Thanks, DENIZ TEK

Well, gosh! I haven't had such praise heaped on me since...never! Thanks Deniz for this in reference to this! In appreciation, here's my photo of Rico's '69 matte black Corvette in our back yard during greener times (mentioned in the first link.)(left to right: Loren Molinare, Steve Godoy, Art Godoy, Danny Creadon, Jimmy Recca and Deniz Tek, from the second link.)

MR. TWISTER on record

photo (C) 1978 Heather Harris

My photograph for the back cover of the Chainsaw single "Polaride Pictures" featuring the beauteous Crickette O posing with Mr. Twister and his 4x5 large format camera to portray the frisson of decadence with a soupcon of technology, a photograph actually done with mirrors.

PRIVILEGE: social engineering, Pop Culture and of course Jean Shrimpton

The formerly preposterously rare (two extant prints in the universe) 1967 film "Privilege" has been digitally restored of late in its original color and is now available on any dvd sales site.

This matters for several reasons. Firstly, because the film was as prescient as many consider Nostradamus to have been. Its plot, considered so far-fetched at the time that the film was oft labeled science fiction, centers around an increasingly totalitarian government in a first world country that attempts social engineering at all levels, including utilization of pop culture. It's hit on the formula to control youthful rebellion and dissent in general by investing a young pop idol with state-sponsored power (more in a minute) as centerpiece of national obsession.

EVERYONE cares about this particular pop idol and what happens to him every week, since his act has been designed to attract universal sympathy and diffuse caring about one's self and one's own troubles. I'll not reveal how because the strange design of the first tour of his that viewers see is a revelation within itself. What he says, what products he endorses, and how he steers the populace into state-sponsored trends and philosophies is a fait accompli in the film. The government notes a surplus of apple crops, idol Steven is immediately shown eating lots of apples, as now will the general populace. Got religion? Steven now does, and you will too. It always works. You buy what he wears, what he endorses. But what sort of personality would go along with being such a figurehead?

And what sort of actor could even pull this messianic stardom off realistically, since the film is made in documentary style? Luckily, the answers are pretty good. The plot centers on the gradual breakdown of this personality, as no one but an insane megalomaniac could keep this up forever, his world of his every action micro-managed by others and every "creative" output predetermined for him. (Not like....now in 2010!)

This person hired to quell all rebellion eventually starts to rebel against the state-sponsored privilege of universal "love." And the actor hired to be both this convincing a pop star and a soul tormented practically to torpor was an actual rock god, Paul Jones, the tall, good-looking blond singer of the Manfred Mann group of the mid-60's, if you recall the hearty voice on classic Brit oldies "Do Wah Diddy" and "Pretty Flamingo." "Privilege"'s director Peter Watkins, known for terrifying all of Britain with the first realistic, ultra-violent post nuclear apocalypse film "The War Game," knew how important casting is, despite trade-offs. Paul Jones was of the minute modern, and could convey this fantastical idea of Orwellian government control through a pop star by being a credible pop star known at the time.

His co-star, 1960's icon Jean Shrimpton playing the instigation of the star's rebellion, was the most beautiful and famous model ever, at that particular moment in history. The trade-off was you believed them in their roles, even if you didn't believe them as trained actors. It's not so much that they can't act, more that both leads were directed to be underplayed a la Greta Garbo: you put your own reflections of the proceedings on their visages, in contrast to the freneticism of Steven's fans and the steely controlling of his handlers. Suffice it to say, their roles and performances well hold up today: they are who they play, and they look perfect.

Jones is actually a compelling performer and great vocalist, singing real (as opposed to "movie") rock songs in this film. Pretty good rock songs too: one was covered 25 years later by Patti Smith and Paula Pierce and The Pandoras, which then sounded as modern as ever. Punk legends Chainsaw based their one ballad on the opening scene of "Privilege." And Shrimpton!* Even with purportedly wooden acting, she remains a focus you cannot take your eyes off of. You instantly understand her visual domination of the first half of the 1960's and her incontrovertible allure.

