Happy 4th U.S.A.

Time Travel

I'm still not feeling great...although, as far as I know, I survived the night. Or maybe not. Maybe this is a message from the other side.

With nothing exciting on my mind, or should I say barely a mind at all...I decided to time travel through my photos and see where I was last year at this time. Surprise, surprise....perfectly fitting for my blah mood today. Last year I was in Vegas at Beatlefest.

I thought the trip was a great idea at the time. I had done the Beatlefest in New York that Spring and it was great. I met lots of nice people and sold lots of stuff...at least enough to cover the expenses of the trip, shipping the stuff out there and a little extra along the way. I was also on my way to the UK which was an even better time, indeed.

Anyway, the reason I thought Vegas was a good idea was that I wouldn't have the shipping expenses. I could load what I needed in the Jeep and take the 5 hour drive. My only expense would be the table fee, the hotel and food. I figured making a profit was a no-brainer.

My Table

I figured wrong. See those people in the background? That's about how many attendees there were. Okay, I'm exaggerating. But that's what it felt like. It is the truth, however, that the people who were there were not buying. I sold almost nothing. I didn't even make enough to cover my gas, much less my hotel and food. It was a huge loss for me - and the other vendors I spoke to there as well - and felt like the beginning of the end. Seriously.

It seemed to be the exact turning point in 2008. I was having a really great time for the first six months of last year until the beginning of July. Until Beatlefest. Where everything seemed to turn on me. I stopped making money. I lost friends. My kid got sick and ended up having brain surgery the following month. Yup, everything pretty much went downhill from there and has continued on that spiral to this very day, one year later.

Can I blame it on all on Beatlefest? Why not?

Don't think I'm just having my own little pity party here. Beatlefest Vegas 2008 was such a cataclysmic event that they're not even having Beatlefest in Las Vegas this year. And it was so cataclysmic that it continues to reverberate to this very day. Wow. It's a good thing I wasn't feeling well today. It's a good thing I thought to look back to last year for a post today. It's a freaking epiphany of epic proportions. It's my opportunity to finally purge this black plague cloud that's been hanging over me for the past year.

It's gotta go. Now. I've had enough.

Yes, this is it. I know it's over. It will now pass. How do I know this? Because a week ago I got this fortune:

The coming month shall bring winds of change in your life.

Hah! What do winds do? They blow black plague clouds away. It doesn't get any more black and white than that. Goodbye you ill-willed evil piece of shit. And don't ever show your ugly face around here again.

And to the rest of you unevil readers...have a wonderful and safe Holiday weekend. I know I will.

Bonus picture:

My very bad paparazzi-esque photo of Spencer Davis.
He's the one in the middle.

It Is Christmas In July

Be warned...I feel really crappy right now. As if my impending doom is imminent. I ordered a decaf iced mocha from Starbucks today and I think they gave me a caffeinated one. It has been wreaking havoc on my system since then. Don't think it helped that I had an intensive meeting with my movie director, during which I drank said venti drink. Then went out to see/hear a singer without time to eat any dinner.

But it is my duty to post before my demise.

If you are on my mailing list, you already received an unedited version of this announcement. If you aren't, I'm hoping this is a let down to what you were hoping it might be. So, here goes...

presents

CHRISTMAS IN JULY

And why not? When I was a kid it seemed like a million years between Christmases. I used to think we should have Christmas twice a year. Of course, it was all about the presents.

I’ve been a good girl all year. Well, at least the first half. So far, I have kept my New Year’s resolution to post on my blog every single day. It hasn’t been as hard as I thought it would be...well, there are some days when the post starts out with, “I got nothing” but those ones generally manage to turn into a Seinfeldesque something about nothing. I especially love the days when I celebrate the birthdays of the musicians in Everybody I Shot Is Dead, or honor the anniversary of their passing by posting pictures and cool videos.

I still can’t believe we’re already closing in on 2010. Now that I’m older, it sometimes feels like Christmas comes every few months...but without the presents. The kid in me wants to fix that part. Of course, I had to remind her about what I’ve learned through Christmases past...the getting isn’t nearly as good as the giving. After a couple of kicks in the butt, she acquiesced (I love that word) and we agreed to celebrate Christmas in July.

