All language subtitles for Icon.Music.Through.the.Lens.S01E05.720p.WEBRip.x264-BAE_Subtitles01_Unnamed

There's three things you
have to know in a business.

First of all, get the money.

Second of all, never
forget to get the money.

And third of all,
always remember

to never forget
to get the money.

[camera clicks]

[rock music playing]

No one really goes
into this thinking

that they're going
to get stinking rich.

I tell people coming up now,

you have to have
a passion for this.

You have to love it

[camera clicking]

because you're not going
to make much money.

You're doing it for that thrill
at the time.

Even now, talking, I feel
a kind of a tingle, going whoa.

I was spending
more money on drinks

than I was on the pictures
I was making.

When I started showing
these photographs,

I wasn't thinking money.

Oh, I'm going to do this because
I'm going to open a gallery

and make money and rock...

hell, no, I was on
a mission from God.

Most music photos
weren't taken with anything

in mind other than
appearing in a magazine

or on a record cover.

There was no
documenting history.

There was no fine art,
let's put this on the wall.

They were disposable.

I knew that these pictures
were going to be in an archive,

and eventually, hopefully,
somebody will want them.

It's art for the sake of money.

And that's my motto.
And that's my life. [chuckles]

Rock iconography is as
saleable is the music itself.

I wanted music photography
to be taken seriously.

And I think, finally,
we've been able to do that.

[rock music playing]

One thing that's lacking
in photographers' heads

is their connection
to the commerce side.

[music playing]

I always wanted to make art.

I always felt like an artist,
and not just be a journalist.

I wanted people to feel it.

But I had to pay my rent.
I wanted to make money.

My dad, he said, look, if
you want to be a photographer,

just remember, you have
to make enough money

to live off your art.

For a lot of photographers,
that's a completely novel idea.

You do it because you want
to make a life for yourself.

So that when you get to
the end of your life,

you can say, I did all this.

I'm addicted, yes.

If it's good, I don't know.

But I'm addicted, you know.

And I don't know anything else.
That's all I know.

When you listen to a piece
of music, it does something.

It turns you on.

It puts your stomach
into a turmoil.

It throws your hips out
into a dance.

And when you see
the pictures that went with it,

you see your bedroom walls.

You see those magazines
that you shared

with your friends at school.

It is absolutely key
to our early lives.

People have always collected
something, you know.

And now people who used
to have posters on their walls,

a Mick Rock poster of Iggy Pop

that they ripped out
of a magazine,

now they're paying thousands.

It wasn't a popular thing
in the '70s.

I mean, you would take
a magazine ad,

and you'd frame it,
if you did something like that,

or you put it on
the back of your door.

You know, that type of thing,
in your bedroom.

I have a lot of Beyoncé
on my walls.

Um, I actually just
took them down,

like before I moved from
my parents to my apartment.

But Beyoncé was the only idle,

kind of artist,
that I had on my wall.

A lot of Debbie Harry,

Kate Bush,

Iggy Pop,

Ian McCulloch because
his hair was just so amazing,

Nick Cave,

tons and tons.

There was no wallpaper left.

Some of it was just because
it was a brilliant photo.

[camera clicks]

NEAL X:
I must have had a T. Rex.

I did have scrapbooks
that I used to cut out pictures

I liked of rock and roll icons.

I had millions of posters all
over the walls of Duran Duran

and David Sylvian,
pictures by Andy Earl.

And when I started
taking photographs,

uh, um, on a foundation course,
I thought this is brilliant,

I can capture
exactly what I want.

The reason I got
into photography

was because I wasn't patient
enough to make a film.

And I liked being able to go
out on my own and take pictures.

And I love music photography.

And I love the fact that it
basically allowed you

to be as creative
as you wanted to be.

[camera clicking]

I went to the Rainbow.

I was at a gig there
to see the band Yes.

Went down to the front,

where there were these
photographers shooting.

Nobody stopped me.

I had one roll of film.

And I shot that.

And at the end of the gig,
I was sort of elated.

And the photographers
were packing up.

And two of these guys,
they said to me,

oh, um, are you professional?

I went, yes.

And they said, well, we...
We're the photographers here

at the Rainbow.

We're going off to make a film,

would you be interested in maybe
taking over this photography.

They said there
won't be money in it.

But you get some expenses.

And I was like, yeah,
I... I can do that.

And then about two,
three weeks later,

they gave me a pass
for the Rainbow.

And on it was written
"photographer".

I thought, well, that's it,
that's what I am now.

I've never made
a huge amount of money.

But I'm here in my mid 60s,
and I'm still shooting.

And I still shoot
with some new bands.

Even now, I get excited
about the sort of talent

and seeing it develop
and watching them blossom.

And it's become my DNA.
[chuckles]

[rock music playing]

So I started
learning photography

and shooting when I was 14.

And early on, I figured out
how to sneak my camera into,

like, Madison Square Garden.

Elton John was one of first
shows I ever saw

in the, you know,
nosebleed seats.

['Rocket Man' by Elton John]

♪ She packed my bags
last night pre-flight ♪

♪ Zero hour 9:00 AM

♪ And I'm going to be high
as a kite by then ♪

I had this whole thing where I
would strap the camera to here.

And I'd put the...
Put the lens in my sock.

And they're not
going to suspect,

like, a 15-year-old girl.

And I'd put together the camera,
you know, when I got inside.

And then just walk down
and down and down

with a tele... 400 millimeter
telephoto lens,

and, you know, took pictures
of Elton John on stage.

