Brian Wilson review

The crowd gathered outside and mingling within the State Theatre was a pretty strange mix. Over here, some Parrothead baby boomer beach bums with wooden beads and long, grey hair. Over there, some downplayed society types drinking bubbles and Stella. A knot of GenX nerd-chic hipsters leaning on the outside wall are passing a spliff around while a couple feet away some dudes wearing gaudy, out-of-the-packet aloha shirts (coupled with plastic leis, no less) shoot them glances. Posters and flashing marquee aside, a passer by would’ve been forgiven for wondering just what the hell was going on.

In fact, of all the acts showcased at this year’s Sydney Festival there was really only one that, in the course of a single performance, could hope to give equal satisfaction to all of these disparate groups: The rightful King of Pop, Brian Wilson.

In town for 4 engagements, Wilson played a free set in the Domain as part of the Festival opening night party, before moving to the State Theatre for concerts showcasing firstly his new (as yet unrecorded) work, 'That Lucky Old Sun (A Narrative)', and, on January 9th, the seminal 'Pet Sounds' album.

Taking the stage on January 8th in front of his band, and to thunderous applause, it has to be said that Wilson inspired concern. His light blue Hawaiian shirt wasn’t enough to distract from the shambling gait, nor to convince this reviewer that the man was even going to be capable of performing. He listed onto a stool behind his keyboard, arms hanging at his sides like some kind of afterthought, said a few words…

Unsettled, I almost had to double check my ticket to make sure that I hadn’t inadvertently walked onto the set of a David Lynch movie, or into a late night kebab shop in Kings Cross; such was the calibre of Wilson's demeanour.


Brian Wilson Sydney Festival review by Gibson Nolte
Brian Wilson Sydney Festival review by Gibson Nolte		> Download PDF	Return to full list
	The crowd gathered outside and mingling within the State Theatre was a pretty strange mix. Over here, some Parrothead baby boomer beach bums with wooden beads and long, grey hair. Over there, some downplayed society types drinking bubbles and Stella. A knot of GenX nerd-chic hipsters leaning on the outside wall are passing a spliff around while a couple feet away some dudes wearing gaudy, out-of-the-packet aloha shirts (coupled with plastic leis, no less) shoot them glances. Posters and flashing marquee aside, a passer by would’ve been forgiven for wondering just what the hell was going on. In fact, of all the acts showcased at this year’s Sydney Festival there was really only one that, in the course of a single performance, could hope to give equal satisfaction to all of these disparate groups: The rightful King of Pop, Brian Wilson. In town for 4 engagements, Wilson played a free set in the Domain as part of the Festival opening night party, before moving to the State Theatre for concerts showcasing firstly his new (as yet unrecorded) work, 'That Lucky Old Sun (A Narrative)', and, on January 9th, the seminal 'Pet Sounds' album. Taking the stage on January 8th in front of his band, and to thunderous applause, it has to be said that Wilson inspired concern. His light blue Hawaiian shirt wasn’t enough to distract from the shambling gait, nor to convince this reviewer that the man was even going to be capable of performing. He listed onto a stool behind his keyboard, arms hanging at his sides like some kind of afterthought, said a few words… Unsettled, I almost had to double check my ticket to make sure that I hadn’t inadvertently walked onto the set of a David Lynch movie, or into a late night kebab shop in Kings Cross; such was the calibre of Wilson's demeanour.

