Wolynski

Brett Butler At Catch, 1987

2012-01-31T17:30:00.000-08:00

All the great comics came through Catch A Rising Star, or the Improv on the other side of town.

Brett with her Southern accent was a funny lady and did well - "Grace Under Fire" was a very popular sitcom in the 90's. Why do women insist on hiding under long hair, when sometimes a short cut brings out their eyes and incredible bone structure? Brett with short and long hair - two entirely different people.

images by Wolynski: Brett Butler at Catch A Rising Star, NYC. 1987

Sylvester McCoy In New York, 1988

2012-01-27T13:05:00.000-08:00

When Sylvester looked at these photos, he said, boy, got I old. Now he can look at them and say, look how young I was.

images by Wolynski: Sylvester McCoy In New York City, March 1988

How I Learned To Love Guns

2012-01-24T19:32:00.000-08:00

Over the weekend, I went to a gun show - unthinkable even a couple of years ago. But I was there to take pictures. At first, I was told absolutely no photos. But then I got talking to Claude Hall, the organizer, his dog Lightning, his friend Wyatt Earp and before you know it, everyone was happy to pose for me. (As Crash, my most loyal reader, knows - I talk to everyone). Very friendly people.

I photograph Americana now and guns have to be included, since everyone but me has one out West. Back in Warsaw, London, New York nobody had a gun. The first time I ever saw one in private hands - it was a fellow comic in Vegas - I almost fainted. Now I’ve gotten used to them - you just see so many. My neighbor keeps a shot gun under his bed - don’t know if it’s loaded - but I make sure never to piss him off.

That’s the way it is now - I live in a gun culture. Don’t think anyone is safer - quite the opposite - a stupid, heated argument can be settled abruptly and it often is. Nice to be right every time.

One has to admire a government that allows its citizens to be armed to the teeth. To what end? What great danger lurks that people feel compelled to collect arsenals? None, really, but armaments are very big business. It’s like smoking - instead of banning the manufacture of cigarettes, they ban smokers everywhere. Why not start at the root of the problem? They’re putting cigarette manufacturers out of business anyway, slowly but surely. Heck, if I couldn’t buy a cigarette anywhere, I just might quit.

And so it goes with guns - readily available all around me. I’m appalled I’m not appalled anymore. But as long as they keep making them, people will buy. As Quentin Crisp once said, you have to learn to love the atomic bomb - maybe things will improve after one goes off. Two-headed mutants will be walking around - can you imagine people had only one head before the big bang?

Richard Jeni In The Lobster Tank

2012-01-20T21:26:00.000-08:00

Richrad Jeni, the late comic, had the idea that he wanted a photo with the lobsters seated around a restaurant table and he would be in the tank. His cousin had an old-fashioned Italian restaurant on Coney Island, straight out of "The Godfather", and we made our way there at dawn - the only time we had access to the lobster tank.

Today you could easily Photoshop it, but I suspect Richard wanted to don a snazzy suit and actually go in - the water was filthy - it was right before they changed it every day. That night we had dinner there with all his family. I knew the food would be delicious, because I saw them prep it - plump, fresh vegetables, in fact, everything fresh. The place was packed.

Elayne Boosler wrote a great remembrance about Richard's remarkable talent.

images by Wolynski: Coney Island, Aug 1986

Musicians At Catch A Rising Star, 1986

2012-01-16T19:48:00.000-08:00

Edgar Winter

Buster Poindexter, David Johansen's lounge persona

Soozie Tyrell

The comedy club, Catch A Rising Star, used to invite musicians to perform - pity the lighting was so lousy. Even when they held a special event at Tavern On The Green with headliners Buster Poindexter and Soozie Tyrell, the lighting was still bad. That's all photographers ever notice.

Soozie sang "Hit The Road Jack" with Buster and currently she's in Bruce Springsteen's E Street Band. More importantly, she taught me how to play poker.

images by Wolynski: Catch A Rising Star, Tavern On The Green, NYC, 1986

The Bangles At Catch A Rising Star,1986

2012-01-13T19:20:00.000-08:00

I have no idea why the Bangles picked a poky little comedy club, Catch A Rising Star - seated about 200 - to record a live album. The album was never released, but a set list is floating about the Internet. They played 16 songs including "Manic Monday" and "Walk Like An Egyptian". "A Hazy Shade Of Winter" and "Eternal Flame" were still to come.

A sweltering August New York night - Catch had dodgy air conditioning at the best of times. But the ladies rocked to a select audience (judging by the photos, not that select). It was hot, hot, hot.

Actually, the biggest act to come out of Catch was not a comedian, but Pat Benatar, who used to sing Gershwin and Porter in between the comics. Funny how life turns out.

images by Wolynski: Catch A Rising Star, NYC, 6th Aug 1986

Eve Arnold: "It's not that we're so great, it's that the others are so fucking mediocre"

2012-01-09T13:25:00.000-08:00

Eve Arnold (great gallery), the legendary Magnum photographer died this week at the age of 99 - she was born 6 days after the Titanic sank. When I was a film student in London, I used to pick up the Sunday Times for the color magazine and Eve’s wonderful photos - she was no spring chicken then. Quite frankly, I had no idea she was still alive. Sometimes it takes a passing to remind one of a great artist.

A late bloomer, Eve Arnold had no particular style - well, quiet elegance - or subject, equally at home on Hollywood sets and poverty stricken slums. In this celebrity culture, perhaps she’s best known for her stunning images of Marilyn Monroe, whom she befriended. First lesson I learned from Eve - your subject has to trust you absolutely.

Actually, Eve said “Lesson number one - pay attention to the intrusion of the camera”. When a camera appears, people act differently - the bigger the equipment, the more phoniness. It’s up to the photographer to make people forget they’re even there. Eve only ever used natural lighting - a photo journalist to the core - yet Hollywood stars never looked more glamorous.

You can’t pick out an Eve Arnold photo from a pile of many (except that it‘s beautiful), which is as it should be - you adapt your style to the subject, not the other way around. “Never strive for effect” was her motto. It takes a particular kind of personality to become a great photographer - you can’t bend others to your will, you must let them bend you. Give up control and let things happen. “The difference between a fine photographer and an average one is having the wit to take advantage of accident”.

Beeban Kidron, the English film director, wrote a great remembrance of her years as Eve’s apprentice. The editing sessions went on for hours - yes, throwing out 99% of your work is the key to becoming good. This led Eve to exclaim “It’s not that we’re so great, it’s that the others are so fucking mediocre”.

Every photographer is mediocre before he edits. I once looked at some original Cartier Bresson contact sheets - ooh, tedium and crap. Five hundred shots before you get to the good one? Well, that’s what it takes.

Eve Arnold didn’t have it easy. No one in America would hire her, so she sent her stuff to London and that’s how her career began. At a photography course in New York, she was mercilessly derided for having no style and no vision. All those classmates of hers with style and vision are long forgotten, Eve Arnold’s unassuming simplicity is for the ages.

Ray Romano, 1987

2012-01-06T17:41:00.000-08:00

With Ray, what you see is what you get - a nice guy from Queens who made it big, still married to his childhood sweetheart.

Before "Everybody Loves Raymond" -awful jacket, crooked teeth, bad haircut and a smile that wouldn't quit - a typical Italian-American from Queens, attractive and shy.

images by Wolynski: NYC, June 1987

Queen For A Day

2012-01-02T11:56:00.000-08:00

Me in a fat suit

Out-of-focus with Jose Ferrer

I was morbidly obese for two days - had to photograph a convention - something to do with entertainment in amusement parks. There was extra money if I became a strolling player while taking photos, posing as a typical visitor to Hershey Park. They outfitted me with a fat suit - two big balls for my ass and tits, that jiggled when I walked.

Being enormous wasn’t half bad - it got me the attention of George Clooney’s uncle, the Oscar winning actor Jose Ferrer. He followed me around for hours, slapping my enormous ass and grabbing my tits - of course, I was blissfully unaware, since they were only soccer balls. I guess Jose took one look and was smitten.

