Gig review: The Beach Boys at The Piece Hall, Halifax
Even if a quasi-tribute act in all but name, the California Sound pioneers are still meticulously spit-shined under the stewardship of lone remaining member Mike Love.
Sixty years have passed since the Beach Boys debuted Pet Sounds, their progressive pop opus that helped redefine the studio boundaries of the rock ensemble and duly ushered in a new era of crossover sophistication.
The intervening generation gap has proven to be a thornier proposition for the California Sound pioneers though, the sun-toasted halo of their greatest effort arguably dimmed by a nettlesome legacy contested between lone remaining member Mike Love – granted name rights in 1998 – and his ex-bandmates; a monkey’s paw for the less initiated fan.
Perhaps time has healed wounds, or maybe Love is more pensively reflective on the fruits of his collaborative labour these days. Brian Wilson’s death last June leaves him and Al Jardine as the respective flagbearers of a far-reaching musical inheritance that audiences still hold an appetite for.
At this stop-off at The Piece Hall, it is the former and his touring incarnation who touch down to offer a retro-celebratory recital – a brisk ninety-plus-minute affair that, at its best, gives Halifax a reminder of their copper-bottomed hit-machine reputation over nearly three-dozen tunes or so.
Even if a quasi-tribute act in all but name, this revolving-cast iteration of the Beach Boys are still meticulously spit-shined on stage, interlocked harmonies arranged with a lush depth and colour.
Plenty of praise rests with bassist-cum-musical director Brian Eichenberger, deftly attuned to the tonal shifts of a sprawling catalogue that pinballs from lovelorn doo-wop (Surfer Girl) and hot-rod homage (409) to folk ditties (Sloop John B) and sax-drenched cover options (a riotously gaudy take on the Mamas & the Papas’ California Dreamin’) with gusto; additional credit can be paid to Tim Bonhomme and Mike’s son Christian, veteran live hands who further help carry the torch.
At 85, Love cuts a reticent figurehead, tufts of snow-white hair peeking beneath the brim of his baseball cap. Baritone weathered by age and illness, questions do linger over what keeps him on the road, but the softly boyish reaction that greets the giddy swell of Wouldn’t It Be Nice and Good Vibrations says it all.
By his own account, he reconciled with Wilson before the latter’s passing. As a video montage of their lifelong friendship segues into a gentle God Only Knows, Halifax finds its breath transported half a century away; elegiac calm cut through the old drama.