Lost & Found: Beastie Boys 1986

Beastie Boys, Toronto, April 1986

HERE’S ANOTHER BUNCH OF NEGATIVES I NEVER THOUGHT I’D SEE AGAIN. These old pics of the Beastie Boys were in the same old file folder, buried behind old receipts and tax stuff, as the photos of the Minutemen I featured here a few weeks ago. More juvenilia, back from when I was still learning how to use a camera.

These are not great portraits. They’re not even particularly good snapshots. But thanks to my new Vivitar 285 flash, bought at B&H in New York City the previous fall, they were at least properly exposed – if you like the look of direct flash, which I don’t, and didn’t, even then.

So why even bother posting them? Well, they might not be great shots, but if I’ve learned anything from putting old photos online, almost any picture becomes history when even a minority of the audience for it wasn’t born when it was taken. Especially so, I suppose, when someone in the photo is no longer alive.

Beastie Boys, Toronto, April 1986

I shot them just before they went onstage at their first ever Toronto gig, at a tacky new wave disco in Yorkville called the Copa. I was double-dipping – these shots would end up being used by both Graffiti magazine and Nerve. According to the recollections of Perry Stern, who was writing the Graffiti piece, he’d spent much of the day before the show with them, walking up and down Yonge Street trying to buy amyl nitrate poppers, which they’d heard were legal in Toronto. (Apparently not, as far as Perry could tell.)

They were boisterous but likeable goofs, according to Perry, more than living up to their budding public image, which would become gold-plated with the release of Licensed to Ill a few months later. Their madcap antics would deflate a bit a few minutes after I took these photos, when they went onstage and threw around some beers that broke one of the neon “sculptures” hanging over the dance floor at the Copa. (An incident I’d completely forgotten about until Perry reminded me the other day.)

But cracks were starting to show, even then; a friend from Nerve who was hanging around when I took these shots recalled one of the Beasties – MCA or maybe Mike D, I can’t remember – suddenly sitting down, exhausted, and mumbling to himself “Man, I gotta get so stupid to do this shit.”

As Michael “Mike D” Diamond remembered in the recently-published Beastie Boys Book, a memoir written by himself and Adam “Ad Rock” Horovitz:

Over the course of those months on the road, we went from being like, This is the most exciting thing ever, I can’t believe we’re actually rock stars to thinking, God, people really expect us to be these idiot caricatures of ourselves night after night. This kind of sucks . . . We didn’t see ourselves having to act out a role, having to go onstage and be the three guys who throw beer and have a giant dick for a prop. And it had never occurred to us that it would start to be demanded of us. We honestly just didn’t know.

Beastie Boys Book, p. 229
Beastie Boys, Toronto, July 2006

I would meet up with the Beasties again, twenty years later, working for the free national daily. Of course, nobody thought they’d have a career that would last two more years, never mind two decades. Adam Horovitz was still the cut-up in the band, mugging for my camera, while Michael Diamond had lost the baby fat in his face and Adam “MCA” Yauch (1964-2012) had become the group’s thoughtful conscience – not that we suspected the Beastie Boys had, or even needed, a conscience thirty+ years ago. The very idea would have been considered absurd.

Beastie Boys, Toronto, April 1986
Beastie Boys, Toronto, July 2006

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Jane Bunnett & Maqueque – On Firm Ground

IT HAD BEEN OVER TWENTY YEARS SINCE I’D SHOT AN ALBUM COVER FOR MY FRIEND JANE when she contacted me late last year and asked if I’d take the photos for her next CD. A lot had happened since then. I’d moved out of my loft around the corner from her house, got married, had kids and left the business – twice – while Jane had gone from strength to strength, with an Order of Canada, a whole bunch of other awards and four Grammy nominations.

Of course I said yes.

Brainstorming for the look of the record started with the title – Tierra Firme and/or On Firm Ground. Ideas started with a photo of Sonny Rollins in a stark studio setting, but moved on to the idea of superimposing pictures of lush greenery on the band. I sent a bunch of images back at Jane, including an old Lou Donaldson record and bunch of others that evoked a pastoral take on psychedelia that was popular on LP sleeves in the late ’60s.

I began making sketches and collages in my notebook after we visited a shooting space that was both competitively priced and conveniently up the street from Jane and her husband Larry’s Parkdale house. It was a gallery and performance venue that had a very useful white wall and another big wall of windows. We booked a time, canceled once, Jane found a makeup person, we booked again and were ready to roll.

