A Forgotten Hero of the American Counterculture: Agents of Chaos by Sean Howe

 Agents of Chaos: Thomas King Forcade, High Times, and the Paranoid End of the 1970s 

by Sean Howe

Agents of Chaos book cover

Just looking at the title and cover page, I knew this was a book for me. Sean Howe’s Agents of Chaos tells the story of Thomas King Forçade, who not only founded High Times magazine, but was also a proponent of Gonzo Journalism and happenings of the late 1960s and early 1970s. The entire story is incredible and hard to believe. Nevertheless, Howe’s detailed reporting and descriptive narration allows readers to experience the various activist events and uprisings that occurred with the Yippy movement. While reading this, I was amazed that I had not known about Forçade previously, despite knowing more about some of those with whom he worked. I can kind of understand why he may have been forgotten over time—he seemed to like to provoke people to see what their reaction was; however, through his provocations, he also worked to push the boundaries and limitations about social norms, especially regarding drugs, in the 1960s and 1970s. It was amazing to see some of the events he participated in, whether trying to organize events like those of the Merry Pranksters, or working to organize failed music festivals that have been forgotten. Howe’s research and reconstruction of the events kept me picking up the book at all times, wanting to find out what kind of situation Forçade would find himself in again. There are some really entertaining situations and events, and many of them were unbelievable. Yet, people seem to have fond memories of him. Although the last section of the book, about how High Times started is probably the strongest and most entertaining part of the book, the lead up to this section also has some really crazy events mostly detailing Forçade’s work with the Yippies and his eventual falling out with them. A really entertaining and elucidating read about someone who may have been forgotten, but a highly important contributor to various movements, especially around alternative journalism in the 1960s and 1970s, and someone whose contributions to media transparency and presenting differing viewpoints are really appreciated today.

Powerful, Poetic Memoir of Growing Up in Jamaica: How to Say Babylon by Safiya Sinclair

How to Say Babylon: A Memoir by Safiya Sinclair 

How to Say Babylon book cover

Author Safiya Sinclair

I read Sinclair’s How to Say Babylon almost right after visiting Montego Bay in Jamaica, and reading this powerful memoir afterwards helped me understand a part of Jamaican culture that is sometimes misunderstood—the life of a Rastafarian. While Rastafarianism is often presented as a patriarchal religion, Sinclair’s memoir presents her perspective as a young woman growing up under her father’s ever-changing rules for his family. Although difficult to read at times, Sinclair’s story is powerful and poignant, not only from her experiences growing up Rasta and the kind of discrimination she faced in school but also as a daughter at home, but her story also explores the search for and development of her own voice as a poet. I found this section, especially when she works with a mentor and the almost equally oppressive approach he had on her attempts to find an authentic voice, compelling. Sinclair’s evocative descriptions of the natural beauty of Jamaica are contrasted with the emotional reflections of the oppression and discrimination she faced as a young, Rasta woman in Jamaica. It was surprising to see how tightly controlled her father kept her family, and how he viewed women. Sinclair’s narration of some events from her childhood capture the kind of innocence and naivety that is a part of childhood. Simple pleasures like playing on a beach reserved primarily for tourists also help to show the racial and class discrimination present in Jamaica, which is further exacerbated by access to necessities like school and education. These moments in school, where Sinclair has to navigate new friends and social groups, are also compelling to read and help to highlight the kinds of challenges that Sinclair would face due to her hair and the assumptions that others, including teachers and peers, would make about her. I really enjoyed this memoir and was really inspired by the strength that Sinclair drew from her family, particularly her sisters and mother. Despite the flaws of her father, he is also presented in a humane manner, where I can appreciate his desire to be an artist and yet his concern about the wickedness of Babylon. Yet, I was also disturbed by his distrust of his daughters and the increasing control over them that he exercised. Nevertheless, Sinclair’s mother is the one to whom she turns to when she experiences hardship and trouble, and who encourages her pursuit of writing. Full of both joy and sadness, Sinclair’s How to Say Babylon is a beautifully written and poetic memoir about growing up, trying to navigate different worlds, and eventually finding one’s own voice through these struggles.

Humanizing the War on Drugs: Donovan X Ramsey's When Crack Was King

 When Crack was King: A People's History of a Misunderstood Era by Donovan X. Ramsey

When Crack was King book cover

Author and Journalist Donovan X. Ramey

Donovan Ramsey's excellent book "When Crack Was King" seeks to humanize and reframe the crack epidemic of the 80's and 90's during the current opioid epidemic and does so with a well researched history of crack and its spread of terror and addiction interspersed with personal stories from those most affected by it. This is a book that is much needed to reframe the narrative and present the crack epidemic as a public health issue rather than a criminal problem or as a part of the failed war on drugs. Ramsey's research is excellent, covering the history of cocaine and how it evolved into the less expensive form of crack. Like other books that examine the systemic issues in the justice system (Michelle Alexander's The New Jim Crow, Balko's The Rise of the Warrior Cop), Ramsey examines how news and media misrepresented the drug and allowed it to be reframed as a crime issue. This ultimately led to unjust laws as politicians sought to capitalize on the fear mongering from the war on drugs. It was interesting to read about Kurt Schmoke, who I didn't know about previously. As the first African American mayor of Baltimore, Schmoke was on the front line of dealing with both a heroin and crack epidemic in Baltimore. One of the reasons I may not have heard as much about him was that he proposed some radical ideas about viewing the crack epidemic as a public health issue rather than a criminal or legal issue. This completely sensical but unpopular view failed to gain the kind of traction it needed and allowed crack to continue to gain steam as well as leading to overpopulation and representation in the prison system. Ramsey's research and spotlight on Schmoke allows us to hear some of the voices of reason during the failed war on drugs and consider how these voices were largely drowned out by other politicians seeking to frame inner cities as war zones.

