Read Online Fever by Tim Riley - Free Book Online Page B

Be My Baby. “That was his favorite movie, and he used to show it over and over and over again.”
    Between 1961 and 1965, Phil Spector productions hit the Billboard charts twenty-seven times; seventeen made the Top 40. With the possible exception of George Martin, whose talent was unquestionably more collaborative, there’s not another rock producer who can claim nearly as much success both popular and aesthetic within such a short span of time, involving such a variety of acts and writers.
    The fabled Spector Wall of Sound is at least much an aesthetic ideal as it is a studio style. Spector glorified the idea of girl groups as he sought out men’s most extravagant fantasies about what women inspired—his singles are microscopes to fantasy, intoxication as sound. His Wall of Sound is only the technical part of it, for that rising tide of instruments and booming echo that washes over the listener in songs like the Crystals’ “Da Doo Ron Ron” or the Ronettes’ “Baby, I Love You” or “Walking in the Rain” is driven by a larger idea of what the girl group can mean—their thrust is only an approximation of the feelings Spector is working out. He fell so in love with the female “Yes!” that he used it to explore his deepest longings, his confused mood swings, and his relentless paranoia. The sound of a Phil Spector record is not just that of a woman’s voice glorified beyond all reason, but the sound of a man’s response to that romantic fantasy and his total, unfiltered adoration of how much power women really wield over men.
    After a 1960 hit with a teen act called the Teddy Bears (“To Know Him Is to Love Him” in 1960, which he wrote for his deceased father), Phil Spector jumpstarted his career by apprenticing to the R&B masters of the day, Jerry Leiber and Ed Stoller. Leiber and Stoller were powerhouse songwriters who wrote for Elvis Presley (“Hound Dog,” “Jailhouse Rock”) and masterminded the Coasters (“Searchin’,” “Charlie Brown,” and “Young Blood”)—and note, nobody had much of a problem with producers puppeteering these guys. Spector got an early writing credit for coming up with the distinctive triplet piano riff on the Drifters’ “Spanish Harlem” and was soon an acknowledged boy wonder, acquiring backing for his own company to catch up with his dream sounds.
    The hits were quick and consistent. Once the Crystals had established themselves with “There’s No Other” in 1961, they went out on tour, but Spector continued recording without them, bringing in Darlene Love (née Wright), formerly of the Blossoms. It was Love’s voice on “He’s a Rebel,” the Crystals’ next hit, a song the original Crystals heard on the radio while touring; suddenly they had to work up a new number for their show.
    Spector imposed this kind of production hubris on all his performers: the record was the act, not the singer, and he was more interested in propping up a fake version of the Crystals than he was launching Darlene Love’s solo career. In retrospect, this may be Spector’s biggest mistake, even bigger than Ronnie Spector’s forced retirement in his mansion after they married. Love has long been recognized as one of pop’s greatest vocalists, but she never got her big break. She would spend her career singing backup on records by the Mamas and the Papas, the Beach Boys, Luther Vandross, U2, Dionne Warwick, and Whitney Houston, and appeared as Danny Glover’s wife in the Lethal Weapon movies.
    That Spector shaped his empire by singing metaphorically through women is only the first level of irony at work in his career. When he found his dream voice in Ronnie Spector, he immediately went about building a sound around her. (The second level of irony would be that the Ronettes sought out Spector, not the other way around.) After