The Beach Boys - Verso Media

Another weekend and another gig. Me, Neil, and Hammy — on the road again. Early pick-up, and away we went for a dose of nostalgia in the gardens of a stately home via a KFC for lunch.

After a three-hour drive (Neil) and a stop off at Reading services for the aforementioned chicken dinner we arrived at Englefield House around 1:30pm. The car was parked and we headed to the gates. Five minutes later, we were absolutely soaked. A proper downpour. Biblical. When we got inside we found a prime spot — dead centre between the bogs, the bar, and an ice cream van (I would later attempt my KLF joke again to an unresponsive audience). The rains stopped and we began to dry out as we waited for the entertainment.

First up: Buddy Holly and the Cricketers, fresh off the West End circuit. They were slick, sharp and fun — even if the guitarist carried on like he was auditioning for a gig at Butlins. Crowd-pleasers (except the Butlins boy), nailed every hit. Perfect openers.

Oh Boy!

Oh What a Circus

Peggy Sue

Then came Lulu. Honest reaction when we saw her on the bill? Groan. Expected cruise ship cabaret. What we got? Absolute class. Chatting between songs, loads of charisma, and a set that flew by. The duet with David Bowie was a surprising tearjerker and I’m no fan of Bowie!

Next up: David Essex. Looked like he’d wandered in from a country walk but held his own. Nothing flashy, no gimmicks — just solid stagecraft from a bloke approaching 80. He knew what we came for, and he gave it. Oh, What a Circus gave me goosebumps!

To Sir, with Love

Gonna Make You a Star

The Man Who Sold the World

Then, the main event: The Beach Boys. Mike Love remains the only original member still standing, with Bruce Johnston (joined in ’65) loyally at his side. But make no mistake — Mike is the voice. He fronted the surfing/girls/cars era, that bright, nasal twang that sold California to the world. Brian Wilson wrote the magic, Carl brought the soul, but Mike was the radio hit machine.

The band was tight. The harmonies still soared. Mike’s son Christian Love is now part of the touring line-up — and he’s no weak link. Strong vocals, great stage presence, and clearly being groomed to carry the legacy.

But the real wildcard? Jon Bolton on drums. No fanfare, no hype — just a guy behind the kit who absolutely smashed it. Punchy, precise, and full of energy. Behind Lulu, easily the second-best surprise of the day.

Setlist? Glorious. “Surfin’ USA”, “California Girls”, “Don’t Worry Baby”, “Wouldn’t It Be Nice”, “Good Vibrations” “Sloop John B” — all still land, all still matter. It was sunshine in musical form, even if the clouds kept trying to gatecrash.

Sloop John B

God Only Knows

Kokomo

Venue notes:

Englefield House is stunning. Shame it’s owned by a Tory.
Food and drink? Silly money. £7.20 for a pint that tasted like regret. £16.50 for a pork roll and a couple of roast potatoes.
Toilets surprisingly civilised where no-one dares make eye contact.
Ice cream van: £4.50 for a 99 but it was Justified and Ancient.
Crowd: Not as old as first thought. Well, 90% old. A great mix (see picture of Iron Maiden man) except for the selfish umbrella people.

And then came the car park finale. Earlier, marshals were everywhere — high-vis at every turn, guiding cars in with military precision. Come 10:30pm? Vanished. The place turned into a free for all. Cars at weird angles, people doing 15-point turns. It took 40 minutes to escape.

Summary: It’s not and never will be the full Beach Boys. Al’s not there. Brian, Carl and Dennis are all sadly no longer with us. But what remains? Still magic. Still worth it. Still fun, fun, fun.