While Ramsey's research is insightful, the strength of this book lies in the interviews of those most affected by the crack epidemic-- the recovered addicts, the dealers, and the children of addicts. Their stories and strength were testament to the fact that drugs are not a death sentence, but with community and support, people can and do overcome the serious health problems related to addiction. Furthermore, these stories helped to humanize a period in American history that the media and politicians have largely tried to paint as more of an illicit or criminal epoch. Ramsey's writing ties the historical and factual data with the stories of those who took, sold or were affected by crack. This is a highly recommended and much needed account to challenge many of the prevailing narratives of crack and reframe it as a public health issue in the way we tend to think about opioid addiction.

Documenting the Life and Films of Jonathan Demme in David M. Stewart's There's No Going Back

 There's No Going Back: The Life and Work of Jonathan Demme by David M. Stewart

There's No Going Back book cover

Author and film scholar David M. Stewart

Major thanks to the University of Kentucky Press and NetGalley for sharing an advanced copy of David M. Stewart’s There’s No Going Back: The Life and Work of Jonathan Demme. The book is filled with stories not just about the films that Demme created, but also about the people who inhabited these films and the social context that mirrors the complexities and conflicts in these films. I found one story towards the end of the book particularly resonant with the ethos and consideration of Demme’s films. While Demme was excited to be back directing after the buzz of his 2008 film Rachel Getting Married, some people were concerned that the film featured an interracial wedding, even in 2008 as America had just elected its first Black president. However, Stewart shares Demme’s rebuttal to these concerns, and I found this quote to be particularly important today as well as we face a a troubling new reality that seems to see diversity and difference as a threat rather than an asset. “The truth is, this kind of group of people that are present at the wedding, that is the America that I feel very deeply connected with. That’s the America that I know, it’s the America that I love.” This quote is not just in reference to Demme’s 2008 critically praised film, but it’s also reflective of his filmography, and reading Stewart’s book demonstrates Demme’s commitment to diversity, but also his willingness to challenge trends in popular filmmaking, seeking out to present more authentic stories and elevate the voices of individuals who comprise America but may not always be heard among the din. 

I was very excited to find this book available on NetGalley, not only because Demme’s films from the 90s were a major part of my growing awareness of films, but also because I Jonathan Demme visited my class when I was teaching a high school film class. I developed a film class that examined social issues and encouraged students to analyze the language of film and explore how directors conveyed meaning through film elements like lighting, camera angles, and music, among other details (BTW- John Golden’s Reading in the Dark is an incredible reference for developing this kind of course). Our school was in Center City, and was about a block away from where Joe Miller’s office exteriors were shot—everyone in class recognized the Snow White Diner. It was exciting to watch the intro scenes with my class to examine what was familiar, but also what had changed in Philly since the film was made. However, most of my students were struck by Demme’s powerful use of camera angles and lighting to evoke emotional responses. They had so many questions about the lighting and camera movement with Andy’s scene describing Maria Callas’s song “La Mamma Morta”. Fortuitously, my cousin worked with Jonathan Demme on a film and grew close to him. I was able to obtain contact information and sent him the students’ letters. I was shocked to receive an email a few months later from Demme’s assistant that Demme was being honored in Philadelphia and wanted to stop by to meet the students who wrote him. Apparently, he enjoyed reading the letters and wanted to reply to them. It was one of the most amazing teaching experiences in my life, not only because he’s an amazing, award-winning director who took time out to talk to my class about film and social issues like the AIDS epidemic and discrimination, but for many of my students, it made them realize that I’m not their only audience—that other people are willing to listen to them and validate or respond to their ideas. It was an incredibly powerful moment, whether Demme realized it or not. This was also the message throughout Stewart’s book, that in addition to being an incredibly talented and innovative director with a keen eye and ear for conveying emotions and meaning, Jonathan Demme was a deeply caring and empathetic person who recognized the challenges that many people and groups face in society and he used film as a means to confront many of the disparities that he recognized. He used film not only as art, but also as a kind of rhetorical device or a tool to challenge inequality, racism, sexism, homophobia, and other forms of discrimination. Yet, he managed to do this is a deeply humanistic and dignified manner, never trivializing or sensationalizing the subject. Stewart’s book examines this deeply humanistic side of Demme’s life and work, exploring the challenges he faced in bringing this ethos and approach to filmmaking, shifting the representation and stories we would come to see in more mainstream movies.