I arrived with my “studio in a bag”, the standby kit I’d put together after I’d seriously returned to shooting, with two new additions – a pair of Westcott LED lights to replace the household bulbs I’d been using and a Tiltall tripod that was once a stalwart in my old studio. The band arrived and I occupied my time waiting for them to finish with hair and makeup by obsessively moving my light stands a few inches forward and backward for an hour. This is what it all looked like from my perspective by halfway through the session:

Roxanne DeNobrega, the hair and makeup artist, brought along her friend Sonia Blayde, a photographer, to document her work. She helpfully took shots of the session and graciously let me share some of them here.

At work, Gallery 345 (photos by Sonia Blayde)

The group shots were done but I knew I wasn’t even halfway finished. Using stock photos for the superimpositions was briefly discussed, but I pushed for doing the “nature shots” myself. The problem was that the record was Latin Jazz, and it was winter in Toronto – hardly the time or place to shoot equatorial lush greenery.

The closest big patch of nature was High Park, where I’d been a few months previous and posted a few nice Instagram shots of bare trees and autumn leaves. I had to wait a few days for a warm spell to melt as much of the snow cover as possible before I could head back and try to get those shots again, this time with my Fuji X-T2 instead of my cell phone. The photos I came home with were a bit bleak and monochromatic, but the miracle of Photoshop allowed me to boost the saturation to the edge of cartoonish hues.

At work in Allan Gardens, March 2019 (photo by Cordelia McGinnis)

More shots of greenery – preferable the lush, green kind – had to be collected. This meant a trip to the greenhouses at Allan Gardens, where I knew I’d be able to get at least some close-ups of foliage that might be useful somehow. It turned into a family outing that I spent most of bent double, focusing on plants or shooting through the canopy of palms in the big main room.

With hundreds of shots to work with, I could finally get to work. Once upon a time this would mean providing a graphic artist with my raw shots, which would be re-shot and mechanically married and re-shot again. Photoshop put all this work back in my hands, and I spent a week tidying up the shots of the band and then another couple of weeks trying out a variety of double and triple exposures, sending them along to Jane and Larry via Facebook Messenger for approval.

What I was doing was as much graphic arts as photography, which was fine by me – I had wanted to be an illustrator when I was young, years before I bought a camera. Over four decades later and with the miracle of cheap computers and digital technology, I’m able to realize an old dream I thought I’d given up on years ago.

Once we’d agreed on a shot, I put together a mock-up of the cover as a sort of proof of concept for Simon Evers, the designer who put the whole package together for the record company. I also provided a bunch of raw shots from my trips to High Park and Allan Gardens to use as graphic elements, and the headshots I’d taken of the band at the end of the shoot, also treated as double exposures with bits of lush greenery, to push the whole graphic conceit of the record a bit further.

It all came together in a quadruple gatefold package that hit the stores a few weeks ago.

Reviews have been fantastic, which is great. As for myself, I’m proud of pushing myself to do something a bit outside my comfort zone, with the encouragement of Jane and Larry.

Mostly, though, it’s nice to be working again, and especially with old friends.

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GM Oshawa

Park Road, Oshawa, ON, Aug. 2019

I HAVE BEEN A WRITER LONGER THAN I HAVE BEEN A PHOTOGRAPHER. I don’t talk about writing much – after over 35 years, it’s become something I can do as opposed to something I want to do – but occasionally writing lets me take photos. This is how I get to do a lot of travel work, and this is what sent me to the end of the Lakeshore East GO line to the GM plant in Oshawa.

They were going to close the GM plant completely this Christmas, but a deal was worked out to retain a stamping and sub-assembly line and build an autonomous vehicle test track. This will save around a tenth of the 3,000 jobs at the plant today. At its zenith in the early ’80s, GM Oshawa employed 23,000 people. Looking at those numbers, it was hard not to write an elegy for car-building in Canada’s motor city.

Offices, GM Oshawa, Aug. 2019
Chevy Impalas, GM Oshawa, Aug. 2019
Stevenson Road, Oshawa, Aug. 2019

Much of GM Oshawa is empty shop space. Whole buildings are mothballed, but maintenance has been ongoing so it’s hard to tell from the outside, walking the perimeter of the plant along Park Road, Phillip Murray Avenue, Stevenson Road and Bloor Street West. If you drive by the new Silverado trucks and Chevy Impalas parked in the logistics yards along Stevenson, you’d assume it was all business as usual at GM.

