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Atlantic
10-07-2025
- Entertainment
- Atlantic
Before the Sphere, There Was the Wall
Picture yourself at a concert. If you're standing by the soundboard, usually near the rear center of the venue, you'll enjoy the best possible version of the band's performance—what the 'sound guy,' whose job it is to make everything coalesce inside the room, hears. But if you step away to grab a beer and end up watching from a different place, you'll hear something else. At an outdoor show, the experience is even more varied, because of the open acoustics and elements such as wind, which break up sound waves. Far too often, the song you've waited all night for may finally reach your ears as a distorted puddle. How does a band ensure that it sounds like the most pristine version of itself, no matter where the show takes place or where the audience listens? In the early 1970s, the Grateful Dead tried to solve this dilemma with the help of their on-again, off-again sound engineer, Owsley 'Bear' Stanley, who conceptualized one of the boldest innovations in music history: a literal 'wall of sound.' On hits such as the Ronettes' 'Be My Baby,' the music producer Phil Spector had famously created a figurative wall of sound by layering instruments and orchestral sweeps. But the Dead's wall was essentially a behemoth sound system, a hulking electrical mess of amps, speakers, wires—like the menacing heavy-metal rig in Mad Max: Fury Road, but far larger, louder, and, perhaps, more ludicrous. The grand idea was both utopian and egalitarian: The wall placed virtually every piece of technology needed for a live show behind the group, allowing the crowd to hear precisely what the Dead heard as they played. The wall, the journalist Brian Anderson writes in his new book, Loud and Clear, 'weighed as much as a dozen full-grown elephants' and 'stretched the length of a regulation basketball court.' At each tour stop, roadies would assemble the nearly 600 speakers that, when operable, stood at about the height of a small apartment building and sounded 'as loud as a jet engine at close range.' During outdoor shows, fans could be up to a quarter mile from the stage and still hear Jerry Garcia's guitar runs with depth and clarity. But a relatively short time after its creation, the complexity and expense of maintaining the wall catalyzed the band's first serious brush with burnout—and, Anderson argues, played a factor in its hiatus. In trying to shorten the pathway from instrument to eardrum, the Dead's wall had simultaneously created a host of previously nonexistent issues. On paper, the wall was a tool to expand the scope of their sky-reaching jams; more than any of their rock contemporaries, the Dead were known for extended, full-band improvisation. But relying on engineering in order to achieve a perfect sound brought a new set of anxieties: Because there was frequently some glitch with the wall, the band was often held back from reliably playing at its best. Stanley helped the Dead reach a new stratosphere of live performance, but he also established an impossible standard—one the band couldn't measure up to. Grateful Dead fandom invites—and thrives on—obsession. Though the Dead's jam-band sound is undoubtedly groovy, many of its songs concern heavy themes such as life and death. There's a deceptive weight to their songs, even when the tunes feel bright; the music is an ongoing search to unlock something hidden in the recesses of your mind. Though the band has a wonderful collection of studio recordings, the real juice is in the live stuff: the thousands of concerts performed over dozens of years, with a different set list every night. There's a lot to get lost in, and from their early days as a touring band, the Dead won legions of stoned and tripping devotees. Anderson's book, though, is dizzying in a different way: It's a detailed, almost show-by-show breakdown of the band's live performances across its first decade (roughly 1965 to 1974), augmented by insider stories. Readers meet not only Stanley but also other engineers, roadies, and crew members who worked long hours under difficult conditions to help the Dead put on incomparable shows. (Many of the roadies also relied on, according