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    How Quincy Jones Brought Pop’s Greats to the Studio: Eddie Van Halen, Bob Dylan and More

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    For decades, he had many of the pop world’s best players on call — and knew how to coax out their sharpest performances.“Quincy called me.”That is the opening line of the best stories told by some of the best musicians in the world over the last half-century or so, as they recount being recruited for recording sessions by Quincy Jones, the super-producer whose work was often as much a matter of casting as of capturing sounds on tape.Eddie Van Halen got the call one day in 1982, to add a pyrotechnic guitar solo to Michael Jackson’s “Beat It.” He declined credit for it, but after Jackson’s death in 2009, Van Halen said that session was one of the “fondest memories in my career.”Greg Phillinganes, the synthesizer virtuoso who began his career with Stevie Wonder, got many such calls as an in-demand session player, working on Jones-helmed albums by Jackson, Donna Summer and James Ingram, among others.“By virtue of getting a call,” Phillinganes recalled this week, “that was the endorsement that you were worthy of being there” — an induction into an elite circle that included both big stars and supremely skilled but lesser-known musicians, each chosen with intention by Jones for what they could bring to a project.Jones, who died on Sunday at 91, was the master of a nearly vanished mode of record-making that relied on groups of talented musicians working under the finely attuned ear of a producer. For decades, he had many of the pop world’s best players on call, and — in what could be a career-making enlistment or just the umpteenth studio gig — would hire them to spice up a track with a guitar lick, or smooth its contours with a synthesizer part, or ground it with just the right beat.We are having trouble retrieving the article content.Please enable JavaScript in your browser settings.Thank you for your patience while we verify access. If you are in Reader mode please exit and log into your Times account, or subscribe for all of The Times.Thank you for your patience while we verify access.Already a subscriber? Log in.Want all of The Times? Subscribe. More

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      Why ‘Perfect Strangers’ Keeps Coming Back

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      From “The Leftovers” to “Only Murders in the Building,” “Perfect Strangers,” the wacky 1980s sitcom with a bombastic theme song, is enjoying a strange afterlife.In the latest season of “Only Murders in the Building,” the show’s trio of amateur detectives are investigating yet another murder and discover a theme — and a song — from an unlikely source: another TV show.The show is “Perfect Strangers,” the wacky 1980s sitcom that paired two cousins who — like the stars of “Only Murders” and its new cast of characters this season — couldn’t have been more different. The uplifting, bombastic “Perfect Strangers” theme song appears in the “Only Murders” fourth season, which concludes Tuesday.“We needed something that landed as a clue, something that opened up something curious for our trio to discover, something that kept hitting over and over again,” John Hoffman, the “Only Murders” showrunner, said.And so the “Perfect Strangers” theme song appears as a call sign over the ham radios of misfit residents introduced in this season of “Only Murders” and referred to as “the Westies.” Those are the tenants who live in the West tower of the Arconia, across from where Mabel Mora (Selena Gomez), Oliver Putnam (Martin Short) and Charles-Haden Savage (Steve Martin) live and where much of the investigation focuses.In one scene, in an apartment in the West tower of the Arconia, the New York City residential building at the center of the show, Mabel softly begins singing.“No matter what the odds are this time / nothing’s gonna stand in my way,” she chimes.Oliver mumbles along: “This flame in my heart / long-lost friend / Gives every dark street / a light at the end.We are having trouble retrieving the article content.Please enable JavaScript in your browser settings.Thank you for your patience while we verify access. If you are in Reader mode please exit and log into your Times account, or subscribe for all of The Times.Thank you for your patience while we verify access.Already a subscriber? Log in.Want all of The Times? Subscribe. More

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      ‘Hysteria!,’ ‘Stranger Things’ and the Satanic Panic That Never Goes Away