One of the best aspects of Stewart’s biography is examining how social issues and causes, culture and art were always intertwined with Demme’s films. I appreciated this because I didn’t know the background of the film Swing Shift and how much pressure the studio exerted to recut the film to something more commercial, rather than a feminist film that focused on the power of female friendships. In fact, it was interesting to see how much feminism remained focus of many of Demme’s films, even those early American International Pictures films for Corman. While Silence of the Lambs may be his most famous film, other films like Married to the Mob, Something Wild, and even Beloved feature strong female protagonists who often have to face difficult situations and challenges. This kind of representation was not only a part of Demme’s oeuvre, but also a challenge to the male dominated action heroes that topped box offices in the 80s and 90s. In addition to incorporating feminism in his films, Demme also included a wide variety of music into his films and made several critically acclaimed documentaries about musicians. Like in Philadelphia, I feel like music plays such an important part in all his films, and he uses music like an artist uses brushstrokes or another tool to accentuate the emotional appeal of their work. I didn’t realize that Demme made like 3 documentaries with Neil Young and worked with David Byrne and Robin Hitchcock on several film projects as well. Stewart’s biography establishes the fact that Demme frequently pursued topics and themes of his interest and then used film to highlight the art he wanted to champion or show how this art elevated and conveyed emotions. 

Beyond the chronological details, Stewart also presents the production details exploring how Demme’s film projects came together and eventually released. I enjoyed learning more about this aspect of film production and how he worked with others to determine the filming, and especially how Demme managed to elicit such amazing performances from his actors. In addition, these chapters also feature some critical explanations of the camera techniques and lighting used. I really enjoyed reading these critical details, since Demme uses so many unique and emotional camera angles and lighting techniques. I wasn’t aware that at times, he was referencing other filmmakers, including Hitchcock. I also didn’t realize that Demme often included pictures of friends and family in his films as well. While all directs need to be detail oriented, it was interesting to learn more about how he managed these details and how they reflected his interests, passions, and respect for others. 

There were other surprising details in this book as well, though not really about Demme’s life. Rather, I didn’t realize that Demme was involved with several television productions that never really took off. I was surprised to learn about Subway Stories, since the concept sounds fascinating. I wondered if that series would have fared differently now, when people have a greater interest in “reality” television, and the line between entertainment and personal confessional videos are sometimes blurred. However, the biggest surprise for me was learning that Philadelphia was screened in the White House for Bill Clinton. I can see why since Philadelphia was one of the first films from a major studio to feature a gay couple and a man dying of AIDS. This was especially relevant since the Reagan administration largely ignored the AIDS epidemic, failing to pursue research, medicinal interventions, or any kind of support for the people who were sick and dying of this disease. Although Clinton was there for the screening, apparently he walked out during the dance scene. I don’t really remember how I reacted when I first saw this but given that this was screened at a time when the policy was “Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell”, it’s not surprising. I was also surprised to learn about the backlash that Philadelphia spawned from gay and AIDS rights activists. Despite their concerns, it’s important to recognize the film as an important marker of representation.

Demme’s later film output slowed down, partially because of his challenges with the studios. I haven’t seen as many of his later films, but I remember finding The Manchurian Candidate interesting and well-acted. I was blown away by Rachel Getting Married, especially with his use of music in this film. There were so many different styles of music, and I forgot that the father, played by Bill Irwin, was in the music business, so there were all these musicians around. However, the film felt much more like a play, a kind of tragedy where the characters all come to some kind of sad awareness about what has been plaguing them, and music is one of the ways that the characters communicate—it was almost like a chorus in Greek tragedy, but more entertaining. I also didn’t know that Demme was working on a Bob Marley documentary that Kevin McDonald eventually made. I also learned about his work on a film called A Master Builder, where Demme filmed a play that functioned as a kind of haunted house movie with an Ibsen play as the basis. It sounds like a fascinating film from one of America’s unique cinematic voices.

This was an amazing read. The chapters are easy to read and present Demme’s life and filmography chronologically, but also include critical elements of his films, demonstrating not only his artistry, but also his ability to craft compelling films that present social issues and topics to a broad range of Americans. While not all his films were box office hits, Demme was able to achieve the rare feat of attaining both critical and commercial success with several films. What is even more amazing is that he was able to incorporate his passions and interests into his films, often portraying characters and situations that were not exactly common at the time. Jonathan Demme is one of the most important directors to emerge from the 70s and directed meaningful and important films up until the 2010s. Furthermore, his filmography not only includes narrative films, but expands across a range of genres and features critically acclaimed documentaries, almost changing the ways that concert documentaries were made. I found it interesting that one of the last concert documentaries Demme made was with Justin Timberlake, yet he mentioned that it was modeled on Stop Making Sense, which was made nearly 40 years before. However, that film remains such an important touchstone for music documentaries. It was also hard to think of another director or artist who has worked with subjects as varied as Neil Young and David Byrne to Jimmy Carter and Justin Timberlake. Stewart’s book is a revealing look into the life and work of one of the most important directors of the last 50 years. I highly recommend this book, especially if you are a fan of films.