So, the kid (me) and I (also me) decided the best way to celebrate Christmas in July is to give the best deals we possibly can on our books and prints. Our Everybody I Shot Is Dead signed book that usually retails for $60 is only $15 during our Christmas in July celebration. The George Harrison and Tom Waits lithographs are more than 66% off. Limited Edition prints are 50% off (only 5 of each print available at this price) and Open Edition prints are 60% off.

If you’ve been a good kid this year stop by my website and pick up a little something for yourself. And don’t forget your friends and loved ones. You can keep the gifts under wraps until December or let ‘em rock ‘n’ roll and celebrate Christmas in July.

I wish all of you a Merry Christmas in July and a splendid second half of 2009!

XO from the Kid and Me.

Christmas In July

It's almost here.

Now go to sleep, lest you see the Chesher Cat
sliding down your chimney.

Big Announcement

Well, maybe it's not that big.

But maybe it is.

I was planning to announce it today.

But I can't.

Been night and day on this thing.

But HTML is not cooperating with me.

I'm too tired to wrestle with it anymore today.

But stay tuned.

It's coming.

But not today.

Hopefully tomorrow.

But in the meantime...

Please enjoy this photo I took late at night on my iPhone...

But....

Tim Buckley and Lowell George

Tim and Lowell are forever linked by dying on the same date just four years apart.

I was really pissed off when I found out Tim Buckley passed away. I knew him pretty well after shooting him many times at various clubs and arenas in Vancouver. Even though I was only there for a year and a half, Tim seemed to come up to play almost every month. I had planned to make my move to LA in early July and Buckley was one of the musicians I was counting on to help me break in to the big pond with my photography. Not to mention, he was fun to shoot and I always loved it when he would give me a hard time...which was every time I saw him. Then he had to go and kick it just a few days before I was leaving for L.A. Oddly enough, I almost kicked it the following week, after coming down with a serious case of spinal meningitis the day I was literally getting into my packed car to leave.

So, hanging out with Tim and his band in L.A. was not to be. I'm thankful that I got to know him and photograph him when I did. This picture is one that I found in sheet of unmarked negs, so it's not in my book.

Tim Buckley

2/14/47-6/29/75

This is one of my favorites from Tim...the Fred Neill song Dolphins...



Ever wonder where Jeff Buckley got his looks and voice? Look no further...




And this is the date we also lost the amazing Lowell George. If you never got to experience Little Feat live with Lowell...well...I feel sorry for you. They were an amazing live band.

I remember the day Lowell died like it was yesterday...I was driving down Topanga Canyon, not far from where Lowell lived, when I heard the shocking news of his death on the radio. Just like that same sad feeling we all experienced a few days ago.

Lowell George

4/13/45-6/29/79

One of my Little Feat favorites...



And if you don't think this is brilliant...well, you just don't know...



I'm really, really missin' both these guys.



You can see lots more pictures and learn more about Tim Buckley, Lowell George and the 46 other musicians in my tribute book, Everybody I Shot Is Dead.

Writing...

...is hard. At least good writing (or is it writing well) is hard. I've written two books of my own - Starart which is now a sought-after collector's item because of the musicians' artworks, not my writing; and Everybody I Shot Is Dead, which has actually garnered its fair share of praise for my writing.

Shortly after my first book, I ghost-wrote an erotic novel...bet ya' didn't know that! It was called Gabriel: The Magic Watch and was about a magical pocket watch that gave women orgasms. I am not shitting you. I think the guy I wrote it for (the concept was his, not mine) did a vanity publishing deal so I don't think you can find it anywhere (thank goodness for that). Anyway, he was a really cool old guy (I'm sure he's long dead now) who owned the block of Sunset Boulevard just East of The Roxy. Ah, memories. I think I have a copy of the book kicking around somewhere that I will uncover during my ongoing deconstruction. If I do I may just post a couple of pages for y'all to drool over.

As most of you know, I also write screenplays. I started that discipline several, many, nearing double-digit years ago. I had no idea when I started this trek how much of a learning curving was involved. But as time went on and I figured that out, it was too late to turn back. I couldn't possibly give up without success. Success for me meaning seeing something Ive written up on the silver screen. Will that ever happen? Who knows. It has a lot to do with a lot of things besides the ability to write a filmable script.