People Who Knew Cole Porter

2011-12-30T17:24:00.000-08:00

Kitty Carlisle Hart

Douglas Fairbanks Jr

Alexis Smith played Cole Porter's wife opposite Cary Grant in "Night And Day"

Lisa Kirk starred in the original Broadway production of "Kiss Me Kate"

In the spring of 1990, my old friend Allan Albert was directing an episode of American Masters for PBS on Cole Porter. I was called to take the still photos of all the people who knew him well.

Kitty Carlisle Hart was the most impressive - who else could pull off purple with such aplomb? Most people knew her from “To Tell The Truth” and other game shows, but to me she’ll forever be the ingénue in “A Night At The Opera” - never mind Cole Porter, I wanted to hear about the Marx Brothers.

The filming took place in her legendary apartment, an entire floor of a building on Madison Ave - it was filled with mementoes of her incredible life. She was the widow of Moss Hart, playwright and director, who staged “My Fair Lady”.

Kitty was late for the filming - finally, she stepped out of the elevator in her overcoat and saw the whole crew - it had slipped her mind as to why we were here. But, ever gracious, once she was reminded, Kitty slipped off her coat and was ready to roll - she looked this good all the time and she was in her eighties.

Kitty sat down and the interview began. However, after 30 seconds she insisted the filming stop. She just felt the lighting wasn’t right, but everyone assured her she looked beautiful. In desperation, she finally turned to me “Young lady, is this lighting right for me?” It wasn’t - way too harsh. Boy, was the film crew mad at me when I suggested a reflector to soften the face. And Kitty Carlisle Hart knew all this without needing a mirror.

At the age of 95, she was still doing her one-woman show of reminiscences - what a life. I guess the only way to age well is to age expensively.

Douglas Fairbanks Jr was a charming old lecher, who pinched my butt every chance he got. Allan Albert suggested I go for it - here’s my opportunity to marry well and briefly. He really likes you, you could be Mrs. Douglas Fairbanks Jr - wouldn’t that be something?

I really enjoy photographing the performing arts, because of all the colorful people you meet from rock bands to movie stars of yesteryear. It’s also stressful, because you have to do them all justice - if they look bad, you look bad.

Images by Wolynski: March, April 1990, NYC

Tammy Grimes, 1982

2011-12-27T14:09:00.000-08:00

Everything about this shoot was a disaster.

Tammy Grimes was the reigning diva of Broadway in the 60’s, winning Tonys for “The Unsinkable Molly Brown” and Noel Cowards “Private Lives” - described in Wikipedia as “known for a self-created persona described as ‘a daffy but endearing pseudo-English eccentric’ with a ‘slightly askew accent that is two parts Grimesian British to one part British British".

On the appointed day of our shoot, I waited and waited and no Tammy Grimes. Oh, well. A couple of days later, I was in the darkroom when I heard knocking. Tammy had arrived out of the blue. This was not a good time - I was finishing up a print order and the studio was a mess - let’s set up another session. Tammy was determined to have her photo taken right here, right now. She said I should go and finish in the darkroom, while she cleans - I pointed to the broom and mop. Tammy took off her coat and she was wearing a dressing gown - there was no clothes bag. Oh, boy.

Tammy did a wonderful cleaning job, even doing the dishes. I set up the lights and then the sync cord wouldn’t work - had to push the film and shoot with the guiding light. Tammy had not one item of clothing - she improvised with a ratty bedspread. What a complete disaster. Except when she got the contacts she exclaimed “Just like Avedon” (she’d been photographed by him before). It helped that Tammy had flawless skin - for a woman of 51, she looked incredible. Who says smoking ruins the complexion?

Images by Wolynski: Tammy Grimes, NYC, June 1982

She Works Hard For The Money

2011-12-23T13:16:00.000-08:00

78-year-old Marsha

Marsha in her domain

Sarah has been at the Flamingo for 34 years

Hard working women at Las Vegas Club

Front desk clerks at Cosmopolitan

Prepping for action at WSOP, The Rio

After months of having my photos appear in the magazine “Weekly Seven”, I finally got my first assignment (right on time for Xmas) - illustrating an article about female casino workers called The Toll And The Silence. And here I thought “Seven” was delightfully shallow, but not so. Obviously, if they print my point-and-shoot photos, they’re very brave - I’m glad not everyone is impressed by expensive equipment.

The editors had their heart set on a photo of a bunch of female workers taking a cigarette break - forget about the bunch, the breaks are staggered. And the ladies did not wish to have their photo taken on a break. Usually I respect this, but I had to give my editors what they wanted - the photo that ran was the ladies fleeing, while telling me to fuck off. I thought the photo was not great, but the talented art team cropped it horizontally and ran it full page - made it better than what it was.

I took a bunch of other photos, to cover my ass - no, I thought the assignment was very interesting. Never realized before how lonely casino work is - everyone works solo, not in groups - just like photographers and poker players.

And then there was Marsha, the 78-year-old maid, born in the former Yugoslavia, but raised in Germany. Cleaning hotel rooms has got to be the hardest job ever - Marsha has to do 17 rooms every day. Told me she’s helping her children, or rather, son-in-laws. I asked if they’re down on their luck or lazy - she said one of them is very lazy. As far as I can see, they’re ALL bone idle. On the other hand, some older people like to work - feeling useful and productive keeps them going.

None of these photos would’ve been possible with a big, professional camera - the casinos are very sensitive on how they’re presented. But you have all these wide-eyed tourists taking photos of everything - that’s what Vegas is good for - and I have to constantly pose as a happy visitor. A camera that fits my needs hasn’t been invented yet (OK, the little Leica M9 that retails for $7000 for the body alone and they don’t make zoom lenses), but it’s coming soon.

Images by Wolynski

Marcel Steiner, 1931-1999

2011-12-19T20:08:00.000-08:00

In Sloane Square, London with Eugene Geasley

In Wurtzburg, Germany

In Norway

In Cambridge, Mass with Jim Carter, Dale Michaels and Marc Weil

Marcel's ball

So many images of Marcel in my archives - that’s because he was great to photograph. Big, shaggy, yet surprisingly graceful, he changed characters at the drop of a hat.

Marcel imagined himself to be Anthony Quinn in Fellini’s “La Strada” - a traveling carnival guy, going from town to town, putting on a show and passing round the hat. In the summer of 1975 the Madhouse was on hiatus and Marcel organized a rag tag spectacle “Dirty Dr. Steiner’s Boogie Woogie Show”, that would tour the bars of New England and pitch our tents along the way for sleeping. We set off in a cavalcade of cars, some local Boston magicians along for the ride.

We had a two night engagement at the Stockbridge Inn - arriving late, we didn’t have time to scout a campsite. There was a wood behind the Inn. After the show, we went into the wood and looked around in the dark, until we came upon a clearing. Well, no one will know we’re here for one night. So we pitched our tents, lit a camp fire, drank beer and told ghost stories.

In the morning, we were woken up by excited voices. I crawled out of my tent and saw Japanese tourists taking photos of Marcel peeing against a tree. In the dark, we failed to notice we set up camp on the tomb of some famous poet, a local landmark and tourist attraction. I ran to the other side of the clearing and saw steps leading to a car park - a teacher was leading some eager schoolchildren. Oops. Better make haste.

Some people live to make money and some people pick a life they’ll enjoy - Marcel had fun entertaining people.

Images by Wolynski

Prof. Tommy Shand

2011-12-16T14:14:00.000-08:00

Marcel Steiner, Andy Jones, Marc Weil, Tommy Shand

Prof Tommy Shand was the Madhouse Co’s musician - steeped in the tradition of British music hall, he played many instruments, some of them simultaneously - whatever wasn’t in the pawn shop, he played. With impeccable comic timing, his piece-de-resistance was blowing up a balloon on his sax to the tune of “I’m Forever Blowing Bubbles” - he milked it for every laugh he could get.

