From memories of photoshoots and telephone calls with the late Beach Boy, to appraisals of his complex but pure music, Guardian readers pay tribute to a great

• Whether wistful or euphoric, Brian Wilson made pop’s most overwhelmingly beautiful music

• Ray Davies, Graham Nash and others on Brian Wilson’s songwriting genius

• Endless summer: how Brian Wilson soundtracked California

I remember the Christmas after my mother’s death in 1989 when I was 15, I purchased the best-of collection from Asda, interested to see what I would hear. It had the hits, of course, but also a few of the deeper cuts from Pet Sounds and onwards. To say this changed my life is an understatement – Brian’s music, harmonies and subject matters struck an incredible chord in me. It did exactly what he existed for, bringing comfort to a heart and soul that needs it. I’ve been a fan ever since – I saw him at the Royal Festival Hall on his first Pet Sounds tour, watched him perform Smile in utter disbelief and wonder in Liverpool, while finally introducing his amazing show to my beautiful wife at the Summer Pops in Liverpool. Quite simply the greatest musician to ever live, in my opinion. Stephen Woodward, 50, Liverpool

Along with other icons of African writing, Ngũgĩ taught generations how to decolonise literature, language and the mind

• Ngũgĩ wa Thiong’o, giant of African literature, dies aged 87

Growing up in post-independence Nigeria in the 1970s, at home you always had access to the Bible if you were Christian, or the Qur’an if you were Muslim, along with books in the Heinemann African Writers Series. Things Fall Apart by Chinua Achebe was a staple, and the plays of Wole Soyinka: The Lion and the Jewel, most likely, or The Trials of Brother Jero. Often accompanying them were books by Ngũgĩ wa Thiong’o – I remember we had both Weep Not Child and The River Between. And even if you didn’t have them at home, you’d soon encounter them in school – they were standard set texts, from secondary school to college.

These three writers belonged to the so-called first generation of African writing, the generation that started publishing in the 1950s and 1960s. The three names stood, like the legs of the three-legged pot, under African literature, while in the pot was cooking whatever fare the minds of these writers conceived of. They shared a similarity of subject matter: pro-independence, pan-Africanist, postcolonial theory, but stylistically they were very different from one another. Kenyan Ngũgĩ, unlike the two Nigerians, was shaped by very stern political obstacles, pushing him to take very radical positions on politics and language.

One of the world’s most prestigious and intensive musical competitions took over downtown Fort Worth these past few weeks. Will its winner prove to be another Yunchan Lim-style sensation?

A distinctive line drawing of a grand piano adorns a clock face in Sundance Square . At night, it beams like a Tracey Emin installation, presiding over Fort Worth’s downtown district. At the intersection leading to Bass Performance Hall the crosswalk has been replaced with an oversized keyboard, and, inside the cavernous venue, sartorial style favours black and white stripes. A pop-up gift shop in the lobby boasts an array of musical-themed memorabilia; there’s the line drawing on a bubble-gum pink T-shirt, an enormous travel mug, a steak-branding fork. The theme-park feel is confirmed by a white Steinway emblazoned with Mickey Mouse – a limited hand-painted Disney edition (price on request). Welcome to piano city, smiles the sign.

Every four years, piano lovers from across the world gather in this Texas enclave for the Van Cliburn international piano competition – the instrument’s Olympics.

The American found-sound artist’s new album captures all the delight and drama of European bellringing, as he manipulates field recordings into drifting 20-minute works

From Berlin via Los Angeles
Recommended if you like Philip Jeck, Félicia Atkinson, Sarah Davachi
Up next New album Campana Sonans has just been released

Some of the loveliest ambient music – in that term’s truest sense – available to us is the sound of church bells. The cascading notes heralding a wedding are the aural equivalent of the scent of freshly cut grass, in how they evoke British summer time. But played on a large, sombre bell, the monophonic tolling that announces the time seems almost nihilist: a reminder of the ticking clock of our own lives.

A cast of indie darlings and the critics’ seal of approval hasn’t saved this supervillain spin-off – but that asterisk is a sign of monumental instalments to come

There’s no such thing as a sure thing in Hollywood. Just ask Marvel Studios – once the box office equivalent of a cashpoint duct-taped to a golden goose, now resembling a busted slot machine in Skegness. Reports this week suggest that Thunderbolts* , the studio’s latest attempt to turn supervillain also-rans into marquee gold, has officially faceplanted at the box office despite strong reviews, a cast stacked with rising stars and indie darlings, and enough emotional baggage to ground a Sundance drama.

