“I know that he was vilified over the years. Some of it was justified, but a lot of it wasn’t.”
In 1973, a fan filled in for Keith Moon on the drums during a Who tour stop when Moon became too inebriated to play. Ten years later, a Beach Boys fan was offered the same opportunity in San Diego, but under much peachier circumstances: Mike Love knew this young man, a soap-opera star named John Stamos, would get the band’s female fans in a tizzy. Stamos sat behind the kit for “Barbara Ann,” and the rest, well, was good vibrations. Since then, the actor has performed hundreds of times with the Beach Boys — millennials will be quick to remember the Full House moments — and will be sitting in on drums and guitar for a portion of the group’s extended tour this summer.
“It’s not about the money for Mike anymore,” Stamos says about his 83-year-old bandmate’s continued interest in touring. “He just realizes how much the world needs his music right now.” It’s this strong conviction that has encouraged Stamos to remain with the Beach Boys without Brian Wilson, who Love was accused of firing from the band a decade ago. (Love denied he fired Wilson.) “Mike was always the commercial side and Brian was the music side,” adds Stamos. “And there was no place for me over on that side.”
Look at you, going on a summer tour.
It’s a dream. Last year, I finally got the knack for the touring thing. There’s this festival called See.Hear.Now on the Jersey shore that we got enlisted to perform at. I said, “I don’t know if we should be playing this. We’re a bit of an oldies act now and there’s some contemporary, groovy bands on there.” And the band was like, “No, we’re playing it and you’re playing with us.” I never get nervous unless there’s other brilliant musicians around. The Foo Fighters were on the bill and they were headlining after us, as well as Greta Van Fleet and Weezer. We were playing at 4 p.m., so I was like, “Oh my God, there’s going to be no one here.” I’m hiding in my trailer. I didn’t know what it looked like outside and how many people would want to see us.
I kept my head down, walked onstage, and looked up and it was 60,000 people. People were going insane for the band. We couldn’t even hear ourselves. I saw all these musicians come around to watch the show when I was playing drums. I thought, Don’t look, John. Just get through it. But I cheat and look behind me, and there’s Dave Grohl videotaping me. The Weezer guys are all there. We finished, and they hugged us and said, “That’s fucking great, man.” I was really proud of the band that day. I wrote in my high-school yearbook, “Without music life would be a mistake.” And my dad said, “That’s a dumbass thing.” Well, it’s not so dumb now, is it Dad?
I found the Beach Boys passages in your 2023 memoir very compelling. Not only did you write about having the fortune to tour with your favorite band, but you were forthright about how much of a delicate balance it was at first. You didn’t want to detract from the authenticity of the music by being there. How much trial and error did you go through to achieve that?
It took a lot of time. I would approach it, go back, and think it over again. Fortunately, there wasn’t the internet back then, but I could feel some of the hard-core Brian Wilson fans going, “What the fuck is he doing up there?” I get it. If I came to see a Beach Boys concert and saw some jackass from Full House jumping around the stage, I would be a little ruffled about it. But I think over the years I’ve won them over, because I’m a fan — just like the biggest fan in that audience — who came to see the Beach Boys. Hopefully, I feel like now I represent them.
How does your stage persona differ from your acting persona?
Doing a sitcom in front of an audience helped me hold the stage with the Beach Boys and be confident to get out there and sing. I sing a couple of songs and play drum solos. I’m in the zone and not thinking about the sound. I let the music wash over me and be in that Zen place, which is so hard to do for me because I have ADD. But also, you get to a point where you just go, “Fuck it. I’m not going to worry about what people think. I’m going to leave my soul out there tonight.” That’s all I can do.
Several of the Beach Boys practice Transcendental Meditation, and they turned you onto the technique. How does a typical meditation session with the fellas play out?
Mike was in Rishikesh with the maharishi and the Beatles. He told me that when Paul McCartney was writing “Back in the U.S.S.R.,” Mike came down and said, “That’s like what we did in ‘California Girls.’ You ought to name all the girls, Paul.” And Paul was like, “Oh, yeah.” Whatever Mike is doing, people should pay attention to it. That guy is 83 years old and he buries all of us onstage. He’s pissed off we’re only doing one show a day. But meditation is big for him. Back in the ’80s, Mike sent trainers over to teach me the practice. You sit 20 minutes twice a day and you say your mantra over and over again. You really do feel refreshed. We used to all do it together on the bus or backstage, but that’s gone away. Mike and I would meditate on occasion next to each other.
