Part 3: Mark A. Moore, Dead Man's Curve Interview: Jan & Dean's Relationship Through The Years

Mark A. Moore, Dead Man's Curve Interview, Part 3: 

 

Dead Man's Curve: The Rock 'n' Roll Life of Jan Berry
Mark A. Moore Interview Part 1
Mark A. Moore Interview Part 2

PM: Mark, the life of Jan Berry can be viewed through the lens of his six-decade long relationship with Dean Torrence. Their relationship navigated much change and weathered periods of great pain. Take us through the stages (and status) of their relationship.

PM: Junior and Senior High School buddies (early to late 1950s)

MM: In West Los Angeles, Jan and Dean attended Emerson Junior High at the same time in the early 1950s, but they didn’t become good friends until they both attended University High School a few years later. Jan’s reputation preceded him. Dean observed Jan from afar and was fascinated by this rebel who seemed to operate outside the rules and norms that governed most other students.

Dean recalled that when they first met, they had trouble getting along. In 1956, they were both on the Warriors’ “Bee Team” football squad at Uni and had team lockers next to one another. Dean said that if they hadn’t been locker neighbors, he might not have ever spoken to Jan. But they began forging a friendship—and clashed early on. One of Dean’s early memories of butting heads with Jan involved—of all things—consuming candy before football games. Jan repeatedly pushed the sweets until Dean knocked them out of his hand.

So, the relationship didn’t start on solid ground. But overall, they liked each other, and their friendship grew.

PM: The Barons (1957-1958)

MM: According to Barry Keenan (infamous for kidnapping Frank Sinatra Jr.), Dean was voted into the Barons Hi-Y school club just before he graduated in January 1958. But he had already been singing with Jan’s vocal group, which was named after the school club. At Jan’s Linda Flora garage studio, everyone understood that Jan was the leader. Dean could sing bass and tenor, but he could also hit the falsetto parts, so he was assigned the high notes when Jan and the group worked out the harmonies. Dean can be heard on some of Jan’s KJAN Radio tapes, which provide important insight. Dean’s humor comes through, and we get the impression he was an integral part of Jan’s clique, along with Don Altfeld and others. So, Dean was always around. He wasn’t a fringe player.

PM: Arnie Ginsburg (1958)

MM: Arnie Ginsburg was another good friend, and a member of both the Hi-Y club and vocal group versions of the Barons. Jan and Arnie forged a creative relationship when Arnie came up with the idea for “Jennie Lee” and finished writing the song in collaboration with Jan. Dean went on active duty with the U.S. Army Reserve on March 8, 1958, by which time Jan & Arnie were working on their initial recordings of “Jennie Lee” in Jan’s garage studio. By mid-March, Joe Lubin had discovered Jan & Arnie, signed them to initial contracts to secure their services as artists, and began recording their practice and writing sessions. Jan & Arnie co-wrote all six of their released sides (three singles) on Arwin Records. And “Jennie Lee” was a Top-10 smash right out of the gate. So, the beginning of Jan’s professional music career was just a natural progression, and unrelated to his relationship with Dean.

PM: “Baby Talk” to “Linda” (1959-1963)

MM: In late 1958 and early 1959, Arnie Ginsburg transitioned out of Jan’s professional life. Jan & Arnie’s run had been a whirlwind—a major hit record; touring and performing nationally with Frankie Avalon, Link Wray, and Sam Cooke; and national television appearances on Dick Clark and Jack Benny. But it was known going in that Arnie had a forthcoming military commitment, so Jan & Arnie as an act had a finite lifespan from the beginning. And on top of his pre-existing commitment to the U.S. Navy, Arnie was thoroughly disillusioned with the entertainment industry by late 1958.

Dean completed his military service and returned to Los Angeles in September 1958; the same month Jan & Arnie released their final single on Arwin. Jan needed a new partner, and he offered the job to Dean.

Why did Jan bring Dean aboard to forge a new act? Because he was the obvious choice. They were friends. Jan was already familiar with Dean’s vocal abilities and Dean was willing to give it a serious go. Jan invited him up to the garage studio to work on new material. Serious consideration was given to keeping the name Jan & Arnie, and Dean was willing to go along with that, but Ginsburg was against it. So, the act became Jan & Dean. They were about the same height, handsome, and would soon cut a striking figure on television.

Jan & Dean were good friends, but they weren’t best friends. Don Altfeld identified as Jan’s best friend, and by all accounts they were tight—in some ways an odd and interesting pairing. During the Frank Sinatra Jr. kidnapping trial, Dean identified Barry Keenan as his best friend, at least up until that point. So, Jan & Dean were two friends but also a business entity.

Their first single “Baby Talk,” with Dean singing lead, hit the national Top 10 right off the bat in 1959. Dean sang lead on a lot of their early stuff, and they did have a creative relationship in those early years. Jan & Dean co-wrote the B-side of “Baby Talk” and half of their first album together, released in 1960. But Jan had brought Don Altfeld aboard as a co-writer for Jan & Arnie, and that role continued with Jan & Dean. So, there was never an exclusive Berry-Torrence writing relationship.

Jan was the dominant partner, and Dean fell away as a credited songwriter after 1961. By that time there was uncertainty about the act, as the Doré contract ended, and Jan and Lou Adler looked for a new record label (which became Challenge). Jan noted publicly at the time that Dean probably resented Jan’s leadership role in the act. And Jan did briefly consider pursuing a solo career, with “Tomorrow’s Teardrops” reaching #30 locally in L.A. The press reported that Jan & Dean had broken up and that Dean was concentrating on his education, having enrolled at Santa Monica City College.

But they patched things up. In late ’61, through the offices of Lou Adler, Jan & Dean signed with Nevins-Kirshner Associates as artists, Jan signed with the company as a songwriter, and by late ’62 Jan had become the official producer with full creative control of the act. “Linda,” with Dean’s prominent falsetto lead, put Jan & Dean back in the national Top 30.