♪ I'm a rocket man

♪ Rocket man, burning out
his fuse up here alone ♪

So I was always figuring out
ways to sneak

into things with my camera.

Risk nothing, get nothing.

I know everyone would
like to, like,

you're not supposed to do that.

Everyone's like, you can't say...

but those hall monitors of life,

they don't get to enjoy it
the way we do,

the way you and I do
when we let ourselves go.

Ray Charles was always...

I loved him as a kid.

And he came to San Francisco
State in 1971.

I showed up, and basically made
up, on the spot, an assignment.

And his manager said, no, no,

man, nobody can shoot
Ray Charles during his show.

And I said, this is really
important, you know.

We could be talking
about a cover here.

You know, listen,
I'm going to be inconspicuous.

Ray's not even going
to know I'm there.

And the guy was like...

I'm going to let you in the pit.

And I said, hey, no problem.

So I think I'd shot
a roll of film.

But I'm thinking, the really
good picture would be

for me to have a wide-angle lens
really close to the keyboard,

and kind of get the keyboard
and Ray and...

You know what? [bleep] it.
Ray's blind.

He's not going to see me.

So I kind of creeped in
real low.

And I think I'd taken
six or seven pictures.

And all of a sudden,
the music stopped.

And Ray says,
ladies and gentlemen,

I know y'all came here to see
Ray Charles and his orchestra.

You paid good money, and not be
interrupted by a photographer.

And I was so embarrassed.

I almost felt invisible.

And I was just waiting
for him to stop.

And I kind of turned,
and his manager was like...

So that was the end
of Ray Charles.

But I... I did manage to get
those great pictures.

[light jazz music playing]

What I learned was that...

and it was early on
from Miles Davis.

I learned, you know,
to not mess up the vibe.

When I was photographing Miles
in Copenhagen, I was a student.

I had just purchased
my first camera.

There was me

and there was a professional
photographer there.

He had his motor drives.

He had his Nikons.

And he proceeds, in the middle
of a solo, to blast off.

[imitating camera clicking]

Miles had the mute on.

So this was not some
blaring moment.

And there was
a little subtlety to it.

Miles emptied his spit valve
on the guy,

and basically said,
get the [bleep] out.

He turns to me,
and he says, you can stay.

You can stay.

[smooth jazz music playing]

[rock music playing]

There's this perception
that money is being made

hand over fist
by photographers from photos.

It's just not true.

[rock music playing]

We are music photographers.
We're shooting live music.

But we're also
commercial photographers.

We're selling something.

We are selling a performance.

We're selling music.

We're selling something
that that person

wants to bring to the crowd.

You're not just shooting
to hang in somebody's bedroom.

After all, it's all business.

Behind the art is the business.

So you may be
looking at a picture

and speaking to a photographer.

However, behind that there's
a deal, a merchandise deal,

a deal to use the sleeve,
a deal to, you know,

perhaps have a single
and an album, and a...

you know, whatever
the deal is going to be.

[rock music playing]

To make the change from being
a commercial photographer,

you need a vehicle.

And the vehicle
is an exhibition.

As a result of the exhibition,

you hope that
you might get a book.

From the book, hopefully, you
will get interest from people.

You will increase your profile.

People will become more and
more interested in your work.

And eventually maybe
you will sell prints.

I made a lot more money
selling one print

than I do selling a book.

I make more money
selling a print

than I made for the whole
night of taking the picture

in the first place, you know.

Producing a coffee table book
of music photography

is really a labor of love,
for everyone involved.

The only money you get from
a book is the advance you get,

which usually doesn't cover your
costs to put a book together.

You don't make money
on the royalty from the book.

You get like $0.50
or a dollar a book.

But you make money because
if you have 150 pictures

in a book, that becomes
a catalog of a lot more images

that people can choose from.

[music playing]

It really, really is
an expensive process

to get a book at the end
of that that will last forever.

It's worth it.
It's worth every penny.

ELLIOTT LANDY: I've done nine
books, I think ten books now.

This is the first day
in the festival,

maybe even before
the music began.

This one is towards the stage.

And this one is from
behind the stage.

I was taking the picture
from up here, back here.

And these great musicians,
what they wanted to do

was very free form,
very improvisational.

I didn't put any
pressure on them.

I didn't want to use them to get
somewhere and things like that.

I was just there
for the picture.

[light guitar music playing]

For me and my pictures,
these pictures I shot

in the '70s, as we went through
the '80s, people were like,

why are you showing me
these pictures?

These are old bands.

I don't need pictures
of old bands.

And then I sort of boxed
them away a little bit

because people didn't call up.

And then Nirvana hit
in the early '90s.

And that coincided
with the book,

"Please Kill Me" coming out,

which explained what
the New York punk scene was

versus the British punk scene.

And from that point on, people
started calling all the time,

which has never stopped.

This influence seems to
have turned into history

for lack of a better word.

[rock music playing]

I get a call in 2014 from
a fellow named Herb Powell,

who is a biographer
and a writer.

And Herb was working on
Maurice White's biography.

Maurice White said, you've
gotta go see Bruce Talamon.

He's got the great
Earth, Wind & Fire work.

My work is different, you know,
because I was on a stage.

I wasn't in the pit.

You know,
so I had like an access

that a lot of people didn't.

Now, Herb looks at the work.
We make a deal.

And then he says
the fateful words,

well, what else you got there?

And so then I start pulling
out, you know, I mean,

Stevie, Bob Marley, Aretha.

And he says, you know
you can do a book?

And I said, OK, well, we'll see.

Now, I had done a book
in 1994 on Bob Marley.

I had 18 rejection letters.