When I knew him, Tommy was 56 going on 12. He hadn’t developed mentally past being a school boy - not the sharpest blade in the drawer. Tommy loved doing crosswords - I once looked at one he’d finished - not a word I ever heard of, but he had fun doing it.

Tommy Shand was raised in an orphanage and as soon as he was of age, they handed him over to the Royal Navy. Thank goodness he had a talent for music and he could join their band, because he was pretty much useless at anything else - the world revolved around his own private logic and you couldn’t tell him otherwise.

When World War 2 broke out, they needed every able-bodied man for action and put Tommy Shand on a battleship. Well, even the Royal Navy was flummoxed as what to do with him, until they found the perfect job. Apparently, the guns have a special apparatus that measures the wind and helps the aim to be more precise. This apparatus needs its own separate power supply - in case the electricity gets knocked out, the guns can still function. Well, they have a bicycle in the bowels of the ship, that needs to be constantly pedaled when in battle. And, yes, Tommy was the one furiously pedaling during the sinking of the Bismarck and other great naval victories.

The Madhouse had a van and when Tommy drove it, we’d all get lost - without exception and without fail. We decided to do a 24 hour drive straight through from New York to Atlanta. When it was Tommy’s turn to drive, he was told - see this highway? You go straight, you do not turn left, you do not turn right, you go straight until Atlanta. You got that? Yes. So we all go to sleep and an hour later we wake up in the middle of a field, not knowing where we are.

In Atlanta, Leon Redbone was opening for us - we’d give him rides everywhere. He’d just bought an ounce of smoke he had hidden in his guitar case. It was late at night and Tommy, for some reason, decided to go through every red light. Soon enough we heard sirens behind us and got pulled over. Leon, who’d turned a whiter shade of pale, said, whatever you do, don’t mention the Madhouse Co. The big policeman asked Tommy to step out and asked who we were. The Madhouse Co, officer, sir. The Mad what?

The cop asked Tommy for his license. Tommy dug deep in his pockets and kept bringing out snotty handkerchiefs, half eaten candy bars, marbles, pawn tickets and depositing them in the policeman’s outstretched hand. No, sorry, officer, sir, must’ve left it at the place. In England you don’t have to have it with you.

And how would you like to spend the night in jail? No, thank you very kindly, officer, sir. Leon by this time was on the verge of cardiac arrest. To this day I have no idea why this huge Southern cop decided he didn’t want to deal with either Tommy or the mad people inside the car and decided to let us go. Tommy stopped him and asked for directions - of course, we were lost. The cop said, see that red light? When it turns green, you go straight - and then proceeded to give directions. Tommy thanked him profusely, got in the car and as soon as the light turned red, he sped straight through… and went through every red light thereafter.

We looked back at the cop… he had taken off his hat and stood there scratching his head pensively. Very sensible. There was no explaining this at the station house so he let it go.

The last time I saw Tommy was when I’d go and visit my mother in London. I was at the extremely crowded Camden Market looking for cool clothes when I heard the unmistakable strains of “I’m Forever Blowing Bubbles”. Took me a while to find Tommy - there he was entertaining the crowds and people were throwing money in his hat. He scooped it all up and had to dash to put it on a horse.

Images by Wolynski: Norway, Nov 1973.

Madhouse Co In Alanta, Georgia

2011-12-12T17:08:00.000-08:00

Shot with self-timer - Marc Weil, Marcel Steiner, me, Jim Carter, Prof. Tommy Shand

With self-timer - the horse flicked his tail exactly right

Wherever the Madhouse Co. went, we tried to blend in - dress like the natives, suffer like pioneers. And this is what grown people did for a living - I highly recommend it.

images by Wolynski: Atlanta, Georgia, Sep 1974

The Vigelland Statues, Oslo, Norway

2011-12-09T13:16:00.000-08:00

This won a Village Voice contest for the funniest photo ever taken

The before picture. I said "Boys, this is not quite right".

Marcel Steiner and Andy Jones getting dressed. An astonished man couldn't believe what he just saw.

It was too cold for streaking, but the boys did it anyway - the Scandinavians took it all in stride

The Madhouse Co had a week long engagement in Oslo, Norway - we had plenty of time for photos. By popular demand, it got extended for two more weeks. The girl in the show couldn't stay - she had a prior commitment - so guess who got talked into replacing her? I guess I was the only woman within a 1000 miles who knew all the lines. You start out as a photographer...

We stayed in a very cheap hotel of questionable repute. We only found out it was a brothel when it got raided in the middle of the night. The Oslo vice squad quickly surmised I was not a hooker and let me go back to sleep. I took offense - how can you tell I'm not a hooker? Not flashy enough? The people who booked us suggested alternate accommodations. No, we quite like it in a brothel.

And here I thought we were being raided for desecrating the Norwegian national monument.

images by Wolynski: Marcel Steiner and Andy Jones in Frogner Park, Oslo, Norway, Nov 1973

The Bishop Of Wurtzburg's Gardens

2011-12-06T13:02:00.000-08:00

Madhouse Co. and passers-by

Marcel Steiner as the Happy Nun

Andy Jones - Bishop of Wurtzburg's Palace in the back

Andy Jones with passer-by

Prof. Tommy Shand entertaining

Prof. Tommy Shand

The Madhouse Co. performed at night, but had nothing to do during the afternoons. We would hit local sights and take photos with passers-by.

images by Wolynski: the Bishop of Wurtzburg's Gardens, Germany, fall 1973

Dirty Old Man

2011-12-02T20:34:00.000-08:00

Marcel Steiner as the Dirty Old Man, lurking in the Wurzburg marketplace

Marcel approached women and offered candy

Don't know what else he said, but it must have been outrageous

Most women were horrified and pretended they never saw him

They scurried away

Finally a solid German frau took up Marcel on his offer. We had to leave in a hurry or else it was marriage.

If nothing was happening, Marcel Steiner thought of something. Never a dull day or night with the Madhouse Co.

image by Wolynski: Marcel Steiner in the Wurzburg Market, Germany, fall 1973

Adventures in Germany

2011-11-28T19:17:00.000-08:00

Marcel Steiner as the Wild Man Of Borneo

Marcel spent the day in a cage at the Frankfurt Zoo

The real baboons were not pleased

Marcel with very strange statues in Hamburg

A bar on Reeperbahn (the Hamburg waterfront) - we went at 4 am. Just as the sun was rising, this woman walked in, just like that.


She worked for tips and made a killing.

The Madhouse Co was an offshoot of the Ken Campbell Roadshow. I went on the fall 1974 tour with them through Germany and Norway and it was memorable in every way.

images by Wolynski: Germany, fall 1973

Thanksgiving At Occupy Las Vegas

2011-11-25T16:55:00.000-08:00

The family that cooked all this in the foreground

Another encampment

This is the story I told at Thanksgiving dinner at the Occupy Las Vegas encampment:

You guys are very difficult to find - had to give a homeless guy a dollar to lead me here today. Last time, I couldn’t find you at all. I take buses, don’t have a car. So the bus was going past Boulevard Mall and suddenly I saw tents and cooking utensils in the parking lot. Aha, they’re here. I leapt out of the bus and started taking pictures. Are you guys here for social injustice? A loud chorus greeted me “ No, we’re here for the $199 46-inch TV’s, down from $1200”. What? What? They were in line for days to get deals at Best Buy on Black Friday. Oops, wrong encampment.

Finally, I found the right one and still don’t know what to make of it. The Occupy Las Vegas, or Area 99, are not really an occupation at all - you only occupy if you’re not supposed to be there. Occupying with a permit is just merely camping for progressives.

I struck up a conversation with a nice guy who was cleaning his tent. How many just homeless here and how many activists? He pointed to a cab. That woman drives a taxi, I’m in construction, but now I work three days a week as a security guard. I’d say it’s 20% people with nowhere else to go.

I read that you guys have two factions, is this true? He said “Two? We have six or seven factions. No one can agree on anything”. Oh, well, I’m sure you’ll sort it out eventually.