Cultural Critique of Cult Classic: They Live: Cultographies by D. Harlan Wilson

 They Live (Cultographies) by D. Harlan Wilson

Author and scholar D. Harlan Wilson

They Live (Cultographies) cover

They Live movie poster

A view of LA from the Hoffman Lenses

I really enjoy these Cultographies books since they focus on cult movies and provide useful insights and analysis on some films that are often underevaluated or underappreciated. They Live, although it has gained cult status, is probably one of those more underappreciated films. Yet, with the continued escalation of conservative values and the push for conformity online, it is only fitting that They Live has a new analysis since its messages and iconic symbolism can be applied to today’s context to better understand forces in power and the means with which they communicate using media, advertising, and imagery. However, Wilson’s book goes beyond analysis and presents a historical context as well as important background information for understanding Carpenter’s film made in the late 80s, but developed from a story from the 1960s and a comic adaptation of that story from the 1980s. I knew about the story, but didn’t know about the comic, which included the main character of Nada, an everyman who is seemingly nothing in this new society dominated by conservative young professional values of working, consuming, and reproducing. In addition, Wilson provides his own personal connection to both Carpenter’s films as well as the excess of the 80s and how professional wrestling and masculinity factored into the development of They Live. I was also a big WWF fan in the 80s and remember how Roddy Roddy Piper stood out among the various villains and heroes. And while Piper’s acting is not great, it is surprising that based on his wrestling antics and skits, he wasn’t considered for many other leading roles in films. The book then examines different elements of both the film’s plot and its style, helping to frame both the cult legacy of They Live along with its messages and criticisms of Reaganism and the greater push for conservative values in American culture. I found this interesting, especially since Wilson explains that this was probably Carpenter’s last good film (some might say In the Mouth of Madness from the mid 1990s), and part of this might be that once Reagan left office, tastes for horror and sci-fi changed. There were fewer allegorical or critical horror and sci-fi films that were lower budget, and it probably wasn’t until the Matrix, which really wasn’t political, that a sci-fi film had that kind of allegorical or symbolic approach. I can also think of Fight Club as being critical of society, but I wouldn’t call that a cult film like They Live, and it is definitely not a sci-fi film, even though it tends to critique some of the concepts about masculinity, capitalism and consumerism. Regardless, I think Wilson’s analysis made me wonder whether the studio system and the changing dynamic of audience tastes may have prevented Carpenter from making the kinds of films he wanted. It’s not that his films went out of style—they seem even more relevant and popular today than they were when released; however, it seems like the studio system, part of the messaging and consumerist system that Carpenter critiques in They Live, was unwilling to pursue some of these allegorical approaches to films. That’s why I appreciated this analysis and contextualization of They Live. It challenged my thinking about films from the 80s, but also helped me reinterpret elements of They Live that are still relevant today. Furthermore, as Wilson notes from the various reviews and criticisms of the film from its release, They Live was really not well received, with only a few critics recognizing its cult status and B-Film references to 1950s alien films that similarly criticized McCarthyism and the red scare. I also greatly appreciated that this book went beyond a critical recap of the action of the film and looked at several elements surrounding its production, legacy and symbolism. Although he references Lethem’s critical recap, Wilson’s analysis is deeper and more nuanced, although maybe not as humorous as Lethem’s. I’m glad I read this book since They Live is a fun, yet also critically important film, and this book adds to the critical discussion, helping me think differently about the film and its legacy. 

Searching for the Sound: Loud and Clear: The Grateful Dead's Wall of Sound and the Quest for Audio Perfection by Brian Anderson

 Loud and Clear: The Grateful Dead's Wall of Sound and the Quest for Audio Perfection 

by Brian Anderson

                                                          Loud and Clear book cover

Author and journalist Brian Anderson

The Dead performing in front of The Wall

A schematic of the Wall's setup for a 1974 show

Owsley, who features prominently in the book, setting up connections

Many thanks to St. Martin’s Press and NetGalley for sending me an advanced copy of Brian Anderson’s insightful and comprehensive new book Loud and Clear: The Grateful Dead’s Wall of Sound and the Quest for Audio Perfection. I was checking out this book, but I wasn’t sure if this book was too much Grateful Dead for me. I didn’t really get into the Grateful Dead until about 10 years ago when a block of Dead Songs came on my local rock radio as I was scanning the dial. “Box of Rain” started playing, and I stopped to listen during a particularly difficult stretch of life. The song, and the one that followed, “Sugar Magnolia”, instantly lifted me up. I was usually dismissive of the Dead, never really appreciating the long, high-noted solos and extended jams. However, these bright, buoyant melodies struck a chord with me and lifted my spirits. I wouldn’t call myself a Deadhead, but I did start to explore their music and history a lot more, eventually reading Phil Lesh’s memoir Searching for the Sound: My Life with the Grateful Dead. It gave me more insight into the group, its music, and the constant exploration of sonic possibilities. Phil’s memoir made me not only realize how important the Dead are to American music, but how much they pushed the boundaries of what was possible in music, artistically, technically, and technologically, at the time. Brian Anderson’s comprehensive and detailed research and analysis fits nicely into this view of the Dead as technological innovators who were also looking to provide their audience with the kind of immersive sensory experience that was a part of the Acid Tests the Dead provided the soundtrack for in the burgeoning psychedelic scene that would eventually lead to the Summer of Love and Woodstock. Loud and Clear also goes beyond the musicians who comprised the Dead and examines the roles that engineers and the road crew played in helping to evolve the sound system that would eventually become known as “The Wall”, a mammoth system of speakers, scaffolding, amplifiers, pre-amps, and other electronics that required an 18-wheeler and large crew to transport, assemble and break down for each show. As someone who didn’t know a lot about the tangential Dead contributors, that is, those who operated more behind the scenes, I found this to be a fascinating look at how the band worked with others and leveraged their collective consciousness to forge ahead in the emerging sonic landscape and advance audio engineering to new heights.