PM: “Surf City” to “Freeway Flyer” (1963-1965)

MM: “Surf City” launched the era of Jan’s signature sound as a record producer, using two drummers playing in tandem in the studio, multiple guitars, and multiple basses, plus the usual horns and strings. And on the songwriting end, it was the beginning of Jan’s creative relationship with Brian Wilson and Roger Christian. By this time, Screen Gems had acquired Jan’s songwriting and production contracts, and Jan & Dean’s artist contract. As time progressed, Jan had quotas to meet, and he was under significant pressure to deliver and fulfill his contractual obligations to Screen Gems, while also attending college and then medical school.

This set the stage for Jan & Dean’s heyday in ’63 and ‘64, and there were changes in Dean’s participation. Whether through creative differences or simply because Dean wasn’t always around due to Jan’s odd hours in the studio, Dean didn’t provide some of the signature falsetto leads during this period. When Dean wasn’t there, that role usually went to Jan’s young Screen Gems associate Phil Sloan (who soon rose to fame as singer-songwriter P.F. Sloan).

Examples of well-known Jan & Dean singles that don’t feature Dean’s falsetto lead include: “Surf City,” “The Little Old Lady (from Pasadena),” “Anaheim, Azusa,” “Sidewalk Surfin’,” and “Freeway Flyer.” The latter was the B-side of the TAMI Show theme, released in January 1965 after a month-long delay. Sloan also sang falsetto lead on some of the album cuts.

Engineer Lanky Linstrot told me in our interview that part of the reason for Dean’s occasional absence on falsetto was because he and Jan were often at odds with one another. But I think Jan’s crazy hours in the studio also had something to do with it. And in some cases, Jan may have thought Dean wasn’t right for the part. I’m thinking of “Sidewalk Surfin’” here. Not only did Phil Sloan provide the falsetto lead on the hit single, but he also sang the falsetto parts on the “live” version for the Command Performance LP.

But even if not singing the falsetto leads, Dean was usually in the harmony mix. That was one of his favorite things, stacking harmonies in the studio. And if Dean had a good idea, Jan would accept it.

Jan’s good friend and Wrecking Crew guitarist Don Peake told me in our interview that Jan was at times “almost stern” and “a little strict” in the studio. Meaning the tracking sessions. But we also have some evidence of this on vocal sessions, as well. At one point Dean was talking and Jan said, “Okay, shut up.” It wasn’t said in anger, and Jan wasn’t berating Dean. It was just blunt and to the point. Meaning, let’s move on here.

Jan would do multiple takes, and Sloan (who sang harmonies alongside Steve Barri) told me in our interview that Dean would sometimes have a calming effect on Jan, when Jan got uptight during a vocal session. I think that’s pretty revealing.

This was also the era when overt humor started coloring their wax. It had always been there in their public persona—off kilter and irreverent. They had bonded over their love of comedy early on. Jan loved Laurel & Hardy, and Dean was a natural comedian. In their shtick, Jan enjoyed playing straight man to Dean’s outré style and delivery. It was a big part of their identity.

Dean also got an occasional album cut or B-side writing credit during this period. For example, Dean came up with the title for the instrumental “Old Ladies Seldom Power Shift.” And Jan loved it so much he gave Dean a writing credit, sharing it 50-50. Other Dean credits included “Philadelphia, PA.,” “Schlock Rod” (Parts 1 & 2), and “Bucket ‘T’” (the latter uncredited at the time).

So, one of the big questions is, why didn’t Jan write more songs with Dean? As Jan’s stature in the industry rose, he signed songwriting contracts with Nevins-Kirshner Associates and Screen Gems. Dean didn’t have (or possibly even want) that opportunity. But at the same time, Don Altfeld continued to write songs with Jan, as he had done since 1958, even though Don didn’t have contracts with the companies. I think that says something about Jan’s professional relationship with Dean, whether it was a general lack of interest in collaborating on Jan’s part, or Dean’s.

But . . . in the modern era, Dean says he contributed a handful of words to “Surf City.”

Jan & Dean, as an act, wasn’t an equal partnership. Jan did most of the work, and most of the money went to Jan. Consider Jan’s multiple revenue streams: (1) artist contract (50 percent); (2) production contract (very lucrative); (3) songwriting contract (many perks); (4) musician (session leader) contracts submitted through the union—AFM Local 47; (5) music arrangements (notes on paper) submitted through the union (very lucrative); and (6) vocal session contracts submitted through AFTRA.

These revenue streams helped make Jan a wealthy young man. Dean earned far less. He shared 50 percent of the artist royalty, earned scale for his AFTRA vocal sessions, plus his few songwriting royalties dating back to ‘59.

For touring and live performances, their earnings were paid to Jan, who then paid Dean his 50 percent. Jan also made significant commission payments to Lou Adler as their manager.

Socially, Jan & Dean had their own separate circles. Most in Jan’s inner circle saw very little of Dean. Vic Amira, Jan’s medical school classmate and road manager for Jan & Dean in the summer of ’64, saw both sides. While on tour, Vic noted that Dean was punctual and dependable. A pleasant person to be around, with a carefree attitude, but Dean didn’t hang out much with Jan and his crew socially. Jan’s other close associates had the same observation. Hal Blaine, Don Altfeld, Artie Kornfeld, and Bones Howe all told me that Dean was usually not around when they hung out with Jan. Brian Wilson has said that he didn’t know Dean that well in those days but liked him very much.

And Vic Amira shared another interesting insight with me. His view was that Dean was simply not that impressed with Jan. Dean wasn’t in awe of Jan, or intimidated by him, like many around Jan were. And to me, that speaks to the level of friendship and understanding that existed between the two. I think they understood each other quite well.