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      Five years ago, the television writer Matthew Scott Kane sold “Hysteria!,” a scripted drama that takes place in the late 1980s. The series was inspired in part by the tumult of misinformation he found online and in the media of the late 2010s. Shows like these take time to make, and Kane worried the idea would pass its best-by date.“I kept thinking, man, I don’t know if this is going to feel relevant,” he said in a recent interview.“Hysteria!” which premiered on Peacock on Oct. 18, is set in a small Michigan town in the grip of the so-called satanic panic of the 1980s and early 1990s, an episode of mass hysteria which imagined that a cross-country network of satanic cults was engaged in ritual abuse, animal sacrifice and infanticide. In the pilot, a high school football star is discovered dead. Suspicion turns to several of his classmates, members of a heavy metal band that exploits satanic imagery.The aesthetics of “Hysteria!” — the wallpaper, the jeans, the popular music — are distinctly ’80s. But the impulse to displace social anxieties onto perceived groups of outsiders is as American as apple pie. (Are those apples poisoned? Do they have razor blades inside?) And in a culture of heightened political rhetoric and pervasive misinformation, as apparent now as it was five years ago, the distance between the satanic panic and current conspiracy theories — QAnon, say, or the supposed grooming of children by queer people — is a short one, barely the length of a suburban lawn.Recent works of fiction — “Hysteria!”; the novel “Rainbow Black”; the fourth season of “Stranger Things”; the film “Late Night With the Devil” — all treat the satanic panic as a discrete historical event. But they also suggest how the panic’s concerns resonate in the present. As it turns out, Americans are still panicking. We may always be panicking.“Hysteria!,” a new Peacock show set during the satanic panic, features an attempted exorcism. Mark Hill/PeacockWe are having trouble retrieving the article content.Please enable JavaScript in your browser settings.Thank you for your patience while we verify access. If you are in Reader mode please exit and log into your Times account, or subscribe for all of The Times.Thank you for your patience while we verify access.Already a subscriber? Log in.Want all of The Times? Subscribe. More

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      Eddie Van Halen Changed Rock History. Now His Brother Is Telling Their Story.

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      On Oct. 4, 2015, Van Halen performed at the Hollywood Bowl in what proved to be its last show, capping a decades-long run as one of rock’s most successful and influential acts. The amphitheater is about 30 minutes from the 800-square-foot house in Pasadena, Calif., where the Van Halen brothers — the drummer Alex and the guitarist Eddie — grew up. But the journey between those spots took the group all over the world, through the highest highs and lowest lows of rock ’n’ roll glory, excess and tragedy.Alex, 71, has learned to be grateful for every moment of it. During a video call one morning in September from his home in the Los Angeles area, he cited an old saying: “‘In the effort lies the reward.’” He was dressed casually in a blue button-down check shirt underneath a leather jacket, sunglasses on and dark hair brushed back. On an otherwise bare wall behind him hung a gold record for Van Halen’s 1978 self-titled debut album.“That’s exactly how Ed and I felt,” he said. “The ride was the reward. And it’s been a hell of a ride.”That trek — the first 30 or so years of it, at least — is chronicled in “Brothers,” a book that will be published on Oct. 22, which Alex was moved to write after losing Eddie, his younger sibling by roughly 20 months, to cancer in October 2020. He characterized the project, told with the New Yorker writer Ariel Levy, as “a painful experience.” But, he said, “you’ve got to go through the pain to get to the other part.”Alex and his brother were extremely close. “Every day, the first thing I’d do is call him,” he said. “We would talk, we would yell and scream at each other. But we were always supportive.”Magdalena Wosinska for The New York TimesAlex was a commanding presence onstage, especially in Van Halen’s early years (recall him bare chested, furiously bashing away behind a massive drum kit in the 1981 video for “Unchained”), but he was always more reserved with the press. He ceded the role of mouthpiece to the band’s exhibitionist singer, David Lee Roth, and his brother, who was routinely hailed as one of the greatest guitarists of his generation.We are having trouble retrieving the article content.Please enable JavaScript in your browser settings.Thank you for your patience while we verify access. If you are in Reader mode please exit and log into your Times account, or subscribe for all of The Times.Thank you for your patience while we verify access.Already a subscriber? Log in.Want all of The Times? Subscribe. More

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      LL Cool J Can’t Stop, Won’t Stop. (And Why Would He?)