Loud and Clear takes a chronological approach to detailing and analyzing the evolution of the Dead’s live sound, charting the band’s development from a bluegrass/folk outfit to an eventual electrified and amplified rock band. Framing this history is Anderson’s own personal connection with the Dead, and in particular the Wall of Sound, the Dead’s sound system. I liked this framing technique since it seems like everyone has their own personal connection to the Dead. For Anderson, part of that connection is from his parents, who were both involved in concert productions in the early 70s in the Midwest. Their mutual interest in the Dead enabled a young Anderson to catch some Dead shows before Garcia’s death in 1995. In addition, he opens and ends his book detailing a recent splurge on an auction item—a cabinet from the Wall that housed the speakers and monitors. It’s amazing to think that there are still pieces of this one-of-a-kind sound system available for purchase. Through Loud and Clear and its framing technique, Anderson sets out to explore how this cabinet, “with a patina of scuffs, dings, worn edges, adhesive residue, and frayed wiring”, was eventually developed, implemented to produce innovative live sound, and eventually discarded. Loud and Clear presents not just the history of an object, but rather the evolution of live sound and how the Dead and their engineers, roadies and audience helped to refine that live sound over time, creating one of the most unique live musical experiences in American popular music.

Although Anderson explores the development of the Dead’s music and sound system in a chronological order, he doesn’t excessively recast the history of the Grateful Dead, which has been documented in many other books as well as the memoirs of members Lesh and Kreutzmann. Rather, his exploration and analysis are primarily focused on the Dead’s sound, narrowing the lens on the sound system and the live concerts; however, there is some focus of the recordings the Dead produced early in their career since the band couldn’t quite capture the spontaneity and improvisational nature of their collective live work in the studio until they attempted to engineer their 3^rd album, Aoxomoxoa. I noticed that Anderson used Lesh’s memoirs (and I’m assuming Kreutzmann’s as well) to document how the Dead developed their sound, both in studio and live in concert. However, Anderson doesn’t just rely on these memoirs, but rather supplements these with other accounts from interviews, concert reviews, and other Dead related resources available. I mention Aoxomoxoa since the Dead not only had more of a hand in recording and producing the album, but also took some inventive approaches to recording the album, including splicing live recordings with in-studio recordings, a process that has become rather standard in recording. I wondered if the Dead considered any of the work that Frank Zappa was doing with the Mothers, since Freak Out, which was produced almost 3 years prior, is one of those kinds of experimental recordings that contain spliced pieces and other forms of tape experimentation. Anderson documents some of the beef that the Dead and Zappa had, apparently performing in NYC in the late 60s, where they had to stagger their performances due to noise complaints. Regardless, Anderson’s research and reporting on the earlier stages of the Dead’s career helps to identify their experimental nature, as well as their desire to create not only a unique sound in rock music, but also to include the highest quality recording sound possible for their fans. While mixing that sound from studio recordings can be done post-production, attempting a clear, live mix where sounds from different instruments are separated into different channels was not yet possible or something that some sound engineers or bands were thinking about. Rather, concerts, especially rock concerts, seemed to focus more on volume, not the quality or distinction of the sounds.

The issue with focusing on volume is that it can often lead to feedback and distortion, and one of the Dead’s entourage, Augustus Owsley Stanley III, also known as Bear, became obsessively interested in engineering the perfect, most distinct live audio sound during Dead concerts in addition to manufacturing much of the LSD that fueled these concerts and the improvisational collective jamming that the band was known for. Anderson’s book isn’t a biography of Owsley, but he does provide some relevant information, and there is a good amount of focus on Owsley and his crew as they worked to develop The Wall. I really appreciated this focus since I didn’t know much about Owsley, who I found to be a really interesting and influential character in shaping the Dead’s sound. Anderson reveals Owsley’s characteristics and personality from different sources and interviews with those who knew him, developing a man who was seemingly obsessed with crystalizing the sound and who developed a unique relationship with the equipment he used to build and refine the wall of sound. Interestingly, Anderson, through interviews with Dead crew and family members who knew Owsley, posits the idea that Owsley, who was partially deaf in one ear, may have been on the spectrum. This feature of Owsley’s perception may have enhanced his sensitivities to auditory stimuli, making his ability to shape the live sound of the Dead more acute and distinct. It’s an interesting theory, and from Owsley’s behaviors and interest with the technical minutia of audio engineering, it seems like a possibility. I was just amazed at how Owsley with no real training in audio engineering (or chemistry for that matter) was able to envision and implement such a massive system.