But Jan had all the power, and in some ways, he ran roughshod over Dean. He didn’t always bring Dean into decision making for the act. When I interviewed Vic Amira and others, it was their impression that Dean was “basically on a salary”—a “second-class citizen,” as Don Altfeld noted. Could Jan have been more inclusive and less heavy-handed? Certainly. Dean had legitimate complaints.

But consider this. Were the Beach Boys a democracy? Not really. Brian Wilson co-wrote songs with Mike Love and others. Brian might’ve accepted an idea from a bandmate here and there. But when it came to the creative direction—the music arrangements, productions, and overall vision—what Brian decided was the gospel. Look at the resulting friction that developed between Brian and Mike Love.

That’s often how it is in bands and creative relationships. It’s a common dynamic. There’s often a creative leader, a visionary leader, who sets the pace and brings everyone else together. Personalities may clash sometimes, but that overall dynamic remains in place.

Did Dean harbor resentment? Sure, he did . . . and it would come to light publicly in the 1970s. Did Mike Love harbor resentment toward Brian Wilson? Absolutely.

PM: TAMI / TV / Films (1963-1966)

MM: Jan & Dean’s film and television projects were the perfect vehicle for their comedic shtick. I think they pretty much saw eye to eye on their projects for visual media. They understood what it could do for record sales.

In the Surf Scene pilot (’63), Dean carried most of the comedy. Dean understood comedy and how to make it work. The pilot was visually stunning but suffered from producer Lew Irwin not being able to license Jan & Dean’s studio recordings. And the re-recording of “Surf City” arranged by Ernie Freeman (and not produced by Jan) came off as rushed and thin. And that’s exactly what it was because the schedule was so tight. The concept could have worked if they eventually got a budget to do it correctly. Irwin just wanted to launch the thing for the syndication market and then build it based on Jan & Dean’s soaring popularity, but Surf Scene died while Desilu was trying to sell it, thanks to Dean’s peripheral involvement in the kidnapping of Frank Sinatra Jr.

The pilot for On the Run, shot in late ’65 and finished in early ’66, showed Jan & Dean more on equal footing, comedically. They had their own vision for the show, and worried that producers would ignore their input on where to eventually take the concept, creatively. Dean said they didn’t even attend the wrap party in Washington, D.C. They sat up in a hotel room and worried about how much busier their schedules were about to get. Because On the Run was a full go. Through Dunhill Productions, it was developed jointly by 20th Century-Fox, Ashmont Productions, and ABC-TV. It would have debuted in the fall of ’66 if Jan’s car accident hadn’t ended everything.

The concept had loads of potential, but the pilot was hamstrung a bit by “Old Hollywood” tactics. The producers brought in veteran tunesmith Jack Brooks to write two new songs for the show. Meh . . . and those were produced (or under-produced) and owned by 20th Century-Fox, so they lacked Jan’s usual touch. Plus, Jan’s schedule in medical school was brutal by that time. I just think he would have been more invested in the finished product if he had retained full rein to produce all original songs for the series.

In late ’64, Jan & Dean got the gig for The TAMI Show because (1) they were an easy choice; and (2) they were well-suited for the job. They shared a manager, Bobby Roberts, with TAMI director Steve Binder. Bobby Roberts had taken over the day-to-day management of Jan & Dean when Dunhill Productions was founded by Pierre Cosette and Lou Adler (with Roberts).

There was a basic script for Jan & Dean’s introductions for the various acts. Part of it still exists, including comedy sketches. But Steve Binder told me in our interview that they tossed the script, for the most part, and Jan & Dean worked out their own routines for the introductions. In terms of their professional relationship, that was Jan & Dean at their best. Steve trusted them and loved the result. For example, Binder had no idea that Jan & Dean would come out in fire hats and blast the place with fire extinguishers while introducing James Brown and his Famous Flames. As Binder told me, Jan & Dean as hosts were the glue that held it all together.

But there was a different kind of funny moment, right as the show started. When Jan & Dean were about to introduce Chuck Berry, Dean leaned in and said, “Hi.” Jan immediately snatched the mike away, and Dean had a comic reaction to it. Jan then introduced Chuck. It was subtle, but if you know something about Jan & Dean’s relationship, you might wonder if Jan hadn’t employed a bit of his tried-and-true passive aggression.

Their comedic feature film for Paramount Pictures—Easy Come, Easy Go (1965)—died before the guys could even think about clashing over it. The film was canceled when Jan was seriously injured in a railroad accident on the second day of shooting in Chatsworth (San Fernando Valley).

PM: Folk ‘n Roll (1965)

MM: By 1965, Dean had lost interest in the new material Jan was working on. “You Really Know How to Hurt a Guy” and “I Found a Girl” were Top-30 hits, but Dean didn’t like them. And in fact, he didn’t sing at all on “I Found a Girl.”

But the cover tunes on Folk ‘n Roll were strong. Dean enjoyed working on those, and as I’ve said before, “Yesterday” was a real highlight for Dean as a lead vocalist. He said Jan only gave him about three takes, but he nailed it.

It was during the run-up to Folk ‘n Roll, in September 1965, that Dean went down the hall and sang with the Beach Boys on “Barbara Ann.” Dean doubled the falsetto lead with Brian Wilson, a distinctive sound. And in 1971, only about six years after the fact, Dean claimed that when he went to visit the Beach Boys, Jan was working on a session for “You Really Know How to Hurt a Guy”—a song Dean hated that had peaked on the national charts two months earlier. And for years, since there was so little information about Jan & Dean, fans and “journalists” parroted that falsehood as the gospel. But regardless of the song title, Dean’s take was that he hated Jan’s material and left to visit the Beach Boys.

Jan’s session that night (in Western 3) did overlap with the Beach Boys’ session (in Western 2). But Jan was producing a tracking session for three songs: “Where Were You When I Needed You,” “Let Me Be,” and “Everyone’s Gone to the Moon.”