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      At a dusty studio space in an industrial corner of Los Angeles, LL Cool J bounced and vibed in black satin and bulging, size 13 Balenciaga boots.The actor and rap luminary was filming a video for a sexy track, “Proclivities,” from his new album — but he wasn’t in front of the cameras, or rehearsing. He was just cheerfully shooting the you-know-what, with a late night of production ahead of him. Background players in feathered dresses floated by; his security circled. He did a little dance, demonstrating the inspiration for another song. He walks with a swagger and stands with a spring, too much rhythm in his 6-foot-3 frame to keep still. “Making fantasies happen,” he said, grinning, taking all of it in.LL Cool J is 56, and has been a hip-hop eminence for 40 years: His whole life is a stretch into realizing the improbable, including a sneakily successful pivot into network television. Even before adulthood, he strode with a preternatural confidence in his abilities, and a willingness to dig into the work. His rap career is not now — and, to hear him tell it, has never been — about the money, the trappings of celebrity or the cultural prestige.“I do it because I love it,” he said. “I love a fresh beat. A new lyric, a chord, the feeling — and then sharing that. Putting that on the easel of life, so to speak, for people to walk through the sonic gallery and listen to this, these vibes. I love that. I wanted my voice to be heard, and I wanted to share.”Because he started so young, the first to sign to the then-fledgling label Def Jam, when he was just 16 — and when hip-hop itself was only a decade old — he influenced an entire pantheon of artists who followed, including contemporaries his same age. Hits like the bruising, Grammy-winning “Mama Said Knock You Out,” from 1990, and plaintive grooves from his lovelorn Lothario persona (“I Need Love”; “Around the Way Girl”), cemented his legacy as a crossover pop superstar.LL Cool J outside a concert in the late 1980s. He was the label Def Jam’s first signing, when he was just 16 years old.Michael Ochs Archives/Getty ImagesWe are having trouble retrieving the article content.Please enable JavaScript in your browser settings.Thank you for your patience while we verify access. If you are in Reader mode please exit and log into your Times account, or subscribe for all of The Times.Thank you for your patience while we verify access.Already a subscriber? Log in.Want all of The Times? Subscribe. More

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      When I Get Anxious, These Videos Help Calm My Mind

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      Tunnel through time with vintage B-roll.It was a grainy video, autoplaying in my Facebook feed, that first grabbed my attention. It seemed vaguely familiar — like a home movie from my childhood in suburban Boston but without the main characters, leaving only a warm, generic 1980s ambience. In the clip, kids in wide-collared shirts amble around a school cafeteria with burgers, tater tots and little square boxes of chocolate milk served by lunch ladies in those big buglike eyeglasses my grandmother used to wear. The video ended after about two minutes. Next, I watched a street glide by from the window of a moving vehicle: Kenmore Square, Boston, January 1977. The camera panned across storefronts — Strawberries, Paperback Booksmith, College Donuts — but I didn’t recognize anything until it zoomed out and the famous Citgo sign was revealed, perched atop the building where it still sits today.Discovering these videos felt like time-traveling back to some precise moment when nothing of note happened. They are just short, contextless clips of old B-roll — the background film cut into broadcasts to break up the main footage — culled from the collections of WGBH, a 69-year-old Boston public-television station. In 2018, James Auclair, a station employee, began regularly posting the videos to social media. They infiltrated my own Facebook algorithm in the fall of 2023, which, it turns out, was just when I needed them. That August, I eagerly applied for a dream-job faculty position at a university, and I knew I was in for months of consistent, nagging anxiety about my professional future. When I came across the footage Auclair was posting under the handle GBH Archives (they dropped the “W” a few years ago), I was hooked: Here, finally, was a reprieve from the swirl of negative thoughts in my head.I’ve devoured, by now, countless hours of B-roll. I’ve watched shoppers peruse CDs at the long-shuttered Tower Records on Newbury Street in the ’90s, transporting me back to Saturdays in high school when my friends and I browsed the rap and hip-hop racks for hours. Cars as big as boats — station wagons, sedans and vans like my parents drove — roll over the Tobin Bridge in 1979; drivers reach out their arms to pass cash and coins to toll attendants. I’ve watched ice skaters gliding over the frozen Charles River in the late ’70s and hairsprayed teenagers in leather and oversize sweaters smoking cigarettes outside their high school in the ’80s.I’m not the only one hooked on these B-roll clips: YouTube is full of “retro B-roll” material, and GBH Archives alone has more than 200,000 combined followers on Facebook, X and Instagram. For some viewers, the appeal is pure nostalgia — many comment wistfully on the absence of cellphones or the predominance of suits and ties and dresses. Others note changes in the ever-evolving cityscape. Every so often, someone recognizes their younger self in a video.Where the format of television news can crowd out thought, these videos create space for it.What I love most is that the videos contain no narrative; they feel like ambient music — hypnotic, meditative. Rather than tell you what to think or fear, they just show you things. There’s a funny intellectual twist here: Television is an entertainment medium, and the primary purpose of these B-roll clips was to keep viewers visually engaged so they wouldn’t get bored watching a single shot of a newscaster talking. Watching this remediated B-roll subverts that purpose. There are no quick shots and snappy edits, no breaking news alerts or sensational chyrons, just slow and boring slices of life. Where the format of television news can crowd out thought, these videos create space for it. We are having trouble retrieving the article content.Please enable JavaScript in your browser settings.Thank you for your patience while we verify access. If you are in Reader mode please exit and log into your Times account, or subscribe for all of The Times.Thank you for your patience while we verify access.Already a subscriber? Log in.Want all of The Times? Subscribe. More