GM Oshawa, Aug. 2019

But most of the gates are locked and unmanned and down by Park and Phillip Murray where the test track will go the tanks are rusting. It was hard not to look at GM Oshawa as a ruin in the making, and I imagine in about a year it will look very different. If I know my ruins, it’ll be a magnet for other photographers.

GM Oshawa, Aug. 2019
GM Oshawa looking southeast, Aug. 2019
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Lost & Found: Minutemen 1985

The Minutemen, Irving Plaza, NYC, Oct. 26, 1985

I NEVER THOUGHT I’D SEE THESE PHOTOS AGAIN. I’ve been searching for this shoot with The Minutemen since I started my old blog, but by the time I brought Some Old Pictures to an end almost a year ago I’d pretty much given up on finding these negatives. They turned up the other day when my wife was trying to clean out our basement, tucked into the back of an old tax file box in the cantina along with a bunch of other old shoots. How they got there, I haven’t a clue.

(My friend Chris thinks I should change the title of this blog to Some Old Pictures I Lost and My Wife Found.)

I had just started working for Nerve magazine when I flew down to NYC to stay with a girl I barely knew. (Long story – not very interesting in the end.) My visit happened to coincide with San Pedro’s Minutemen playing Irving Plaza (opening act: Live Skull pre-Thalia Zedek) so Dave and Nancy put in a call to SST, their record label, and I was on the list and booked to meet the band before the show.

The Minutemen, Irving Plaza, NYC, Oct. 26, 1985

They’re not great photos. I’d barely owned a camera for a few months so my skills were basic, to say the least; I’d be taking better pictures in about a year. I loaded my camera with 100 ASA Ilford FP4 for some inexplicable reason – I must have been optimistic about the amount of available light backstage at a venue. In the end I had to take the band into the bathroom off their dressing room for the shoot – the only spot with usable light. (It was also where the band had the food for their tour rider. Rock and roll is glamorous, kids.)

The Minutemen live, Irving Plaza, NYC, Oct. 26, 1985

At least they’re better than the live shots I took that night, of which this is the only remotely printable frame. I was pretty timid about getting up close at a gig, especially when confronted with a New York City mosh pit. I’m not going to apologize too much about these photos – I was learning on the job, and while I’d bought a new Vivitar flash for my Spotmatic at B&H on that trip, I was definitely too timid to use it.

The Minutemen, Irving Plaza, NYC, Oct. 26, 1985

When you’ve been shooting as long as I have you learn that your photos gain value not because of quality or style, but because you happened to capture a bit of history. The Minutemen were an incredibly important band in the evolution of punk through hardcore, and as exemplars of the DIY ethic and aesthetic. Stripped-down, humble and idiosyncratic, they bucked trends in and outside of hardcore punk and have become hugely influential in hindsight. (Our Band Could Be Your Life, Michael Azerad’s essential history of the American indie rock scene in the ’80s, takes its title from a Minuteman lyric.)

They were an actual working class band from a town known mostly for its naval base. I couldn’t help but identify with their baffled ignorance at the way things were done in the by-then very middle class world of rock music, muscling past being intimidated by “the rules” and making a virtue of their own outsider status. For The Minutemen, drummer George Hurley’s mane of peroxided curls twirling as he played was their sole stage effect. “We were fucking corndogs,” recalled singer and guitarist D. Boon when he sang about driving to see punk rock gigs in L.A. with his best friend, bassist Mike Watt. For a great history of the band, watch the documentary We Jam Econo.

The band were exceeding expectations when I took these photos. They were about to go on tour with R.E.M., and were confounding the hidebound rules of the hardcore scene with records like Project: Mersh and 3-Way Tie (For Last). The unexpected end came less than two months later, when D. Boon died in a car crash just before Christmas. Watt and Hurley would end up forming fIREHOSE with guitarist Ed Crawford, and Watt would become a sort of indie punk legend, playing bass in the reformed Stooges. But that would all come later, and I wouldn’t have imagined any of it when I took these photos, at the very edge of my limited competence, so long ago.

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Talking about myself

Hamilton, Ontario (photo by Cordelia McGinnis)

I DON’T MIND TALKING ABOUT MYSELF. I didn’t do much of it until recently, and I’m still not sure why I’m suddenly worth listening to, but I’ll take it while it lasts. I have my theories about vlogs and podcasts and YouTubers and why everyone is all about listening to other people they like on the internet – it has something to do with erosion of trust in traditional news media and a generational shift – but let’s save that for another day.

