I have been here for one month.
Cleveland is, according to the 2000 Census, the poorest big city in the United States. The unemployment in Cleveland is higher than anyplace else in the United States. Every day on the news, you hear about jobs lost. Even NASA laid off a lot of people just the other day. No safe job is safe anymore
Why is this?
From what I can gather, Cleveland suffers from a severe case of inertia. Maybe, however it is a chicken and egg question. Which came first, the inertia or the lack of reason to be motivated? It is a vicious circle.
I see that it is nearly impossible to break the cycle of poverty here.
I lived in New York City for 17 years. Very expensive place. I grew up in Santa Barbara, CA - that is an outrageously expensive place. I was just there for three months this winter. It is not affordable. No one balks at a million dollar asking price for an apartment! On the plus side, you can get the best fruits and vegetables in the world in Santa Barbara as it is nestled in the bosom of the southern part of wine country, which means farms. In Cleveland, the price of a bottle of spring water is about 50% more than it is in California or New York.
Water is a staple. I like to drink a gallon a day, but its not really in my budget anymore. Water is also holy stuff in California. Did you see the movie, "Chinatown" -- its all about the water.
This Society Center is on a manhole cover on a street in Cleveland in front of a place downtown called The Society Center. It just made me laugh. As if there was an exclusive club underneath this manhole.... hardly likely, but wouldn't it be cool if there was? I would be the parallel universe of Cleveland --- a Cleveland where people were employed and solvent. Where cars operated, where people had discretionary money....
dream on....
Thursday, March 03, 2005
Wednesday, March 02, 2005
Where Did the Time Go?
This is Sandy. She cuts my hair, and she does a fabulous job, I might add. Sandy owns a salon in Detroit called Barberella. All the hipsters get their hair cut there. When I lived in New York, I'd fly to Detroit just for a haircut. I'm in Cleveland at the moment, and I recently rode the dog for a haircut...
Sandy is beautiful and fabulous and has a handsome husband and a loving, big dog. She, like a good beauty technician, will make you feel good as well as look good.
Sandy told me the last time I was in her chair that she thought I was younger than she was. I am more than 10 years older than Sandy.
Yeah - that did make me feel good.
But it makes me ponder a whole other set of questions...
OK - I look young. I drink a gallon of water a day, stay out of the sun, and wear $100 moisturizer, but its more than that and the genetic crapshoot.
I behave like I'm 10 years younger than I am. I run around with silly people and do silly things. I stay out late at rock clubs and bars. In fact, this photo was taken after midnight at the Belmont Bar in Hamtramck, Detroit about a month ago. I think that my behavior helps define my putative "age."
However, the chronological reality is that this year, I will turn 47. Last time I looked, it was the 80s and I wasn't yet 30.
Last week, I was able to re-connect with three people I was very close to at the end of the 70s. We're about the same age. Back then, they were just guys in a band, and we were all just having a good time. Now they're all married. Two of them have kids that I know of. When I think of them, I am transported to being 22, 23 and 24 years old. I still think we are in our 20s.
We were so close that once you get in touch again, it seems all the years in between seem to vanish. However, more than two decades have passed. A lot has happened. The friend who brought us together died 15 years ago. Another friend who made all our hijinx possible died six months ago. Of course, these friends died young and probably preventably. It still does not take away the impact of looking at one's own finite existence.
Mortality is waving at us from a not too distant shore.
Its scary.
Sandy is beautiful and fabulous and has a handsome husband and a loving, big dog. She, like a good beauty technician, will make you feel good as well as look good.
Sandy told me the last time I was in her chair that she thought I was younger than she was. I am more than 10 years older than Sandy.
Yeah - that did make me feel good.
But it makes me ponder a whole other set of questions...
OK - I look young. I drink a gallon of water a day, stay out of the sun, and wear $100 moisturizer, but its more than that and the genetic crapshoot.
I behave like I'm 10 years younger than I am. I run around with silly people and do silly things. I stay out late at rock clubs and bars. In fact, this photo was taken after midnight at the Belmont Bar in Hamtramck, Detroit about a month ago. I think that my behavior helps define my putative "age."
However, the chronological reality is that this year, I will turn 47. Last time I looked, it was the 80s and I wasn't yet 30.
Last week, I was able to re-connect with three people I was very close to at the end of the 70s. We're about the same age. Back then, they were just guys in a band, and we were all just having a good time. Now they're all married. Two of them have kids that I know of. When I think of them, I am transported to being 22, 23 and 24 years old. I still think we are in our 20s.
We were so close that once you get in touch again, it seems all the years in between seem to vanish. However, more than two decades have passed. A lot has happened. The friend who brought us together died 15 years ago. Another friend who made all our hijinx possible died six months ago. Of course, these friends died young and probably preventably. It still does not take away the impact of looking at one's own finite existence.
Mortality is waving at us from a not too distant shore.
Its scary.
Just like honey
What does this reverbalux box have to do with anything? Reverb, to me is "that great love sound." Not echo, not delay -- reverb. Its the sonic phenomenon that makes poor singers sound great in the shower. Its also why doing a field recording of people speaking works best when done in a car or van loaded with band gear. Its the sound bouncing off other stuff and back into your ear with the layers and effects of the stuff and the bouncing. You know, just like "Just Like Honey" by Jesus and Mary Chain.