In theory, Jake Schreier’s rowdy ensemble piece had it all: Florence Pugh, David Harbour, Wyatt Russell’s jawline, a marketing campaign whispering “this isn’t your dad’s Marvel film”, and the sort of melancholic indie sheen that usually comes free with a Bon Iver soundtrack. Critics even liked it. And yet audiences, perhaps stung by a mercurial ride for the once pristine superhero studio simply couldn’t be bothered to find out what all the fuss was about. With a production and marketing tab pushing $275m (£203m), Thunderbolts* needed to soar like Iron Man. Instead, Variety suggests its $371m (£273m) global take after six weeks in multiplexes is likely to leave it some way short of the $425m (£313m) the film needs to break even by the time it slips quietly on to Disney+.

PC, PlayStation 5, Xbox; Build a Robot Boy/IO Interactive
A lot of work and ambition have gone into this strange, sometimes likable cover-shooter throwback

There’s a Sphere-alike in Redrock, MindsEye’s open-world version of Las Vegas. It’s pretty much a straight copy of the original : a huge soap bubble, half sunk into the desert floor, with its surface turned into a gigantic TV. Occasionally you’ll pull up near the Sphere while driving an electric vehicle made by Silva, the megacorp that controls this world. You’ll sometimes come to a stop just as an advert for an identical Silva EV plays out on the huge curved screen overhead. The doubling effect can be slightly vertigo-inducing.

At these moments, I truly get what MindsEye is trying to do. You’re stuck in the ultimate company town, where oligarchs and other crooks run everything, and there’s no hope of escaping the ecosystem they’ve built. MindsEye gets this all across through a chance encounter, and in a way that’s both light of touch and clever. The rest of the game tends towards the heavy-handed and silly, but it’s nice to glimpse a few instances where everything clicks.

In the last few years, the singer-songwriter has weathered divorce, grief and false allegations of sexual assault. Now, he’s back writing, performing – and rediscovering his political rage

In the mid-90s, Omaha made a pretty decent tour stop for up-and-coming bands. Nebraska sits near-plum in the US’s middle, and in its most populous city, once famed for its fur trade, stockyards and railroads, there had grown a thriving subculture that centred largely on a book and record store named the Antiquarium and a small venue named the Cog Factory.

Conor Oberst spent much of his early teens puttering between these locations, filling his young brain with music and literature. By 12, he had begun writing his own songs, and by 13 he had recorded his first album, releasing it on his older brother’s label and selling it in the record store. Sometimes he would take to the stage at the Cog Factory, a small, pale boy with an acoustic guitar and a lot of words.

Chaos, distrust and so many sex scandals … Ahead of his epic new series Shifty, the great documentarian charts the UK’s slide towards Whitehall’s worst nightmare

The mood is very fragile. There is a feeling of global disorder and growing chaos. The threat of war edges ever closer. Some people are even predicting revolution in the UK. Two weeks ago, Dominic Cummings gave an interview to Sky News prophesying violent uprising, then wrote on his blog that there is “Whitehall terror of widespread white-English mobs turning political … Parts of the system increasingly fear this could spin out of control into their worst nightmare.”

I think something much deeper is going on beneath the surface of Britain today. Two years ago, a historian called Christopher Clark wrote a book that makes you look at your own time in a completely different way. Called Revolutionary Spring, it tells the story of the unrest that swept Europe in 1848. In a few weeks, uprisings spread like ferocious brushfire – from Paris to Berlin to Vienna, Prague and Milan. Thousands of demonstrators stormed national assemblies and kings fled their countries, caught up in a wave of violent upheaval never seen before. Clark’s book inspired me to make Shifty, my new series of films, because the world he describes feels so similar to today. One in which “the political horizon was dark. Neither nations nor governments knew where they were going.

An oppressed orca breaking free to find its true family? It may not be obviously queer, but I’ve found much comfort in Willy and Jesse’s story in this film

I don’t know precisely when I first watched Free Willy. But I do remember that the film was central to a childhood obsession with whales – orcas, specifically – that followed me well into adulthood. (I still remember a lot of random facts, such as “killer whales can live up to 90 years old!” and “their pregnancies are 17 months long!”)

Released in 1993, just a few months after I was born, the film follows Jesse – a moody 12-year-old foster kid with abandonment issues – and his unlikely friendship with Willy, an orca confined in a far-too-small pool at a local marine park. Jesse and Willy have a lot in common. Both are antisocial, stubborn and mistrustful, but form a close bond – one that sees Jesse determined to free Willy from the park where he is being exploited for profit by an evil businessman. It’s a classic good v evil tale – and a coming out story.