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      Review: ‘The Righteous’ Brings Stirring Prayer to Santa Fe Opera

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      Gregory Spears and Tracy K. Smith’s new work about an ambitious minister’s rise in the 1980s is that rarity in contemporary music: an original story.We’ve had “The Shining” and “Cold Mountain,” “The Hours” and “Dead Man Walking,” and works based on the lives of Steve Jobs, Malcolm X and Frida Kahlo. “Lincoln in the Bardo” and “The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier and Clay” are coming soon.Opera audiences, traditionalists even before the pandemic, have ventured back warier than ever about buying tickets for anything other than the standards. So as companies try to present contemporary pieces alongside “Aida” and “La Bohème,” they bank on familiar titles and subjects.Many classic operas were adaptations; “Bohème,” for example, was inspired by a collection of stories. But lately the results have tended to feel less like great art than like bending over backward to coax a cautious public. Something special comes from being truly original: It’s no coincidence that perhaps the best opera of our time, Kaija Saariaho’s “Innocence” (2021), was that rarity, a brand-new story.So is “The Righteous,” commissioned by Santa Fe Opera from the composer Gregory Spears and the poet Tracy K. Smith. Spears and Smith also created from scratch their first full-length collaboration, “Castor and Patience” (2022). They deserve great credit for this. These days it’s remarkable to sit at a premiere and be able to think, with admiration, “Here are imaginations at work” instead of “I’d rather be watching the movie.”Taking place over a few weeks, “Castor and Patience” was an intimate family drama — though one with larger societal implications. While a family is also at the center of “The Righteous,” which opened on July 13, the new opera is in every way a more sprawling piece, stretching from 1979 through the early 1990s, with a large cast and chorus and booming climaxes to match its impassioned lyricism.At its core is a man’s progress from youthful idealism to profound moral compromise. The main character, David, is a talented, devoted preacher who’s grown up close to a wealthy, well-connected oil family in the American Southwest. He marries the family’s daughter and, as his scrappy ministry grows in size and influence, he’s tempted more and more by the prospect of political power. As he climbs, he leaves betrayals both personal and ideological in his wake.We are having trouble retrieving the article content.Please enable JavaScript in your browser settings.Thank you for your patience while we verify access. If you are in Reader mode please exit and log into your Times account, or subscribe for all of The Times.Thank you for your patience while we verify access.Already a subscriber? Log in.Want all of The Times? Subscribe. More

