The Wilson Genius

In an e-mail just after Glastonbury, best mate Chris (he and I went to Glasto together) declared his conversion to raving Beach Boys fan.

Another friend writes:

An addle-witted autistic savant singing out of tune in front of his own covers band didn't quite cut it for me on TV, maybe you had to be there. I wish he'd just left us the records to remember him by.

From a purely mechanical point of view, it was probably irrelevant that Brian was there in person or not - he added little to the performance (although there were some falsettos which could only have come from him). Yes, it's sad, he was like a rabbit caught in the headlights. You get the feeling that every performance, the Wondermints turn on the power switch, shove in a floppy and boot him up.

But he wrote and arranged every single note of what was an awesome performance. Emotionally, the fact that he was there was huge. It's the difference from being a tribute band (Illegal Eagles, Whole Lotta Led, Bjorn Again, anyone?) to being Brian Wilson and his band. Rock God personified.... on the stage. He had already done enough to earn all the plaudits the crowd could give him, and they did. The Wondermints are amazingly good at the material, respectful but not sycophantic. I counted 8 layer harmonies. The lead guitarist had a Carl Wilson badge on his guitar strap - nice touch.

Go and see Beethoven's 9th played by the Berlin Philharmonic. Stonkin'. Then put Herbert von Karajan in front - bloody hell. Then put Beethoven himself at a piano centre stage, noodling. You betcha.

The girl in front of us crying through "God Only Knows", the dudes on surf boards on the shoulders of the crowd and one of the legendary bastions of ornery Chris credo crumbling to dust in front of my eyes. Ah, f*ck it, you had to have been there.