to one band member, 'mountains of blow.') But undergirding this occasionally exhausting narrative effort is a tale about the tension between innovation and hubris. The wall was, in a sense, a physical manifestation of a brainiac's acid trip; after Stanley took LSD at a legendary Dead show at an upstate–New York speedway, Anderson writes, he believed that he could weave an unbreakable connection between the wall, the band, and the crowd. His acid-tinged goal with the wall was 'hooking it up to a whole sea of people like one mind,' he said. For years, most other bands had played the same way in concert: with instruments connected to amps, and amps and vocals running through the house PA. Even when traveling with their own sound guy, they'd still be beholden to each venue's setup—unless they toted all of their own gear, which just wasn't realistic. The wall, in theory, allowed for both top-notch sound and show-by-show consistency. In practice, though, it was an unwieldy nightmare. Speakers often blew out or failed mid-show. Stanley drifted in and out of the band's orbit; other engineers and roadies expanded on his original visions. All the while, maintaining the rig became more convoluted: The band kept booking larger venues, thus requiring more sonic power, more crew members, and more attention to detail. Peak functionality was far from guaranteed, and Anderson convincingly makes the case that many early versions of the wall sounded better than the 'official' wall shows in 1974, because the smaller scale allowed for relatively more control (though it was far from an efficient process; early iterations could still take five hours to set up and another five to break down). Within the band itself, the wall was divisive. Bassist Phil Lesh called the wall 'apocalyptic,' but also compared it to the 'voice of God.' For him, the wall allowed for 'the most generally satisfying performance experience of my life with the band.' Bob Weir, who sang and played guitar, called the wall 'insane' and 'a logistical near impossibility.' Drummer Bill Kreutzmann, according to Anderson, said it was a 'creature that was supercool to look at, but impossible to tame.' And Garcia, it seems, would have been fine keeping things a little more down-to-earth. At the wall's official debut, on March 23, 1974, technical difficulties led to Garcia's guitar volume plunging moments into the first song. When you listen to this show today, the beginning sounds, well, kind of crappy. In the end, the Dead played only a few dozen shows with the fully built-up wall, as the cost and draining elaborateness of touring with the device eventually became too much. At the end of 1974, the Dead downsized its crew and, in Garcia's words, 'dumped' the structure. When they hit the road again almost two years later, their sound setup was more practical—in essence, sacrificing the perfect for the sustainable. They remained road dogs until Garcia's death in 1995, and have kept offshoots of the band rolling along since. Though I never saw the band perform with Garcia—I was 7 years old when he died of a heart attack—I've seen its different configurations over the years. Last summer I saw Dead & Company play as part of their residency at the Sphere in Las Vegas. That night demonstrated the clearest and most all-encompassing live sound I'd ever experienced. Most people have heard about the Sphere's mind-bending visuals and mondo LED screens; fewer may realize that it also contains 167,000 individual speakers (including in each seat). Though I was able to lose myself in the show, a very real part of me almost would have preferred hearing these same songs outside in the sun, in an uncontrolled setting, where any number of variables—the breeze, a storm, air pressure—might have affected the sound. Imperfection can feel just as right, in a different way, as technical perfection. It's freeing to accept that something might always be a little off, no matter the herculean effort; the Dead seemed to accept this too. Anderson's book makes a compelling argument that reaching for total audio domination was—and is—a noble endeavor, albeit one rife with pitfalls. But even the most advanced rig in the world doesn't necessarily make the songs any good. That much is up to the band.