What struck me the most was the people stopping by, dropping off food, blankets, clothes. This 99 thing has struck a chord with society like nothing else in recent memory. And then a lovely Mexican family pulled up - mom, dad, kids, grandma - and started unloading a Thanksgiving feast for all - turkey, stuffing, yams, the works. Said it took two days to make and it was the most delicious Thanksgiving I ever had.

Over dessert, a nice German lady from San Diego with her family joined us. She said, thank goodness Bush is gone. I said, and Obama has improved this country, how? That policeman with the pepper spray - that’s not Bush, that’s Obama’s brutal America. The lady turned a whiter shade of pale and said, I’m sure it’s not his fault, he’s a nice man. How is he nice? Just as evil as his predecessor and maybe more. At this point the lady excused herself and eyed me with hostility for the rest of the evening.

On my way out, I apologized to her. So sorry I was rude about that asshole of yours. She said, it’s OK and she forgives me, because I might very well be right.

But the most telling was my conversion with a fellow photographer, who also stopped by for a photo op. Don used to make a good living in Vegas photographing conventions and trade shows - lord knows they need hundreds of photographers. His living got taken away when one guy out of Orlando landed the contract for practically ALL the conventions and now hires hundreds of photographers - well, not exactly photographers, just kids he trains in one day (Photoshop can fix anything) and the pay is peanuts. All these corporations don't mind inferior photography?

Must everyone’s living be sucked away, to go into the pockets of the select few? Not just photographers, it’s all over - a disdain for quality, individuality and making sure that no one outside the corporate scheme of things dares to exist. And that’s why the 99% will succeed in the end.

In Ireland, 1991

2011-11-21T15:04:00.000-08:00

Dawn on deck of the ferry - me glimpsing Ireland for the first time

Wet, but beautiful

Still wet, still lovely

In a pub with Sylvester - not sure if that fire behind us heated the place much

Had to take a photo of our accommodations - the actors stayed in a hostel. It was fun.

For a long time, I did not pick up a camera, except for holiday snapshots. Photography was not only a financially shaky career, it didn’t suit my personality. A good photographer must stay in the background and observe and never be a participant - well, that’s not me. Now that I’m older and crankier, it suits me just fine, especially since it’s all digital. Besides, I’m good at it.

In my holiday snapshot phase any old camera with a self-timer would do - in England I borrowed my mother’s plastic little thing. Then I would plop it down on a convenient surface and run to pose in a nonchalant way.

In 1991, on a trip to England, I discovered Sylvester was touring Ireland with a production of “The Inspector General” and he invited me for 3 days in Waterford. I took the train to Fishkill, Wales, than an overnight ferry to Rossdale, Ireland and another train to Waterford. Being jetlagged, I fell asleep on the first train and awoke to find all the passengers speaking in a very strange tongue. Oh, my lord, I took the wrong train and I’m in Rumania (they have a tunnel underneath the English Channel). Seriously panicked, I started asking “Where are we?”. Wales, as it turned out. Had no idea they still mainly spoke in that really odd language.

Ireland turned out to be a magical place that time forgot and I wasn’t even in the spectacular part. Schoolchildren bursting into spontaneous song on the train, workmen reciting Wordsworth while plastering walls, horses in meadows jumping up and down with joy. I think it rains all the time just to keep tourists and McDonald’s away - a very special place.

Xmas Cards From Lech Walesa

2011-11-18T13:20:00.000-08:00

Xmas card I sent to Lech Walesa

Lech Walesa says comedians are important

Not for Lech Walesa a mere Merry Xmas, but words of wisdom

My childhood friend, Karolek Malcuzynski, a young reporter at the occupied Gdansk Shipyard, Aug 1980

Lech Walesa, photo by Karolek Malcuzynski

Around Xmas 1988, my friend Kropka (of the Quentin Crisp soiree) told me she had Lech Walesa’s home address in Gdansk and suggested I send him one of my funny Xmas cards and wish him well. What, me bother the leader of the Solidarity, who’s busy re-organizing Poland and the map of Europe? He was two years away from becoming President at the time.

But I sent it - what did I have to lose? - and got a card back in February and the following year I got a card on time. I told him I was a comedian and he said that’s important, because laughter is health.

Funny then, I should find these cards on the day of widespread rioting in New York and all over. Life is nothing if not ironic - I began life with unrest among the natives and am destined to finish it that way. We left Poland in 1969 just as things were starting to simmer - our banishment was a manifestation of that simmering. Turn on the TV in the USA this very day - it’s simmering. Déjà vu all over again. What did I do to deserve this?

Anyone with a computer or cell phone has a comment about the Occupy movement, most of it snarky and unhelpful. I only have one opinion: this thing ain’t going away. My guess is that 9/17/11 will be a date for the history books - the occupation of Zucotti Park will be up there with the Boston Tea Party.

Nothing could be more different than the situation in Poland in the 70’s and 80’s and America in 2011 - one was a fight against communism, the other against rampant capitalism. And yet it’s amazingly similar.

People don’t really give a toss what system they’re living in, as long as they have peaceful and prosperous lives and a future for their children. Call it communism, capitalism, fascism, disneyism - everyday folk don’t care, as long as they have good lives, shelter and food on the table. Yeah, whatever, call it what you like.

But when the majority starts doing badly and a tiny fraction better than ever, it’s the same old shit all over again, no matter the name you give it. I’ve seen it before and I’m aghast it’s here again - a few controlling and stealing from the many. It never works out for the few - sometimes the outcome is peaceful (Poland) and sometimes Marie Antoinette gets her head chopped off. A tip for the 1%: nothing inflames the masses more than flaunting your wealth when they’re losing theirs.

I have no idea where Occupy is going (they probably don’t either), only that they’re moving. It’ll splutter and stop and start up again - can’t put the genie back in the bottle. And here I naively thought that the brazen exploitation of working people and the environment by the few was fading into history. Well, actually it is - history is happening right here, right now.

What will make the Occupiers go home? Good jobs for a start (there aren’t enough traditional jobs for everyone, but that’s a different subject). Nothing short of reforming the antiquated electoral system, breaking up the banks into local ones, getting rid of the Fed, banning corporations from buying politicians is going to get the young ones off the streets. I’m probably being naïve again, but all this is cause for great optimism in the long run… and considerable upheaval in the meantime. Oh, boy.

My Father's Suitcase Stickers (early 60's)

2011-11-14T15:40:00.000-08:00

I thought I was opening an envelope with negatives, but it turned out to be my father's suitcase stickers from his travels as Polish trade representative in the early 60's. That's what people did - they put colorful stickers on their suitcases from all the hotels they'd stayed at.

Some of these hotels I'd been to - the Orbis in Zakopane, Poland, the one in Ravenna and Hotel Post in the Austrian Alps and a month in Morska Zvezda, Bulgaria (can't remember if it was reward or punishment - no. a lovely holiday by the Black Sea) - not quite as glamorous or jet-age as the stickers would have it.

All that early 60's graphic art is quite wonderful. I wonder how many of these hotels are still in business? The Palace in Montreux probably and the Ukraine in Moscow, but the rest?

Andy Kaufman

2011-11-11T13:22:00.000-08:00

As Elvis

As Jack Benny

Coney Island photo booth

Andy Kaufman was a one-of-a-kind person - nobody like him before or since. When he was still living with his parents on Long Island, he devised a children’s show and entertained at parties. Turns out adults liked the show even more.

I was looking at the contact sheets of a session I did with him in Boston in the late 70’s - Andy needed no coaxing, he was always “on”, going from one character to another in the blink of an eye.

Ironic that one who’s a health food nut (except for all that ice cream) and into meditation, a non-smoker, should die of cancer at 36. Andy dragged me to an introductory session of Transcendental Meditation in Boston - I thought, who has time for all this sitting around? And how on earth is this even pleasurable?

Luckily, he made me ride the Cyclone rollercoaster on Coney Island ten times in a row - much better.

