From today’s Guardian…

It was a moment of musical history. I removed a Korg M1 synthesiser from its flightcase –that’s not the moment I’m referring to, obviously – while, ten feet away, former Beach Boys Brian Wilson and Al Jardine brushed up on their vocal harmonies for that night’s concert to commemorate the 40th anniversary of the release of the album Pet Sounds. I tried to stay calm and composed, but couldn’t help indulging in some unsubtle, open-mouthed rubbernecking. “I once had a dream that I packed up and split for the city,” sang Al. “Is that right?” he asked Brian, his brow furrowed slightly. “Yeah!” came the reply. Green, my bandmate in Scritti Politti – the lucky support act for the night – looked over at me, and mouthed a particularly appropriate phrase. “This is unbelievable.”

With Pet Sounds frequently voted the best album of all time in the polls that appear with absurd and monotonous regularity in the media, it’s probably fashionable to sneer at the naivety of its lyrics and dwell over its few weaknesses. But as we sat in our dressing room, re-stringing guitars and listening to Brian soundcheck through a speaker mounted in the ceiling, it was impossible to listen to the colossal a capella harmonies at the end of Wouldn’t It Be Nice without welling up. An hour later we were up on the stage for our own soundcheck, and our backing vocals – which, up until that point on the tour, had been compromised by lack of sleep, aggressive cold symptoms and a certain amount of Hallowe’en revelry – suddenly gelled, dovetailing beautifully, as if our larynxes had been suffused with the spirit of the Beach Boys. Green, whose voice is never anything other than stunning, turned around and raised his eyebrows in pleasant surprise, and as we walked off Al Jardine gave us the Beach Boys seal of approval. “You guys are great,” he said, through a mouthful of rich chocolate cake.

Backstage, Brian walked to and fro in a purposeful manner, exchanging brief and cheery greetings with the crew. “Hi Brian!” said one. “Hi!” he barked. “How are you, Brian?” “Good!” For a few seconds he looked weary and disorientated – unsurprising, really, for a man whose poor health was controversially treated for many years with a cocktail of psychotropic drugs. “I’m tired,” he said, quietly. “I can’t do this.” “Yes you can, Brian!” enthused a passing band member, and Brian perked up immediately. “OK then, I will!” He turned and walked into his dressing room, and as the door banged shut he struck up a tune on his piano, with a driving bassline in the left hand and sumptuous chords in the right. He certainly hasn’t lost it.

Scritti Politti played a 30-minute set, tailored as best we could to a packed theatre of impatient Beach Boys fanatics, and they applauded our efforts warmly. We slipped off quietly into the green room, to find Brian standing there in a purple cowboy shirt, eating some of the aforementioned chocolate cake. “Nice shirt, Brian!” said someone. “Thanks!” he said, before walking over in my direction and looking at me intently. “Where’s the stage?” he asked me. “It’s that way, Brian,” I said, pointing to the door. He turned abruptly, and marched off to wait in the wings. I like to think that this exchange was a pivotal moment in rock history.

We were lucky to have been saved some seats in the theatre to enjoy the show, and after 90 minutes of classic Beach Boys numbers, Brian’s 12-piece band began “Wouldn’t It Be Nice” to a collective sigh of approval from the audience. It was a stunning show; Brian’s voice is not all that it used to be, but to have him sitting there at all felt like a rare privilege. During the instrumental “Let’s Go Away For Awhile” – once described by Brian as “the most satisfying piece of music I’ve ever made” – he turned and sat with his back to the audience; Al Jardine walked over to him, and as they sat side by side, Al whispered something in his ear, and slipped an arm around his shoulder. And this was my cue to start blubbing uncontrollably. Not for the first, nor the last time, Brian is back.