It was only through
the intervention

of Eli Reed, the first
Black member of Magnum.

He says, call my guy
at WW Norton.

And I called Jim Marrs,
The late Jim Marrs,

who was a vice president.

We made a deal in a day.

And "Bob Marley, Spirit Dancer"
came out.

And that was my first book.

So after Herb had said something
in 2014, I go to my book agent.

And we put together a mock-up
of, you know, what I've got.

She takes it around to all
the big photo book publishers.

And everybody loved it.

Nobody was willing
to pull the trigger.

I was a little fed up.

I did something, shall we say,
that one tells one's children

and significant others
not to do on the internet

at 3:30, 4:00 in the morning,

possibly if you've had one
or two extra glasses of wine.

I sat down and calmly wrote
a note, two paragraphs,

to Benedikt Taschen.

If you're going to
fall on your ass,

you might as well
go down in flames.

I introduced myself.

I said there have
been photo books

done on jazz,
the Rolling Stones,

the Beatles, David Bowie, Elvis.

But I said, there's never
been a photo book done

on R&B, soul, or funk music.

I'm attaching seven pictures.

I hit spellcheck.

And I say, if you're interested,
I'd love to speak with you.

I pushed send.
Now it's 4:45 in the morning.

I go to bed.

1:30 that afternoon,
I get a call from New York.

[music playing]

It's the senior editor
for TASCHEN Books.

And he says somebody in Germany
thought that I should see it.

And he got it.

He understood it.

And he took a chance.

['Give Up The Funk'
by Parliament]

That's the way I got the gig.

I would not suggest it
for everybody,

but it worked for me.

Bruce Talamon writing directly
to Benedikt Taschen

was absolutely
the right thing to do,

because nobody was
going to do it for him.

[camera clicking]

I'm an absolutely
enormous Beatles obsessive.

Read all the books, listened
to every podcast going.

Commission comes up, Paul
McCartney in London, 2003.

And at this point,
I'm actually living in New York.

And they're like, you can have
half an hour with him.

I was like, I'll do it.

I don't think there's
been a decent...

this is my thought at the time...

there's not been a decent
portrait of one of

the 20th century's greatest
songwriters since 1969.

I bought my own
plane ticket, flew back.

McCartney was about
to go on a tour of arenas.

And he had hired the London
Arena just to rehearse him

for like a week.

They said to us, come at 8:00

and be ready to shoot him
at 10:00.

In he walks.

And his band,
they were playing something,

like an Elvis song
or something like that.

They were just
sort of warming up.

And McCartney comes in.

And he's supposed to come
to me for his picture.

But he can't resist the band.

He was like, oh, can you
just give me five minutes?

I just got to do this.

And he jumps up on stage,
joins in with the band,

and they play.
And then they play another song.

And then they play another song.

And then it just
goes on all day.

So the good thing
about that is that

I get to have my own private
Paul McCartney show all day.

I mean, I'm literally
phoning every single person

I can think of.

And then it gets to about,
I don't know, 6:00 or something.

Everyone's knocking off
for the day.

And a car drives in for him
into the arena.

And he just jumps off
stage to get in the car.

And I'm like, um.

And he's like, oh, God, so
sorry, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah.

He comes over to the backdrop
that we'd set up.

I shoot maybe
a minute and a half.

And he goes, OK,
you've got enough, haven't you?

I'm doing this live thing
at the BBC. I got to go.

I got to go because it's live
and I can't be late.

And I just had this moment
where I just thought either

I'm going to lose him forever,

or I just have to swallow my
kind of courtesy and politeness.

So I said, well, I... I don't
really have enough

because I came here prepared
to have half an hour with you.

And the other thing is
that I live in New York.

And I came all the way over
to London for this.

And he said,
you live in New York?

And I said, yeah, yeah, yeah,
I live in New York.

And you came
all the way over here?

Yeah, I came all the way
over here for this.

And he goes, oh, God,
I'm really sorry.

Um... it was a Friday.

He goes, when are you
going back to New York?

And I said,
I'm going on Tuesday.

And he said, I'll tell you what.
What are you doing on Monday?

I was like, nothing.

And he says, come
back on Monday.

You can leave all your stuff
set up over the weekend.

I'll give you half an hour.

I was like, deal.
And he's like, deal.

And we shook hands on it.

And as he goes
to get in the car,

I had this fantastic moment
with him

where it was like
we were colleagues.

I said, bye then, Paul,
have a good weekend.

I'll see you Monday.

He was like, yeah,
see you Monday.

Gets in the car and goes.

So he comes back on the Monday.

He's really cooperative.
He's really nice.

While we're doing the pictures,
we're chatting about New York.

He talked about the first time
the Beatles went to New York,

just how amazing it was
hearing themselves

on the radio, all that stuff.

But I'm not really
getting anything from him

that is particularly good.

So I have to kind
of calm him down.

I just said to him,
can you just do less?

Stop doing this.

And just put your arms
by your side.

This is March, April, 2003.

Now the Gulf War,
the second Gulf War,

was only a few days old.

They just invaded
or started airstrikes.

And so that was what was
going on in the outside world.

So I said, just give me
less, less, less.

And he said, what's the matter?
Don't you like a bit of whimsy?

And I went,
not when there's a war on, Paul.

Like that. And it was supposed
to be humorous.

But he took it
completely the wrong way.

And his face just literally went
from that whimsical Maccer face

that we all know,
it went to absolute thunderous.

The sea disappeared
and the shingle was revealed.

And it was like, oh my God,
that is...

that's the real Paul McCartney
right there.

