Sheryl Crow, Munich 1994.

Wednesday, 5 October 2011

I have a feeling that I may not be Sheryl Crow’s absolute favourite photographer.

At one point during our session she was posing with an orange water-pistol.  I didn’t give it to her, in fact I thought it looked a bit daft, but one doesn’t always want to argue about these things.  When the magazine’s art department saw the photos, they digitally re-coloured the water pistol black and made it look, for all the world, like a real gun. The photo then went on the cover, together with a provocative, gun-related headline.

Sheryl Crow went mad when she saw what had been done (allegedly) and threatened to sue.  In all honesty, I didn’t blame her.

World Trade Centre, New York City 1998.

Sunday, 11 September 2011

Gil Evans, New York City 1987.

Saturday, 10 September 2011

This photograph was taken in Gil Evans flat on the upper West side of New York.  It wasn’t too far from the John Lennon's old apartment in the Dakota Building but a million miles away in terms of its accoutrements and interior decor.

He was a very, very sweet man but he did seem a little sad, and he’d certainly taken Quentin Crisp’s advice on housework to heart.  He told me that he owned a big house down in Greenwich Village but one of his ex-wives was living in it.  He handed me a cup of tea in something that looked like it was last washed when Roosevelt was in the White House.  It also seemed to have unidentifiable things floating in it.  On the basis that Miles Davis might once have drunk out of the same cup, I drank it anyway.

Amanda Lear, West London 1984.

Wednesday, 7 September 2011

There always did seem to be a lot of mythology surrounding Amanda Lear.  I remember reading decades ago about her starting out as a female impersonator called Peki D'Oslo.

It’s in Wikipedia but  I have no idea if this is actually true.

In the flesh she seemed charming but, one hesitates to say, slightly dull.  Especially bearing in mind the kind of people she'd met and worked with - like Salvador Dali, Helmut Newton and Brian Jones.

The strangest thing was, when I photographed her I was with the writer Jane Solanas and the whole time Amanda Lear insisted on referring to Jane as a "he."  Admittedly Jane Solanas wore her hair short and used no make-up.  And I suppose her clothes were a little gender indeterminate.  But you'd think someone like Amanda Lear would have a little more sensitivity about that kind of stuff.

Jane was a bit miffed by it but she didn't say anything.  Until we got outside.

The Wonder Stuff, Brighton 1988.

Sunday, 4 September 2011

This photograph was taken on Brighton sea front.  It was cold and windy.  In other words, a typical English summer's afternoon.

The Wonder Stuff were just about to release their first album 'The Eight Legged Groove Machine' and they would soon be, for a few years at least, one of the most popular bands in the UK.

Although the band don't look too happy in this photograph, I found them to be a really friendly bunch, especially the late Rob ‘Bass Thing’ Jones (seen here on the far left).  All except for the lead singer Miles Hunt (far right).  He seemed completely offhand and appeared to have taken an instant dislike to me. Which is fair enough, I suppose.  At a quiet moment, Rob told me not to worry, since "everyone has a problem with Miles".  Hence the shoot was not exactly what one might ordinarily describe as a day at the beach.

Shortly afterwards, I was commissioned to do a job in the USA with Miles’ then wife, the DJ Mary Anne Hobbs, who was at that time a journalist with NME.  During the transatlantic flight, we got to discussing her husband and I told her about how badly I’d got on him when I'd had to photograph his band.  She told me (and I can remember her precise words) “Miles really can’t abide unintelligent people.”   Which of course shut me up me right up.

Eventually though, through Mary Anne, I gradually got to know Miles quite well and came to really like him.

After that first time, we got on very well.  I suppose we’re possibly both something of an acquired taste.

Martin Gilks, Los Angeles 1991.

Sunday, 4 September 2011

Sadly Rob ‘Bass Thing’ Jones is not the only member of the first inception of The Wonder Stuff to no longer be with us (see previous entry). The original drummer, Martin Gilks died on his motorbike, crossing Putney Bridge one afternoon in 2006.

Mild-mannered and softly spoken, he really was one of rock’s good guys.  I was lucky enough to photograph him quite a few times during the band’s golden period and he was never less than a real pleasure to be around.

This photograph was taken during a happy afternoon that Martin, Miles Hunt, James Brown and I spent shopping on Melrose Avenue in LA.  It was taken in the hall of mirrors leading to Billy Shire’s shop Whacko.

He was a very nice bloke.  Gone but certainly not forgotten.

Wacko, Melrose Avenue 1991.

Sunday, 4 September 2011

This is another view, showing the exact context of the photograph in the previous entry.

Showing from the left - Martin Gilks and journalists Iestyn George and James Brown.

The Jesus And Mary Chain, Tottenham 1985.

Wednesday, 17 August 2011

This photograph was taken at the height of the hype surrounding this band. It was at that point when they were getting a lot of headlines about them fomenting ‘riots’ and suchlike at their gigs.

I saw them at an Electric Ballroom gig a few weeks before, which descended into chaos but I certainly wouldn't call it a riot.  Certainly not in the context of recent events in London.  

I guess it's just one of those words people seem to love to use at the least excuse.

I met them at their manager, Alan McGee’s house in Tottenham. They were as good as gold. First of all we did some photos of them standing in the drained main pool at Haringey Baths. After that, these were taken under a nearby railway line.

There is some interesting stuff about a so called riot here -

http://aprilskies.amniisia.com/articles/art_copy.php?id=36&sort=interview

John Otway and Wild Willy Barrett, Buckinghamshire 2006.

Sunday, 31 July 2011

I imagine the only reason many people know of John Otway is his slightly demented 1977 hit, with Wild Willy Barrett,

'Cor Baby That's Really Free.'

John Otway would most probably fit somewhere into the pantheon of eccentric, quintessentially English songsmiths alongside the likes of Syd Barrett and Kevin Ayers.  Wikipedia describes his 1990 autobiography (Cor Baby That's Really Free - Rock and Roll's Greatest Failure) as a study in self deprecation.  The couple of times I met and photographed him he certainly was self deprecating but he was also very polite, chatty and extremely funny.  He did appear slightly scatterbrained and physically uncoordinated but it seemed part of his charm.  

I'm not completely sure if it's not all a bit of an act?

But one of the most interesting things about John Otway's story is his mother Pat Otway, who I believe died in 2009.  

There's no mention of her on his Wikipedia entry or in his biography on his website.  Which is a real shame.  When me and the writer, Robert Chalmers, met her she was 86 but articulate and absolutely as bright as a button.  Whilst we were waiting for her son to arrive, she made us a cup of tea and spoke at some length about John's childhood.  She also told us about her time as a special needs teacher and her extensive experiences as a foster parent.

She was clearly one formidable woman.  And you didn't have to look far to see where John Otway got his sense of humour.  With a mum like her, one felt anybody would have been set up for life.  And at the time of our meeting, even though John Otway was living many miles away from his mother, she still seemed to be doing his laundry for him.

This is a link to Robert Chalmers excellent article -

http://www.independent.co.uk/news/people/profiles/john-otway-the-world-is-not-enough-412310.html

The Charlatans, Cheshire 1989.

Sunday, 31 July 2011

I don’t recall whose idea it was to drive out and take all the photos in a muddy estuary.  It certainly wasn’t mine.

Before long, some of the band were waist deep in it. I had to drive back afterwards with them all wrapped in newspapers.

If ever there’s a next time, I’d like to go in someone else’s car.