Why would Dean have been at Jan’s instrumental session that night? He may have been just visiting, or they may have planned a vocal session for after midnight, when Jan’s tracking session ended.

For whatever reason, Dean was there at a late hour, and his participation on “Barbara Ann” is a nice bit of history. A lot of Beach Boys fans hate the song, but it was a monster hit and remains a big part of the band’s identity. There would have been no Pet Sounds or Smile without the earlier material that made the band famous, including “Barbara Ann,” which was kind of a final bridge between the band’s founding era and its more progressive direction.

PM: Batman and Filet of Soul (1965-1966)

MM: Dean told me that Jan was more into the Batman concept than he was. The comedic Batman skits were written by committee, with input from Dean. And Dean voiced several of the characters. The skits were copyrighted as dramatic works, not music, and the writing credits went to “Batman” single co-writers Don Altfeld and Fred Wieder. That was part of Jan’s failed scheme to get paid for the skits under the table and sidestep his obligation to Screen Gems.

Dean was more interested in the original Filet of Soul concept and was involved creatively in putting the sound collages together. But they finally went too far, and there was no way Liberty would have agreed to release such a bizarre concept in late ’65. And Screen Gems agreed. Rejecting the album was not unreasonable from a commercial standpoint, but Jan was angry about it. They both were. They were ahead of their time on that one. Had it been the early ‘70s, it might’ve been different.

PM: “Popsicle” (1966)

MM: In the run-up to his car accident in the spring of ‘66, Jan pushed hard to get his new production of “Norwegian Wood (This Bird Has Flown)” released. The Beatles hadn’t released the song as a single in the United States, and Jan put a lot of work into his fully orchestrated arrangement of the song. Jan & Dean’s Liberty contract was ending on March 31, and Jan wanted “Norwegian Wood” to be the final single issued by the label. Well, Liberty balked and withheld the single, and this infuriated Jan. He believed it was a breach of contract and employed his high-powered attorney Gunther Schiff to force the issue.

The fight over “Norwegian Wood” was in full swing when Jan’s car accident happened. By late April, with Jan in the hospital, Liberty had been convinced to release the single. It was issued on May 3, 1966, a couple of weeks before Jan spoke his first words after the accident. The B-side was “Popsicle,” an album cut from the 1963 Drag City LP. Dean disliked “Norwegian Wood” and says he re-mixed “Popsicle” before its release, and then switched the sides in the mailroom at Liberty, placing a star on “Popsicle” as the A-side.

Dean wasn’t signed to Screen Gems and would normally not have had the authority to remix, or do anything else with, Jan’s productions for the company. In fact, Dean soon ran into legal trouble with Screen Gems. Moreover, there’s no discernable aural difference between the single and album cut versions of the song.

On May 12, nine days after the single’s release, attorney Gunther Schiff informed Jan’s parents that “Popsicle” would be the A-side. “The latter was a tape which Liberty had unreleased [as a single] and which they liked better than the suggested other side. Phil [Skaff, of Liberty] tells me that all the indicators point to a hit record on the single, with the emphasis being on ‘Popsicle.’” So, the label was confident of a hit with “Popsicle” less than a month before it debuted at #66 on the national Billboard charts on June 4, 1966. It peaked at #21 on July 9, spending a total of six weeks in the Top 40.

As with “Barbara Ann,” Dean’s preference for “Popsicle” was in keeping with his general dislike of Jan’s newer productions in ’65 and ’66. “Popsicle” had been one of Jan’s best productions from ’63 and had enough oomph to become the duo’s final Top-30 hit.

But prior to settling on “Popsicle,” Liberty considered making “Gonna Hustle You” the B-side of “Norwegian Wood.” Instead, the previously unreleased Jan Berry-Brian Wilson composition saw the official light of day on the released version of Filet of Soul in late April 1966. The released version of the album had been assembled by Liberty’s Dave Pell (without Jan) a month prior to its release (before Jan’s car accident).

If “Gonna Hustle You” had been the B-side instead of “Popsicle,” we can assume that Dean would have preferred “Gonna Hustle You” over “Norwegian Wood.”

And it’s important to understand that the end of the Liberty contract—the label’s excuse for not releasing “Norwegian Wood”—wouldn’t have been the end of Jan & Dean. Screen Gems, the primary signatory of the Liberty contract, still viewed Jan & Dean as a viable commercial entity and fully expected Jan to help negotiate a new record deal before the car accident ended everything.

PM: Save for a Rainy Day (1966-1967)

MM: With Jan out of commission, Dean focused on keeping the Jan & Dean name alive. He worked on a combination of original compositions and cover tunes in Joe Osborn’s garage studio on Ethel Avenue in North Hollywood. He also formed the J&D Record Co., which would soon contribute to his efforts falling apart.

Before the car accident, Jan had established his own production company, Berry Enterprises Ltd., and J&D Records, but was unable to do anything commercially with the firms while he was still signed to Screen Gems. He wanted to run his own operation, with complete business independence.

Well, Dean took that idea and ran with it. He established the J&D Record Co., which was unrelated to Jan’s J&D Records, but the idea was the same. So, Dean was proactive.

But here’s the rub . . . When Jan crashed, Screen Gems didn’t dump him or Jan & Dean from their roster. Instead, they renewed Jan’s production and songwriting contracts, and Jan & Dean’s artist contract. They then declared that Jan’s production agreement was merely “suspended” until he could begin working again—at which time the terms of the contract would kick back in. So, Screen Gems still had complete control over Jan & Dean as artists.

That meant that Dean didn’t have the legal right to record, produce, or release material using the Jan & Dean name. And when Screen Gems learned that Dean had issued several “Jan & Dean” singles and an album (Save for a Rainy Day) on the J&D Record Co. label, plus singles on Joe Osborn’s Magic Lamp label and Columbia Records, they quickly stepped in and put a legal stop to all of Dean’s efforts. They never saw wide distribution.

