The 10 greatest Beach Boys songs ever, ranked - Smooth

About the Song

The Beach Boys, synonymous with California sunshine and surf culture, delivered a deeper and more introspective side with their 1966 masterpiece, “Wouldn’t It Be Nice.” This introspective ballad transcended the band’s early surf rock sound, becoming a timeless classic that continues to resonate with listeners of all ages.

“Wouldn’t It Be Nice” opens the legendary album Pet Sounds, a pivotal moment in Brian Wilson’s songwriting and production. The song’s melancholic melody and introspective lyrics explore childhood nostalgia and the longing for a simpler time. The narrator ponders hypothetical scenarios, wishing for a world free from adult responsibilities and societal pressures.

The song’s brilliance lies in its masterful blend of vulnerability and youthful optimism. Brian Wilson’s signature vocal harmonies, a hallmark of The Beach Boys’ sound, add a layer of emotional depth to the lyrics. The instrumentation, featuring harpsichords, flutes, and unconventional percussion, creates a soundscape that is both whimsical and hauntingly beautiful.

“Wouldn’t It Be Nice” stands apart from the band’s earlier work. It’s not just a song about endless summers and carefree days at the beach; it delves into deeper emotions, questioning the complexities of life and the transition from childhood to adulthood.

Despite its introspective nature, the song retains a glimmer of hope. The final line, “Wouldn’t it be nice if we could sleep all day?” delivered with a hint of wistfulness, leaves the listener with a sense of longing for a simpler time, yet with the understanding that maturation, though challenging, is inevitable.

“Wouldn’t It Be Nice” is a must-listen for anyone who appreciates innovative songwriting and genre-bending music. It’s a song that continues to inspire and challenge listeners, solidifying its place as a timeless classic in the vast landscape of popular music.

Hear isolated vocals for Beach Boys song Wouldn't It Be Nice

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Lyrics: Wouldn’t It Be Nice

Wouldn’t it be nice if we were older?
Then we wouldn’t have to wait so long
And wouldn’t it be nice to live together
In the kind of world where we belong?

You know it’s gonna make it that much better
When we can say goodnight and stay together

Wouldn’t it be nice if we could wake up
In the morning when the day is new?
After having spent the day together
Hold each other close the whole night through

But happy times together we’ve been spending
I wish that every kiss was never-ending
Oh, wouldn’t it be nice?

Maybe if we think and wish and hope and pray, it might come true (Run, run, we-ooh)
Oh, baby, then there wouldn’t be a single thing we couldn’t do
Oh, we could be married (Oh, we could be married)
And then we’d be happy (And then we’d be happy)
Oh, wouldn’t it be nice?

You know it seems the more we talk about it
It only makes it worse to live without it
But let’s talk about it
But wouldn’t it be nice?

Goodnight, my baby
Sleep tight, my baby
Goodnight, my baby
Sleep tight, my baby
Goodnight, my baby
Sleep tight, my baby

You Missed

WHEN “NO SHOW JONES” SHOWED UP FOR THE FINAL BATTLE Knoxville, April 2013. A single spotlight cut through the darkness, illuminating a frail figure perched on a lonely stool. George Jones—the man they infamously called “No Show Jones” for the hundreds of concerts he’d missed in his wild past—was actually here tonight. But no one in that deafening crowd knew the terrifying price he was paying just to sit there. They screamed for the “Greatest Voice in Country History,” blind to the invisible war raging beneath his jacket. Every single breath was a violent negotiation with the Grim Reaper. His lungs, once capable of shaking the rafters with deep emotion, were collapsing, fueled now only by sheer, ironclad will. Doctors had warned him: “Stepping on that stage right now is suicide.” But George, his eyes dim yet burning with a strange fire, waved them away. He owed his people one last goodbye. When the haunting opening chords of “He Stopped Loving Her Today” began, the arena fell into a church-like silence. Suddenly, it wasn’t just a song anymore. George wasn’t singing about a fictional man who died of a broken heart… he was singing his own eulogy. Witnesses swear that on the final verse, his voice didn’t tremble. It soared—steel-hard and haunting—a final roar of the alpha wolf before the end. He smiled, a look of strange relief on his face, as if he were whispering directly into the ear of Death itself: “Wait. I’m done singing. Now… I’m ready to go.” Just days later, “The Possum” closed his eyes forever. But that night? That night, he didn’t run. He spent his very last drop of life force to prove one thing: When it mattered most, George Jones didn’t miss the show.