But I think I'm getting closer. With at least two of my scripts. One of them I am producing - which does not make my chances better by any stretch of the imagination because producing a movie is no easy task...but I do have an amazing director who wants to do it and an equally amazing casting director who believes she can attach what's known as A-list talent. We'll see. Hopefully sooner than later.

The other script happens to be the very first one I wrote. After placing in one of those hoity-doity contests and several rewrites later, it was optioned by a very legitimate producer once...and went through development with the producer and a director (one of the best learning experiences a writer can have) but did not get made. I got it back and did many more rewrites - read many several times - to bring it to the current draft. So many rewrites, as a matter of fact, that I'm past the point of knowing whether it's any good or just a load of bullshit. To the point that a couple of months ago I reread it before sending it out to a producer and I couldn't understand a few of the scenes in the first act...at least how they transitioned from one to the other.

So, I did another quick rewrite in hopes of creating a better story flow and took the first 17 pages into a monthly reading group I attend. The piece was read out loud by various actors and I listened...thinking it sounded very pedestrian. When it was done the comments were all positive. "Really?" I kept thinking to myself as the compliments ensued. I don't think there was a change suggested by anyone. And I didn't even know most of these people. I sent it off to said producer and several weeks later got an email back saying, "It's a GREAT read." Of course, he's a producer with no money to make the movie. I took the second 17 pages into the group today. There were several people who hadn't heard the first 17 and it had been a couple of months since the others had. Still, I got the same reaction. One girl even came up to me after the group and said something like, "I don't even like thrillers but I loved this."

I'm still on the fence. There was one section in today's read that actually moved me but overall I really have no idea. It could still be bullshit. At any rate, I'm guessing somebody should buy the damn thing already. I've had it for too long. It's really time for it to leave the nest. Somebody should make a movie out of it so I can see if it's any good...once and for all.

Sick Day

I planned to sleep in. Seems like whenever I plan a sleep-in day...

7:30am - Pumpkin jumps off the bed. She's the best sleeper-inner I know. What is going on? (Wait! She's growling at me right now. Does she know I'm writing about her? Is she protesting?) Okay, back to the story. She jumps off the bed at the unGodly hour of 7:30am on my sleep-in Saturday and starts heaving. Fortunately, she never throws up without a bunch of warning heaves that give me enough time to grab a pile of paper towels or whisk her outside.

Except today. My scramble abilities were set on low. So the new carpet got christened. And I got to clean it up...post-haste...so there wouldn't be a stain. And at that point there was no going back to sleep. I had coffee. Did some work. Then toast. Did some more work. Then Pumpkin went another round. Then did some work.

Then IT crept in. The beginnings of a headache. It wasn't even noon. My turn to be sick? Took some Advil. Nothing. Went for a swim in the cool waters of the pool. Temporary relief. Made a kefir/acai fruit smoothie. Pushing on the real thing headache. Out of Advil. Took some sinus pill. No help. Did some more work. Watched my day slip away. Passed out around 4. Woke up at 5:30. Headache downgraded to linger mode. Eyes watering. Made some pasta. Felt a little better. Not perfect.

The heat was finally dissipating. Took Pumpkin for a long walk. Talked on the phone to a friend. Goodbye day. Hopefully, the real work will get done tomorrow.

Sorry I messed up your sleep-in day.

That's okay. I still love you.

You can sleep in tomorrow.

No I can't. I have to be somewhere at 10am.

Maybe Monday.

Yeah, maybe Monday...if I get enough done on Sunday.

I'm Going Crazy

I'm in my basement - okay, I live in L.A. so I don't have a basement but I'd be in it if I had one - cooking up some craziness. If you're on my mailing list you'll hear about it first. If you're just a casual-stop-in-at-the-blog person you'll hear about it second and you might miss out on something you might be interested in 'cause I don't know how long it will last. So, if you want to hear about it first you better click on over to my website and stick your email address in the box below the menu bar that says "email" then hit the "sign me up" button. If all goes well, I should have it all together to go out by the end of the weekend.