Co-writer Gary Zekely disparaged Dean’s first version of “Yellow Balloon,” and rushed to produce and release his own version with the band The Yellow Balloon, which became a Top-30 hit. But Dean’s second Turtles-like version of “Yellow Balloon” on Columbia was “bubbling under” on the Billboard charts when Screen Gems dropped the hammer on him.

So, in early ’67, the Columbia single evaporated before it could gain traction, and the forthcoming ABC/Columbia stereo version of Save for a Rainy Day was dead on arrival. Screen Gems informed Dean that he was harming their brand because (1) they owned the Jan & Dean name; (2) Jan didn’t sing on the single or album; and (3) Jan didn’t produce the single or album.

And the company further castigated Dean for not getting Jan’s signature for the “Jan & Dean” contract with Columbia. Screen Gems had approval rights for any new record label for the duo. But Dean not getting Jan’s signature really set them off. Their “cease and desist” correspondence was stern. And when they saw that the Columbia contract specified that Don Zaccaglini would be the producer, Screen Gems essentially said, “This is not happening.”

While some of his cuts were better than others, Dean was on the right track, creatively. His post-accident “Jan & Dean” material in ’66 and ’67 was worthy of the Jan & Dean name. He just didn’t have his legal ducks in a row. He didn’t have any experience as a record producer, aside from funding some projects with Gary Zekley in 1965 (but he had help from Osborn and others). And Dean didn’t understand the legal ramifications, the obligations that Jan and the act had to Screen Gems.

From Dean’s perspective, Jan was out of commission and that’s all that mattered. Dean believed he could now do whatever he wanted with “Jan & Dean.” But Screen Gems disabused him of that notion in no uncertain terms.

Columbia was deeply embarrassed. But Jan’s attorneys, Screen Gems, and executives at Columbia all put their heads together to salvage the situation and came up with a brilliant counteroffer that would have allowed the official release of Save for a Rainy Day . . . and Jan’s first new recordings after the accident.

But Dean declined because the new proposal put Jan back in the official producer role. Dean simply didn’t want to work with a post-accident, brain-damaged Jan. And it’s easy to understand why.

On top of the legal issues with Screen Gems, Jan had also rejected Dean’s post-accident efforts. Jan was struggling to come to terms with his new limitations, which went beyond the physical damage to his body. He was also damaged psychologically. His whole ambitious and successful world had crumbled overnight. It staggered him, and he remained in denial for a long time.

When Dean played “Yellow Balloon” for Jan, hoping it would perk him up, Dean said he “freaked and smashed the record.” But Jan didn’t “freak” on the artistic merits of Dean’s work. Jan freaked because he was used to being in charge, to controlling everything, and he didn’t sing on or produce the material Dean shared with him.

This was hurtful to Dean. He understood the reaction, but it was hurtful, nonetheless. So, on top of the legal problems that killed Dean’s single and album releases, Jan & Dean were back to clashing on a personal level.

And because of the Screen Gems crackdown, Dean was unable to use the Jan & Dean name for his release of “Vegetables” on the White Whale label in ’67. Instead, he used the name Laughing Gravy.

So, all of this together left Dean feeling angry and resentful.

It’s a painful chapter in the duo’s history. We feel for them, but we also want to get in a time machine and go back and convince Dean to accept that counteroffer from Jan’s attorneys, Screen Gems, and Columbia. Because it would have been better for Jan & Dean’s legacy to have those recordings released and judged in their own time, and not decades later.

PM: Carnival of Sound (1967-1968)

MM: Jan returned to work in the studio in April 1967, one year to the month after his car accident. It was slow going, and he battled depression and a severe impulse disorder to begin working creatively again—writing, arranging, and producing—with a team of collaborators. His early post-accident recordings were facilitated by Alvin Bennett and Liberty Records. And the songs “Hawaii,” “Fan Tan,” and “Love and Hate” would have been released as singles if the Columbia counteroffer had been accepted.

Instead, Jan impulsively bootlegged his own material on his custom “Jan & Dean Label,” and promptly received a cease-and-desist order from Screen Gems, much like the one the company had sent to Dean.

Warner Bros. then bought the masters for Jan’s new material from Liberty. As Jan continued to record new songs for an album—Carnival of Sound—Screen Gems approved a new label contract with Warner for Jan & Dean. Screen Gems insisted that Dean sign the contract, because Jan’s singles and album would be released under the duo’s name. Dean’s signature allowed him to get paid, even though he didn’t participate.

But Dean was still angry. He signed reluctantly, but not before threatening to take out public ads saying he had nothing to do with Jan & Dean or the Warner Bros. project. It was a real headache for Warner executive Joe Smith.

The rift between the two old friends had reached a new level of intensity. Jan told one of his therapists that Dean was a bad person and that they were no longer friends.

A couple of “Jan & Dean” singles were released by Warner Bros., but Jan’s impulse disorder finally derailed the album project in 1968.

Meanwhile, Dean had turned his talents and attention to his new design startup, Kittyhawk Graphics, which enjoyed a successful 13-year run before Jan & Dean started touring again.

PM: Jan’s solo work with Ode and A&M (1972-1978)

MM: The decade of the 1970s was productive for Jan in the studio. He began singing again, and he co-wrote, arranged, and produced the best material of his post-accident career.

Jan & Dean were largely on separate paths for most of the decade, but they came together occasionally. For example, they appeared together on Dick Clark’s Action ’74, among other national television programs. And Dean made clear to Clark that Jan was the only one still active in the music business.

But as Jan worked on “Fun City,” Dean heard the track and complimented Jan and co-producers Alan Wolfson and Jim Pewter. They asked Dean to add some vocals and he agreed. It became a literal Jan & Dean song, but when Ode released the single as “Jan & Dean,” Dean was angry because he had only participated as a favor to Jan. He wasn’t interested in an official recording relationship.