Images by Wolynski

Dirty Jokes And Leola Harlow

2011-11-07T17:19:00.000-08:00

1988

with Leola Harlow

A drink in my face for being rude and offensive

photo by Peter Cunningham - late 80's

My one attempt at glamor falls dismally flat

Ever since I cracked open my archives and am showing my subjects like they don’t look anymore - always painful - why not subject myself to the same treatment?

Nobody likes to get old, but nobody - youth gains you entrance to places, although you don’t know it at the time.

My hero is Leola Harlow, a special guest in my video “The Businesswoman’s Guide To Dirty Jokes”, born in 1906, the first modern woman. She married at 19 and divorced at 29, took 10 years off her age and went on the road as Jose Conseco’s (Rita Hayworth’s nephew) dancing partner. At age 81, Leola took up stripping and did all the rounds of TV talk shows, put on cabaret shows - she was so full of life I couldn‘t keep up with her.

Oh, her road stories from the vaudeville days… One time the mayor of Reno offered her a fur coat if only she’d sleep with him. At the time she was traveling with a troupe of midgets, who found it difficult to get around. Leola agreed to sleep with the mayor provided he got the midgets their own car. He did and she did. For years, the grateful midgets drove her everywhere. Can’t make this stuff up.

Leola was the first modern woman in that she said marriage was not for her - plenty of lovers and adventures instead. She told me you not only marry the man, but his entire family as well and who wants to deal with that?

In her later years, she supported herself through Social Security, sewing G-strings for strippers and the occasional TV appearance. Leola died in her early 90’s, a life fully lived without children or husband, but tons of friends.

Dr. Hammargren's Emporium

2011-11-04T15:31:00.000-07:00

Dr. Hammergren's House. (click on photo for slideshow)

A friendly greeting

Eager visitors pour inside

One of the pools -submergibles ready for action

Russian Space Station on the roof - note the alien inside

Space station alongside Stratosphere rollercoaster

Pyramid and observatory up on the roof

Nazi alien skeleton

Anthropology room

Is that an Italian flag?

Cathedral Of Knowledge overlooking all the spaceships on the roof

Egyptian room?

Liberace's bed

The cellar - don't ask

Dr. Lonnie Hammergren

Dr. Lonnie Hammargren used to be Nevada’s lieutenant governor and a neurosurgeon working with NASA astronauts. Now he has a vast collection of state memorabilia and opens it to the public once a year on Nevada Day - Halloween - amidst his neighbors’ protestations. Housed in three houses joined together in a quiet, upscale gated community, his emporium draws enormous crowds every year. The neighbors should lighten up - they live in Vegas, for Pete’s sake, where every 7/11 has slot machines. If you want peace and quiet, move to Wyoming. It’s larger-than-life characters like Dr. Hammargren that give a community its flavor. I, for one, would love to live next door with aliens waving at me.

Oh, the collection - every time you think you’ve seen it all, there’s more, lots more, all piled up in never ending nooks and crannies. It’s a photographer’s nightmare - I try to isolate, find harmonious patterns. Well, anywhere I pointed my camera, it was a jumble - quite the worst photos I’ve ever taken, very exhausting on the eyes. Plus all the hordes of curious visitors trampling all over me if I stopped for a minute.

Well, I’ve seen a lot, but nothing quite like this… spaceships, rockets, the Russian Space Station, aliens, a steam locomotive, a non-working rollercoaster, a jet plane in the garage, Liberace’s bed…

More photos

Images by Wolynski: The Hammargren House, Las Vegas, 30th Oct 2011

The Eli Wallach Family in "The Diary Of Anne Frank"

2011-10-31T19:41:00.000-07:00

Roberta Wallach as Anne Frank

Eli Wallach as her father

Anne Jackson as the mother

In December of 1978 I photographed Eli Wallach, his wife Anne Jackson and their two daughters, Roberta and Katherine in a production of "The Dairy Of Anne Frank" in New York.

Eli Wallach had just taken up photography. Just before the photo shoot began, he announced he'd like to be my assistant, just to learn more. Every time I needed to change film, there he was by my side, eagerly loading a fresh roll. Since he was new to all this, it took him a while, while the cast, crew and producers watched. I just hoped he'd loaded properly - he did.

Then he brought in portraits of his wife, Anne, that he'd taken and asked for a critique. I printed some of them for him - lovely man and a good budding photographer.

images by Wolynski: Dec 1978, New York City

PBR 2011: Drama In The Bull Ring

2011-10-28T17:40:00.000-07:00

You have to be insane to ride a bull, but not anymore so than driving a race car or boxing or BMX biking - people love dangerous sports. The Thomas & Mack arena was filled to the rafters, but you could hear a pin drop when this rider was carried out. Luckily, he was OK - just a concussion.

All you have to do is stay on the bull for 8 seconds - most of them didn't. Like with any athletic skill, bull riders start early - as toddlers, they're put on sheep, then graduate to baby bulls. Four out of the five top riders in the world are Brazilian - I wonder if this will ever be an Olympic sport? Why not? As long as it's not cows for the ladies.

But the real stars of this sport are the animals. I mean, if no one can stay on for 8 seconds on one particularly fierce bull, shouldn't he be crowned world champion?

images by Wolynski, Thomas & Mack, Las Vegas, 27th Oct 2011

Jazz Musicians

2011-10-24T18:32:00.000-07:00

Buddy Rich chewing

Buddy Rich having a pickle

Buddy Rich having a cigarette

Legendary jazz drummer Billy Cobham

Legendary jazz pianist McCoy Tyner

In the winter of 78, Maggie Soboil and I were dispatched to interview and photograph the legendary drummer Buddy Rich. We arrived in his dressing room at the appointed time and waited… and waited and waited. There was a delicious looking tray of cold cuts just sitting there. So we carefully lifted the plastic wrap, helped ourselves to some roast beef, re-arranged the rest of the food to make it look untouched and waited some more. Finally Buddy Rich arrived. He promptly started stuffing his face and said, may I offer you ladies a pickle? This was going to be one of those we-can’t-look-at each-other-in case-we-burst-out-laughing situations, not only because of the food - he was a fairly odious human being.

It’s my job to make people look as good as possible and everyone usually co-operates, if briefly sometimes. Buddy Rich just stuffed and stuffed, as if I wasn’t there and as if these awful photos wouldn’t surface 33 years later, making him look like a mongoloid. And don’t inspect his ears too closely - I had no idea what kind of vegetables were growing in there, but I was ready to throw up my purloined roast beef. Disgusting.

After we left, we burst out laughing and couldn’t stop. What a repulsive man. Maggie had no idea how she managed to keep a straight face during the interview - at least I could hide behind my camera.

There’s a story of how Buddy Rich opened for Dusty Springfield in the late sixties, when she was a big star. It was a two week engagement. Rich was appalled he had to open for some silly English pop singer and accompany her. He did everything to sabotage her and was openly derisive. So one afternoon, during rehearsal she finally lost it and socked him in the jaw in front of his orchestra, sending his toupee flying halfway across the stage. After the incident all his musicians presented Dusty with a red pair of boxing gloves as a token of their gratitude and respect. Perhaps Buddy Rich knew she was no silly pop singer, but one of the greatest, and that’s what bothered him. I came away with the feeling he simply hated women.

Luckily, the next legendary drummer, Billy Cobham, was sweet, playful and altogether lovely - musicians usually are very cool.

Images by Wolynski: Boston, winter 1978.

Madhouse Co. In Boston

2011-10-21T13:14:00.000-07:00

Marcel Steiner

Marcel Steiner, Jim Carter

Marcel Steiner, Marc Weil, Jim Carter

The Smallest Theatre In The World in one of its many reincarnations

Marc Weil, Marcel Steiner, Jim Carter

Only Englishmen could get up to such hijinks (Marc was American, but wanted to be English).