In fact it all holds up pretty well today, and the film appears far more tellingly intelligent than it did when it was released and reviled enough to force its director to move abroad. It had been a lost cult classic ever since 1967, and, with the resurrection of Brian Wilson's lost "Smile" album, finally completes gaps in the best of pop culture from the 1960's, ironically so with its very indictment of pop culture manipulation gone totalitarian.

"Privilege" feels more real and works better today in 2010 than when it was released some forty years ago. Check this treasure out!

 Above, fair use image © David Bailey. Jean Shrimpton by Bailey circa 1965

*Her photographer mentor/lover David Bailey and she were heroes to my generation, for being their own self-created personae and young successes to boot: the "one of ours" syndrome. A wrongly ascribed shyness was assigned to this, her one acting role. In front of the still camera she was as extrovert as you can get, confident, dazzling and compelling. I'm a still photographer, and I know what it takes for models to project: something from within beyond the interaction of mere direction.

She was ultra-successful, but not well remunerated, as the book "Model" which explored the various decades of the profession pointed out (only models after the mid-70's became millionaires as the business changed along with its agencies and licensing practices.) She even verified this in her own biography, without bitterness. Folks question why she seemingly dropped off the face of the earth (Cornwall, actually.) I don't.

People who were successful in their aspirations but not necessarily in finances often think in terms you might not suspect: I've done it all firsthand, I was at the center of the hurricane's eye, I don't need to continue immersing myself in this business any more and pretend to go along with the changes in fads; I can happily go away and be at peace. This just makes heroes like Shrimpton, (and perhaps little known photographers like yours truly) artists, not artiste manques`.

2015 update addenda: Jean Shrimpton remains happily married to Michael Cox while their son Thaddeus runs the family investment The Abbey, an upscale hotel in Penzance, Cornwall. England.  §                                                Pictured → Ms. Shrimpton today.

↓ Paul Jones today, a successful British television actor and personality.

LAST INTERVIEW WITH PAUL KOSSOFF M.I.A.

I conducted the very last ever interview with Paul Kossoff (iconic guitarist of Free, they of "All Right Now" supremacy on all classic rock stations everywhere, and later ventures solo or with Back Street Crawler) right before he died young. I can locate neither tearsheets nor tape recordings to prove this piece's eventual appearance in some fly by night, local L.A. alternative rag (Tim Buckley's last interview ever with yours truly fortunately is up at rocksbackpages.com now. I think the message clearly is, rock musicians, don't do an interview with me.)

I didn't ask him about his previously publicized overdose in which he had (presciently as it turns out) been legally dead however briefly. He rewarded my lack of intrusion by telling me what it actually was like to be dead, saying, "You go to sleep. There's nothing else." Heady stuff for a young rock interviewer who already was a nihilist of sorts.

SHOULD ONE TAKE A PHOTOGRAPH OF BRIAN WILSON?

(originally written in those bygone days of yesteryear before universal camera phones)

Above, my photograph of Brian Wilson (Beach Boys' musical mastermind) and Rodney Bingenheimer ("Mayor of the Sunset Strip" documentary subject and influential DJ) celebrating the birthday of Chris Carter (no, not the "X-Files" one, the one in Dramarama) with assorted Beatles' memorabilia at a private party I attended. That's a pretty name-droppy mouthful, eh? Actually, it was pretty rare of me to be invited to such rarified events.

I felt no qualms about asking to photograph the two at this event because I had observed Wilson to be in excellent humor, without minders, having a great time at a private party. I didn't shoot his playing piano because I felt that would be socially intrusive. I was rewarded with a photo of a pleasant-looking Wilson with a sincere half-smile here, visibly enjoying himself. It's just a snapshot, but a nice one of famous people having a good time.

