Baz Halpin was ready to follow his family into classical music when a Jethro Tull tour changed everything. As a teenager in the Nineties, the Irish producer and director had been working at a Dublin concert hall, where he became captivated by the way that lighting could accentuate the emotionality of music. So he accepted a gig as a lighting tech and rigger.
“I went on tour, and it was like stepping through that door in The Wizard of Oz, where everything suddenly went into color,” recalls Halpin, CEO and founder of the production company Silent House Group. “This whole world of travel, excitement, responsibility, wildness, and everything the rock & roll lifestyle offered, I fell in love with it.”
Halpin’s yellow brick road has taken him all the way to Sphere Las Vegas, where The Wizard of Oz itself has stepped through bold new doors with an immersive 4D film. It’s here that Halpin has masterminded the visuals for residencies by the Eagles and Backstreet Boys. He’s now working with No Doubt on their own Sphere engagement, opening May 6 — a “nostalgic, exciting, surprising” ride chronicling the band’s 40-year run.
“This will be a journey through the most important moments in the history of No Doubt,” Halpin says. “The band grew up in Orange County and conquered the world. They’ve been through so many things together, and the beauty of the Sphere is the ability to tell those stories in a visual way. You’ll be swept away and feel like you’re experiencing their evolution alongside them.”
The artistic potential in Sphere is a long way from Halpin’s earlier work in production design and creative direction for Pink, Cher, Christina Aguilera, and George Michael’s final tour, Symphonica, which paired the late singer with orchestral accompanists. “He did a version of ‘The First Time Ever I Saw Your Face’ with this incredible orchestra, which still floors me,” Halpin recalls. He describes his diverse résumé, which also includes time spent working on Michael Flatley’s Lord of the Dance, as a “university” that taught him how to enthrall audiences across genres and venues.
Silent HouseAnother major highlight in his career was collaborating with Taylor Swift as she transitioned into pop with her Red tour in 2013. Halpin continued to work closely with Swift on the global treks that followed, including her record-breaking Eras Tour. Live events like those highlight the ways today’s superstars are stretching the limits of live production: Artists want to achieve “more than what came before,” he says, at a time when concertgoers are creatively savvier than ever.
“Most people, whether through Instagram or TikTok, are creatives in their own right,” he adds. “Everyone’s an editor. There’s a knowledge base within the fandom that wasn’t there before, which increases the bar to wow people…. And the technology, software, and processing power [have increased] how much you can do. The whole industry’s moved forward, which allows you to dream bigger. Nobody would’ve conceived Sphere 20 years ago.”
No Doubt were fresh from their 2024 Coachella comeback when Halpin, who worked on their 2009 Summer Tour, was brought on for their residency. He began by presenting mood boards and reference images, which he fine-tuned with the band before creating a show deck. Once the set list was finalized, he showed Gwen Stefani, bassist Tony Kanal, guitarist Tom Dumont, and drummer Adrian Young what he envisioned for each song on a projector, then they developed the ideas together.
“So much of it has to take shape in your mind because you’re not seeing finished products — just references, models, or sketches,” Halpin says. “They’re all creative and able to do that, but it’s a tough process.”
No Doubt’s Sphere residency is shaping up to be one of this year’s biggest live events.WireImageThe greatest challenge with Sphere remains the “delicate little dance” of creating extraordinary visuals without overshadowing the band. With No Doubt, the creative possibilities felt greater thanks to the range of their discography, from ballads like “Don’t Speak” to pop-punk anthems like “Ex-Girlfriend.”
Halpin says that the group’s Orange County roots will feature prominently in the show, while eagle-eyed fans will catch numerous Easter eggs. “We’ve done a deep dive, pulling out obvious moments from the past and obscure ones,” says Halpin.
Having also directed Super Bowl halftime shows for Katy Perry and Usher, Halpin feels that both live sports and music are critical avenues for human connections. He ultimately hopes his work elevates such moments and memories.
“In an increasingly digital and isolated world, sports and live music are two of the few remaining things where humans gather, almost ceremonially, and participate,” he says. “Something magical happens there. As a director or producer, you want to heighten that experience. And when there’s that nostalgic element, those memories are threaded into our souls, so honoring that is important.”
Whipped Cream*
Pop Albums Are Getting More Ambitious. Can Audiences Keep Up?
This Music May Contain Hope, the second album from British songstress Raye, makes great demands of its audience. The record nearly runs the length of a feature film and most of the 17 songs sound like they could soundtrack one. When the credits roll at the end — she thanks each and every person who helped create the record for six and a half minutes on “Fin.,” — they conclude a gloriously disorienting listening experience. For most of the album, Raye is asking you to come along as she fights and prays through despair and self-criticism to keep hope alive.
Sometimes that battle is filtered through songs that sound like show tunes or gospel hymns. In the case of “Click Clack Symphony,” they crescendo into a dizzying Hans Zimmer composition. There’s a level of patience and reciprocity the album requires from its listeners: At once confrontational and confessional, This Music May Contain Hope is not designed for detached consumption — and it’s part of a surge of recent releases that find artists creating ambitious records that encourage intentional engagement.
Last year, Hayley Williams released Ego Death at a Bachelorette Party as 17 individual singles. Fans created their own sequencing and narratives guided solely by the themes and sounds they chose. A few months later, Rosalía released Lux, a captivating 18-track record performed in 13 languages. It shares a musical complexity with This Music May Contain Hope and an interrogative spirit with The Apple Tree Under the Sea, the debut album from Hemlocke Springs released earlier this year. Each record is as all-consuming as the ideas they’re engaging with — mental anguish, faith and religion, internal and interpersonal implosion.
