powerful meeting with such a legend.

I’m thankful for what he told me. And I’m thankful that I’ve gone on to fulfil my long held promise to myself, to tell all my musical heroes what they mean to me.

I feel like I come off braggy here sometimes, for all that I’ve gotten to do. That’s never my intention. I just love it all and feel at home in the audience, and even in meet and greets. And I’m still in awe that someone like me gets to do this stuff.

I want to do the same as what Brian tried to do for me. I want to make sure people know that this stuff is important. Live your dreams, and don’t sell yourself short.

As well, writing this now at the age of most of the organizers of the California events, as well as Mr. Scammer, I can also see that this was so much to put on an 18-year-old. I may have been the one to decide that I was never going to a show again; but they had no right to back me into a corner and make me feel like that was the only way to make it right. They had no right to take this from me. And I’m grateful I eventually saw my way clear of that feeling. I’d have missed out on so much.

I’m just so grateful for all of it. And I’m so glad that I eventually returned to the road.

“So I hit hard at the battle that’s confronting me, yeah

Knock down all the roadblocks a-stumblin’ me

Throw off all the shackles that are binding me down…”

The Beach Boys/Carl Wilson, “Long Promised Road”