Later, when Jan wanted Brian Wilson to sing the falsetto lead on Jan’s re-make of “Sidewalk Surfin’,” Dean offered to sing the parts himself. Another literal Jan & Dean track, but this time the single remained a Jan Berry solo release.

So, Dean was open to contributing here and there, but he wasn’t interested in an official reunion with Jan.

Dean did a lot of interviews for print media during this era, and many of them, through the mid-’70s, were negative when it came to Jan. In reminiscing about their career, Dean said some harsh things about Jan publicly. And some of it boggles the mind, like saying Jan wasn’t creative, and that he (Dean) didn’t understand how Jan suddenly became the producer for Jan & Dean. He said they should have been co-producers because they spent the same amount of time and did the same amount of work on the music. Complete nonsense. I don’t think Dean feels that way in the modern era, but I suspect the wounds were still fresh (so to speak) back then.

And we as historians and fans should be empathetic, and put ourselves in Dean’s shoes, and try to imagine what it was like from his vantage point. It was a two-way street—and shame on Jan to any extent that he mistreated Dean.

PM: Deadman's Curve: The Movie (1977-1978)

MM: The Deadman’s Curve film was based on a 1974 Rolling Stone article by attorney Paul Morantz, who first met Jan in the spring of 1969. The movie focused on the personal relationship between Jan & Dean and was a fictionalized treatment of their career.

Dean was the main advisor. The film plays like a view of their personal relationship through Dean’s lens, resulting in a classic Hollywood trope, with Jan as the “bad guy” and Dean as the “good guy.”

Jan was portrayed as mean-spirited, and it didn’t sit well with his closest associates from the ‘60s. The portrayal took an aspect of Jan’s personality and exaggerated it for dramatic affect. As engineer Bones Howe told me in our interview, “Jan was a sweet guy, a good guy. He was headstrong and all those other things, but he wasn’t evil. He wasn’t a bad person. If you talk to Hal Blaine, or any of us that were around there at that time [in the ’60s], they’ll all tell you the same thing.”

Lou Adler and Herb Alpert, the duo’s first managers and producers, declined to participate in the film. And Adler later criticized it for not accurately portraying who Jan was and what he achieved before the car accident.

Deadman’s Curve was hugely important for putting Jan & Dean back in the pop culture spotlight. But it was a double-edged sword for Jan. He supported the film publicly, but later acknowledged its inaccuracy.

PM: Jan’s solo bands—Downing, Tripp & Middler (1976-1977) and Aloha (1978); the Beach Boys (1978)

MM: By the mid-’70s Jan was ready to begin performing live again. He formed a new band with Paul Downing (musical director), Peter Tripp, Joe Middler, and Chad McCall. The press referred to the backing band as Downing, Tripp & Middler. Jan took the plunge and began scheduling gigs at clubs in places like Marina Del Rey; Hollywood; Huntington Beach; Phoenix, Arizona; Las Vegas, Nevada; and elsewhere. And slowly, he got back in the swing of performing again. Never the same, and always a struggle, but delivering for fans. At the same time, these backing musicians participated on some of Jan’s studio recordings, including “Little Queenie.”

After Deadman’s Curve aired, Jan wanted to hit the road for a national tour to take advantage of publicity from the film, which was a major ratings success. Jan & Dean were now back in the public eye. But Dean wasn’t interested. He didn’t think Jan could pull it off, told him he wasn’t good enough, and didn’t want to play small clubs with him.

So, in March 1978—a month after the film aired—Jan hit the road with a new band called Aloha and toured the country as a solo act. They traveled in a motorhome and performed in venues from Arizona to North Carolina, and points north and south.

In July, Dean reluctantly joined Jan and his band for a gig at the Palladium in New York City. The concert—a multi-act lineup billed as Murray the K’s Brooklyn Fox Reunion—got substantial publicity because it was Jan & Dean’s first live performance together outside of California after the car accident.

But in public interviews about the event, Dean poured cold water on the whole thing. He criticized Jan’s band and said he would rather perform with the Skyliners than with Jan. Dean said there were only six Jan & Dean songs he liked and that he preferred performing Beach Boys music to Jan & Dean’s music—a theme that continues to the present day.

The Beach Boys toured nationally in August and September 1978 and brought Jan & Dean aboard for several high-profile guest performances. At a time when some Beach Boys concerts were criticized, these shows in the Midwest and Florida received glowing reviews in the press. Brian Wilson was back onstage with the band, and there was a lot of hype surrounding Jan & Dean’s return to performing in the wake of Deadman’s Curve.

Throughout these shows, Dean made it clear publicly that these were just special appearances, and that he wasn’t interested in a “comeback” or official Jan & Dean reunion. In fact, Dean said he hoped the appearances with the Beach Boys would gain Jan enough name recognition to tour on his own as “Jan Berry,” and leave him (Dean) out of the advertising altogether. Some of Jan’s recent solo gigs had been billed as “The Music of Jan & Dean, starring Jan Berry” (much like Dean performs today with the Surf City All-Stars).

Still, Dean made a couple more appearances with Jan and his Aloha Band, most prominently at the Starwood nightclub in West Hollywood. The show was well received and got positive reviews in the press. But once again, after the show, Dean publicly disparaged Jan’s band, which was complimented in the Los Angeles Times.

Jan fired back publicly with his own negative comments about Dean. Randy Ruff, who sometimes sang with Jan’s solo band—playing the “Dean” role and engaging the audience—told a reporter it was his understanding that Jan & Dean “hated each other” before the car accident and that nothing had changed in that regard.

PM: Papa Doo Run Run (1976-1980) / Celebration (1978) / Bel Air Bandits (1981) / Aloha (1982-1986)

MM: By 1974 Dean had connected with Papa Doo Run Run, a talented band from the Bay Area of Northern California. So, Dean was performing with Papa at the same time Jan hit the road with his own solo act.

