Issue 81 / September 2017

REVIEWS
Brian Wilson (Michelle Roberts / sheshoots.co.uk)
Brian Wilson
Exhibition Centre Liverpool – 28/07
It’s a characteristically rainy summer’s eve in Liverpool that
welcomes Beach Boys founding member BRIAN WILSON to
its Richter-grey shores. The second of two back-to-back gigs
christening the conference-centre-as-venue, tonight it’s the
singer, songwriter, producer and pop culture icon who graces the
waterfront venue, playing one of pop music’s most sumptuous
and sophisticated albums – 1966’s Pet Sounds – in full.
At first, the Exhibition Centre seems like a bit of a soulless
choice for Wilson, whose last Liverpool appearance was in the
Art Deco surrounds of the Philharmonic, but, oddly enough, it
works. The venue portion of the Exhibition Centre consists of
a huge room partitioned in two – one half is the performance
space; the other is like an American county fair, all ice cream
stands and chip vans – but, in all honestly, it adds to the occasion.
What could be more wholesome and American Dream-like than
seeing some original Beach Boys while chowing down on a hot
dog?
Essentially broken into two halves, the first part of the night
encompasses a greatest hits parade. The inimitable California
Girls opens proceedings, and, as you’d expect with Wilson’s
history and having heard recollections of recent performances,
it’s the wall of musicians and voices around him that carry the
show. Much of the heavyweight vocals come from Matt Jardine
(son of original Beach Boy Al Jardine, who’s also present tonight),
whose falsetto on the hair-raising Don’t Worry Baby is especially
immaculate. Jardine Jr. doesn’t hit a bum note all night – nor
do the ensemble of musicians who surround Wilson in what
feels like more of a celebration of his life and work than his own
headline gig.
The band run through their “songs about cars” section
(namely, I Get Around and Little Deuce Coupe) and land at In My
Room, which is introduced by Wilson as the first song he ever
“You can’t help but
hope that, at some
point in his life, Wilson
shared in the happiness
his music brings to
so many people”
wrote. An introspective, waltzing cut, tonight – as it is on record
– it’s disconcerting and stunning in equal measure. Towards the
end of this greatest hits run, one segment dissolves into some
bad dad rock territory as Sail On, Sailor and co. get an outing,
but, looking around the room, the amount of intergenerational
groups present almost legitimises it. It’s all a bit cabaret for 15
minutes and Blondie Chaplin produces some dubious Jagger
posturings, but it’s fun for all the family and people seem to be
lapping it up, appetites fully whetted for the performance of Pet
Sounds that comes after a short interval.
Pioneering in its production and arrangements, Pet Sounds
also encompasses the vastness of human emotions; lyrical
complexity and personal insecurity sit seamlessly with honeyed
harmonies and luscious orchestration. Its sumptuousness
hasn’t dated – from the irresistible Wouldn’t It Be Nice to
the buccaneering fun of Sloop John B, it’s aired faultlessly by
Wilson’s band, before the 75-year-old takes the lead vocal
himself on God Only Knows, introducing it as the greatest song
he’s ever written. Wilson’s warm voice cracks here and there and
his enunciation isn’t what it used to be (whose septuagenarian
vocal chords are?) but his voice doesn’t need to be perfect. To
have crafted these songs is enough; to be on stage having lost
such a huge portion of his life to mental illness, drug misuse and
psychological manipulation, is more than enough. He’s met with
rapturous applause.
I Know There’s An Answer and Here Today with their
Motown inflections have the crowd swaying before the tempo
slows a little again. I Just Wasn’t Made For These Times almost
feels too personal to hear Wilson sing in a live setting. It pushes
the listener to the edge of unease – to hear Wilson take lead
vocals, sat in the middle of the stage looking unassuming,
singing “Sometimes I feel very sad” is too real. The hopelessness,
confusion and sadness wrapped up in the lyrics he wrote over
50 years ago, the strain in his aged voice – it all feels like he is so
exposed. After the instrumental title track, Caroline, No continues
in the vein. You can’t help but hope that, at least at some point in
his life, Wilson shared in the happiness that his music brings to
so many people – a small portion of whom are gathered tonight,
receptive to and fully appreciative of his presence.
Giving Lana Del Rey’s new record a spin in the office, with its
recurring themes of doomed love, I thought aloud “Since when
has tragedy been so fashionable?” The quip back was “Probably
the past 50 years”. Really, the Greeks were hammering it home in
the 5th Century. Wilson’s life story is one that’s littered with real
tragedy – which makes the fact that he is on stage and giving his
songs a real go at feel all the more triumphant. His history also
makes you grateful that there are resources available to artists
and that stigmas around mental illness are being peeled back,
albeit slowly. There’s a bittersweetness to proceedings. To think
that the person responsible for some of the happiest and most
complete pop songs out there – Surfin USA, Help Me Rhonda,
Fun Fun Fun, California Girls and I Get Around which bookend
Wilson and co.’s set tonight – hasn’t had the happiest or even
most complete lives, feels almost incomprehensible. Still, his
appearance is testament to both his resilience and the enduring
quality of his songwriting. Nobody leaves this gig without a smile
on their face. !
Bethany Garrett
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