The Madhouse Co was the offshoot of Ken Campbell's Roadshow that came to America, first to New York, then Boston. After it broke up, they went back to England - Marcel resolutely staying the same, touring with his Smallest Theatre In The World and Jim went on to become a proper and staid actor of the Masterpiece Theater category - he plays the head butler on Downton Abbey, not that you'd ever recognize him.

images by Wolynski: Madhouse Co, Cambridge, Mass, Aug 1976

The 99% Solution

2011-10-17T12:44:00.000-07:00

So I went downtown for a beer sampling and I ran into another protest, in solidarity with Occupy Wall St. Well, shit, if social conscience has reached Vegas - and nothing reaches Vegas - this thing is big.

My neighbor, who’s interested in nothing, asked what they’re protesting this time. I had to show him the photo of the detailed placard the young woman in the American flag is carrying - she’s already paid $125,000 into a house worth $91,000 and still owes the bank $355,000. I have one question: how did all the banks go bust with a shakedown like this? If they were mafiosos, they’d get whacked by other mafiosos for giving all the mafiosos a bad name.

On the other hand, folk think they own a house when, in fact, they don’t - unless you’ve paid cash or have it paid off, the bank is your landlord and you’re merely renting. So the young woman paid $125,000 in rent - I wonder how long she’s been there?

Besides, it doesn’t matter how much the house is worth - it all depends if you enjoy living there.

Over the course of time, things happen gradually, then suddenly. I think we might be in the suddenly part. The 99% have issued a declaration that they’re convening in Philadelphia on 4th July 2012 and to please elect delegates - their declaration is very reasonable, but still needs work. They’ve only been at it one month.

A lot can happen in that time and it probably will. My neighbor never watches the news, because he says it doesn’t effect him - he’s in for a rude awakening.

More photos

Images by Wolynski, Downtown Las Vegas, 15th Oct 2011

The Eli Wallach Family

2011-10-14T17:24:00.000-07:00

Eli, Roberta, Katherine Wallach, Anne Jackson

Eli Wallach spans over half a century of American films - Baby Doll, The Good The Bad And The Ugly, The Misfits, The Magnificent Seven, Godfather 3 and recently, Polanski's Ghost Writer and Wall St: Money Never Sleeps. He's 96.

I was called to photograph a stage production of "The Diary Of Anne Frank" in New York, starring the entire Wallach clan (not exactly a job for the Partridge family) - Eli is married to the actress Anne Jackson and their daughter Roberta played the title role. Wonderful, warm people.

images by Wolynski: Eli Wallach and family rehearsing "The Diary Of Anne Frank", Ansonia Hotel, NYC, Nov 78

Paul Anka, 1978

2011-10-10T17:59:00.000-07:00

How does a hardened rock and roll fan like me get into Paul Anka? Unforseen circumstances. The only other person I met who appreciated him was Andy Kaufman, who sang Anka's "Let The Bells Keep Ringing" in his act.

Paul Anka appeared in Vegas on a regular basis until a few years ago. I wonder how many people even remember him now?

images by Wolynski: Paul Anka, Boston, April 1978

Occupy Vegas

2011-10-07T15:38:00.000-07:00

All the local news stations kept announcing there would be an Occupy Las Vegas protest outside the NYNY casino at the World Trade Center memorial near the Statue of Liberty. So I grabbed my camera and went. About 200-300 people showed up, including some union members. Lots of media and photographers and police, so it looked bigger. As the crowd stood there with their homemade signs, there was a constant honking from passing cars in solidarity with the protesters - and even a couple of city buses, too. Vegas is a strong union town.

The march was supposed to begin at 4pm along the sidewalk to the Bellagio, then across the street and back again - back and forth until 7pm, when the permit expired. Except there is no sidewalk all the way to the Bellagio - it was designed that tourists would have to enter the City Center - so the protesters had to go up and down escalators, some of them wound up in the Crystals Mall and it all got separated and buggered.

The Strip is always crowded. Some of the bewildered tourists were asking, is this a strike of some sort? I said no, this is Occupy Las Vegas in solidarity with Occupy Wall St. Yes, but what do they want? I said it’s against banks and foreclosures. Put that way, even the rednecks nodded. Some tourists thought this was a party, which it was, and joined in.

Once the stragglers had made it back to outside the MGM, across the street from NYNY, the police took over the organizing. I guess they got calls from the upscale City Center or something, alarmed at the influx of people with signs. They cleared a lane of traffic very efficiently, arranged the protesters in an orderly group and two mounted policeman led the parade up and down the Strip proper - now the march had impact.

The media covered it very well - no snarky comments and a lot of interviews with the protesters that made sense. Paula Francis of Channel 8, excellent at her job as always, simply said this was a protest against banks.

Well, everyone can agree they don’t like banks. All these Occupy demonstrations across the country have been non-political so far, although it’s mainly people who vote Democratic. They don’t want to overthrow the government, they’re not for or against this or that candidate, they simply want the banks reined it and for mass foreclosures to stop - there has to be a way to do this. Why is it that people pay a low mortgage to begin with and then rates go up? Why jack up the rates?

All the big financial institutions went belly up in 2008 - all of them - and they got massive bail-outs with taxpayer money. Then they want back to awarding themselves massive bonuses, while teachers, firemen, policemen got laid off across the land. It's not like folk haven't noticed this highly corrupt state of affairs.

The UNLV students, who organized this, were taping interviews. One pink-haired airhead was babbling on that she’s here because she’s concerned about nutrition. I was standing next to the camera taking photos and I suddenly yelled out “Hey, if you’re starving, you’ll eat a rat!”.

images by Wolynski

Occupy All Over

2011-10-03T11:23:00.000-07:00

Occupy Wall St art

While I’ve been busy scanning my archives for no apparent reason, a whole bunch of young folk have taken to the streets - first in New York and now spreading to other cities. Why do I suspect this time this thing ain’t blowing over? Well, they can ‘t go home or to their jobs because they have no homes or jobs to go back to.

People all over are confused - this rag tag army is calling themselves Occupy Wall Street and they are The 99 (the 99% that have less than the top 1%) - now that it’s spread to other cities, they’ve morphed into Occupy Together. But they seem not to have demands - actually they do, a laundry list so long it can’t be summed up in one neat sound bite for the corporate evening news to digest.

It seems they have the one demand - give us a reason to leave.

The media have been very snarky - why are they there, what do they want? Ooh, these young ones, honestly. If Diane Sawyer had just graduated college with a $60,000 debt (that balloons to a $100,000 through interest) and no prospects to pay it off, she’d be occupying Liberty Plaza along with everyone else. Might as well. But as is, she’s getting paid an obscene salary to mouth corporate baloney in between ads for Lipitor and adult incontinence. (Hey, I’d take the job, too, but no one’s offering).

Roseanne Barr has visited with the occupiers - she proposes that those who have more than a hundred million should give the rest back or get beheaded. Why would anyone need more than a hundred million? I disagree with the beheaded part. A far better punishment would be to make them live on minimum wage forever.

The young ones might pack up for the winter (or not), but they’ll be back in the spring. If you don’t want people gathering in the streets, give them good jobs (or pay them to go to the beach) and universal healthcare. Corporate America has the means to employ everyone - it’s that simple - but they’d rather outsource to China, where they pay workers $1.19 an hour. Apple can’t build a factory in America?

Most of the new fortunes have been made by clicking on computer keys at the right time on Wall St, not by inventing a better mouse trap. A couple of clicks and a factory closes in rural America. The young ones have picked the right spot for protest - they’ve bypassed our impotent government and gone to the source of all woes.

I have no idea where these rallies are going or how it will end, if it ends at all. All I know is that when the gap between the have’s and have-not’s grows too big, revolutions follow - without exception. It’s extremely dangerous to leave the majority with nothing left to lose.

On the other hand, times have changed. Wouldn’t surprise me if one ingenious hacker buggered up all the trades on the stock market for a couple of hours and brought the world economy (or what’s left of it) crashing down. It can happen.

They just announced on the local TV news that Occupy Las Vegas is to gather outside New York New York on Thursday at 3pm and march down the Strip. Guess where I'll be with my camera?