In addition to Owsley, we meet other important members of the Grateful Dead crew and family who helped develop and enhance the system. The book focuses on Courtney Pollack, who ended up producing a lot of tie dyed materials that covered the initial sound system of the late 60s/early 70s, as well as members of Alembic, the company that eventually developed from the Dead’s community and provided many of the speakers and custom made instruments for the Dead. This was another part of the book that I found fascinating to learn more about. Lesh mentions some of these members, and the Good Ol’ Grateful Dead Podcast has episodes devoted to some of these community members, but Anderson’s book helps to further contextualize how they came abroad the Grateful Dead train and how they contributed to the sound. The chapters that lead up to the Wall of Sound’s development, from roughly ’68-’73, are incredibly detailed, focusing not just on the build-up and testing of these sound systems, but also the logistical requirements that a system of this size and magnitude required. Anderson hypothesizes that this might be part of the reason why the Dead did not fare well on famous concerts like Woodstock and The Monterrey Pop Festival. A section is also dedicated to the notorious Altamont Festival, which the Dead did not play. These chapters, as well as the last part of the book that details the implementation of the Wall in 1974, and the eventual hiatus of the band in 1975 that led to the Wall’s demise and disassembly are also a fascinating look at a fruitful period of live and recorded output from the Dead. If you trace the studio recordings from this period, the Dead scaled back their sound, focusing more on acoustic music and instruments, with classic albums like Workingman’s Dead and American Beauty. Although still a rock band, their sound moved away from the loud psychedelia, and progressed towards rootsy, Americana music, that often included traditional and bluesier music that had been at the heart of the band since their inception. I also wondered if this progression and the refining of their live sound might have also been a result of Pigpen’s lessening role in the band as he wasted away from alcoholism. Pigpen’s organ and blues shouting was eventually replaced by Keith Godchaux’s acoustic piano, and the more harmonious singing of Garcia and Weir. As a result, it seemed like the sound for live shows needed to focus on reproducing quality separation, and not increasing the volume. Regardless, Anderson’s book recaps so many shows from this period, and details what worked and the challenges the band faced as they implemented this revolutionary process of live sound management. I found it interesting to learn that the Dead were the first band to incorporate delay towers and line arrays, parts of sound production that we probably take for granted, that help large crowds enjoy music and sound distribution on a large scale. While I don’t attend many large concerts, it is amazing to think that the Dead and Owsley in particular were theorizing on audio principles and sound engineering to implement this new approach to concerts. It was also interesting to learn that the band also took sound measurements during sound checks to see how the sound traveled in different venues and adjust the sound levels. Anderson careful details the developments of this system, as well as all of the processes that were involved in measuring, calibrating, and refining the system for one of the most technologically advanced concert experiences of the 1960s/70s and beyond.

Anderson has written a fascinating and detailed book that explores an important, yet underreported facet of the Dead’s iconic history. This book is incredibly researched and reported. I found it informative and exciting to see how the band collaborated with their greater community, including fans and tapers, to further enhance their sound for live audiences. Unfortunately, relying on such a large crew to engineer, transport, and set up and break down such a complex system seemed to eventually bring about its downfall. Anderson also uses accounting ledgers from the Dead to detail their profits and costs for their shows. Such a massive system that towered over 30 feet and stretched over 100 feet across required intense labor to set up, and with constant variation in sound, often resulted in blown speakers, which constantly needed replacement. Anderson provides both original costs and adjusted costs for inflation to better understand the amount of money the Dead were spending on a monthly basis to perform live. The costs and logistics (as well as the massive amounts of cocaine and heroin that had infiltrated the band’s community) eventually led to the hiatus and lay-offs of the crew, as the band could no longer sustain taking them on tour. This also led the band to disassemble the Wall of Sound, which Anderson reports on its eventual demise. Some speakers were distributed to others, some put into storage, but he also notes that others have reported that much of the equipment was either trashed in a dump or set on fire, which is both sad and seemingly incongruous to a band that seemed to promote reuse and community support. Regardless, Anderson’s reporting and research helps to shape out not only what happened to the Dead’s massive experiment in audio engineering, but also how this experience shaped their later attempts at concerts, as well as how the Wall contributed to other bands’ concert sounds, noting possible influences on Pink Floyd and Brian Eno. I really enjoyed this book and found it fascinating to read and learn more about this aspect of the Dead’s sound. Anderson was scrupulous in his research and reporting, and this creates a dynamic and well-formed portrait of the Dead’s sound. There are a few elements of the book that I felt would have enhanced this book further. For one, the book has some technical elements to it, and while Anderson does a good job explaining some of the technical audio elements of the book, I felt like these descriptions along with descriptions of the Wall and its earlier incarnations might have benefited from some kind of schematic or visual representation. Similarly, some of the audio concepts about sound distribution, line arrays, or delay towers might have been supplemented with renderings or images to help other readers better understand what these elements of a sound system are and how they function. Additionally, I was surprised that there weren’t any images of the Wall, the Dead, or other artifacts from this era included. For one of the most well-documented bands in American popular music, it was a little surprising that there were no images included. However, that may have also been due to accessing use rights. Furthermore, there are a lot of individuals involved in the development of the Dead’s sound, so maybe providing a character list of these individuals would help keep them straight. As someone who has some familiarity with the Dead’s larger community, I had heard of some of these contributors, but again, a list might help other readers understand who these individuals were and what they contributed to the sound. Nevertheless, this is a great book, and a definite read for those interested in music and sound engineering. Even someone who is not a fan of the Dead would enjoy reading about how the band experimented with various sound systems to arrive at such a massive and clear sound system, only to eventually disassemble it after a few years of touring. The brief, wonderous and monstrous construction of this sound system reminded me of both a sand mandala and the kinds of Mayan pyramids in the jungle that were eventually abandoned after some use. While sand mandala’s have a shorter life span than the pyramids, the take time and careful consideration, with their destruction upon creation. The Wall seemed to last a brief time, recognizing that the system could no longer be sustained, yet eventually leading more venues to adopt some of the technology and approaches to sound engineering the system implemented. Similarly, the scope and size of the Mayan pyramids like Chichen Itza where engineering marvels of a grand scale, yet abandoned when the environment was no longer feasible to sustain it. It seemed like the Dead’s own monolithic construction was a marvel, but was unsustainable, and eventually abandoned. Yet artifacts and elements still remain, and fans and documentarians like Anderson are able to obtain a part of sound history to better study and recreate this important achievement in audio engineering. A really great read! 