And I had two frames.

For two frames
he absolutely hated me.

This absolute granite face.

And then almost
like a palate cleanser,

I said to him, OK,
now just close your eyes.

He closes his eyes.
I took two more frames.

I said, OK, thanks very much.
I got it.

He didn't like that shoot.

Because at one point,
I think someone from his office,

they contacted me trying
to buy the negatives.

And I wouldn't sell them.

And then 15 years later,
weirdly,

there's a book by Paul Du Noyer,
called

"Conversations with McCartney,"
which is, I think,

Du Noyer's interviewed him
more than any other journalist.

And McCartney chose a picture
from that shoot for the cover.

So 15 years later,
he had come around

to liking it, which is nice.

Rock and roll was not
considered fine art.

To sell rock and roll pictures
there's one market,

which is fans.

A guy who can afford it wants
Led Zeppelin on his wall

because he loves them.

And that's what he's
going to live with.

But to get into the real
photography market,

that's more about the history
of photography,

the status of the photographer.

It's more like the art market,
where it's not necessarily

about a good painting.

It's about did Andy Warhol
make this painting?

Then it's a good painting.

So you have to establish a name.

But it takes years.

It takes years,
especially if you want it

to happen while you're alive.

[music playing]

CHRIS MURRAY: I opened
my art gallery in 1975.

And it's kept me busy
for 35 years doing that.

But here's what
I want to tell you.

At that time,
there wasn't a single gallery,

a single museum,
a single curator,

a single art critic writing
about music and photography.

It wasn't happening.

But when I started
doing the first shows,

the people came in droves.

I mean, droves.

And the media,
the music media loved it.

I didn't go to the art critics.

I went to, like,
Richard Harrington

at the Washington Post
who's probably written 15 major,

brilliant features about
the exhibits of Govinda Gallery,

which are the first ones
for all these photographers.

So the people came.

They voted.

And they bought.

They bought.

And I just was going to do it
because I knew photography.

I knew rock and roll.

I loved it.

And I wanted to find
the best of it.

So God, not only was I finding
the most brilliant photographs,

I was getting to know
these really talented

and gracious
and fun-loving photographers.

[music playing]

Selling prints is...
Is really a difficult job.

And you need to work with
a really good gallery

who understands their market.

And Chris Murray
had a fantastic market

because he'd... he pioneered
showing music photography.

And Washington DC
was a fantastic place to do it

because it had
a thriving liberal middle class,

very art-conscious market,
who were interested in it.

You want people to show up.
You don't want to have

the exhibition
and people don't show up.

You want to take pictures
that people want to see.

And yeah, it's nice
when people tell me

that I'm an inspiration because
I have so many inspirations.

That's how you learn.

You learn by looking at
other people's pictures.

They're not only looking at me.

If they're inspired by me,
they're looking at like

10, 20, 30 other people too.

One gallery owner came up
to me and said, you know what?

We think you should make prints
and sell prints of your work.

I said nobody wants prints
of this work, come on.

She said, give us a chance.

We'll put together a show.

She put together a show.

Sold out the show.

[music playing]

Here at the gallery,
since I've been here,

the first music exhibition
we did

was probably 1991,
maybe even before that.

But I would say, of all
the galleries that I know,

we probably have shown more
music-related photographs

than anyone.

And I would say
the photographic market

really evolved
over a period of time.

But it took a long time
for it to happen.

So for many years,
we dealers, photography dealers,

were hanging on by our
fingernails, trying to survive,

because we really had
to try to build the audience.

We had to find the audience.

We had to educate the audience.

We had to inform them
of the reputations

and the history and background
of these artists.

And it was difficult
because photography

wasn't really embraced
as an art form until much later.

[music playing]

In 1981, at the time
the only gallery

showing photography in London
was The Photographers' Gallery.

And that was run by this
extraordinary woman,

Sue Davies.

And I went with my portfolio
to see her.

Being the visionary
that she was,

she teamed me up
with an older photographer

called Harry Hammond,
who'd come in to see her

just a week or so previous
with his portfolio.

And she realized
that between us,

we could create a 30 year
of music image,

which nobody had ever done.

And this was the beginning
of interest in the archive.

But what was most important
was that an established gallery

was taking the genre seriously.

Oh, it was terribly popular.
Thousands of people came.

Of course, they loved it.

I mean, you know, because
you're seeing all your heroes.

And you know, we didn't
realize how many people

absolutely adored all the 1950s
and '60s pop stars.

But, oh, look there's so-and-so.

There's Lulu.
There's Jimi Hendrix.

NEAL PRESTON:
The fact that anyone
knows what I've done,

appreciates what I've done,

whether or not
they know my name,

that's never been important me.

But the fact that
they get pleasure

from having this image
on their wall,

that's how I get my cookies.

[rock music playing]

[light music playing]

When we first began
representing pop culture

back in the '80s,
a lot of our colleagues

in the business thought
we were committing

professional suicide.

But the reality is, at that
time, a lot of the negatives

and the slides
were in shoe boxes.

It turned out that not only
did we, in effect,

pull them out of...

not obscurity because
the works were famous...

but brought them into a world
where they had never been,

but where they belonged,
in this fine art world.

You know, I started
collecting in the late '70s.

And there weren't
galleries to buy them from.

They were like a photographer
that I would meet.

And I'm saying, like,
I love your stuff,

I saw those photos in Creem
magazine or Melody Maker.

Some of them would
send me something

because I was this kid
that was, you know,

trying to get into their world.

About 20 years ago,
I became a collector.

