What is there to say about Dennis Wilson, the tragic drummer with the Beach Boys? Dennis, the only Beach boy who could actually surf, but who was doomed to live in the shadow of his infinitely more talented brother, Brian. The Beach Boys drummer was an all round party animal, great singer, underrated musician who, while Brian went off the rails, almost single-handedly kept the Beach Boys road show afloat with some electric live performances. He was also during this time, the early seventies, intensely creative and made a solid solo album called ‘Pacific Ocean Blue’, and something else called ‘Bamboo’. Try and buy them if you can, but don’t forget your wallet!

But for Dennis the eighties were to be his personal nadir, saddled with a serious drink problem he was unceremoniously kicked out of the band, by Mike Love and Al Jardine, nice one fellas, and then fell into personal freefall. Poor old Dennis, now a defunct Beach Boy searching for the lost elation, and finding nothing but broken hearts and faded dreams. On his last day he’s aboard a friends boat with a new girlfriend drinking vodka at nine am. At lunch he is staggering around the marina, eats a turkey sandwich, sparks out for a couple of hours, awakens, gets straight back on the vodka, and visits another friend.

Moans that he is lonely all the time, tries to pull his friends 16-year-old granddaughter, and then goes diving. He begins bringing up pieces of junk from his old boat, sold to pay off spiralling personal debts. His friends are watching, laughing at his antics, and then he surfaces for the very last time, blows out a few bubbles, before disappearing underneath a dinghy forever. Said friends think he is playing another of his practical jokes, and don’t bother searching for another two hours. Well, that's all there is to it, but some lines from one his best songs, ‘Thoughts of You’, will probably suffice

All things that live one day must die you know
Even love and the things we hold close
Look at love look at love look at love
Look what we've done.

Joe grew up in the East End of London and left school with few qualifications. He then embarked on a succession of menial jobs. After being stabbed in a bar brawl and getting robbed at knifepoint he decided it was time to leave the country and promptly travelled the world; Mexico, Guatemala, Belize, Malaysia, Thailand, Indonesia, Japan, Australia, and New Zealand. He stayed in Australia for three years living mostly in the Kings Cross area of Sydney until he became an illegal immigrant. To avoid being deported Joe then went to Thailand and brought a share in the world's smallest bar, the famous and now defunct Barcelona Bar. After fleeing Thailand with a tail between his legs he returned to London in 2001 where he lives and writes to this day. To read his story, ‘Candice’ on the showcase section of this site, click here.

© 2007 Laura Hird All rights reserved.