This nifty machine is not actually in commission that I know of. It is perched near a window that lets in beautiful light at Jim Diamond's studio, Ghetto Recorders in Detroit. I spend lots of time there, but this photo was taken during the Witches recording sessions for Thriller, their yet-to-be-released album.
There are songs on that album I find absolutely brilliant in their sonic and their emotional quality. Today, my favorite is "Silent and the Shade." It is speaking on my behalf right now.
Tuesday, March 01, 2005
PedestriaNation
This is the kind of thing I'm into photographing these days. Today, Keith Thompson told me how much he liked this image.
I am starting a new collection of images that will probably center around the Foundry Series. I call it Pedestrianation.
There will be no photographing of grates and manhole covers for a few days, however. It is snowing like hell. Lake Effect Snow.
I am starting a new collection of images that will probably center around the Foundry Series. I call it Pedestrianation.
There will be no photographing of grates and manhole covers for a few days, however. It is snowing like hell. Lake Effect Snow.
Bananas & Dynamite
Bananas & Dynamite is a song by Troy Gregory on his album, LAURA. It does, however, describe this photo of Mick Collins in his banana yellow t-shirt, and Kim Fowley in his explosive red suit.
I have wondered for years why Mick Collins is not a huge international superstar. He has the look, the chops, the finesse, pizazz, the you name it - to be an international superstar. He's a big sexy Black Man.
And I think that is the problem. The double edged sword, and it ain't cuttin so well.
The rock n roll we like is Black music that was co-opted by the British and sent back to us in glorious form - but no better or no worse than its original form. So why is the White Boy Rock the stuff of international superstardom?
Is the world not ready for a Black Man Superstar. OK - I give you Prince. But is he the only one? Michael Jackson does not count in my book. He's a white girl.
Mick Collins can take any genre of music and make it personal and then throw it back at you in a performance of universal relevance. He has the kind of guitar chops that aren't intimidating but are impressive. He has a true Soul Man's voice and his interpretations of his own music as well as other's is unparalleled. I'd have to say that The Dirtbombs' version of Phil Lynott's "Ode to a Black Man" is unstoppable and unbeatable.
Yesterday, I was in a pub with my roommate and "Hey Ya" by Outkast came on the jukebox. That track is phenomenal. Its got a little bit of every genre in it. That's something only a Black group could pull off with any sense of non-ironic authenticity. So outside have we made this group that really invented rock n roll that they can stand far away from it, as well as other so-called White Boy genres, take it in, pull out the best bits and go mix it up with everything else and come up with the best track around forever.
I always thought that Sting was the proverbial White Guy pretending to be a Black Guy (Bob Marley, in Sting's case) and everyone who copied Sting without knowing Sting's reference point was doing a weird thing --- copying a White Guy who copied a Black Guy. OK - you really should get your own gimmick, but if you're gonna copy a Black Guy, first: Be Very Good At What You Do. Second: copy the right Black Guy!
Bob Marley has no comparison. Neither does Mick Collins.
Please make Mick Collins the international superstar he was meant to be. Buy Dirtbombs records and go see them play. Put money in Mick's pocket so he can make more innovative records I like dancing to.
I have wondered for years why Mick Collins is not a huge international superstar. He has the look, the chops, the finesse, pizazz, the you name it - to be an international superstar. He's a big sexy Black Man.
And I think that is the problem. The double edged sword, and it ain't cuttin so well.
The rock n roll we like is Black music that was co-opted by the British and sent back to us in glorious form - but no better or no worse than its original form. So why is the White Boy Rock the stuff of international superstardom?
Is the world not ready for a Black Man Superstar. OK - I give you Prince. But is he the only one? Michael Jackson does not count in my book. He's a white girl.
Mick Collins can take any genre of music and make it personal and then throw it back at you in a performance of universal relevance. He has the kind of guitar chops that aren't intimidating but are impressive. He has a true Soul Man's voice and his interpretations of his own music as well as other's is unparalleled. I'd have to say that The Dirtbombs' version of Phil Lynott's "Ode to a Black Man" is unstoppable and unbeatable.
Yesterday, I was in a pub with my roommate and "Hey Ya" by Outkast came on the jukebox. That track is phenomenal. Its got a little bit of every genre in it. That's something only a Black group could pull off with any sense of non-ironic authenticity. So outside have we made this group that really invented rock n roll that they can stand far away from it, as well as other so-called White Boy genres, take it in, pull out the best bits and go mix it up with everything else and come up with the best track around forever.
I always thought that Sting was the proverbial White Guy pretending to be a Black Guy (Bob Marley, in Sting's case) and everyone who copied Sting without knowing Sting's reference point was doing a weird thing --- copying a White Guy who copied a Black Guy. OK - you really should get your own gimmick, but if you're gonna copy a Black Guy, first: Be Very Good At What You Do. Second: copy the right Black Guy!
Bob Marley has no comparison. Neither does Mick Collins.
Please make Mick Collins the international superstar he was meant to be. Buy Dirtbombs records and go see them play. Put money in Mick's pocket so he can make more innovative records I like dancing to.
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