And I remember
walking past the gallery

and there in the window

was an amazing photograph
of the Rolling Stones,

a picture I'd recognized because
I had the album as a teenager.

And it just got me thinking
that I didn't realize

you could get these things.

So I started to research it.

I was tracking down
photographers,

going to see them in
a private capacity,

buying pictures
from their archives.

And the more I looked into it
and the more I saw,

the more I realized there was
just a whole wealth of work

out there
that needed to be seen.

[music playing]

I'm often asked,
is what we sell art?

And my answer is categorically,
yes, it is.

And not only that, it's...
It's great art.

And the reason is because great
art is something that gets you

on an emotional level, something
that grabs you by the gut,

and brings some pleasure
if you own it

and you have it on your wall.

I was in this unique position
to develop relationships

with dozens of
these photographers

and cover the waterfront,
so to speak,

in terms of the music and
both their approach to things.

And that's fascinating because
all the photographers have

different approaches, have
different things behind them

that they bring to the table,
their own personal lives even.

I have to give kudos
to Chris Murray

because way back when,
I called up Chris,

and I said, hey, Chris,
I've got some photographs.

Would you like to see them?

And he could have easily
blown me off and said,

yeah, yeah, I'm busy right now.

But he said, no, come on down
to Washington.

And he spent hours with me,
going through my stuff.

And he looked at everything.

And he said, well,
first I see a book,

and then I see a... a show.

And that was very profitable
because nobody had seen

my work before in galleries.

And we had put something like 40
or 45 photographs in the show.

He had a whole bunch
of them on the ground,

leaning against the walls,
ready to hang.

He called me up, he said, Frank,
you'll never believe this.

I said, what? He said, we've
sold almost 20 of them already.

We haven't hanged the show yet.

People just came in saw them
on the floor, and bought them.

[rock music playing]

GUY WHITE: Probably our
most popular subject

over all the years,
is Bruce Springsteen.

His fan base
is of a certain age.

And... and they have
disposable income

to spend on... on the work.

And we've sold more
Bruce Springsteen pictures

to collectors all around
the world than any other.

Guy White sold that
one singular 75 by 55.

We did an edition of one of
one of the Big Ass series.

And a collector in Italy paid
really big money for that.

And I'm looking at the print,
and I'm saying,

why is this one more popular
than Frank's barbershop,

where he's leaning
against the barber pole

and he's got the Al Pacino hair,

and there's all this symbolism
in the photo?

And then one day, I was
staring at it, and it hit me.

[snaps fingers]

I said, oh, my God,
this is "Thunder Road,"

"from your front porch
to my front seat,

the door's open,
but the ride it ain't free."

You know, he's waiting
for his girlfriend

to come down from the front
porch across the street.

[hip-hop music playing]

I was the chief photographer
and the photo editor

of the "New York Rocker," which,

it was sort of an underground
music paper

in the late '70s and early '80s.

They asked me to take a photo
of Tina Weymouth of Tom Tom Club

and Talking Heads, and
Grandmaster Flash, together,

for a cover photo.

And it was sort
of a story on how

uptown was meeting downtown.

And I remembered that there's
this beautiful handball wall

that was done by a graffiti
artist, Lee Quinones.

I thought that would just
be a perfect environment

for the shoot.

And they just
totally hit it off.

They'd never met.

And you know, we're playing
the boom boxes.

And they're like dancing
and getting down,

and doing the bump.

♪ Freakin in the den
just to make you move ♪

♪ Because I'm Cowboy
and I got the groove ♪

LAURA LEVINE: After the photo
shoot which went on for hours,

Tina played him
some of the tracks

from the Tom Tom Club record.

And apparently he said
something about that riff

and how you're going to
be hearing it everywhere.

And within months, he
had incorporated the riff

of "Genius of Love"
into one of his songs,

called "It's Nasty,
Genius of Love."

and that became a big hit.

[hip hop music playing]

♪ We want to rock you

So literally,
a new song came out

of the two of them getting
together at this photo shoot,

which was just...

that's never happened
before in my work.

And that was just
really an honor.

And to this day,
it's in the collection

of the National Portrait Gallery
at the Smithsonian.

And it's been shown in a lot
of museums and exhibitions.

♪ Like dy-na-might
before it blows ♪

♪ Who needs a band when
the beat just goes boom ♪

Now we have
unbelievable portraits

of our musical heroes.

And you'll see more
and more and more

of these photos ending up in
every museum in the world.

Because they're going to have
to have the great portrait

of Jimi Hendrix.

They're going to have to have
the great portrait

of John Lennon.

They're going to have to have
the great portraits

of Bob Dylan.
It's just going to happen.

[rock music playing]

Why, is my work,
and not only mine,

in museums and galleries
all over the world?

Something [bleep] weird went on
that it became the main stream

culture, instead of outsider
and rebel,

which was the part
of the romance

of being a rock photographer.

[rock music playing]

You shouldn't pigeonhole
music photography

as music photography.

It's much more than that.

It was documenting pieces
of history that happened

that we can never
recreate again.

And so that's why I'm happy now

it is starting to be thought of
as an art form.

The Sex Pistols show, their
last show in San Francisco,

I thought that was one of the
two or three all-time greatest

moments in rock history.

I didn't even want to do
the show at first.

Rolling Stone called me,
and they said, oh, hey,

can you shoot it?
And I went, the Sex Pistols?

Are you kidding?

The lobby of Winterland,
which wasn't big, was jammed.

And it was the entire
punk scene from LA

that had come up, meeting
the San Francisco punk scene.

And when they came on...
There was no pit...

it was like pandemonium.