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      He Wrote Michael Jackson’s ‘Human Nature’ and Has 2 More in the Vault

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      Steve Porcaro of Toto, who played on some of the biggest hits of the ’80s, has sold the rights to his music, including a pair of unreleased tracks with the superstar.After more than four decades, Steve Porcaro is still amazed that his song ended up on the biggest-selling album of all time.In 1982, when he was a keyboardist in Toto — the band of studio insiders that dominated rock radio with sleekly crafted hits like “Africa” and “Hold the Line” — Porcaro was tinkering with a new tune, a mid-tempo ballad inspired by his attempt to comfort his young daughter after a playground quarrel. The rest of the group wasn’t into it.But Porcaro kept working on the song at the studio of his Toto bandmate David Paich, the group’s primary songwriter, who was pitching Quincy Jones some rock-oriented material for Michael Jackson’s next album. One day, they put two of Paich’s songs on a cassette for Jones; on the flip side was a rough demo of Porcaro’s ballad.When Jones heard that tape, it was Porcaro’s tune that entranced him, with its mellow mood and searching chorus: “Why, why?/Tell her that it’s human nature.” With lyrics added by John Bettis, “Human Nature” became a key cut on “Thriller,” which sold 34 million copies in the United States alone and transformed pop music in the 1980s.“It was a total, absolute fluke,” Porcaro recalled in a recent video interview from his home studio in Los Angeles, which is lined with gold and platinum albums by Toto and Jackson.“Human Nature” is now part of the latest in the music industry’s big catalog transactions. This week, Porcaro signed a deal, estimated in the low eight figures, to sell the rights to his music to the Jackson estate and the independent music company Primary Wave, they confirmed.We are having trouble retrieving the article content.Please enable JavaScript in your browser settings.Thank you for your patience while we verify access. If you are in Reader mode please exit and log into your Times account, or subscribe for all of The Times.Thank you for your patience while we verify access.Already a subscriber? Log in.Want all of The Times? Subscribe. More

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      Richard Simmons, the Original Queer Eye

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      In an era of high machismo and casual homophobia, he was a cheerleader for self-acceptance.Richard Simmons, the ebullient paterfamilias of aerobics instruction who died on Saturday at 76, never publicly addressed his sexuality. But during his long run as a leading figure in American cultural life, the way he defined himself for others was perhaps less important than how he presented himself.More than 20 years before the fashion stylist Carson Kressley dispensed tips to finance bros on “Queer Eye for the Straight Guy” and Tim Gunn rescued aspiring designers from nervous breakdowns on “Project Runway” with the instruction to “make it work,” Mr. Simmons guided the average and the out-of-shape toward a loving embrace of the bodies they already had.In the process, he navigated the end of disco culture and the advent of the AIDS epidemic by making himself as nonthreatening as possible.“Confidence is contagious,” Mr. Kressley said in an interview on Sunday. “That was his brand.”Mr. Simmons became nationally famous with “The Richard Simmons Show,” a syndicated daytime program that combined sketch comedy with celebrity interviews, cooking segments and fitness routines.At a time when Clint Eastwood and Sylvester Stallone were top male stars, Mr. Simmons baked cakes with Betty White and did kooky exercise segments in which shopping carts doubled as fitness equipment. Although he wasn’t open about his sexuality, he managed nevertheless to “really be himself on camera, and people could take it for what it was,” Mr. Kressley said.Mr. Simmons had grown up in New Orleans, La., where he said he had been a “fat kid” who avoided sports and kept mostly to himself. In the mid-1970s, he opened an exercise studio in Beverly Hills, Calif. The idea, as Mr. Simmons wrote in his 1993 book, “Never Give Up,” one of his many best sellers, was that weight loss should be fun.We are having trouble retrieving the article content.Please enable JavaScript in your browser settings.Thank you for your patience while we verify access. If you are in Reader mode please exit and log into your Times account, or subscribe for all of The Times.Thank you for your patience while we verify access.Already a subscriber? Log in.Want all of The Times? Subscribe. More