In other news, I'm happy to report that no one of public significance died today. If anyone was near-death, I am sure they are hanging on until the media is finished with their wall-to-wall Michael Jackson coverage. I haven't been watching TV recently but I had KFWB news on the radio in my car today and was shocked that they'd gone from "all news all the time" to "all Michael Jackson all the time." I was listening just after the coroner had determined not to determine the cause of Michael's death and during the 15 minutes I was in the car I must have heard that little piece of non-info repeated at least 25 times. Sheesh. What's the point? I mean, I'm as shocked and saddened as the next person at the sudden death of MJ, but to hear the same useless stories over and over ad nauseum is a waste of airwaves if you ask me. Ha! And here I am talking about it for the second day in a row. Oops. My bad.

Okay, let's move on to the picture of the day...

What do these three photos/musicians have in common besides the fact that I shot them?

Celebrity Deathwatch

What a crazy fucking day. First off it's the news that Farrah Fawcett lost her heroic battle against anal cancer. I did not photograph Farrah Fawcett nor did I ever meet her. I did, however, know her longtime boyfriend Ryan O'Neal way back when I was living at a condo he owned in Malibu. But I'll save my RO stories for another time. I did meet two of the other Angels...Cheryl Ladd when we were on Merv Griffin the same night and Jaclyn Smith on two occasions. But again, those encounters have nothing to do with this post.

So, I was just absorbing the news of Farrah's demise when up popped the news that Michael Jackson had died. That pretty much knocked me on my ass. Then I heard that he'd been taken to a hospital and his condition was unknown. Then he was dead. Then he wasn't. Let me also point out that I did not have the privilege to shoot or see Michael Jackson live. On his first round of fame I was too young and on the second bout - when he became dubbed the King of Pop - I had stopped shooting for a time and was involved in the film biz and making a baby.

Then, before Michael was officially pronounced, I heard that Harrison Ford was missing from a yacht that sank near St. Tropez. Then it was Jeff Goldblum, who had died when he fell on a movie set in New Zealand - I've met Jeff Goldblum and I think it would take a mighty big fall to end his life. Anyway, thankfully, both of these appear to be hoaxes. Then, just moments ago, someone on Facebook reported that Vicki Lawrence also died today, citing an article on variety.com which I could not find, nor could I find any mention of her passing anywhere else online.

Which brings me to my point... Sometimes I long for the good old days when the news came via the Pony Express without all the conjecture and hysteria.

So, who else died today that probably really did die?

Shiv Charan Mathur, 83, Indian politician, Governor of Assam since 2008, and former Chief Minister of Rajasthan.

Sky Saxon, bass guitarist, frontman and founder of The Seeds, after a brief illness.

Anil Wilson, 62, Indian academic, Principal of St. Stephen's College, Delhi (1991–2007), pancreatic cancer.

Yasmine, 37, Belgian singer and television presenter, suicide. Yasmine's official website is now just one page with this photograph...

A beautifully poignant photograph.

Let's hope Mr. Death has done his due for the day and may all the souls he stole rest in peace. As for the hoaxers...don't you all have something better to do than start wildfires?

Out of the Box

I got myself a new office space. It's not quite as big as the last one but it's much nicer. The best thing about it? No dust. My other office had a huge dust problem, which is not great if you have a lot of negs and slides and photographs hanging about.

Anyway, I'm not completely moved in, nor have I set everything up - maybe I'll take a few photos once I have it together - but I did set up the scanner today so figured I should reach my hand into the neg pile and see who wanted to be scanned...

I came up with neg sheet #138, making it the concert after Waylon Jennings...probably some time in mid to late March 1975.


I don't have to tell you who these legends are...right?

Fine. Check the tags.

I gotta get back to organizing the new space. It's clean and new and cozy and dustless. I'm lovin' it. I expect my creativity to explode in the coming weeks and months. Like the fortune cookie that came with my dinner tonight said, "The coming month shall bring winds of change in your life." I can't wait.

Fathers

This is a repost from a few Augusts ago that I wanted to post on Sunday for Father's Day and, knowing I needed to honor John Lee Hooker on Sunday, I meant to post it on Saturday...but for some unknown reason I farted out some strangeness from God knows where. Then I thought I'd post it on Monday but that was reserved for remembering George Carlin. So, today became the open slot. Hopefully my Dad won't take away my allowance or punish me in some other way for being late on wishing him a Happy Dad's Day. I mean, it's not like I didn't think about him all day Sunday.