But then the music came .... After the strangeness of Wilson's entrance, the intro to 'Do It Again' was a beautiful tonic. The apprehension vanished in the space of a bar and a half, and the crowd roared. One or two punters up in the gods even burst from their seats and started dancing at the front of the balcony (a trend that spread as the night progressed). Wilson, too, seemed to imbibe the sound and to come alive. Not that there was any terribly marked outward sign - just a few hand gestures and a lopsided smile, really – but there was undoubtedly a sparkle beginning to light the stage. 'Dance Dance Dance' was the perfect follow up and served to get even more punters up out of their seats. Even this early in the night, it was clear that this was one of those very special gigs. Everywhere I looked people had gigantic smiles on their faces and whenever eye contact was made there was exchange of 'fuck yeah' nods. Third cab out of the rank was 'Catch A Wave' and it was becoming clear that Wilson himself wasn't actually doing much performing. The keyboard in front of him seemed to be nothing more than a kind of prop, perhaps there in case the man felt the urge to add a little layer to the tight work going on behind him, or maybe just in case he needed something to lean on? He wasn't doing much singing either. Long time cohort and former (post Adrian Baker/Carl Wilson) Beach Boy, Jeff Foskett lent his soaring voice to the harmonies, along with band members Nicky Wonder, Probyn Gregory, Taylor Mills, 'That Lucky Old Sun' collaborator, Scott Bennett, and SMiLE collaborator, Darian Sahanaja. But, strangely, Wilson's lack of apparent action just didn't seem to matter. And as the Beach Boys and classic pop hits rolled on ('Hawaii', 'Then I Kissed Her', 'Surfer Girl', 'In My Room'), it became clearer and clearer that he was there on stage as a kind of conductor or conduit – the creator of much of this incredible music, through whom it was allowed to flow. He may not have been actively participating in the playing, but he was as essential to the music's performance as he was to its creation. That sounds like metaphysical wank, but it's the closest I can get to the truth of the night. Even his occasional, seeming random arm movements became part of the performance, especially when segments of the audience began to imitate them as a kind of salute. The hits just kept coming for the remainder of the first set, often punctuated by Wilson's odd, Rain Man-esque commentary. 'Do You Wanna Dance', 'I Get Around', 'God Only Knows' and, of course, 'California Girls' were audience faves, but a wonderful version of 'Good Vibrations' rounded out the set beautifully. Returning to the auditorium after the interval, there was a marked sense of anticipation. Wilson's new (and as yet unrecorded) work, 'That Lucky Old Sun (A Narrative)' was to be performed for the first time in Australia. It had previously been performed in a series of concerts at the Royal Festival Hall in London. The minute 'That Lucky Old Sun' began, I put my notebook down and sat back to enjoy. After all, it's not every day that you get to hear new work from a 65-year-old genius and I wasn't about to interrupt the flow by engaging my left-brain for too long. Suffice it to say that Sun is a beautiful, sun drenched song cycle; a love letter to both a Californian utopia and to Wilson's younger, lost self. It is by turns funny, sad, naive and reflective, but always surprising. Wilson broke with his first set trend by actually making good use of the microphone, singing the entire piece with the exception of the pre-recorded narrative breaks. When it is finally recorded (an event which currently seems bound by no reliable time frame), I doubt if Sun it will wow the critics and music lovers to the same degree as Pet Sounds, or even as much as SMiLE, but that won't matter. It will stand as a beautiful piece of musical genius. The feeling from the audience for the 35-minute duration was quite startling. While it was clear that some of the punters were a little bewildered by what they were hearing (and others were wondering where the fun time Beach Boy stuff got to), the majority of us were captivated. After the applause following the final track of Sun (the slow, dreamy 'Southern California') died down, Wilson and the band took to the stage once more for the obligatory encore, joined by Sydney string outfit FourPlay and a big brass contingent. 'Johnny B Goode', 'Help Me Rhonda', 'Barbara Ann' (during which Wilson slung on his bass to play, as far as I could make out, about 2 bars), 'Surfin' USA' and 'Fun, Fun, Fun' ensured that those who came to dance were not disappointed by this farewell set. The evening's wind out could easily have been pure schmalz in the hands of anyone else, but as Wilson stepped up to the mic and launched into 'Love and Mercy', it was like sweet air – if I'd had a lighter I would've felt no shame in holding it up like a teary mom at a John Denver tribute concert. The next time Brian Wilson comes to town, do yourself a favour and buy a ticket. Genius like his has to be seen to be believed.