It was like a riot broke out.

There was sweat
dripping off the walls.

The crowd
was constantly surging,

where I was picked up
off my feet.

People were throwing bottles.

There were shoes flying.

People gobbing
and, like, spitting.

And it was just like
a full-blown riot.

And Sid was like bare-chested.

And he had cuts.

And as Johnny walked off,
I remember

he grabbed the microphone
and he said,

[British accent]
don't you all feel cheated?

Threw it down, and that was it.

And I remember
we went backstage.

And Sid had disappeared,

and suddenly came out
of this one dressing room.

He had had a black leather
jacket over his bare chest.

His eyes were, like, watering,
his nose is running.

He was kind of lurching.

Britt Ekland had shown up with
Sunny Jim of the Stray Cats.

Sid looked at her, and kind
of going back and forth,

and just projectile vomited.

He almost got her feet.

And she let out a scream.

And this guy next to me,
black leather jacket from LA

goes, ha ha, that is so punk.

And that was it.
They broke up the next day.

[punk music playing]

But if you were there, it was
one of those great moments.

It was like seeing
James Brown at the Apollo

in New York in 1965, where
if you were there, you'd say,

I'd rather be there
than for the Resurrection.

[music playing]

Well, I'm interested
in pop culture.

And the gallery was full
of... of old paintings

of old, forgotten people,

and photography wasn't shown
very much.

I was looking for the best
iconic pictures, and trying

to find a way that they could
come into the gallery.

Because I knew there was
an audience for them.

One morning I got a phone call.

And it's the National Portrait
Gallery in London.

And they start going on
about how they're

having an exhibit of 100
pictures of 100 famous people

of English culture.

And I'm waiting for them
to say John Lennon.

Because why else would
they call me, you know?

100 great people from England,
I got the guy.

We were doing
a millennium exhibition.

And we had this idea of asking
10 famous British people

to each pick 10 pictures
that sums up the century.

When they said Sid Vicious,
I was like, what?

Excuse me, I think
I got a bad connection.

What picture
are you looking for?

And they said, well, David Bowie
has chosen your Sid Vicious

picture to be in the exhibit.

We were in a soundcheck in
Texas, I believe, San Antonio.

And we went over to
the hotdog stand on the side.

And Sid and I got hot dogs.
And he was eating his hot dog.

And he just looked good
in the light.

I said, wait,
let me take a picture.

And he said, wait a minute.

And he took the ketchup
and the mustard.

And he poured a lot more ketchup
and mustard on his hot dog.

And he smeared it on his face.

And I remember that
because I was shocked

because I wouldn't smear mustard
and ketchup all over my face.

Like, what is he doing?

And then he went, OK,
and he posed for the picture.

And he had a button
that said, I'm a mess.

So it wasn't an accident that
he knew how to look like a mess.

Sid was a very good actor.

He might not have
been a good musician,

but he was a great actor.

♪ 1, 2, 3, 4
[punk music playing]

Sid Vicious now has become
part of the establishment.

I mean, I'm sure he would
hate to have heard

that said about him.

But you know, he is part
of that establishment.

And what that does also,
though, it makes the point

that photography and photographs
change their meaning over time.

But sometimes a picture
becomes definitive

because it captures something.

I shared a house
with Phil Lynott.

And Mick and Joe from
The Clash would come by.

And Cook and Jones
came around quite a lot.

Sid comes over with Nancy.

And Nancy said to me, you know,
will you take a picture of us.

And I said, yeah, all right.

And I thought,
but everywhere is a mess.

We just got back from America.

But the bathroom,
that's not so bad.

So I took them upstairs,
and took this picture of the two

of them, and indicated to Sid
that if he did his Sid thing,

it'll probably be all right.

And this one picture
comes out of it.

I mean, I didn't know that
picture would go everywhere.

I was just doing what
Nancy asked really.

They were so sweet together.

They weren't what
people expected.

They were just two people
that were hopelessly in love,

and had a hopeless life
ahead of themselves

because it was obvious
what would happen.

[punk music playing]

You know, The National
Portrait Gallery is a big,

old English building with lots
of wood carvings and so on.

You go through a corridor and
a corridor and all these rooms.

And we've got to a room
where the exhibit was.

And there's a big
arched doorway.

And in the middle
of the doorway,

the first picture you see was
my Sid picture with the hot dog.

And I was like,
where's the Queen? You know.

Winston Churchill, you know,
some important English people.

Sid is the centerpiece
in the doorway here?

You've got to be kidding.

But yeah, they
liked that picture.

[music playing]

From the very beginning,
Sue Davies said to me,

you have to do limited editions.

They have to be signed
and numbered.

From that very first moment,

I numbered and signed
my pictures.

And I would only produce
limited editions of my work.

As an artist, you produce
a limited edition of your work.

And you create something
then that is finite,

and therefore
will hold its value.

And in the best cases,
will obviously go up in value

as well over the years.

The Charlie Watts picture,

which crossed over
in the early days of Q,

was 300 quid when we began.

I entered it into the Jane Bown
Portrait award, and won it.

And that's why
it became well-known,

because it won an award.

But the magazine didn't use it.

I had one conversation
I knew would be good for me,

with Charlie, which was
that we were both taught

by this guy called Gil.

He was a graphic designer.

And Charlie trained
as a graphic designer.

I had a close-up attachment
for my Hasselblad,

which I just bought, I think.

And I didn't realize
how close you had to get

for it to go into focus.

So the reason that it's
so intimate, that picture,

and so big, is because
to get it in focus,

I had to walk towards him
until it came into focus.