I’m so proud of him because he’s finally mellowed out. I feel like people are coming around to him and realizing his contributions to the band. I know that he could be vilified over the years. Some of it was justified, but a lot of it wasn’t. He loves Brian. He talks about Brian all the time. I know Brian is done performing now, but my friend would call me and say, “Oh, Brian was talking about Mike today. He said Mike is the best singer and his favorite songwriter.” I would go and tell Mike that, and he would start crying. Whatever was keeping them apart, I hope they lift that. Even Carl Wilson told me once, “We love Brian. I don’t know why they had to push us down to lift him up. Let’s lift him up.” Mike says that a lot, too. He gets really emotional about stuff.
The band went through a bit of dysfunction in 2012, where there were varying reports about Mike firing Brian and Al Jardine and what spurred this behavior. Did this situation ever give you pause about joining Mike’s edition of the Beach Boys? Did you talk to him about it?
I helped Mike through that because he needed some crisis PR. I can’t speak for Mike, but I know it was difficult. What happened, from what I understand, is they booked a certain amount of shows. Mike said, “Okay, I’ll do these 50 shows” and did them. Somewhere in there, he started booking back to his other band. That touring entity was just easier on him. He made more money and he enjoyed it more because it was less people interfering with the music and the actual show.
But he couldn’t fire Brian. I think what happened was somebody got into Brian’s ear. I wasn’t a part of any of it. But it was tough for Mike. And there was never a place for me on the other side, the Brian Wilson side. That was really about the purity of the music and sounding exactly like the record. They didn’t need somebody jumping around or whatever the fuck. The other side, Mike’s side, was a celebration of the music. It was a party and more commercial.
You occasionally performed with Brian when touring with the band in the ’80s and ’90s. I’m curious what your first meeting with him was like and about the impression he made.
I was extremely intimidated by him. When I came out the first few times to play, I remember Brian looking at me, and Carl was like, “He’s cool.” Then Brian took a liking to me. We did these shows in the summer and it was during a time when Mike was away in India. They had some deal on their contract where it had to be four or five original members or something, so Brian came out.
He was fresh out of the Eugene Landy machine, and he was tall, thin, and funny. Landy’s minions were all around him. He was programmed pretty well. He came out from a rehearsal, walked into the room I was in, and laid on the floor on his back. He goes, “Stamos, tell everybody I’m not dead. It’s just that my back hurts.” I go, “What?” He was like, “Tell everybody I’m not dead.” So I go, “Everybody, can I have your attention? Brian wanted me to tell you guys he’s not dead, his back just hurts.” And they’re like, “Oh, okay, great. Whatever.” And I’m like, “What the fuck? How did I get here?” One time, Mike was spewing this sort of stuff about India, peace, and love. Brian turns up and goes, “Mike, you’re so into it you’re out of it.” I loved that one.
You wrote in your memoir that Carl had a great “stink eye,” which you were the recipient of a few times over the years. What would warrant such a look?
It was pretty rare that I got it, thank God. It would be when I was playing. It would just be that “oh, shit” moment. It was when you fucked something up. But he was so kind. He’s angelic. Of course, he had to sing “God Only Knows” because he’s ethereal. I asked Brian how long it took him to write “God Only Knows.” He said, “Eight minutes. I played it through twice.”
You’ve stated that Mike loves your pretty face and saw the commercial benefit of having you join the band. Would the Beach Boys still be touring at this level of success if you weren’t involved?
Absolutely. This is like Beethoven or the Beatles. It’s the power of those songs. I’ll tell you, they wouldn’t be touring without Mike. But he’s not ready to stop anytime soon. He’s one of the great front men. I don’t care what anybody says. I remember telling myself when I first started performing with them, “Just relax, it can’t go on forever.” And now it’s been 40 years.
I said to Mike recently, “Did you think your music was going to have this kind of power 60 years later and it would mean this much to people?” And he responded, “No, but I know it now.” I thought that was interesting. He added, “I know how people need this.” I think he feels the responsibility to share the healing and uniting power those songs have. You look in the audience and regardless of our beliefs, religion, and politics, music transcends all barriers. It brings us together as one. That’s the message behind the two of us now. When we’re there, it feels like we’re one family united by timeless music.
What’s on the John Stamos tour rider?
A steamer. I’m pretty low-maintenance.
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