I committed a thought crime

So this morning I open the Review-Journal to read Doug Elfman's odd interview with Brian Wilson, who performs tonight in the showroom at Primm. It was one of those strange reads in which Elfman offers this disclaimer: "I caught Wilson on the phone while he was rushing to the airport, so our interview was more weird and strained than our previous chats."

And I thought to myself, "How unprofessional! Reporters shouldn't blame their subjects for their own failures!"

Then, several hours later, I had my own crack at Wilson. It was a bit of a surprise; ticket sales must not be going too well if his publicist is setting up interviews at noon the day of the show. Yet my request for our show finally came through and I had about 90 minutes to prep.

But that's besides the point. All I can say to Doug is:

(a) I'm sorry I doubted you, pal
(b) The problem wasn't that Wilson was rushing to the airport.

Wilson was just hanging out in a Vegas hotel room when I caught him and, even in the absence of other stress, he offered me one of the more bizarre interviews I've conducted in a while. Wilson and I were on different planets, and not in the charming way Liza Minnelli was two years ago.

We'll be playing it on the show probably next week. It's mercifully brief, oddly instructive and listeners will, I suspect, enjoy my suffering. But, happily, an hour later I had a rollicking chat with comic Bobby Slayton, restoring my confidence that it wasn't me having an off day. Slayton will be on the week after next, I think.