Sydney Morning Herald
11-06-2025
- Entertainment
- Sydney Morning Herald
Beach Boys legend Brian Wilson's 10 most iconic songs
Headphones on, stereo up. The Beach Boys' California Girls sounds massive. It is no doubt the result of Wilson's love and admiration for Phil Spector's 'Wall of Sound', which lead to the song's use of guitar, horns, percussion and organ as its overture. The song is a sunshine-y good time – and would later inspire Katy Perry's California Gurls, among countless others. But most importantly, the song establishes the band – and Wilson's own – larger-than-life aspirations, where pop music could be both avant-garde and built of earworms. 1966: Wouldn't It Be Nice, The Beach Boys Wilson's voice is the first one heard on the Beach Boys' unimpeachable Pet Sounds. 'Wouldn't it be nice if we were older? / Then we wouldn't have to wait so long,' he sings sweetly on the album's opener. 'And wouldn't it be nice to live together / In the kind of world where we belong?' Optimism and innocence are the name of the game, and the listener is the winner. 1966: God Only Knows, The Beach Boys If Wilson must be known for one thing, let it be his inimitable sense of harmony, perfected across his craft and completely unignorable on God Only Knows, a masterclass in vocals, love, emotional depth, harpsichord and the intersection of all such forces. God Only Knows is also one of Paul McCartney's favourite songs of all time, one known to bring him to tears. 1967: Good Vibrations, The Beach Boys What kind of vibrations? Good, good, GOOD vibrations. And at a cost. As the story goes, one of the Beach Boys' best-known hits – and, arguably, one of the most immediately recognisable songs in rock'n'roll history – was recorded over seven months, in four different studios, reportedly costing up to $75,000. And it is an absolute masterpiece of theremin, cello, harmonica and so much more. Pop music has never been so ambitious – and successful. 1967: Heroes and Villains, The Beach Boys Heroes and Villains might be one of the most complex songs in the Beach Boys' discography, and with good reason. It is the opener of Smile, what Wilson called a 'teenage symphony to God', a whimsical cycle of songs on nature and American folklore written with lyricist Van Dyke Parks. It was delayed, then cancelled, then rerecorded and issued in September 1967 on Smiley Smile, dismissed by Carl Wilson as a 'bunt instead of a grand slam'. In moments, Heroes and Villains is psychedelic; at other times, it embodies an otherworldly barbershop quartet. It is off-kilter and clever, as Wilson's band so often proved to be. 1967: Darlin ', The Beach Boys The late '60s are an under-celebrated time in Wilson's creative oeuvre – no doubt an effect of his declining mental health – but there are many rich songs to dig into. Particularly the soulful, R&B, Motown-esque harmonies of Darlin '. 2004: Don't Let Her Know She's an Angel, Brian Wilson As the story goes, Don't Let Her Know She's an Angel was originally recorded for his 1991 unreleased album Sweet Insanity but did not officially appear until it was rerecorded for his 2004 album Gettin' in Over My Head. The song features a bunch of programming, synths and percussion, which might strike Beach Boys fans as odd. But trust us, it works here.
The Age
11-06-2025
- Entertainment
- The Age
Beach Boys legend Brian Wilson's 10 most iconic songs
Headphones on, stereo up. The Beach Boys' California Girls sounds massive. It is no doubt the result of Wilson's love and admiration for Phil Spector's 'Wall of Sound', which lead to the song's use of guitar, horns, percussion and organ as its overture. The song is a sunshine-y good time – and would later inspire Katy Perry's California Gurls, among countless others. But most importantly, the song establishes the band – and Wilson's own – larger-than-life aspirations, where pop music could be both avant-garde and built of earworms. 1966: Wouldn't It Be Nice, The Beach Boys Wilson's voice is the first one heard on the Beach Boys' unimpeachable Pet Sounds. 'Wouldn't it be nice if we were older? / Then we wouldn't have to wait so long,' he sings sweetly on the album's opener. 'And wouldn't it be nice to live together / In the kind of world where we belong?' Optimism and innocence are the name of the game, and the listener is the winner. 1966: God Only Knows, The Beach Boys If Wilson must be known for one thing, let it be his inimitable sense of harmony, perfected across his craft and completely unignorable on God Only Knows, a masterclass in vocals, love, emotional depth, harpsichord and the intersection of all such forces. God Only Knows is also one of Paul McCartney's favourite songs of all time, one known to bring him to tears. 1967: Good Vibrations, The Beach Boys What kind of vibrations? Good, good, GOOD vibrations. And at a cost. As the story goes, one of the Beach Boys' best-known hits – and, arguably, one of the most immediately recognisable songs in rock'n'roll history – was recorded over seven months, in four different studios, reportedly costing up to $75,000. And it is an absolute masterpiece of theremin, cello, harmonica and so much more. Pop music has never been so ambitious – and successful. 1967: Heroes and Villains, The Beach Boys Heroes and Villains might be one of the most complex songs in the Beach Boys' discography, and with good reason. It is the opener of Smile, what Wilson called a 'teenage symphony to God', a whimsical cycle of songs on nature and American folklore written with lyricist Van Dyke Parks. It was delayed, then cancelled, then rerecorded and issued in September 1967 on Smiley Smile, dismissed by Carl Wilson as a 'bunt instead of a grand slam'. In moments, Heroes and Villains is psychedelic; at other times, it embodies an otherworldly barbershop quartet. It is off-kilter and clever, as Wilson's band so often proved to be. 1967: Darlin ', The Beach Boys The late '60s are an under-celebrated time in Wilson's creative oeuvre – no doubt an effect of his declining mental health – but there are many rich songs to dig into. Particularly the soulful, R&B, Motown-esque harmonies of Darlin '. 2004: Don't Let Her Know She's an Angel, Brian Wilson As the story goes, Don't Let Her Know She's an Angel was originally recorded for his 1991 unreleased album Sweet Insanity but did not officially appear until it was rerecorded for his 2004 album Gettin' in Over My Head. The song features a bunch of programming, synths and percussion, which might strike Beach Boys fans as odd. But trust us, it works here.