 Sick Houses: Haunted Homes & the Architecture of Dread by Leila Taylor

Sick Houses book cover

Author Leila Taylor

Major thanks to Repeater Books and NetGalley for providing me with an advanced copy of Leila Tayor’s new book Sick Houses: Haunted Homes & the Architecture of Dread. I previously read and loved Taylor’s other book Darkly: Black History and America’s Gothic Soul. I was so glad to find this book, especially looking at the well designed cover and captivating title. As Taylor states in her introduction, she’s “drawn to houses that feel wrong for whatever reason.” While this book examines some of the more popular haunted house stories and films, it also examines some interesting and sick houses that have captivated Taylor for various reasons. Furthermore, Taylor also examines how these kinds of haunted house stories make us feel, likening the feeling of a kind of invasion or unwelcoming to other stories like possession and exorcism stories, where our most sacred and personal spaces are often invaded or overtaken by some unwelcome guests. The book is broken up into different types of houses where Taylor goes on to examine representations of these kinds of haunted houses in history, folklore and legends, books, films and television shows. I read some reviews that were disappointed that Taylor’s book examined popular representations of these kinds of houses, but for those criticisms, I think they missed the point and many of her observations of real houses and some of the true stories behind popular representations of haunted houses (like the Psycho house and how it compares with the house of Ed Gein, whose story influenced the book Psycho, and the Hardesty House from The Texas Chainsaw Massacre, which was influenced by Psycho). Furthermore, much of Taylor’s analysis is rooted in history and social movements that influence the styles of homes and the social push for home ownership in mostly American culture. In particular, Taylor closely analyzes class distinctions in housing, and how homes and their designs as well as their interiors are often representations of class. I found her analysis and careful observations of these differences and themes in haunted house stories, myths and representations to be both distinctive and well-researched, leading to a fascinating read that challenged my thinking about the space of a home, as well as the physical features and the meaning of a home (as opposed to a house). 

The first chapter, “American Houses”, explores the idea of home ownership as part of the American Dream, and examines some horror stories and films in which that dream is destroyed by a haunted house. It’s interesting to see how popular this idea is in films especially from the 70s and 80s, and how this coincided with increased home ownership in suburban areas. As Taylor notes, many of these families are white, middle class families that are often moving due to new situations like jobs or the need for more space. Starting with The Amityville Horror, where the family was the first to own a home in generations, their desire to own property and a part of the American dream also comes at a price when they buy a home discounted due to the gruesome murders that occurred there. Other films like Poltergeist also posit the idea that the ground upon which the home is built is cursed due to moving bodies. These two films in particular are some of my earliest horror memories, since I feel like they were always on TV when I was younger. Poltergeist was always such a fascinating and scary movie since the family seemed a lot like mine, yet the experiences in the home were so graphic and terrifying. I always was scared that I might go to the sink and start peeling my face. Taylor also notes that not all families experience positive changes, finding a few films in which the families are experiencing a kind of downward mobility, like The Conjuring and Sinister, two movies I’ve been a little afraid of watching since I’ve become a home owner. I also appreciated her inclusion of Us, a film I absolutely loved that challenged my ideas about accessibility and difference for people in America. Taylor identifies Us as one of the few films about a Black family of home owners (and a vacation home) that experience this kind of invasion, although it is from their underground or shadow selves. Nevertheless, Taylor explores how these films often follow a common storyline that exploits our desire for their American dream of a place to care and raise a family, or a place where someone can identify with and call their own. One of the other points about this chapter that resonated with me was how Taylor identifies that the American dream wasn’t always attainable for all, and pre-planned suburban developments, like Levittown, often excluded Black families and discouraged Black home ownership, despite the idea of home ownership or landownership being a part of freedom, agency and self-determination. As Taylor explains, this kind of exclusion not only included Black families, but women as well. I wondered how much of this horror from the 70s and 80s was about white flight and featuring white families invaded by the other. It is a fascinating idea to consider for these films that continue to maintain popularity and resonance with audiences. 

One of the reasons why I started this book now was because I was traveling around Southern California, and took a tour of The Whaley House, which apparently is America’s most haunted house. It was creepy, mainly due to a possibly haunted doll in the home, but I didn’t experience some of the hauntings the tour suggested. There’s a kind of lived in presence I felt, and have experienced in other historical sites, where artifacts and residue of the living remain. However, reading the chapter “Brutal Houses” also made me realize how much cool and unique architecture is in Southern California. Taylor explores some of the unique settings in films and in real life, sharing a surprising story about a Frank Lloyd Wright house in LA that has a connection with the Black Dahlia murders (I also need to check out the limited series I Am the Night thanks to Taylor’s recommendation. Some of the other modernist homes that Taylor analyzes are in the films High-Rise and Shivers, both of which feature a kind of self-contained world in these large apartment buildings, and how this desire to almost wall oneself off from the world can breed both severe class distinctions and, in the case of Shivers, a sickness that easily spreads. Taylor then links these kinds of homes to housing projects from the 60s and 70s that eventually deteriorated. I was thinking about the Cabrini Green projects from Candyman, but the horrors experienced by the Pruitt-Igoe residents and the dilapidation that occurred are just as bad. Taylor also cites the project form Clockwork Orange, and how this setting helped to signify the types of bleak future these planned communities offered residents of lower socio-economic status, serving as a kind of nightmare in itself. 