A few weeks ago I did an interview with Tim and Tammy on the Creative Chaos podcast. I’ve known Tim for years so it was a very comfortable hour plus chat. If you’ve heard my B&H podcast you’ll know that I repeat myself a few times – I’ve got to get some new talking points if I want to do more of these podcasts – but I think I got my message across that this is a great time to be a photographer, even if the whole medium is in the middle of a massive transition.

A while before that my friend travel writer and photographer Stuart Forster contacted me about an interview for his MannedUp.com website. The target audience was other photographers, so the interview was a little inside baseball, but I did get to explain a bit about how and why I work nowadays, like here:

Do you have a favourite destination for photography?

Honestly, I don’t care. I love taking photos literally anywhere. I like to start a day by saying “Let’s see what we see today.”

I started doing travel photography to get myself to as many new places as possible, but even when I was grounded here, so to speak, I’d do still life work at the kitchen table, or go out to parts of the city (Toronto) that I know well, like the old working class neighbourhoods I grew up in, or the abandoned industrial port lands, or the hydro electrical corridors that run through the city.

If I have any mission right now – besides getting my name out in the world again after years of obscurity – it’s as an evangelizer for the simple joy of taking pictures, no matter what they are. At the risk of sounding melodramatic, photography saved me at a time when I was perilously close to the sort of despair that can ruin lives. As a creative enterprise or a meditative exercise I’d recommend it to anyone. And I’m happy to talk about it with anyone who’ll listen.

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Annuals and Awards

I PROBABLY SHOULD HAVE DONE THIS A LONG TIME AGO. Back when I took three of the five photos that ended up in the latest Communication Arts Photography Annual, I never thought of entering a juried competition. It was something someone else did, in another place. I was, in essence, policing my own obscurity.

What changed between then and now, I really can’t tell you. Perhaps it was a sense of accomplishment after publishing my trio of photozines, after completing my old blog. Maybe I was feeling a bit cocky. My friend Chris – who’s entered and won spots in these annual competitions and even sat on juries – gave me advice to enter in the “books” category, which is generally less crowded. It was obviously good advice.

Months before the CA photo annual hit the stands this arrived in the mail – an Award of Excellence. This is the first trophy I’ve had since my little league softball team won the league championship in Mount Dennis, over forty years ago. (And that was mostly because John Svab, a great all-rounder, was on our team.)

I also won a spot in the juried competition organized by American Photography. I didn’t place as well – it was a runner’s-up prize that earned my portrait of Bjork from the MUSIC photozine a spot on the annual’s website but not the published magazine. Slightly disappointing, to be sure, but better than not placing at all, which is pretty much how I always imagined a shot at these competitions ending, back when I took my photo of Bjork.

So I’m not going to complain. Everything I do at this point is about fighting obscurity and putting myself and my photos back out in the world. So far, so good, especially considering that I was always the principal author of that obscurity.

As for the photozines, they’re on sale for just two more months before I withdraw them from publication and publish three more books. So if you want to pick up copies of STARS, MUSIC or SQUARE, the time is now. More news on the next three ‘zines soon.

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Fela for Carhartt

Fela Kuti, Toronto, 1989

I HAD NO PLACE TO PUBLISH MY PORTRAITS OF FELA KUTI when I took them in 1989. Thirty years later, those photos are probably the most profitable negatives I’ve ever made. Posting them on my blog nearly thirty years after they were taken gave them a life they’d never had, starting with when Rikki Stein, Fela’s manager, saw them and contacted me about putting them in a box set of Fela LP reissues.

I’ve written about how they’ve ended up in the world since then – on posters for an L.A. band and on the set of a nightclub on the reboot of Dynasty. And whatever monetary reward I’ve gotten for the photos has actually been overshadowed by seeing my images become part of the iconography of an artist as important as Fela.

The ongoing Fela saga got another chapter recently when Rikki contacted me again, to say that Carhartt WIP, the workwear and street wear clothing label, was doing a line of Fela merchandise and wanted to use my photos. I’ve been a Carhartt wearer for years, so it was a thrill when Philipp Maiburg of Carhartt WIP emailed me to order some images and firm up the deal – my first ever licensing deal with a clothing company.

My shot of Fela exhaling a cloud of pot smoke ended up on a few t-shirts, and a concert photo made it to a long-sleeved shirt that (unfortunately) didn’t end up in the package I got sent a few months ago. (Though you still have my address, right Philipp? I’m still an XL.)