Los Angeles Times
11-06-2025
- Entertainment
- Los Angeles Times
Beach Boys hailed in own home town
Since the Beach Boys are one of the handful of best rock groups in history and this is their home town, it is no wonder they received a series of standing ovations over the weekend at the Santa Monica Civic Auditorium. Though the group played the Whisky a few nights last fall, the Saturday night concert was in a real sense a homecoming for the group that popularized Southern California girls, surfing and other teen-oriented activities during the 1960s. Along with record producer Phil Spector, the Beach Boys were the most important and permanent force in rock music in the 1960s before the rise of the Beatles and the many other English groups. Brian Wilson, the Beach Boys' leader, captured teen themes and moods better than anyone since Chuck Berry. Though Brian watched it all from the wings Saturday (he has not been a regular member of the Beach Boys' concert lineup for years now), the rest of the Beach Boys went through some of their early hits (such as 'I Get Around' and 'Good Vibrations') and some of their more recent recordings for nearly two hours, enjoying it all apparently as much as the capacity audience. Since then, only The Band, perhaps, has come close to the smooth use of harmony in rock. Similarly, the Beach Boys have an instrumental discipline that allows them to integrate the traditional rock unit (drums, bass, guitar) with piano and a five-piece brass section perfectly. The focus in the Beach Boys' music is always crisp. The songs move forward with economy and direction. There is no flashy, self-defeating, self-indulgence in the music. While the early songs continue to receive the greatest audience response (there were audience requests for 'Surfin' U.S.A.' all night), the Beach Boys have moved forward steadily since the mid-1960s when their 'Pet Sounds' album became a mini-classic. The group's current 'Sunflower' album was named one of the year's best by several rock reviewers. But the group continues to have an identity crisis. The problem is that a large share of the rock audience continues to think of the Beach Boys in the past tense. Most of the post-'Pet Sounds' work has gone unheard. The group's last top-10 record was in 1966. In recent months, the Beach Boys (Dennis and Carl Wilson, Alan Jardine, Mike Love and Bruce Johnson) have begun an active campaign to upgrade its image. They recently toured Europe, have scheduled some key U.S. concerts (including New York's Carnegie Hall on Wednesday) and plan some further promotion of the 'Sunflower' album. If the rock community (which often tends to pay more attention to new acts and trends than to established talents) will give them a chance, the Beach Boys may make it to the top once again. It should be pointed out, however, the Beach Boys were guilty of some sloppiness Saturday. They should stick to business between songs rather than slow down the pacing by unnecessary chatter. And, there's no reason they should waste time allowing Bruce Johnson to sing Elton John's 'Your Song.' The group has too much at stake now not to make every moment on stage count.