But in June 1976 the duo came together in a bellwether moment for Jan & Dean—their first live performance together backed by live musicians since Jan’s car accident a decade earlier. Dean and Papa were performing at the Palomino night club in North Hollywood. Jan was in the audience and joined them onstage to sing a couple of songs.  It was a big deal and the event received national headlines in Variety, Creem, and other media outlets. Though neither Jan nor Dean saw it that way at the time, this performance marked a first step on their slow, contentious path to an official touring reunion.

In April 1978, Jan & Dean made a guest appearance with Mike Love’s Celebration band. Jan sang a few harmonies and then rejoined Dean and the band on “Barbara Ann.” Deadman’s Curve had debuted on national television just two months earlier and the crowd went nuts seeing Jan & Dean together onstage. Their appearance was also reviewed positively in the media.

At another Celebration gig later that month, and because of the positive reception, Jan was hoping for more stage time. But Dean once again kept Jan offstage until a cameo at the end. Dean’s rationale was that this was a Mike Love gig, not a Jan & Dean gig. But Jan took this as a snub, and it upset him to the point of tears.

They went their separate ways again and Jan returned to touring with his Aloha band. But Murray the K’s Brooklyn Fox Reunion and the Beach Boys gigs with Jan & Dean (described above) followed in July, August, and September 1978. And it was clear that there was a huge audience demand to see Jan & Dean perform together.

Jan joined Dean and Papa in September for another couple of performances at the Keystone clubs in Berkeley and Palo Alto in Northern California. And the handwriting was on the wall.

In 1979, the lightbulb finally went off for Dean and he changed his tune about a reunion. There was money to be made here. He now wanted to bring Jan into the fold and tour nationally with Papa Doo Run Run. And when that happened, Bill Berry—Jan’s father and conservator—publicly criticized Dean for not being interested until it became lucrative.

But Jan was ready. They hit the road with Papa in ’79 and ’80, and the crowd response was tremendous. These were the early glory days of Jan & Dean’s reunion, fueled to some extent by Baby Boomers but largely by younger Deadman’s Curve viewers who wanted to see the “real guys” onstage together. Jan was on Cloud Nine. Even Dean was moved to tears by the crowd response at Fresno State University.

Predictably, of course, it went off the rails and ended too soon.

Jan would have been difficult to work with under “normal” circumstances, due to his post-accident condition, but he was now snorting cocaine and making things more difficult than they should have been. It made Jan & Dean’s contentious baseline relationship more volatile, to say the least.

At one point in 1980 Dean staged a hilarious fake drug bust on Jan, trying to scare him straight. And it did scare Jan initially—tears streaming down his face—but he shrugged it off when he realized it wasn’t real.

Papa Doo Run Run returned to performing at Disneyland, minus two members of the group. Musical director James Armstrong and Mark Ward left Papa to help Dean build a new backing band for Jan & Dean.

Dean blamed Jan’s drug use, but Jan had a problem with the band. And truthfully, Dean and Papa no longer saw eye to eye on how things should proceed. So, it was time to start over.

The new combo they assembled was called the Bel-Air Bandits, named after the municipal league touch football team Jan & Dean had sponsored in the mid-1960s. It was also the name of Jan’s first post-accident band in 1968. James Armstrong resumed his role as musical director, and after some early turnover, the band settled into a solid lineup.

The 1981 tour was well received by fans, but by October the tension between Jan, Dean, and the Bandits had reached another breaking point. Jan abruptly fired the band and Jan & Dean officially ended their union. The rift was deep.

In 1982, the public became aware of the breakup as Jan & Dean made nasty comments about each other in the press. Dean once again blamed Jan’s drug use. In his memoir Dean said, “I hated Jan with a passion, not particularly because of the way he treated me, but for what he did to himself.”

There’s no question that Jan was still coked up at that point, but the truth is that Jan never stopped touring. He just stopped touring with Dean.

Almost immediately Jan hit the road with a new incarnation of his Aloha Band. In ’82 and ’83, Jan’s solo act toured the country from coast to coast, played residency gigs in Las Vegas, and toured Hawaii. During that time, Dean continued to perform with the Bel-Air Bandits but also formed a partnership with Mike Love as Mike & Dean.

So, Jan wasn’t so drugged up that he couldn’t perform. It was mostly the tension between Jan & Dean that derailed their touring operation. Performing wasn’t the issue. They both performed successfully with their various side acts. But they didn’t earn as much money on their own.

The financial issue is what gave Jan the incentive to set the cocaine aside and make another serious run at a Jan & Dean reunion. Audiences wanted to see Jan & Dean together onstage, the original two guys who made all those hit records together. And venues were willing to shell out the big bucks to book Jan & Dean as an act.

So, in 1983, they gave it another go, booking gigs sparingly at first, and then picking up steam. Whenever they had breaks in performances, Jan would go back out with his Aloha Band, but it soon became clear that Jan & Dean were back to stay.

The heyday of their “Phase II” touring operation was the late 1980s. The post-accident role reversal put Dean firmly in charge, and he did a good job on the business end. Jan often sat alone for hours after shows, greeting fans and signing autographs, while Dean schmoozed the buyers and made sure everything was on track.

The tension between them remained, to one degree or another, but they made a lot of fans happy.

PM: Port to Paradise (1986)

MM: While it featured some of Jan’s solo recordings from the ‘70s, Port to Paradise was a Jan & Dean album. Dean sang on several of the tracks, including “Ocean Park Angel” and the disco flavored “Hot Lookin’ Lady,” among others. Jan’s youngest brother Billy was involved and helped bring Dean aboard. Billy told me in our interview that Jan was often dismissive of Dean when Billy suggested they record together. But Billy had a good relationship with Dean and said Dean was good about participating on a project when Billy asked.