(For those unaware of the depth of Wilson's story, the summarize Proust version: he is one of the true musical geniuses of all time, not for the pop music you all know, but for the elaborately complex creativity of his compositions within the pop world that you probably don't know. The dvd examining the making of "Smile" documented one of the most bizarre stories in all modern music, how a young musical genius in his 20's, Wilson, felt that the Beatles had raised the bar so high that he took on a private challenge to outdo their collective creativity, and produced some of the most stunning music of all time, then succumbed to pressures from his bandmates to retreat to crass commercialism, did too many 1960's distractions to escape the pressure, and went certifiably nutso for several decades. The road back is the true tale.)

But any road back from mental illness presents a rocky one, even with the best care of friends, family, medical and business associates. My next photo: is from one of the palpable downsides, wherein Wilson still was showing unexpected strength in trying to extricate himself from visible depression. His closest brother Carl Wilson had just died, leaving oldest brother Brian as the unexpected survivor of all the Wilson brothers' Beach Boys. His own band-mate Mike Love had just unexpectedly won an expensive lawsuit to retain half of all songwriting royalties to tunes wherein he "allegedly" had only contributed a line of lyrics or two.

Wilson didn't look well that evening, haggard and lost. This very performance depicted, billed as Nancy Sinatra and her Band plus The Wondermints at Spaceland, was in fact an unadvertised as such tryout for the Wondermints to be Wilson's new back-up band. He sang with them utterly unannounced (I had had my sources to be there. Thank you again, Harvey Kubernik, author/producer/insider.)

The Wondermints wrote songs like and played like they had been the studio guys on Wilson's pet Beach Boys Lp, "Pet Sounds," and Wilson knew it. It was a good match. Wilson was in fact concocting a plan to finish, record and tour with his lost "Smile" work, the one shelved in 1967 after its "Good Vibrations" was released, left to rot due to the aforementioned pressures. He had reunited with its lyricist Van Dyke Parks for completion of song fragments and was recruiting bandmembers like the Wondermints. The keyboardist in my photo, Darian Sahanaja, indeed proved crucial to the project.

But the events of late had worn Wilson down despite his own self-help efforts, and that evening he, as aforementioned, looked strained, fearful and sort of on cruise control to get through. I did not feel it my right to ask him to pose with Nancy Sinatra, although that would have been a surefire photo-op money shot: he looked too wrung through the wringer. Live shots like mine during a performance are no intrusion, but an in-your-face pose would have been. Maybe it's one the clues as to why I'm not particularly famous, that I could intuit Wilson's troubles that evening, and respected him too much to push further.

So I didn't take a photo of Brian Wilson with Nancy Sinatra that night. Would you have? Photojournalists often debate what is true reportage vs. what is exploitation. I happen to think that a pro's instincts make the result self-validating, as it is NOT the sensibility of a paparazzo jumping out of the bushes to shove a celeb and ignite a tabloid-worthy moment of rage.

There's a whole genre of police/crime photos by Weegee that became true fine art, despite their depiction of ad hoc, horrific, genuine tragedies. His photo of a mother whose son jumped to his death trying to escape a burning building haunts anyone who's ever seen it. Go to LINK* if you dare...

The artistry is that the photographer made you feel the most intense emotional pain that exists by means of a mere visual sensory dimension, and you are a better, more empathetic human being in the process. (The Public Eye is a little seen but terrific fictitious depiction of his life, starring Joe Pesci.) Similar pics to that in the music genre, such as Kurt Cobain cowering in personal pain backstage, and Janis Joplin alone and drunk, have a similar validity in helping us understand the private personae of public figures, particularly as with those mentioned who were incredibly self-destructive. Sometimes it's all we have to try to understand their tragedies and what had made them tick or not tick.

Which is why I left the question open-ended.


* http://fastfilm1.blogspot.com/2013/05/weegees-best.html

NOEL L at the KEY CLUB

Noel L recently performed with her band at Hollywood's Key Club, easily commanding her far largest audience. My initial story and photos on this new young songwriter here.

DENIZ TEK and the STOOGEDOG BADMEN

Confab of Last of the Badmen, Radio Birdman, The Dogs and The Stooges at my studio last Sunday. Left to right: Loren Molinare, Steve Godoy, Art Godoy, Danny Creadon, Jimmy Recca, Deniz Tek.
More information can be found clicking this LINK.

