The rise and fall of Brian Wilson in the 1960s is the stuff of Greek tragedy. After a meteoric rise to pop royalty as the cofounder and driving creative force of the Beach Boys — during which he wrote, produced and performed a body of work that puts him on the short list for the title of Greatest Pop Songwriter in American History— Wilson suffered a breathtaking fall from grace. Crushed under the weight of drug addiction, intense pressure from his label and utter exhaustion, he succumbed to a deep-seated paranoia that had him bedridden, dragging sandboxes indoors and seeing snakes slithering out of showerheads.

Considering all that Wilson has overcome, the sporadic records and performances that have comprised his solo career over the past 20 years have felt like gifts. So as he walked on-stage at the Fallsview Casino’s Avalon Ballroom on Tuesday night, promoting a new record (“That Lucky Old Sun”) that’s coming out in September, it felt like Niagara Falls had landed a second wonder of the world.

Dressed in jeans and an untucked button-down shirt, Wilson settled onto a stool that he would rarely get up from, as his fantastic six-piece band broke into the feel-good, back-porch rock ’n’ roll of “Do It Again.” When he began singing, Wilson sounded beautiful and looked completely out of place. Throughout the show, the artist’s anxiety manifested in the restlessness of his hands. And while he delivered each lyric with precision and grace, a smile rarely crossed Wilson’s face.

It may sound like the singer’s lack of stage presence was a distraction — in fact, it was an affirmation. The first 45 minutes of his set focused on earlier Beach Boys work, which tends to be seen as lightweight, summer party fare. But there was always a deep sense of insecurity lurking behind those songs about beaches, cars and teenage love. Watching Wilson sing “All Summer Long” — one of his most shimmering, hook-heavy pop gems — uncovered a sad streak under all the sunshine that I’d always missed before.

Not to say this show was some kind of introspective weep-fest. Wilson led his band through a pile of his greatest, most uplifting songs, with little time spent in between for the awkwardly staged banter. Every note, harmony and percussive element was executed flawlessly by the ensemble, which especially shone on ambitious, multilayered masterpieces such as “Good Vibrations” and “God Only Knows.” And Wilson pulled out some unexpected mid-’60s favorites, such as the heartbreaking coming-of-age song “When I Grow Up (To Be A Man)” and “You’re So Good To Me,” an effortlessly catchy, I-can’t-believe-you-love-me love song.

All of these moments were memorable, and in the case of “God Only Knows,” transcendent — if that song doesn’t make you tear up just a little bit, then you’re just cold inside — but it was the older, pre-“Pet Sounds” tunes that showed what a special thing Wilson and his fellow Beach Boys had. “In My Room” with its gorgeous harmonies and lyrics about “worries and fears.” The simplistic pining of “Surfer Girl.” The irresistible melody and desperate plea of “Help Me Rhonda.” Songs that try so hard to be sugary but inevitably reflect the sweet sadness of their creator.

As the band tore through the bubblegum rock of “Do You Wanna Dance,” half the crowd was out of their seats, laughing and reveling, batting a beach ball around. Through it all, Brian Wilson stared stone-faced at the floor, looking as if he was afraid he’d forget the words. He’s still in his room, and we’re so very lucky to have the chance to peek inside.

Appeared in the July 9, 2008, issue of The Buffalo News.