No Way To Treat a Genius

It’s 1990 and I'm at a Tears For Fears après gig backstage party somewhere in LA. It’s about 11pm, it’s incredibly crowded and full of appalling record company people. I'm sitting at a table getting quietly pissed with Will Gregory.

Earlier in the day, on the journey to LA, the petrifying boredom of the tour bus had been interrupted by Curt Smith who said, to no one in particular, “Wow, have you seen tonight’s guest list?” He was running his finger down the list.

“Dr Jacob Janov, Debbie Harry, Brian Wilson…..”

“Brian Wilson!” I ejaculated, braking off from a game of scrabble.

“Will he be at the after-show party?”

“ I should think so”

“You don’t sound too keen, wouldn’t you like to meet him? He’s a genius.”

They could probably tell by my reaction that I was a fan. However, I could tell by everyone else’s laughter and derogatory comments that they thought he was a bit of a joke. I got rather angry. My high horse was handy and I climbed on.

“That man,” I said raising myself up, “is a genius. You’re too young to appreciate what he achieved in the 60’s or just how revolutionary he was.”

"He's weird, he turned up last time we were here and we had to meet him.”

"God, I'd love to talk to him," I said.

"Well, you’re welcome to."

"I'd consider it an honour," I said rather pompously.

Hours later, having forgotten all about this conversation I am, as I mentioned earlier, sitting at a table getting quietly pissed with Will Gregory when I notice three figures slowly making their way towards us through the throng. I can see that one of them is Curt but I don’t recognise the guy on the left or the one in the middle – bloody hell it’s Brian Wilson!

They walk over to our table. I have time to register that Brian looks tired and drawn. The other guy looks weird. Like a TV evangelist – orange skin, a rictus smile – very scary! He has his hand clamped onto Brian's shoulder. (this guy, I later find out , is his mentor, manager, psychiatrist and self-appointed best pal.)

"Brian, this is our keyboard player Andy,” says Curt. “He’s always wanted to meet you," .

Whaaa........ I was not prepared for this. I staggered to my feet. Brian grabbed my hand with both of his and squeezed gently. The psychiatrist pulled back a chair and seated Brian at our table like a waiter in a posh restaurant. I leaned in and said something utterly banal like,

"It’s an honour to meet you - I've always loved your songs".

“Thank you, that’s really nice,” said Brian.

Me: “Are you writing any new stuff?”

He hesitated, there was an awkward silence. I thought I knew how to get his attention.

I said, “I’m a huge fan of The Four Freshmen – I’ve got every album they made – they were a big influence on you weren’t they?”

His face lit up, “Yes I learnt a lot from listening to their records – an awful lot – I used to listen to their harmonies and write them down - and then I tried to copy them.”

To show that I was a genuine fan and not a bull-shitter, I said, “My favourite album of theirs is ‘The Four Freshmen and The Five Saxes’.”

“Wow, that’s a great one.” said Brian. His speech, though strangely stilted, was making sense. I could see he was searching his memory. “Then they made ‘The Five Trumpets’.” He looked at the ceiling as though the answer was written there.

“And then the ‘Five Trombones’.” We said, in unison.

There was another awkward silence. I said, “My favourite track of theirs is ‘I Get Along Without You.”

“Very well,” he said. “The full title is “I Get Along Without You Very Well.”

He had a peculiarly vacant stare – like a pair of eyes seeing for the first time. I decided to ask him about about ‘Surf's Up’, which was in the news right then. He sparked to life again and he talked for maybe two or three minutes about it. He wandered off the subject from time to time but mostly he spoke normally, albeit with that stuttering delivery. Then the orange bloke looked at his watch and squeezed Brian’s shoulder. As if flicking on a switch, Brian rose to leave , but he wasn’t quite finished with me yet;

"Humour," he said. “That’s what I’m interested in now.” Then, with genuine feeling, "Humour – is what keeps me going".

He reached into his pocket and pulled something out . He held whatever it was in his cupped hands like it was some priceless jewel. I felt kind of privileged to be sharing his secret with. Proudly he revealed – a small portable tape recorder.

Then he leaned down to my level and spoke gently in my ear, "You see this tape recorder? Well every morning when I wake up, the very first thing I do is turn on this tape recorder".

He paused as if for dramatic effect…

“And then I tell a joke into it.”

Now he was really animated, as if this was the most exciting thing anyone could ever imagine,

“Then…’ Another dramatic pause.

‘…I wait a coupla minutes.” His voice was a whisper now.

“I wait just a coupla minutes... and then!… I play it back!….

‘AND MAN DO I LAUGH!"

A broad smile spread over his face. “Really,” I said, “that’s great.” I couldn’t think of any otyher way to reply .

The psychiatrist, obviously impatient by now, grabbed him by the shoulders and spun him round.

"That’s enough Brian! It's time we were going now!"

Brian shook my hand again and the two of them melted back into the crowd. I was left to reflect on my meeting with one of the true geniuses of pop music.