Teri Garr in George Abbott's "Broadway"

2011-09-30T10:50:00.000-07:00

Ter Garr

William Atherton (and Teri Garr at left)

Teri Garr and Chris Sarandon

Teri Garr

Chris Sarandon with gangster

William Atherton

George Abbott

I photographed Gilda Radner in George Abbott's "Broadway"- after she went back to Saturday Night Live, they resurrected the production at the Wilbur Theater in Boston and brought in Teri Garr ("Young Frankenstein", "Tootsie") - an inspired replacement.

George Abbot himself came to advise, 52 years after he wrote and directed the original production. Keeping creatively busy keeps old age at bay.

images by Wolynski: George Abbott's "Broadway", Wilbur Theater, Boston, April 1978

Tip O'Neill, 1978

2011-09-26T18:04:00.000-07:00

Well, you don’t always get to photograph pretty, but sometimes you get to photograph historic. If this were in color, Tip O’Neill would have a red nose. Like Winston Churchill, he was a highly functioning alcoholic and a great political figure.

Tip O’Neill, one of our longest serving Speakers of the House, coined the phrase “All politics are local” and was vehemently against the Vietnam war. A politician against war? Unheard of today.

He was also a lot of fun.

Images by Wolynski: Hyatt Hotel, Cambridge, Mass, 5th May 1978

The Zeigfeld Ball, 1978

2011-09-23T19:55:00.000-07:00

Anne Jackson and Eli Wallach

Bibi Andersson

Bibi Andersson in her Erte costume

Erte's design for the Ziegfeld Follies

Erte would be at home in Vegas

Helen Hayes being interviewed

Helen Hayes on the phone

In the fall of 1978 I was called upon to photograph the Zeigfeld Ball, a fundraiser for the Massachusetts Repertory Company. Celebrities would model historic Erte gowns that were featured in the original Zeigfeld Follies on Broadway. Eli Wallach and Anne Jackson were the hosts ( I would photograph them later in “Anne Frank” - lovely couple), but the other celebrities listed were only famous in Boston - newscasters, socialites and the like. Like with all provincial cities full of pretensions, they took themselves far too seriously.

I arrived early at the hotel and headed straight for backstage, where the had a fabulous food buffet - photographers know these things. As I walked past the makeshift dressing rooms, I made a note of all the names tacked on. One of the signs said “Bebe Andersson”. Well, the only Bibi Andersson I knew was that wonderful actress from the movie “Persona” and other Bergman films. Nah, can’t be. What would Ingmar Bergman’s leading lady be doing modeling Erte gowns on a cold Boston evening? Must be some local newswoman.

A while later I passed the same dressing room and, sure enough, it was Bibi Andersson, sitting all alone, as lost as could be and no one paid her the slightest attention, because no one knew who she was. So I knocked on the pole holding up the dressing room, introduced myself and offered to get her some food and drink. Oh, yes please - her face lit up - I’m starving and thirsty. I loaded up a plate in the buffet, grabbed water and a bottle of wine, delivered them and made small talk until the hair and makeup people arrived. Little did they know this was the biggest star in the place. Bergman was hot at the time, but obviously everyone slept through his movies.

Helen Hayes, then the grand dame of American theater, was to make a last minute appearance. I was dispatched to photograph her - can’t remember if on the day of the event or before. My beloved author, Ben Hecht, once described her as a cunt and he knew her well. I must say I concur. Wouldn’t give me one good photo and treated me like she smelt something bad. Oh, well. Not half the grace of a Bibi Andersson and not nearly a tenth of the talent.

images by Wolynski, The Zeigfeld Ball, Boston, Fall 1978

Wolynski At Vegas Seven

2011-09-19T17:10:00.000-07:00

And this one, which ran with an article

For a while now, I’ve been submitting to a popular weekly, Vegas Seven. They have a section called Vegas Moments, where readers submit their photo and it’s printed across two big pages. I didn’t think a $300 camera could hack it, but apparently it can. These are, after all, “readers” photos - readers don’t go around with $5000 worth of equipment.

I’ve had to adapt to shooting with a cheap camera, but then it’s a perfect fit for Vegas - just turn the color setting to “vivid” and you’re good to go. Actually, if the Lumix FZ-35 had a bettor sensor, you wouldn’t need anything else. Camera manufacturers have stubbornly resisted the digital revolution - same old bulky bodies and lenses that were needed for film are still being used for digital, unnecessarily so. Nikon and Canon still want to sell you a vast array of lenses, like it was 1999, while cell phone cameras are getting better all the time. The camera of the future is a small one, with a 24-300mm lens and a top-notch sensor. But then how could you tell the “professionals” apart from the amateurs at all these events?

It’s not wise to buy expensive digital equipment, unless you’re being paid top dollar. Any digital camera has a limited life span, because of digital rot - it’s only good for so many clicks and no more. After a while, little white dots appear, where the pixels have gone bad, whereas an old Leica film camera, if looked after properly, could theoretically last forever.

On my walks around Vegas, I’ve run into “artistes”, who still insist on using film, because that’s “real” photography. Yes, and vinyl sounds better - actually it does, but only to folk of a certain age. If you’ve grown up on harsh techno-beats, MP3 is perfect.

Good, so now me and my cheap Lumix have been published - it’s just like the old days. Thank goodness for cheap digital or VegasImages wouldn’t even exist.

Images by Wolynski

Musicians

2011-09-16T10:56:00.000-07:00

Koko Taylor "I'm A Woman"

Koko Taylor at Tramps

Texas Slim at Tramps - but which one?

Herbie Hancock - so seventies, not just the outfit, but the decor

Herbie Hancock and Chick Corea in Boston

Chicago in Boston

Odds and ends before I crack open the next box. Koko Taylor, a legendary blues singer - wonder why her amazing "I'm A Woman" is not better known... Texas Slim, but which one? Quite a number of Texas Slims out there - must be the one with the granite face...

images by Wolynski: late 70's and early 80's.

Charlotte Sweet

2011-09-12T16:53:00.000-07:00

While at the Berkshire Festival I used to come down for the marvelous breakfast buffet at The Red Lion Inn. I couldn’t help noticing a very shy young man in braces, who was eating alone every day, so one day I joined him. Good, he said, because he’s going to write a musical and I’ll photograph it and we’ll discuss the terms over lunch at the Algonquin. I liked the terms already.

Turns out young Michael Colby was the foremost authority on musical theater and a consultant to the Berkshire Festival - Lorenz Hart had been a family friend and Michael grew up sitting on his lap. Like his hero, Michael wanted to be a lyricist.

Even more interesting, Michael lived at the famous Algonquin Hotel in New York, home of the legendary Round Table, where famous literary figures of the 20’s and 30’s used to gather and be witty. Michael’s grandparents, Mr. and Mrs. Ben Bodne, owned the Algonquin.

Michael told me the story of how this came to be. Mr. and Mrs. Bodne made their oil fortune in the South and wished to invest. It came down to buying the Pittsburgh Steelers or the Algonquin Hotel, so they flipped a coin, packed up and headed for New York City. Their good friend, a writer, observed all this and wrote “The Beverly Hillbillies” about Mr. and Mrs. Bodne.

But they turned out to be great custodians of the artistic and eccentric traditions of the Algonquin - “Charlotte Sweet” rehearsed there and I spent hours wandering about the place, finding James Thurber drawings hanging in dark corners. Then there was Hamlet, the Algonquin cat - if he showed up while you were having drinks in the lobby, he showed up. Such eccentricities are forbidden in the corporate world.

Michael writes very old-fashioned musicals - “Charlotte Sweet” was based on British Music Hall and a fun romp it was. I guess if I grew up at the Algonquin, time would stop for me as well.

Images by Wolynski: Charlotte Sweet, NYC, May 1982

The Sorrows Live In Color

2011-09-09T11:14:00.000-07:00

Out of the blue, the Sorrows e-mail me the other day (well, two of them, Arthur and Joey) and we talk after - gulp - a quarter of a century. They had been looking for me and were thrilled to find their photos online. Not that difficult to find me, guys. And if we passed each other on the street, we’d pass each other on the street - doubt any of us look remotely the same.