Finally, the image at the top of this post remains my favorite one from the Fela shoot, though nobody has seen fit to use it yet for some reason. So I’m putting this new and improved scan out in the world in the hope of finding some takers.

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Oh Susanna: Johnstown revisited

I LIKE TO REVISIT MY OLD WORK. This shouldn’t be a shock coming from someone who spent over four years digging through their archives and posting what they found. So when Suzie Ungerleider (aka Oh Susanna) emailed me about revisiting the shoot we did for her Johnstown record over twenty years ago, I thought it was a great idea.

The easiest part of the challenge was finding the locations where we shot in Liberty Village, a now-gentrified neighbourhood in west end Toronto. Slightly harder was recreating the portraits we took just beforehand, in my Parkdale studio. The studio is long gone – we had to move out a few months after my shoot with Suzie – and I haven’t done a lot of studio work since then. I don’t even own the stool that Suzie sat on any more, which meant a quick trip to Ikea to pick up a new one.

Suzie with Stupid Cat in the “studio,” July 2019

By the end of my time in my studio I’d started using a deceptively simple lighting setup that involved most if not all of my strobe heads clustered around my camera to create a focused light on the subject. After years of trying to mimic natural light or recreate old glamour lighting, I’d become attracted to a lighting scheme that looked basic but actually required a lot of tinkering.

What the photographer looks like.

I still have the strobes and the light stands I used on Suzie’s 1998 shoot, either stored in the loft in the garage or down in the basement, but I’ve moved away from strobes to continuous light since I returned to shooting. Ultimately I rented a pair of Westcott Ice Lights, my favorite portable light source, and set them up to bracket my Fuji X-T2 top and bottom – an even more pared-down lighting scheme than the one I used twenty-one years ago.

Getting Suzie to mirror her poses from two decades ago became a challenge when you consider how hard it is for someone to inhabit the same physical and mental space they occupied at a specific point in their past. We couldn’t help but talk about this – when my stupid cat wasn’t trying to distract us. We’d had an email exchange earlier in the week about Suzie wearing clothes that approximated what she brought to the shoot in 1998, but it occurred to me that a lot of time has passed, so I told her to wear what she’d bring to a photo shoot today.

I already knew that the loading dock behind the “Castle building” in Liberty Village (originally the offices and factory of the E.W. Gillett Baking Powder company) wasn’t there any more – demolished when it was renovated from raw lofts back into offices again. But finding the spot where we took the shot was easy enough. It’s become a bit tiresome to hear people complain about how the decrepit or abandoned parts of their cities have disappeared with gentrification, but it’s not hard to compare these two shots and feel nostalgic for all that picturesque ruin, even if it didn’t generate much economically.

I left the last two locations for last, knowing that the light was nowhere like it was on that November day in 1998. The courtyard doorway into the Gillett building was both in bright sunlight when we arrived there and changed in a few unfortunate ways. I took the liberty (no pun intended) of removing the sign on the archway above Suzie’s head, but I had to alter the composition of the shot thanks to the Porta Potty just out of the right side of the frame.

We’d also shot in the hallways of the Gillett building – Suzie’s home for a couple of months when she moved to Toronto – but I knew that the security system and key cards meant we wouldn’t get access to the interiors today, so we headed to the final location, near the corner of Dufferin and Fraser. We were, once again, in bright sunlight and not flattering overcast, but at least one of the bricked up window bays in the wall where we shot wasn’t tagged with graffiti.

It was a great idea, a fascinating exercise – both technically and as an examination on the passage of time. Suzie, of course, gets to see how she’s changed in two decades, and I got to revisit the way I framed and lit and handled a subject all those years ago. A lot of time has passed, but my working methods didn’t feel too alien. Most of all I learned how much I miss having a studio space. Maybe one day I’ll have one to go with my new stool.

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Georgian Bay

On Georgian Bay, 2019

THE GREAT THING ABOUT MY WORK is that I occasionally get paid to do something I’ve always wanted to do. I’ve had my eye on the Chi-Cheemaun ferry for years now, but I was recently hired by the Alternator Group on behalf of Owen Sound Transportation Company to spend a weekend on the boat between Tobermory and Manitoulin Island, take some photos and write a few stories.