So without further ado, I honor my Father...


Meet my dad. Cecil Chesher. He looks rather presidential, don't you think? And he was a president at least two times that I know of... when I was a baby he was president of the Calgary Stampeders (that's a professional football team in Canada for those of you scratching your heads), and he was president of his own company.

He was born in the very small town of Petrolia, Ontario and was an only child. His parents, George and Arlie, were of modest means. I never met my grandfather but Arlie was a fixture in our house throughout my childhood. She would arrive from Eastern Canada in early October for Christmas and would sometimes stay until Easter. I didn't mind. She made the best homemade bread and cinnamon buns in the Universe. She also taught us to play canasta and told really good stories.

My dad graduated from the University of Toronto with a degree in geological engineering when he was only eighteen. Yes, he was some sort of genius. He also had a knack of knowing where to drill for oil. While working for Shell he found the Jumping Pound Creek wells, which was a pretty big thing at the time (many, many years before I landed on the planet) and has even written up in a book or two. Whoa... I just came across this poster online at the Petroleum History Society that mentions my dad's accomplishments with regards to that find.

Wow, he would have only been in his early twenties when he accomplished that little feat and many years away from even meeting my mother. You can click on the poster if you want read the science-speak that my brain cells can't decipher.

He later started his own oil company and was also on the board of directors of an oil company based in Southern California. Thanks to that, I got my first taste of California as a kid. But you'll read a little more about that in my book so I won't spoil it for you here. My dad was also one of the founders of The Petroleum Club in Calgary. It was an upscale private club aimed at members of the oil community. I remember going there for dinner as a kid - getting all dressed up and feeling like we were dining with the Queen. They always had a jazz band playing and my dad would let me stand on his feet as he glided the two of us around the dance floor.

All the fun and fancy times ended around the time my parents split up when I was twelve. It was a bit messy as these things often are, but I was still able to see my dad on a regular basis and he was always there for me when I needed him. He was the one who taught me that if I wanted something done right I would have to do it myself. It was a great lesson that made me the independent person I am, but on the other hand it became so etched in my being that I am now just learning that it's okay to ask for help.

When I moved to Los Angeles in August of 1975, my dad was still living in Calgary but he also had a house in Palm Desert. I was struggling beyond belief when I first arrived in L.A. Shooting bands wasn't the problem. I just couldn't have a 'real' job here to support my photography while I was getting established because I didn't have a green card. But being instilled with way too much pride, I didn't have it in me to call my dad and ask for his help. He probably wouldn't have helped anyway... he wasn't the type of dad to give hand-outs.

Finally, in late September I somehow got booked to shoot an Australian band, Ayer's Rock, while they were recording at the Record Plant. The shoot would pay me enough money to cover a few bills and cover my gas to Palm Desert so I could visit my dad and pretend I was doing fine. I made arrangements with him to drive over the following weekend. It was perfect timing. His wife was going back to Calgary so we planned to spend the weekend alone, just catching up and reconnecting.

It was early Friday afternoon and I was sitting in the reception area of the Concerts West offices on Sunset Boulevard. I was waiting to see the main guy who I'd been trying to get an appointment with for two months. I had shot lots of shows they had promoted in the Pacific Northwest and I wanted to show them my pictures in hopes of them letting me shoot their shows in L.A. I planned to drive to the desert right after the appointment. I figured if I could bring my dad good news from the meeting and the Ayer's Rock job, he would give me advice on making my photography business work in L.A. Maybe I could even get him to invest. (An investment proposal would at least be a couple of rungs up from asking for a hand-out.)

So, there I sat, eavesdropping on everything the Concerts West receptionist said to the multitude of callers that rang in while I waited to see the big cheese...when suddenly my pager went off. I had a pager because I didn't have a home phone. Actually, I didn't even have a home. I was crashing wherever I could. And of course this was before cell phones were in every hand of the general public. As quickly as I hit the beeper button, my pager would go off again. And again. And again. What the hell... my pager would go days without beeping and suddenly I was the most popular girl on the block.