But we were having
a conversation

about this guy, Gil.

Charlie, who... who's very
modest, as everybody knows,

was more interested
in talking about that

than the Rolling Stones.

A very shy man as well, like me.

And the picture was
in the bag, really.

I think we've got
four or five left

of the silver gelatin ones.

The last person who bought
one paid 7,000 pounds for it.

I don't think I've got
anything else

that sells for those
kind of prices.

Some of the more popular
pictures from the '90s,

so if I take Oasis
as an example...

you can get a limited edition
print of a classic Oasis

album cover signed
by the photographer,

for 400 or 500 pounds.

And then it goes up
and up from there.

COLIN LANE: I met a young
music photographer

who took me for a coffee.

And he was the one
who was, like, you know,

you should really be using your
Instagram account to, like,

sell some of your prints
in your archive.

And I was like, yeah,
OK, let me try that.

I had these boxes
of Strokes 8 by 10s

sitting around my closet
for years.

And I literally, like,
I took a picture

of one of the Strokes prints.

I put it on Instagram.

I'm like, hey, I'm selling this.
Anybody interested?

I got like 20 emails,
like, immediately.

['Reptilia' by The Strokes]

♪ Yeah, the night's not over

♪ You're not
trying hard enough ♪

COLIN LANE: And so I've been
doing that ever since,

100 bucks for an 8 by 10,
200 bucks for an 11 by 14.

It adds up. And it's definitely
supplemental income.

And I'm... you know,
I still do that today.

[music playing]

I never really realized
the importance

of actually a photographer
committing to a print.

I'm going to print this big,
and I'm going

to declare this a piece of art.

When I saw David Bowie's album
cover for "Aladdin Sane,"

shot by Duffy, 50 inch print,
very impressive.

He only made 25 of those
that were stamped by the estate.

And it was hand signed by Duffy.

I said, OK, I have to have this.

So I bought it for
a... a great price,

at... at the time, $8,000.

After two or three years, it was
over $100,000 worth,

including that tragic
David Bowie's death

and as Duffy
passing away as well.

So you can see how in
fine art photography,

all these things... music
photography... this plays a role.

♪ I am a passenger

♪ And I ride, and I ride

♪ I ride through
the city's backside ♪

♪ I see the stars
come out of the sky ♪

And then I started to do this...
These big prints as well.

I had, obviously, this
beautiful shot of Iggy.

And I made exactly the same
size of print like, uh, Bowie.

I had it signed by Iggy.

So it was from the get-go
sold for a lot of money

to a Canadian collector.

And I did only one,
one single one.

And that's gone.

I have another one,
the artist's proof. [chuckles]

♪ He looks through
his window ♪

♪ What does he see?

♪ He sees the silent
hollow sky ♪

You might go into a gallery
and see an amazing picture

of Bob Dylan
by Jerry Schatzberg,

selling for a considerable
amount of money.

And some photographers will say,
I've got pictures of Bob Dylan.

I'll do that.

But they haven't got
"Blonde on Blonde."

They've got Dylan in
Finsbury Park from a mile away.

It's not fine art.

Sometimes it's not even
good photography.

Some people have said
that great art is comprised

of two things, one with a great
passion and an inspiration,

and a desire to do something
wonderful that's in their head.

And the other is obsessive
discipline to do it well.

And you can't have great art
without both those ingredients.

Separate from each other,
they have no value as art.

Dylan sells, I mean.

But Dylan's prices
are very high now.

I only editioned them
for 20, sometimes 25.

And so I keep the price high.

But it depends on the size.

But, uh, the very big
one is now like 50,000.

But when I'm snapping away,
I'm thinking I'm not going

to sell one of these, you know.

GUY WHITE:
And at the very extreme,

where you're looking at really,
really rare items,

typically where
the photographer's produced

a limited edition,
it's sold out.

Pieces like that trade
for many, many multiples

of their original prices.

Yeah, the best example is
Iain MacMillan's pictures,

the sequence of pictures that
he took for the Abbey Road

album cover, where he
photographed the Beatles

on the famous zebra crossing.

He was paid, I think,
75 pounds for that session.

Abbey Road is at the very top.

It's a bit of a Holy Grail.

So Iain produced a limited
edition, I think of 25.

There were four sets, initially.

And later we were able
to bring together pieces

that already had been sold
to make a fifth.

When Jim's talking about sets,

he's talking about sets taken
from that additional 25

across all seven images.

Yes, exactly, All seven images

numbered exactly the same,
making a complete set

of the entire shoot.

We ended up, uh, selling
the very first one at $40,000.

And their value
has grown enormously

since that period of time.

By the time we sold the fourth
set, that one sold at 60,000.

And we had an example
recently at auction

where a set of seven
Abbey Road pictures

sold for 180,000 pounds.

This past year, we actually
resold for one of our clients,

a complete set at $900,000.

Having done that, it led
to another of our clients,

who became a seller
at 1.25 million.

[cash register chings]

Ouch.

I'm selling, you know,
big quantities of photos

to museums, to people like that.

And then you've got...
I love the individual collector,

who would come
to Govinda Gallery,

and they'd be so blown away

by a photo of John Lennon
or something.

So collectors... again, another
sign that it is fine art.

People are collecting.

Millions of us have been
collectors from day one.

I mean, we have
the albums at home.

We have amassed a collection.

That imagery is the...
Is the only way you saw it.

And the idea
that there would actually

be an original somewhere,
at some point,

is something perhaps never
even considered or thought of.