CBS News
30-05-2025
- General
- CBS News
What to expect from Alan Jackson in Karen Read's second trial
The Karen Read trial has garnered national attention, and one of the key figures in the case is defense attorney Alan Jackson. Here's what to know about Read's high-profile lead attorney as the prosecution has rested its case and the defense took over. The prosecution in Read's second trial rested on Thursday, handing the case over to the defense team made up of Jackson, David Yannetti, Bob Alessi and Elizabeth Little. Who is Alan Jackson? Jackson is a criminal defense attorney from the law firm Werksman Jackson & Quinn. A biography on the firm's website describes Jackson as "one of the country's most sought-after criminal defense attorneys." According to the firm, Jackson has tried more than 85 cases to a jury verdict, and has a 96% success rate. Jackson was the lead prosecutor for the Los Angeles Count District Attorney's office during the case against music producer Phil Spector, who was convicted of killing actress Lana Clarkson. "His client list reads like a who's who of Hollywood celebrities, NBA stars, billionaire CEOs, and foreign dignitaries—all turning to him for 'must-win' cases," Jackson's biography reads. Karen Read's lawyer Alan Jackson Prosecutors accuse Read of hitting and killing her boyfriend, Boston police officer John O'Keefe, with her SUV after a night of drinking and leaving him to die in the snow. When Read was first arrested, her only attorney was Yannetti. In the recently released HBO documentary "A Body in the Snow: The Trial of Karen Read," Yannetti, Read and Jackson discussed how the defense team expanded. Yannetti said it became clear the case was going to require a lot of work. Read said in the documentary that she called the Harvard Law School Criminal Justice Institute. A professor told her to look into actor Kevin Spacey's case on Nantucket, where he was accused of groping an 18-year-old. Jackson represented Spacey, and the felony charge of indecent assault and battery was eventually dropped. Read said she looked into the case, and that was how she learned about Jackson's work. "I got an email and the subject line of the email with something along the lines of 'Murder of a Boston Cop.' I took one look at the autopsy photos of John O'Keefe, and I saw his arm, and I said, 'Are you kidding me? He was hit by a car?'" Jackson recounted in the documentary. Read's attorneys have argued that injuries to O'Keefe's arm were caused by a dog during the alleged fight. With Jackson added to Read's defense team, the case began to garner national attention. Karen Read and attorney Alan Jackson look at the empty jury box while listening to Judge Cannone during Read's murder trial in Norfolk Superior Court in Dedham, Mass., Wednesday, May 21, 2025. Greg Derr/The Patriot Ledger via AP, Pool What to expect from Alan Jackson WBZ-TV legal analyst Katherine Loftus noted that compared to Read's first trial, Jackson took a bit of a back seat during the prosecution's case in the retrial. Alessi, not Jackson, cross-examined several key witnesses. That included the medical examiner and several forensic experts. Loftus said she believes that will change during the defense's case, which Read told reporters will take 1.5 to 2 weeks compared to just two days the first time. "I think [Alan Jackson] is probably going to take the majority of the defense case," Loftus said. "They really have two potential ways they can go. We might know right off the bat as soon as we see who the first witness is whether they are going to go with what they did trial No. 1, which was this framing, third party, point the fingers. Or if they're really going to focus on the police, Michael Proctor, conflict of interest, substandard, you can't find her guilty." Karen Read trial Jackson and Read's legal team have not been allowed to speak publicly about the case since March 7. That's when Cannone approved a gag order in the case, applying to all attorneys from both sides. As a result, Read has served as a de facto spokesperson throughout her second trial. Regularly when court ends for the day, Read speaks to reporters while leaving Norfolk Superior Court in Dedham with her legal team. Inside the courtroom, Jackson has had several fiery exchanges with witnesses. In Read's first trial, Jackson had contentious exchanges with Brian Albert, Brian Higgins, Colin Albert, and Jennifer McCabe. Read's defense has argued these are some of the people at the center of an alleged attempt to frame Read for O'Keefe's death. Jackson has also clashed with Judge Beverly Cannone on several occasions since joining the case. During a March 2025 hearing ahead of Read's second trial, Cannone accused Jackson of making "repeated misrepresentations to the court." The judge met with Read and her attorneys privately during the hearing. Cannone decided not to revoke Jackson's credential to practice in Massachusetts, which he is required to have because he is an out-of-state lawyer. After that hearing, WBZ-TV's Kristina Rex asked Read outside court how she felt about her attorneys staying on the case. "Amazing. Amazing," Read said. "There's no other attorneys I'd rather have than my attorneys."
