By JUD COST

Sitting almost Buddha-like at center-stage behind his seldom-touched keyboard, Brian Wilson looked more confident and comfortable than he ever has onstage as he presided over a magical two-hour testament to his own greatness at Oakland's Paramount Theatre last week (September 5). As "Dandy" Don Meredith, onetime color-man for Monday Night Football, used to say, "If you can do it, it ain't braggin!'" With all that singing talent behind him, Wilson seems to have accepted his new vocal role as the permanent replacement for the hybrid low-tenor/baritone of Mike Love, rather than struggling to be the resident high-tenor/falsetto, as he has in the past. He's certainly having more fun onstage. "Oops, I fucked up!" he muttered after a minor keyboard gaffe.

Perfectly-rendered versions of "lesser-known" classics "All Summer Long," "Do It Again" and "Add Some Music To Your Day" made you feel you were right in the middle of a vintage Beach Boys recording session. Led by longtime Wilson pal Jeff Foskett and former Wondermints Darian Sahanaja, Nick Walusko and Probyn Gregory, along with newfound lyricist Scott Bennett, Wilson's backing band has a reverential regard for the original arrangements that made "Dance, Dance, Dance," "Do You Wanna Dance" and the harpsichord-laced "Will I Grow Up (To Be A Man)"-all from The Beach Boys Today, the stunning 1965 album where Wilson finally catches up to his studio idol, Phil Spector-sound terrific.

It wasn't just the usual hour-long, opening-set stroll through the voluminous Beach Boys back catalog that hit all the right spots tonight. The just-released Wilson solo effort, That Lucky Old Sun (Capitol/EMI), which filled-up the entire hour after intermission, sounds like the best thing the 66-year-old legend has recorded since striking out on his own many years ago. I'd heard the new album a few times before the show, but was totally unprepared for the knock-out blow it delivers live. The album's opener skims just enough from the old Frankie Laine chestnut, "That Lucky Old Sun," before morphing into "Morning Beat," a wake-up call/heartfelt tribute to Los Angeles. As always during Wilson's prolific 47-year career, the occasional awkward lyric just makes everything ring more true.

"Forever She'll Be My Surfer Girl" may poach an occasional phrase from some ancient Beach Boys (or 4 Seasons) session, but with an overall effect so heart-cleansingly gorgeous, who cares! Much like Love's 1968 classic, Forever Changes, That Lucky Old Sun feels like a long, slow drive through the City of Angels, from Olvera Street out to the Santa Monica pier. Adding the Stockholm Strings to Wilson's usual tentette backing-band format gave the sparkling arrangements even more punch. With the bite of a narrative from a film noir classic, the between-songs segues, penned by Wilson's onetime Smile collaborator, Van Dyke Parks, were a perfect fit.

But not everything went as planned tonight. Keyboard/vibraphone whiz Sahanaja signaled an immediate halt to the proceedings after the first playing of "That Lucky Old Sun"/"Morning Beat," due to an out-of-tune keyboard. "Everything ready now, haircut?" growled Foskett testily as Sahanaja signaled AOK after a 5-minute tuning delay. They began the album anew, this time with every hair in place.

Concert (and album) wrap-up "Southern California," with its nod to the sweet harmonies that draped almost-forgotten 1968 Beach Boys album Friends, was accompanied by a lump-in-the-throat montage of vintage photos of Brian, Dennis and Carl Wilson, growing up in Hawthorne, Calif. The song feels like a mini-biography, hitting the highlights of Brian's sometimes bumpy trek along the yellow-brick road. "I had this dream of singing with my brothers," he sings. It felt like both Dennis and Carl were here tonight, nodding approval.

Of course, the fortunes of live acts may ebb and flow-even those of the Beach Boys, themselves, during their glory years-but the high price of gasoline can't be the only reason the vast Paramount Theatre was only half-full tonight. Maybe it's because Wilson & Co., by having played Pet Sounds in its entirety here back in early 2007, violated one of booking's ten commandments: Thou shalt not play the same venue in a market two times in a row. It's a rule Bob Dylan's people have never broken in the greater Bay Area. The rabid crowd that did venture out into violence-wracked Oakland was rewarded handsomely with the debut performance of a work that richly deserves to become a Brian Wilson staple.