While my compatriots are at Reading Festival, I've been spending a quiet weekend either enjoying the sun on London Fields or watching the typically variable output terrestrial TV has to offer. It's a dirty job, and all that.
I found myself last night for the first time in decades in Ladbroke Grove, an old stomping ground, not much-visited since I lived around there for a year of largely wild times that ended badly in 1977 with a recuperative fortnight in intensive care.
So, the greatest album never made has finally been made. Thirty-eight years on from its conception, Brian Wilson has painstakingly gathered up all the shattered mosaic pieces, and with the help of the best little tribute ensemble in the world, The Wondermints, has produced a reasonably faithful facsimile of the bold, ambitious masterpiece that nearly cost him his sanity back in 1967. The resulting work, rigorously road-tested during this year's tour dates, is a 17-track song suite in three movements which clocks in at a second over 47 minutes.
