It would be easy (and so pseudo hip) to dismiss the Kennedy Center Honors tribute to Brian Wilson as “lame.” I mean, Hootie and the Blowfish playing the old surf-rock tunes? Sadly, they’re not even second stringers any longer, are they? And a British children’s choir singing “Love and Mercy,” just to demonstrate, you know, that Brian’s compositions are so hands-across-the-ocean universal and so, um, adaptable. Or something.

And Lyle Lovett performing “God Only Knows”… Well, wait. Nothing to mock there, actually. In fact, Brian himself praised this performance. Truly it was simple, pure and poignant.

Poignant. If you think about it, “poignant” is probably the best way to describe the entire tribute.

Let’s face it. If you were a horny teen, as I was, when “California Girls” first charted, most days you weren’t digging the Beach Boys for their harmonies and melodic sensibilities. No. You were digging the beat and the fun fantasies the songs evoked — cruising, drag racing, surfing, beach partying, ogling sun-tanned girls in bikinis… Well, who better to remind us than America’s former favorite fraternity band? And, really, the B-fish made a decent job of it, what with some help from additional musicians and backup singers. They had the audience out of their seats and dancing, as was absolutely necessary.

And the kid choir sang its collective you-know-what off. They were pretty darn sincere, even if not one of those kids knew who Brian Wilson was before they scored the gig. Hey, a great song is a great song, and “Love and Mercy” just may be one of the best songs they’ve ever performed whether they know it or not, and they got the job done respectfully enough. Maybe they brought the audience to stock-response tears, but more important for America was the image of a beaming Diana Ross tenderly leaning into Brian, touching, whispering (cajoling?), as if to say, “Hey, Bri, this is for YOU, dude. We LOVE ya!”

Bet your ass!

We can argue about the beach balls floating down from the rafters — bright, shiny baubles drifting over the audience. Corny, yet somehow appropriately symbolic of the bright, shiny visions wrung out of one songwriter’s pained psyche. You can bitch about it if you have to. I’m gonna go with “nice touch.”

Bravo, Brian Wilson. America, in its own hokey way, finally thanks you for the songs. And, amazingly, after all those weird rock and roll years, you were able to stand tall to accept the gratitude. Tall, rugged, silver-haired and dignified, with arms outstretched… Seeing you like that — well, that was the highlight of the whole shebang.

Love and mercy, indeed.