logo
Before the Sphere, There Was the Wall

Before the Sphere, There Was the Wall

The Atlantic10-07-2025
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.
Orange background

Try Our AI Features

Explore what Daily8 AI can do for you:

Comments

No comments yet...

Related Articles

Grateful Dead Honored By IndyCar's Meyer-Shank Racing At Next 2 Races
Grateful Dead Honored By IndyCar's Meyer-Shank Racing At Next 2 Races

Forbes

time3 hours ago

  • Forbes

Grateful Dead Honored By IndyCar's Meyer-Shank Racing At Next 2 Races

Meyer-Shank Racing Photo In honor of the Grateful Dead's 60th anniversary, IndyCar's Meyer-Shank Racing will have a special livery on Felix Rosenqvist's No. 60 Honda for the next two races on the NTT IndyCar Series schedule. It's part of Meyer Shank Racing's dynamic partnership with SiriusXM and it continues to strike a chord—this time with an iconic, tie-dye twist. For this weekend's NTT IndyCar Series race at WeatherTech Raceway Laguna Seca and the August 10th IndyCar race at Portland International Raceway, the No. 60 SiriusXM Honda driven by Rosenqvist will sport a one-of-a-kind Grateful Dead tribute livery along with SiriusXM's Grateful Dead Channel, honoring the band's 60th anniversary. The custom car design launches just ahead of Dead & Company's highly anticipated sold-out concerts in San Francisco's Golden Gate Park August 1–3, celebrating 60 years of the Grateful Dead's music. Meyer-Shank Racing Photo The Grateful Dead Channel Keeps 'Truckin' The Grateful Dead Channel (channel 23) is one of SiriusXM's longest-running artist-branded channels, and features music spanning the band's career with unreleased concert recordings, original shows hosted by band members, and even rare archival interviews with Jerry Garcia. The No. 60 Honda will debut its Grateful Dead livery at IndyCar's Java House Grand Prix of Monterey on July 27. The car then heads north to San Francisco, where it will be on display at the official Dead & Company merch store at the Bill Graham Civic Auditorium at the Grove Street Entrance on Wednesday, July 30th, from 10 AM to 2 PM, just ahead of the three headline concerts in Golden Gate Park. The Java House Grand Prix of Monterey is set for 12:00pm ET on Sunday July 27th with live TV coverage on FOX and SiriusXM channel 218. Meyer-Shank Racing Photo

San Francisco events mark Grateful Dead's 60th anniversary
San Francisco events mark Grateful Dead's 60th anniversary

Axios

time19 hours ago

  • Axios

San Francisco events mark Grateful Dead's 60th anniversary

Deadheads, your time is here. San Francisco is launching a multi-week series of events to mark the Grateful Dead's 60th anniversary ahead of Dead & Company's three-day concert at Golden Gate Park next month. Why it matters: The homegrown, psychedelic rock band was a pioneer in the counterculture movement and left a lasting imprint on the Bay Area. Driving the news: The legendary Shakedown Street marketplace will set up shop 10:30am-6pm during Dead & Company's concert days (Aug. 1-3) along JFK Promenade between Transverse and Blue Heron Lake drives. Dead & Company's Aug. 3 performance will also be livestreamed in IMAX locations across the city. Here's some of the planned programming: 🖼️ Mickey Hart: Art at the Edge of Magic: Catch the Grateful Dead drummer's incredible artwork, featuring nearly 100 paintings and prints on canvas, metal, drumheads and more at the Haight Street Art Center. July 24 through Sept. 21, with an opening celebration set for 4-9pm July 31. Free for all museum visitors. 🎙️️ Exploring the Grateful Dead at Manny's: Hear from the Grateful Dead's official historian and other leading experts across three conversations examining the band's legacy. 6pm July 29 and July 30. Tickets start at about $9. 🎶 A Grateful Gathering: Indulge in live music, photo booth fun, live art and local vendors at this outdoor happy hour event. 4-9pm July 31 at Yerba Buena Lane. Free. 🎥 Len Dell'Amico on Jerry Garcia and the Grateful Dead: Hear firsthand accounts of the band from the man who directed their concert films and music videos. 6pm July 31 at the Main Library. 🎉 Jerry Garcia Sign: The city will formally unveil the new Jerry Garcia street sign on Harrington Street, where the late band co-founder grew up. 11am Aug. 1 on Harrington Street between Alemany Boulevard and Mission Street. 🎸 Jerry Day at the Jerry Garcia Amphitheater: The annual music festival will feature a litany of live performances to celebrate Garcia's 83rd birthday. There will also be a pub crawl to support his childhood neighborhood afterwards. 11:30am Aug. 2 at McLaren Park. Free. ⚾️ San Francisco Giants celebrate the Grateful Dead: Join the team for a special evening of music, merch and vibes. 6:45pm Aug. 12 at Oracle Park. Tickets start at about $50.