When someone would come here,

and will actually see
an original of an Abbey Road

or a Meet the Beatles!

or Animals from Pink Floyd,
and others,

because you revered
the music and the imagery,

and the memories,
the genetic makeup of all of it

over all these years, it's...

I mean, you feel like
perhaps you're standing

in front of something magical.

And it's riveting to see that.

Because all of that
is brought forth

when you experience
that first look.

If you have a fascination
with something,

whether it's music or sport,
or whatever it is,

and you become a collector,

then you... you put a kind of
unnatural value on things.

It's your value.

It's not someone else's
value particularly.

I seriously wanted to burn my
Nirvana negatives

because I didn't... I didn't want
to be in my 60s,

falling back on that.

No... no disrespect
to people that do.

But for me, it went against
everything I was about.

In particular,
there's this one gallery

that I'd done
an exhibition with.

And I didn't like how it went.

And they'd... they'd
actually got the prints

produced for my negs.

Probably the first time
I'd let that happen.

And, um, they... they...
They wouldn't

give the prints back to me.

I said... I said, well, I don't...
I don't want the prints.

But I don't want you
to have them more.

So I'll burn them here, now.

And I would have.
I mean, you know,

I did get the prints off him in
the end. But I didn't want them.

I didn't burn the negatives.

I told some people I had.

Someone pointed out how
important, historically,

they are, and how terribly
it would have been

if I had done that.
And they're right.

You know, they want
to be remembered.

They deserve to be remembered.

And I'm not going to
let some other [bleep]

make money out of them,
so I suppose I'll have to.

[chuckles]

[rock music playing]

The rules of copyright
are very simple.

The second you
create that photo,

you own the copyright,
until such time as you do not.

In other words,
you sell the copyright.

Copyright was never
an issue back in the day.

Nobody... nobody gave
a [bleep] about it.

It wasn't just a question
of the fact

that there were no contracts.

It was of no consequence.

Because as far as
anyone was concerned,

the life of the photograph
was so limited.

Invariably, in the '60s, it
would have been a handshake

deal or, you know, paperwork
might not necessarily

be most forthcoming.

And you work out a dialogue
with our photographer.

And... and often it's been
the case that actually

they did retain copyright.

The idea that a photograph
would have a value

a year later,
let alone 50 years later,

was never even considered.

I now have to use
a copyright lawyer

to, um, look at the contract.

You know,
it's... it's bloody ridiculous.

One of the things that I
do regularly, and I stand by,

is I won't be bullied
by solicitors

and lawyers about copyright
and licensing,

and things like that.

I believe that everything
has to be paid for.

[rock music playing]

Copyright litigation
is an expensive process.

And so I think
some photographers

become intimidated.

Maybe they don't have the
money to defend their rights.

If I was a photographer,
it would drive me nuts.

I own the copyright
to all my photographs.

Never sign away your copyright.

You can let them
use your picture.

You can license your picture.

But do not sign away
the copyright to your picture.

It is your livelihood.

RANKIN: The fine art world
for music photography

has definitely grown because

you don't have those
pictures anymore.

You know,
they're not on album covers.

They're not on CDs even.

And the reality is that
people still love them.

Great art of any kind should
be treated exactly the same.

And if that means photography,
or graffiti,

or fine art painting reaches
whatever value

people are prepared to pay
for it, I think that's great.

I think that's fine.
I think with...

certainly with images,
like Bob Dylan or Hendrix

or whatever, the original,
you know,

they're an incredibly important
and special moment in time.

And I think they
should have that value.

They should be treated
as... as high art.

And I've nothing against them
going for vast amounts of money.

I mean, it's already changed.

I mean, those...
Those photos that I...

I thought I was like... it was
devastating the amount of money

that I was spending on them, for
$250 for a photo or something.

Those photos today
are 4,000, 5,000.

It's like the contemporary
art world in a way.

It's an investment for people.

My wife's in the
contemporary art world.

And I know how a lot
of those people think.

And they... they... they buy art

that they necessarily
don't love.

But they know
it's a great investment.

The difference
with the photography

is most people buy
photography that they love.

Raising music photography
to the level of fine art,

it is important.

And it is the reason
Govinda succeeded.

Music photography
was always thought of

as the... as the bastard
stepchild of photography.

And photography was that way for
the longest time with painting.

So nobody thought of
photography as a fine art form.

Then finally, they dignified
photography as a fine art form.

But then you had
music photography,

which was,
that's just musicians.

That is not a fine art form.

But we are now, I think,
through galleries

who really value it
and see the cultural aspect

and the historical aspect of it,
they have cultivated that.

The curatorial approach
is the whole thing,

the selection,
the image you select,

how it's printed, how it looks.

That's why it's fine art now.

It's not that people
just decided.

You know, don't forget,
we just went through a battle

to prove that photography
was fine art,

not to mention rock photography
being fine art.

That argument is over.

We've proved it is.

But that required
the best of it.

I mean, the real payment
for everything I've done

has been in the doing.

If I were a millionaire
10 times over,

I couldn't have begun to do
any of the things

and experience
any of the things I've done.

So that's kind of
been the payment.

It's tough, you know.
It's always money.

After a while,
you get bored, you know,

just money and contracts,
and that and that and that.

It's so complicated, you know.

I want to enjoy photography.
I want to enjoy what I know.

I don't want to always
have aggravation, you know.

I've been fortunate
enough to document

probably one of the
greatest eras in music

and in cultural history.

And we may never have it again.

It's a series of things
that came together

at the right time.

And I think it will continue
to inspire people.

Music photography
really is of value

into the future and beyond.

[theme music]