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Brian Wilson, the song-writing and production genius behind the Beach Boys, was topping the bill and I awaited his performance with considerable apprehension. Although he has been gigging regularly in recent years, after decades of mental health problems, and finally released his lost masterpiece, Smile, my suspicion was that this deeply eccentric figure would no longer be able to cut it. Every interview I’ve read with him suggests he’s still a few pence short of the full shilling and I didn’t want my memories of the sunny innocence and euphoria of the Beach Boys tarnished by some befuddled rock casualty.
His opening salvo, perched behind a small keyboard at the front of the stage, was hardly reassuring. ‘Hello, London!’ he announced cheerily, and if there is one thing Guilfordians dislike it is being thought of as an outlying suburb of London. He continued, as if reading from a script, ‘Boy, have we got some rock-and-roll for you tonight!’ But Brian was true to his word. Though his own voice is a bit ragged these days, and he doesn’t actually seem to be doing that much behind his keyboard, he is backed by a superb ten-piece band which manifestly reveres him.
The rich depth of the sound was among the best I have ever heard at an open-air gig, the musicianship stunning. Everyone on stage was manifestly performing at the peak of their powers because they loved Brian Wilson and his music. Meanwhile the crowd couldn’t quite believe their luck in hearing the Beach Boys’ brilliant back catalogue performed with such panache. Hit followed hit, the arrangements perfect, the vocal harmonies superb, the 90 blissful minutes of sunshine pop a wonderful antidote to the rain that poured remorselessly down. None of us cared a jot. We were in pop heaven listening to songs that we had loved since childhood. Brian Wilson had written almost every classic number we heard, from ‘Surfin’ USA’ and ‘California Girls’ to ‘Good Vibrations’. As the man standing next to me shouted loudly in a break between numbers, ‘You are a f****** genius, Brian Wilson!’ It seemed no more than a simple statement of fact.
But which festival should I try next? I’m greatly attracted by the idea of Pigstock at Bishopstone near Swindon on 15 August, held in the garden of the local pub, the Royal Oak, which serves astonishingly good food supplied from its own organic farm. Instead of bringing a tent, the management will put you up in a pigsty (they appear to be called pig ‘arcs’ these days) high up on the Downs, and you will wake up to the honks and snuffles of the neighbouring swine and possibly the notorious snores of your ‘Olden but golden’ correspondent.
Accommodation in the arcs is available from 13–15 August, there are glorious walks to be had along the Ridgeway, and clean straw, plus loos and showers will be provided. A Land Rover will ferry you down to the pub, and champagne breakfasts can be delivered to your hovel. There will also be supplies of firewood for campfires, and a yoga mistress and personal trainer in attendance. I’d like to report that the headline act is a reunion of the bluesy prog-rockers Blodwyn Pig but in fact a lively covers band called Breeze is topping a bill of local acts. Further info. from www.royaloakbishopstone.co.uk (01793 790481).
Charles Spencer is theatre critic of the Daily Telegraph.
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