Raye often describes music as medicinal. Backed by the London Symphony Orchestra and Flames Collective choir on “I Know You’re Hurting,” her melodies and harmonies are bandages and sutures. When she instructs the listener to “close your eyes and let this music get to working,” she exudes the wisdom of an elder passing home remedies through generations. At a time when easier access to music often means increasingly passive listening, these albums replace momentary distraction with connection and compassion. They give the audience something to return to.
Raye included the voices of her grandparents at the start of “Life Boat.” The portion her grandfather contributes, where he says, “I’m living, not giving up,” was recorded just days before his death. More voices flood in across the next four minutes. They all repeat some variation of “I’m not giving up, yet,” some with more desperation than others. “Say it,” Raye says, stern and direct. “Say, ‘I’m not giving up, yet.’” The mantra is set against the kind of thudding club beat that defined the earliest phases of her career. Drums and synthesizers are interspersed with delicately arranged strings, but there’s something transcendent about the contours and echoes of Raye’s voice.
That kind of vocal power is something Rosalía speaks about often: Duende. The flamenco term refers to a type of enchantment delivered through an especially evocative vocal performance. It’s not necessarily about technical prowess, or precision. “There’s something so ethereal and divine about el duende,” Rosalía told The New York Times last year. “El duende is something that visits you. It’s something that comes to you.” It makes the listening experience feel targeted and personal. This funneled into Rosalía on Lux. The record unravels in a way that transcends the barrier of language.
Rosalía begins “Mundo Nuevo” in Spanish. Its translation reveals she’s searching for a hint of truth. She finishes “De Madrugá” in Ukrainian with something searching for her this time. “I’m not looking for revenge,” she sings. “Revenge is looking for me.” The London Symphony Orchestra and the Escolania de Montserrat i Cor Cambra Palau de la Música Catalana choir bolster the album, their arrangements ranging from anxious and erratic to soothing and hypnotic.
Rosalía introduced Lux with the first single “Bergain,” which splinters across German, Spanish, and English. When Yves Tumor’s voice cuts through on the song’s outro, the persistent repetition of “I’ll fuck you till you love me” is harsh and abrasive against the preceding moments. Rosalía chases that friction across Lux. Like her mix of languages, she challenges the listener with existentialism and ruminations on the afterlife. It might turn some listeners away, but the ones who stay are rewarded.
Most of the record was inspired by saints, like Teresa of Ávila or Joan of Arc. Their history adds a third layer to the depth of Lux; Hemlocke Springs similarly fixates on religious motifs on The Apple Tree Under the Sea. She weaves in medieval tales and impulsive adventures made for a storybook. Positioning herself as a character in her fantastical stories gives her audience someone to root for while creating some distance between fiction and reality.
In that sense, The Apple Tree Under the Sea shares a theatrical ease of access with This Music May Contain Hope. Raye’s cautionary tales about traitorous South London men who should be banned from WhatsApp play into the same spectacle as Springs’ “Head, Shoulders, Knees and Ankles” and “Moses.” There’s a prelude towards the end of The Apple Tree Under the Sea that features the voice of a man who sounds far away as he preaches about sin and final judgements. It gets even harder to hear him when the sounds of running horses and marching feet cut through. The suspense builds into an orchestral outro that leads into “Sense (Is),” a booming, optimistic song about making the most of a clean slate and a glass half full.
Springs’ journey is the shortest within this set of albums. It spans 10 songs in just over half an hour, but retains its complexities with winding plot twists. Where she leans into communicating through stories and allegories, Raye through a version of theater, and Rosalía essentially through multinational cathedrals, Williams’ Ego Death at a Bachelorette Party brings listeners into an excruciatingly vivid reality. The achingly haunted “True Believer” walks the streets of Nashville. It moves down Broadway and past repurposed clubs. It attends the churches and questions the rhetoric presented in them. It runs parallel to the moments across the album that brings listeners into a home with fragile glass walls.
The album’s most shattering moment arrives towards the end: “Good ‘Ol Days.” It’s not as distressing as “Negative Self Talk,” or as sobering as “Whim.” It glides along a warm groove and drops burning one-liners with pointed specificity. What fortifies it the most is an appearance from Williams’ grandfather midway through the song. “You are so tacky/I think that’s why I love you so much,” he says in a voicemail message. “I just had to call you first on my new phone/I love you, y’all have a blast, bye.” The interlude emphasizes just how interior the content of the record is, made up of real moments, people, and feelings.
There’s a false perception in pop music that the best way to connect with the masses is to keep things broad — that vague generalizations are easier for people to latch onto. But the hyper-specificity and confrontation on these albums form real connection, creating the feeling that the listener is being trusted with someone else’s secrets and struggles — and safe to embrace their own, too.
There’s bravery in how these artists are driven by conviction. They understand the reach their platforms provide, but have little interest in idolatry. They each use different formats to craft a sense of togetherness even in their most intimate moments, like it means more to show someone they aren’t alone than to tell them. They ask for patience as they remind listeners it’s commendable to try. Some people don’t come to music looking for this; it can be challenging to have an artist in your ear telling you to bring your most shattering emotions and memories to the surface. But those are the kind of records that endure over time.