THIS SPRING'S FLOWERS

The Bauhinia Orchid Tree and Wisteria were here when we bought the place so both are over 98 years old, and represent Old School gardening (our house dates from 1912-- monstrously rare in Los Angeles.) The Wisteria was used for shade arbors a hundred years ago, when people had bigger properties they needed to shade (unlike postage stamps yards of today where opening an umbrella suffices.)

Bauhinia is a tree that flowers for 3 months of the year here, pretty cool, but supposedly looks like a stick for its first 12 years of life, which is why most don't plant it. The Wisteria is hard to manage because of its Malthusian growth: it grows like The Blob since it's a vine, kudzu-like. Wisteria has to have support, preferably titanium!
The poppies are, well, just poppies. Their flatness in my shot reminded me of Warhol's flower silkscreen prints. The juxtaposition of focal planes in these shots is courtesy of a LensBaby attachment, as usually digital presents maximum depth of field outdoors. I was playing around with same, as I want my new cameras to behave just as my old ones did.

MY BETTER HALF

Here's a current photo (April 2010) of Mr. Twister (Mr. Fastfilm) for the curious. He is posed in front of a vehicle similar to the one in which he motored throughout England in the early '70s while fronting a band (Pointed Stick) and affronting audiences

SATURDAY NIGHT POGO

Thirty one years ago, I took the cover photos and designed the graphics for "Saturday Night Pogo," the third ever release from then spankin' new Rhino Records, as I had for their second release "Twisting with The Low Numbers," wherein I placed the band (yes, twisting) in front of the most desperately garish oil-sheik mansion ever in Beverly Hills, replete with human statuary with the pubes brightly painted. (I had nothing to do with Rhino's first release by Wild Man Fischer, although I did finagle this artist to pay me for listening to his single while he was giving them away promotionally. The Wild Man was also a Confused Man.) For you young'uns, pogoing was the official oldschool mosh dancing to punk rock music: try and guess what it looked like!

This cover sports famous gonzoid literati writer Richard Meltzer effecting his best Travolta, amidst the concept spoofing "Saturday Night Fever" via the then reigning Disco fad, mortal enemies of us punkers. The would-be Bee Gees would be the guitarist from Chainsaw (I was hyping my future better half's own punk band, also included in the compilation,) an unknown punk who later wracked up a jail sentence I'm told, and the actual CEO of Rhino, who wanted to be somewhere on the cover. I said fine if he put a stocking over his head. This was one of the first domestic compilations of punk rock back in the day.

Which segues into the inevitable whatever happened to's of its punk musicians in the intervening decades. The Winos and The Low Numbers were a band put together by the other founder of Rhino Records. Both are mega-wealthy now with their multi-media empire, sold to Warner Bros. Both bands sported record company executives, from Columbia and Warners, band-slumming. The Dils were known for punk anthems and became Rank and File which included Alejandro Escovedo in addition to its Kinman brothers. The Berlin Brats resembled the NY Dolls, with the somewhat known Rick Wilder. Vom featured cover boy Richard Meltzer with their track produced by the future deputy Mayor of the city of Los Angeles. The Motels eventually recorded ballad-y new wave actual Billboard hits via its stellar attraction, velvet and smoke-voiced Martha Davis, who still performs to this day and sounds no different, a good thing. Backstage Pass included Spock, a local scenester, and Che Zuro, later of The Orchids and still a performer.

My personal favorites, placed prominently on the back cover layout, were Chainsaw and The Dogs. My better half's last band Chainsaw, theatrical punks before their time, released a single that is prized by collectors today, broke up in a fistfight, and reunited 28 years later for a successful European tour to mark the re-release of all their material abroad and eventually domestically. I didn't know The Dogs at the time, but their distinctive power trio nouveau MC5 hardest rock had impressed me mightily, particularly in those days of radio mellowmush. I later became fast friends with Dog bassist Mary, later in Kanary, a band I've also lionized to mix my animal metaphors utterly.

the Chainsaw single