PM: Gertie Filip (1991 to 2004)

MM: When Gertie married Jan in 1991, she helped manage his affairs. She often traveled with Jan and attended shows. I think she got along well with Dean overall. But Gertie monitored documents related to Jan & Dean’s touring operation. One time she noticed an anomaly with Jan’s frequent flier miles, and worried that Dean had somehow appropriated them for himself. She told me she confronted Dean, and he said something like, “Well, if I did use them, I deserved them” (paraphrased). In managing the touring operation, Dean always looked for ways to economize and save money, which was smart for business. Jan benefitted from that.

PM: Second Wave (1988-1997)

MM: Dean wasn’t involved in the recordings that ended up on Jan’s solo album, Second Wave. But Rob Kuroptwa, Jan’s young associate producer, found a way to bring Jan & Dean together in the studio one last time. Jan and Rob co-wrote and produced a jingle for Baskin-Robbins Ice Cream and tied it to Jan & Dean’s 31st anniversary as a duo in 1990: “31 Flavors, 31 Years.” They included the jingle on the album as a bonus track.

PM: Final Act (1995-2004)

MM: By the mid-1990s, times were dark for Jan & Dean. Jan’s health was failing. His temper was short, and there were several major blowups. At one point Jan wanted a raise and didn’t get it, and Dean pointedly reminded Jan of how things used to be in the ‘60s. It was frustrating for both. It was stressful for the band. Yet they slogged along for nearly another decade. Did it drag on too long? Sure, but again, this was their livelihood—and fans still wanted to see them.

A couple of days after Jan’s death, I was on the phone with Gertie. And she told me that Dean had floated the idea of putting Jan’s ashes on a surfboard, and having a surfer paddle out into the breakers to release Jan’s remains into the ocean. That was touching, and it stuck with me. It showed Dean being sentimental over remembering his lifelong friend. Jan’s ashes remain with Gertie to this day.

PM: Mark, you've given us an intimate look backstage, in the studio, on the set; business conversations, and times good and not so good. Lifelong relationships have seasons and can become complicated. Do your best to summarize Jan Berry's relationship with Dean Torrence.

MM: They were friends. An important bond that frayed but never broke. They shared a lot of positive times and memories together. But when friends are in a business and creative relationship, there can be conflict and tension. And there’s absolutely nothing abnormal or wrong about that. It’s as predictable as time itself.

But they weathered those storms. Dean got back onboard in the 1970s and stuck with the program. It wasn’t easy but they toughed it out until the end. First, because it was their livelihood. But second, because their longstanding friendship and professional relationship meant something, not only to each other, but to the fans—especially to the newer fans who came onboard after Deadman’s Curve first aired in 1978. Dean is well-loved and has been consistently good to fans over the years.

A small but amusing faction complains that my telling Jan’s story in detail marginalizes Dean. And to that I say, of course Dean is marginalized. He did little in the way of songwriting and he wasn’t the music arranger or producer for the act during its hit-making years. He wasn’t the leader. It’s like saying Al Jardine is marginalized in Beach Boys history. Well, of course Al is marginalized to a certain extent, because he wasn’t the creative force. He wasn’t Brian Wilson. But Al’s place in Beach Boys history is solid, will always have value, and will always be important. Same goes for Dean with Jan & Dean. He'll always be marginalized to some extent, but not out of malice, disrespect, or because he wasn’t important to the act. Dean brought his own strengths to the table. Without Dean, it’s difficult to contemplate what the act would have been—or if there would have even been an act.

It's been said that Jan & Dean could’ve been “Jan & Anybody.” But that suggestion misses the mark. It’s like saying the Beach Boys could’ve been “Brian & Anybody.” Sure, other singers could’ve ably sung Brian Wilson’s amazing vocal arrangements. And sure, better guitarists could’ve played Carl Wilson’s lead licks . . . but those scenarios wouldn’t have resulted in that magical vocal and instrumental blend we know as the Beach Boys. “Jan & Anybody” might not have reached the level of success that Jan & Dean achieved. It’s the total package that counted.

Obviously, this “Dean is marginalized” idea goes back to the rocky personal relationship between Jan & Dean, and Jan’s dominance before the car accident. It colors everything. They had problems before the accident, and that carried over to a different set of problems after the accident. And that’s okay. As I’ve said to Dean more than once: Join the club. It happened to Lennon & McCartney. It happened to Simon & Garfunkel. And I don’t think Jan & Dean were that toxic, even with Jan’s brain injury and post-accident troubles clouding everything.

And hovering over the whole business is the fact that Dean was forced to become the act’s default spokesman after Jan’s car accident in April 1966. Think about that. Dean was not the leader or the creative force, but he has been the go-to guy for commentary about Jan & Dean for what, 56 years now? That’s literally my entire lifetime. And it’s not like Dean hasn’t given Jan his due as an arranger and producer, or for getting back out on the road in the ‘70s. Dean has given Jan plenty of props. But we’ve now had multiple decades of Dean telling the story from his own perspective, filtered through his rocky relationship with Jan—and that perspective is valid and important, but it hasn’t resulted in a rich and well-rounded history of Jan’s life and career. How could it?

I encourage interested parties to read Dean’s memoir, Surf City: The Jan & Dean Story. It’s a fun read. But to those who’ve read it, I ask: What did you learn about Jan during the heyday of Jan & Dean’s career? What did you learn about Jan’s Aloha Band during the post-accident periods when Jan & Dean weren’t touring together? The answer to the first question is not much. The answer to the second question is nothing. I daresay that Jan was . . . wait for it . . . marginalized in Dean’s book. There’s just not much insight on Jan there. It’s Dean’s memoir.

So yeah, it was long past time for an in-depth biographical examination of Jan’s life and career. Long past, indeed. And I’m grateful to Dean for contributing to my efforts in a positive way.

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