One of my favorite chapters focused on “Witch Houses”, which Taylor explains can be represented in different ways and have different meanings. I loved that she referenced Haxan and Brand New Cherry Flavor in the same chapter (among some other great films and stories). This chapter was one of the most fascinating in the book because, as Taylor explains, “the witch house eschews domesticity as the central purpose of the home and the matriarch as a caretaker. Instead, it frames the house as a locus of power.” Although women labeled as witches were often on the margins of society, many of the accusations were also due to their unique positions as women landowners, and the accusations came from a place of envy or greed, not of superstitious beliefs. As Boro in Brand New Cherry Flavor shows to Lisa, a witch is not necessarily evil, but more like a guide or mediator who can provide knowledge or insight. I liked that the witch is framed as someone whose power extends from knowledge, much like medicine people. I was also so excited to see that this chapter also included an analysis of Nobuhiko Obayashi’s Hausu, one of my all-time favorite movies. I never thought about the Auntie as a witch, but Taylor provides a unique read on the film that explains how the Auntie is like a witch in reverse, one who gets stronger from feeding off of the girls who come to visit. She then relates this to other witch stories like Hansel and Gretel (also providing me with additional films to view—I haven’t seen the Oz Perkins version of this story yet, but will need to check it out). Other films include some of Argento’s films that relate to witch covens (Suspiria and Inferno) that have some kind of connection among The Three Mothers. Framing this chapter, though, is Taylor’s explanation that she wishes to live in a witch house that appears decayed on the outside, but would challenge perceptions about its inhabitants by showing kindness to any kids who are dared to knock on the door. It’s a reminder about the kinds of ironies that often arise in these witch stories and their houses, where the inhabitants tend to offer more that their homes suggest. 

The last three chapters were also interesting in that they dealt with different types of imagined houses. “Mad Houses” focuses houses where crimes are committed, typically those of people deemed insane. Taylor starts by analyzing Ted Kaczynski’s shack, which I didn’t realize was actually transported to storage and then put on display, where Taylor was able to visit in its exhibit. She describes the oddly placed windows and small door that lacks a knob, explaining that it demonstrates that this was more of a house, a structure used to house someone, not really designed for living. She then moves to explore Norman Bates’ home from Psycho, and how this kind of Victorian design initially represented wealth and privilege, but frequently fell into disrepair as the economic tides turned around the turn of the century. She also describes Norman’s and his mother’s rooms as being in a kind of stasis, where nothing really changes and things are preserved in a juvenile, undeveloped state. She compares this to Ed Gein’s home, who was the original inspiration for Bates. This chapter was graphic in describing some of the evidence found in Gein’s home. She links this site to another murderous family from the Midwest, The Benders, who devised a strange way to cover up their murders of boarders looking for respite from travel. The chapter also examines the Hardesty House from The Texas Chainsaw Massacre, which includes much death and decay, at least in the film. The theme seemed to be a kind of insanity, but it also looks at the decay that arises from a kind of stasis, where things fail to grow. “Little Houses” focuses on doll houses and other small representations. This chapter examined the use of the miniature home that Annie develops to manage her depression and anguish in Hereditary. I was glad to find this analysis, since I’ve wondered about its meaning since watching that film. I haven’t been bold enough to re-watch this film, but Annie’s desire to control and manage her life through the miniature representation seemed meaningful, especially as her own family and life seemed to spin out of her control. There are some other great references to films and televisions shows that I need to check out that feature creepy dollhouses. “Forever Houses” looks at bunkers and other prepper homes that are in films and history. I’m not too familiar with these stories, especially those kinds of dystopian future survival stories. Part of the reason that Night of the Living Dead scared me so much was the claustrophobic feeling. Nevertheless, 10 Cloverfield Lane sounds like a fascinating film that I will also need to check out. I loved how Taylor reframes this idea of prepping as more of a wish that a fear, as she quotes Mark O’Connell. That is, preppers seem to have a feeling of losing control, and their idea of preparing to hole away for an indeterminate time provides them with a sense of control. This seemed apparent in It Comes at Night, a truly terrifying film more for the behaviors of the survivors than what has actually destroyed society. It’s the kind of power and control that the father seeks that brings on further violence. There is also a horrible true event that Taylor shares about another father who sought to control his own family. It’s a shocking and sad story, but it also speaks to some of the horrors that plain, nondescript homes may hide inside, and how the idea of home ownership can also be a means of control for some fathers. 

I absolutely loved this book and couldn’t put it down. It was easy to read, but also a thought-provoking book that challenged my ideas about homes and society. The themes and examples are excellent, and Taylor is a thoughtful and inventive critic and analyst, creatively making connections between historical and popular examples. I feel like my viewing list has expanded significantly after reading this book, and I’m also looking more closely at homes and architecture. Although I loved this book, I felt like there were a number of other examples that could have been included in the book. When reading about The Texas Chainsaw Massacre, I kept thinking about Ti West’s Maxxxine triology, especially XXX and Pearl, where the home is the site of some horrible acts. Rather than a refuge that it seems, it’s a space of murder and derangement. It made me think of other Ti West films like House of the Devil, where the home is the site of subterfuge and a dark arts ritual. I wondered if there could be a chapter on Satanic or devilsh houses. The Norman Bates home also made me think about Red Dragon, and Dollarhyde’s first home with his grandmother. I don’t think it’s shown as much in the film, but it left a deep impression on me from the book, providing some insight into how he became the Tooth Fairy. I know there are others that I’m missing (the American version of House, about the traumas of war), but I loved that this book had me thinking more about the role of homes in horror and the deeper meaning it has for our own desire for a place to call our own. I highly recommend this book and really appreciate the images that are included throughout the book.

Some images from The Whaley House