The receptionist looked at me and asked if I needed to use the phone. I didn't really want to call in for my message before the meeting - I wanted to stay focused - but she looked insistent so I picked up the phone and dialed. I had somewhere around ten messages. For some reason my pager hadn't been beeping all day. Until right before what I thought was the most important meeting of my life. I began listening to the messages. They were all from members of my family. My mother. My brothers. My sisters. Some of them had called more than once. None of them left me a message other than to call them back. There was only one member of my family that hadn't called. My dad.

The girl behind the desk couldn't help but notice the glazed look on my face when I hung up and asked if I could make one more call. I phoned my brother in Calgary and got the news I expected. My dad was dead. About the time I hung up the phone and tried to regain my composure, the big cheese emerged from his office. Both he and the receptionist saw there was something terribly wrong, so I had no choice but to tell them my dad had died. They offered to reschedule the meeting. I said no, I was fine to go ahead with it. In my head I was thinking about how long it had taken me to get the meeting. And my dad had also taught me pragmatism. He would have wanted me to go through with the meeting. What I didn't realize was that it was more uncomfortable for them than it was for me. I should have rescheduled.

Anyway, I ended up going to the desert that weekend but not before I picked up my brother at LAX. My other brother was already there. The three of us spent the weekend talking about our dad. And we had a few ghostly experiences - stories that I'll save for another time.

I guess you're wondering why the hell I'm writing all this personal stuff about my dad. First of all, it was his birthday on Saturday. But mostly, I thought you should get to know him. Because if it weren't for my dad, Everybody I Shot Is Dead would not be coming out this Fall. You see, my dad left a rather unorthodox will. It's a bit complicated and there's no reason to go into detail other than to say that I received my remaining share a couple of years ago. I put it away as the seed money to build my nest egg on, swearing I would never touch it.

I actually had no intention of publishing this book myself, but I reconsidered after I read through my journals and relived the torture of all the meetings I had with the big NY houses before I decided to publish Starart. Then, as I walked by my dad's picture that hangs on the wall between my living and dining rooms, a thought washed over my mind. I should check and see how much this book is going to cost to print, knowing full well that there was no way I could afford to do it...especially the way I wanted it.

Still, I figured there was no harm in checking. Remember what my dad always told me: if you want something done right... So, I went to a bookstore and scoured all the books that lived up to my quality standards. I found a printer and submitted the specs for an estimate. Turns out my dad's money was the exact amount I needed to print the book. What are the chances of that? I took that as a sign. That, and the fact that taking pictures of rock stars was the one thing he knew I was doing. Oh yeah, and he paid for my camera. And now I can't help thinking that's exactly how it was supposed to be. It just seems fitting that my dead father is financing my dead rock star book. Making it possible for me to honor these fine musicians. I just hope he knows I am also honoring him.

Thanks, Dad.

George Carlin

One year ago today we lost our great funnyman, George Carlin. I was lucky enough to photograph and meet him back in the day. He could do more with a chair and an empty stage than anyone. It was all about the words and how he could string them together and make us laugh.

George Carlin

5/12/37-6/22/08

This is his Seven Words bit...please do not watch it if foul language offends you.



Thank you for the fun times, George.



You can see lots more pictures and learn more about the other 48 musicians in my tribute book, Everybody I Shot Is Dead.

John Lee Hooker

John Lee Hooker. One of the coolest of the cool. One of the nicest of the nice. One of my favorite subjects...if not my most favorite. It was such a privilege to shoot him and meet him.

He passed away 8 years ago today. Even though he lived a pretty long life, I wish he was still around. So I could see him play one more time. So I could take some more photographs of him.

I love, love, love him.

John Lee Hooker

8/22/20 - 6/21/01

Here's an early version of Boom Boom...



What a legendary bluesman. Thanks for all the great music, Mr. Hooker.



You can see lots more pictures and learn more about John Lee Hooker and the 47 other musicians in my tribute book, Everybody I Shot Is Dead.

Blitzed

There are two definitions of the word "blitzed":
1) drunk or stoned.
2) extremely tired.

I am one of those. I'll let you decide.

I did something today that I had not done in seven years.

It could be a new beginning.

Or it could be the end.

Only time (and my efforts) will tell.

I'm counting on the former.

Sorry for being so cryptic but I have no choice.

But we will all see what the future brings.

Hopefully brightness. Loads of brightness.

Stay tuned.