Will Mobile Arcade Games and Short Games Replace Full-Fledged Story-Driven Projects?
Will Mobile Arcade Games and Short Games Replace Full-Fledged Story-Driven Projects?

Geek Vibes Nation

timea day ago

  • Geek Vibes Nation

Will Mobile Arcade Games and Short Games Replace Full-Fledged Story-Driven Projects?

Today, the world of video games is in an interesting position. On one side of the scale are complex, well-developed projects that stand out not only for their deep storylines but also for their high-budget graphics. They offer a virtually cinematic experience. On the other side of the scale are mobile games with short sessions that can be played on the go (sometimes literally). Increasingly, both players and developers are wondering whether blockbusters will replace all other games. The contrast between mass and high is obvious, but the reality is more complex. No one disputes that the pinnacle of auteur game design is games with a storyline — projects such as The Last of Us Part II, Red Dead Redemption 2, and Cyberpunk 2077. They demonstrate that entertainment is not everything; video games are truly capable of telling complex stories. The emotional response to such games is comparable to that of literature or cinema. Each of these games has a budget of hundreds of millions of dollars and takes between three and six years to develop. And yet, players spend more than half of their gaming time on mobile projects. These are not ports of their favorite complex games, but rather the simplest arcade games and simulators, designed for short gaming sessions. Cut scenes, acting, and plot are often absent in such games. However, such games are attractive due to their understandable mechanics and lack of a barrier to entry. Story-driven projects rarely make it to the top of the App Store and Google Play, but you can find products such as Subway Surfers, Candy Crush, Roblox, and Stumble Guys there. They offer quick rewards and can be played repeatedly. Even big-name publishers are ready to adapt their projects to the casual gaming format. For example, the Assassin's Creed series has a mobile version. Call of Duty also features a mobile spin-off, which has been available for a long time and boasts millions of active players. Despite high levels of criticism, Diablo Immortal brought its creators half a billion dollars in its first few months after release. Thus, even the 'heavyweights' have recognized the power of short-term interaction. Increasingly, more people are entering the mobile environment to capture their players there. A similar trend can be observed in the iGaming industry. Many operators who previously worked primarily for PCs have begun to adapt their projects to mobile requirements. A striking example is the popular Lucky Jet money game, which was released on mobile platforms in a short period and was developed using HTML5 and JavaScript technologies. When entering the mobile market, demographics must be considered. Statista data shows that in the United States, the average age of an active gamer is 33, with more than 40% of players being women. This is an audience that cannot always find the time to spend 60 hours on an epic game with complex dialogues and moral choices. However, these players do have 15 minutes to play a short game with intuitive rules. Such games are also an excellent way for them to relax before bed. Does this mean that story-driven games are doomed? Not. On the contrary, they have a bright future, as evidenced by the development of platforms such as PlayStation 5 and Xbox Series X, as well as the growing share of PCs. Projects such as Baldur's Gate 3 and Elden Ring demonstrate that a significant audience is willing to invest dozens of hours in exploring the world and its characters. Such projects become the subject of cultural discussions and are adapted for the screen. The situation is paradoxical: simple games dominate in terms of reach, while large projects shape the cultural agenda. A parallel can be drawn with cinema, where millions of people watch blockbusters, but the status and reputation of the industry are shaped by Oscar-winning dramas. Is it worth talking about substitution? Most likely not. This is not about competition, but about specialization and coexistence. The market is large enough to accommodate both the mass market and the high-end market. Recent practice shows that these two worlds do not necessarily have to compete with each other — on the contrary, they learn from each other. Complex story-driven games are becoming more accessible, and simple projects are gaining not only a level system but also a narrative.

DOWNLOAD THE APP

Get Started Now: Download the App

Ready to dive into a world of global content with local flavor? Download Daily8 app today from your preferred app store and start exploring.
app-storeplay-store