My motel, Tobermory, ON, 2019

Cottage country is a big deal up here – not just in Canada, generally, but in Ontario particularly. My family never owned a cottage – we rented one for a week, once, when I was a boy – so I’ve spent my meagre time there as a guest. I’m not a driver, so I had to hire a car to get me up to where Ontario Highway 6 turns a corner by the Bruce Anchor Motel and pauses at the ferry docks in Tobermory.

Tobermory, Ontario, 2019

The ferry takes up where the road leaves off, moving cars across the mouth of Georgian Bay on Lake Huron to South Baymouth on Manitoulin Island, where the highway continues across the island, over the North Channel via a swing bridge before ending in McKerrow. I was only concerned with the highway’s path over the water on the Chi-Cheemaun, however.

MS Chi-Cheemaun arrives at Tobermory, 2019

I arrived in Tobermory with just enough time to check in to the Bruce Anchor before wandering down to the dock to watch the Chi-Cheemaun arrive from its morning voyage across the bay. Since I wasn’t booked on to the boat until the evening sunset dinner cruise, I had an afternoon to kill in Tobermory, which I did with my camera – a warm-up before I had to get on the boat and get to work.

On deck, Georgian Bay, 2019
Manitoulin Island, 2019

I like boats. I like anything that takes me anywhere, but boats have a clear lead over planes and a narrow one over trains. Going somewhere on a boat feels like a voyage, and thanks to ever-changing conditions on the water, each trip feels different than the last. The Chi-Cheemaun has been making itself a destination on its own for many years, but its branding got a boost when the bow and funnel were decorated with murals inspired by local woodland aboriginal artwork.

On Georgian Bay at sunset, 2019

I used my main camera, a Fuji X-T2, to take the portraits and reportage I needed for the commissioned stories, but as usual I took my much-loved X30 with me to capture the sorts of shots I’m always collecting when I travel. The return journey from Manitoulin was dominated by a long sunset that seemed to change every time I thought I’d shot enough and went inside again. A glimpse out the window would reveal another different combination of sky, water and colour, so out I’d go again.

Ferry terminal, Tobermory, ON, 2019

The last embers of the sunset were still burning away when we docked at Tobermory for the night, lining the horizon out towards the mouth of the bay. The sun disappeared and brought a night of rain, which carried in a day’s worth of fog that covered the lake from the moment we left the next morning, hiding the islands on the way out of Tobermory in wisps of steaming mist.

I actually enjoyed my two trips on the Chi-Cheemaun through the fog more than the spectacular sunset cruise the night before. The lake was definitely choppier and visibility was down to a few dozen metres for most of the trip, which meant that the ship’s horn would sound regularly, its muffled echo rolling back through the fog. But the views from the deck were more primal and mysterious, land glimpsed only occasionally through cool fog, the water raked with waves.

Leaving Tobermory, 2019
Manitoulin Island, 2019
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Icon Gallery – Music Prints for Sale

Eric B & Rakim, Toronto, 1987

SO SOMEONE IS SELLING A BUNCH OF MY PHOTOS NOW. This has been in the works for a while – at least a year, probably more, since Lyle Waisman from Chicago’s Icon Gallery contacted me about selling gallery prints of my music photos. It took me a while to get all the images Lyle requested ready for the website, but almost everything is up now and I’m ready to take orders of some of my “greatest hits” – Patti Smith, Prince, Tony Bennett, Fela Kuti, David Bowie – as well as some less-seen shots like the Eric B & Rakim portrait at the top.

Imaginary gallery wall

One of the reasons this has taken so long to set up was me. It probably took about a year for Lyle to convince me to do this, as I’m pretty down on doing the gallery thing. I haven’t had a lot of success selling prints off of walls over the last three decades, and our house is full of framed leftovers from old shows. But Lyle’s business model is an online gallery – I don’t have to make a print until someone buys one, and I don’t have to pay for frames.

John Lee Hooker, Toronto, 1987

While I was going through my files I made a few discoveries, like this shot of John Lee Hooker, taken way back at the beginning of my career. It’s not technically perfect – I probably overlooked it for thirty years because of the blur – but it has an energy I like, and there aren’t a lot of shots of the man smiling like this, so I’ve put it out there to see if there are any takers.

I’m in pretty fantastic company – Mick Rock, Ebet Roberts, Adrian Boot, Gered Mankowitz, Terry O’Neill, Barrie Wentzell and Baron Wolman are among the photographers also represented by Lyle at Icon. There’s a link over on the right that will take you to my page, if you’re in the market for something for your wall. Like I’ve said, it took a while to sell me on this, so go do Lyle a favour and prove him right.

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