A thematically appropriate photograph:

When I touched on this picture out of a gaggle of sky shots, I was suddenly hearing this:

You know the day destroys the night
Night divides the day
Tried to run
Tried to hide
Break on through to the other side
~ The Doors

Not in a negative way. More in a metamorphosis, rise from the ashes kind of way.

Hope you are having a great weekend.

Peter Bardens

A Happy 64th Birthday to Peter Bardens. He was one of the original founders and keyboardist of Camel.

Peter was also the person who discovered Mick Fleetwood banging on the drums a few doors down from where he lived and got him started on his professional career.

Peter Bardens
6/19/45-1/22/02

This is Skylines from Camel...spotlighting Peter on keyboards...






You can see lots more pictures and learn more about Peter Bardens and the 47 other musicians in my tribute book, Everybody I Shot Is Dead.

Back In The Old Days...

...we (designers, photographers, artists) used to walk around with portfolios attached to our hand.

Does anybody do that anymore?

This was one of mine that I used for garnering entertainment advertising work...


Notice the dust on the top? And that's after I took a feather duster to it this morning.

This is how we - well, at least I - do it these days...My Portfolio.

Any ideas on what I should do with the Old School portfolio? I'm so bad at throwing stuff away. It's gotta be good for something, right?

Lost Angeles

It's really difficult to treat you to anything new and exciting when I have tunnel vision. And when my life is like a construction zone. Complete with scaffolding, jack hammers, ever-changing blueprints, hard hats, and cussing. Or maybe it's more of a deconstruction zone with carefully placed explosives. We'll have to wait and see.

I have no idea where today went. I believe it morphed into Superman because it was definitely faster than a speeding bullet. Which is not good for me because I only have two full days left before the first phase of the reconstruction (see how positive-thinking I am?) of my life has to be completed. Call it the molting phase. Two days? Not nearly enough.

During this phase and the early part of phase two, I doubt I will be in the zone to impart anything remotely close to rock'n'roll. Such as diving into the file cabinet to find and post some new old pictures of a rock star I forgot I shot. Other than, of course, a birthday and deathday coming up later this week.

In the meantime, you'll have to settle for my cryptic musings. In addition to that potentially boring prospect, I will try and find something interesting to shoot everyday that I can post for the art of photography's sake...which means my weirder stuff...like in how I see the world...and myself in it...like this one that I shot sometime last week...


I was going to call it California but I thought I should be more specific so I'm going with Lost Angeles.

Tuesday

I have no idea.

Got up.

Drank coffee (decaf).

Ate chocolate pudding cake with strawberries.

Took a shower.

Sent some emails.

Made some calls.

Talked to an entertainment lawyer.

Used liquid plumber.

Cleaned out a bookcase.

Swept the floor.

Cleaned out two large file drawers (the horizontal kind).

Thought about a lot of stuff.

Made a salad.

Hit the post office.

Drove to Hollywood.

Stood in a hella-hot line for a screening.

Took my picture.

Talked to a guy who recognized me from Cannon ('88).

Watched a movie.

Went for half a cheeseburger.

Drove home.

Gathered my computer and wacom from my office.

Spilled the remaining decaf on my desk.

Got paper towels.

Swabbed the desk.

Brushed my teeth.

Went to my room.

Retouched a photograph (not mine).

Wrote a blog post.

Admired my picture (I quite like it).

Hit the publish post button.

Went to sleep.

Harry Nilsson and Waylon Jennings

Double the celebration today with two birthdays of two legendary musicians.

First, it's Harry Nilsson's 68th birthday. He had a golden voice. So much so, that when asked, way back when, John Lennon named him as his favorite. Of course, that statement initiated Harry's fame.

He didn't play concerts but I caught a few photos of him in a more intimate setting...dinner at Klaus Voormann's house...

Harry Nilsson
6/15/41 - 1/15/94

This oughta get the party started...feel free to add rum...

And today is also Waylon's 72nd birthday. Love, love, love this bad boy cowboy....

Waylon Jennings

6/15/37-2/13/02

A few legends on this stage to keep the party rockin'...

Happy Birthday to two of my very favorite photographic subjects!!

And to the rest of you...ROCK ON!

You can see lots more pictures and learn more about Harry Nilsson, Waylon Jennings and the 46 other musicians in my tribute book, Everybody I Shot Is Dead.