Turns out the Sorrows are doing a re-union tour, at least Arthur and Joey and two new guys. Had no idea there was all this interest in power pop, but the older I get, the less I know. Rock is no longer exclusively a young people’s game - the Stones (the Steel Wheelchair Tour, as Richard Belzer put it) and McCartney toured well into their late sixties. Rod Stewart has just taken up residency at Caesars Palace, filling in for Celine Dion, and he’s not a day under 66 - still strutting his stuff. Well, all of this has certainly put the rock back into the rocking chair.

Hey, if you’ve got it, do it. Debbie Reynolds is still singing and dancing and putting on a hell of a show in her seventies. The London Observer has employed the same photographer, Jane Bown, for 55 years - her technique is so simple, it never dates (always B&W, always natural light, works quickly - half a roll and she's done) - good for every era and the Beatles liked her. On the Queen’s 80th birthday, the Observer proposed to send an 80-year old lady photographer. The Queen never gives private sittings to the press, but here she made an exception.

An 80 -year -old photographer? I should be so lucky.

Images by Wolynski: The Sorrows at Trax, NYC, 6th June 1980.

Blue Oyster Cult, 1978

2011-09-05T16:11:00.000-07:00

"Don't Fear The Reaper" - what a great song. I guess they needed five guitars to get that sound.

The one drawback to photographing rock shows is that you have to be near the really big speakers - best to divide your time between rock and ballet if you don't want to go deaf. All I remember from this show is the ringing in my ears.

images by Wolynski, Boston Music Hall, 30th March 1978

Balletap, 1984

2011-09-02T13:08:00.000-07:00

Mercedes Ellington

Carmen de Lavallade

Maurice Hines

The best thing about being a photographer to the performing arts is that you got to hang with people you wouldn’t normally meet. The photos were almost secondary.

Balletap - an amalgam of ballet and tap - was a dance company started by Mercedes Ellington, granddaughter of Duke, and Maurice Hines, brother of Gregory, and great fun they were, too. Carmen de Lavallade was the guest artist - 53 years old in these photos and still in great shape.

I was dispatched to ride the bus with the company from Manhattan to Penn State for three days of shooting. I remember not being pleased with the photos at the time - half the show took place in pitch darkness, so what can a photographer do? Beats me why lighting designers consider under lit shows as somehow artistic. Carmen was having none of that - she insisted on being lit like the diva she was.

Penn State was having some huge arts festival and we were put up in a Holiday Inn 30 miles away - in the middle of a field, it seems, with a hint of manure.

I’ll never forget that Sunday brunch at the hotel. As it turns out, this was a popular spot for families to dine after church and for truckers as well - very white, Christian and redneck. And out of the blue, 30 black, gay men descend on the dining room, not just gay, but flamboyantly so. When Maurice made his entrance and struck a pose - he always made an entrance - I saw mothers shielding their children’s eyes. An invasion of green Martians would’ve caused less alarm. We were lucky to get out of there in one piece.

Images by Wolynski: Balletap at Penn State, July 1984

Photoshop And The Schlockmeisters

2011-08-29T11:42:00.000-07:00

Earliest photo manipulation by double exposure. Photo by Elise Wright and Frances Griffiths, 1917

photo by Patrick Smith, purveyor of schlock. Is it even a photo anymore?

The instant trendiness HDR toning look favored by ad agencies today - high-contrast, faded and grainy

In 2010, a prize-winning photo was disqualified from a World Press Photo contest because the photographer, in post editing, removed a small portion of a foot in the background, altering the original photo. In press photography, altering the image in any way will lead to dismissal (if done well, how can they tell?). However, Photoshop is a commercial photographer’s best friend… up to a point. Recently a highly retouched photo of Julia Roberts for L’Oreal cosmetics was banned in England - no cream can make anyone look this smooth, not even Julia Roberts herself, apparently.

Some manipulation in photography has always existed just by developing the film - you can make a hundred slightly different prints from the same negative. But the changes are purely in contrast, brightness, color balance, not in the essential image.

Photoshop is the new darkroom. I’ve become immersed in it myself, unfortunately, because I’ve taken to shooting in RAW, only because I have a cheap camera and RAW removes noise beautifully. Other than that, there is practically no difference in quality, at least not if viewed on a computer monitor. Only in a print bigger than 5x7 would the difference become apparent.

Most photographers use JPEG - with a high end camera you can get perfectly bright and noise free images at 4000 ISO. Who has the time to muck about with Photoshop endlessly? The great photographer Tomasz Tomaszewski shoots in RAW, but he works for National Geographic. I’m heartened to see his that early attempts at developing RAW were just as crummy as mine.

Photoshop, a powerful tool, can be used in two ways - to enhance an existing image or to create something completely new. It’s the enhancing of existing images that has led to a flood of over-processed, schlocky landscape photos on the Web, that look like bad paintings. A couple of business-minded photographers have opened “galleries” in high end shopping malls in Vegas - all highly processed landscapes that, if you stare too long, hit you with a wave of nausea.

One simple fact remains - the better the original photo, the less post processing required. If you’ve spent more than 10 minutes on a single photo, either someone’s paying you, you’re trying to save your ass or you’re delusional. A great photo will leap out at you from cheap newsprint as much as it will in a gallery.

If you rely on post-processing for that certain HDR look - usually high-contrast, faded and grainy favored by ad agencies today - boy, will your work age in no time at all, kind of like solarization in the sixties.

Modern cameras have taken the guesswork out of photography - all photos tend to come out nowadays. All that’s left is for the photographer to be interesting.

Stormin' Norman And Suzy

2011-08-26T16:48:00.000-07:00

Were she born at the turn of the century, Suzy Williams would have become one of America’s iconic stars. As is, in the 70’s and 80’s nobody knew what to do with a woozy bluesy floozy, a cross between Billie Holiday and Sophie Tucker - Suzy sang the blues like nobody’s business at a time when it wasn’t fashionable. And Bette Midler already owned the bawdy female market.

When I lived in Boston Stormin’ Norman and Suzy were the biggest local music act. Record company types were circling Suzy in droves - obviously she was a star, but how to package her? And how to pry her away from Norman and his barrelhouse piano? Looking back, Suzy was too nice for the machinations of the ruthless music biz - not a malevolent bone in her body. Bette Midler’s infamous manager wanted to take her on - she looked at me wide-eyed and said he’s a beast and that won’t do. I said, you need a piranha in your corner. Suzy refused to deal with people who weren’t nice.

You can lead a life of fame, which means self-promotion 24/7, or you can live fully in the moment. It was a wild ride while it lasted.

I photographed Norman and Suzy many times in Boston - then we moved to New York at the same time, trying to make it in the Big Apple. Great people, great friends.

Images by Wolynski: color shot in Boston; Paradise Club, Boston, 1977
Studio in New York, 1979

Not The Berlin Wall

2011-08-22T16:10:00.000-07:00

Nearby they were re-enacting the French Revolution - the Germans are very bizarre - any excuse to put something grisly in the town square.

One of the most important things in photography is to write down what you shot - here I find an unmarked glassine of what appears to be the Berlin Wall (and the Roadshow on the same roll). All very interesting, except I’ve never been to Berlin. It’s definitely Germany. West and East Germany had a border hundreds of miles long, most of it along the Elba river. They had another city that was divided in half?

Could be a border with another country, but not France or Belgium - there’s a manned guard tower in the middle of the photo - too heavily fortified for a friendly country. The sign says: “You are entering the American Sector. Carrying weapons off-duty forbidden. Obey traffic rules.”

Damned if I know where this was taken, except it’s not Berlin. And thankfully, I’m firmly planted in the American sector - spent my teenage years behind that wall in Poland, studying escape routes.

Well, the wall came down - had to - too many potential consumers behind it. The West is always looking for new markets. I dread to think what happens when they finally saturate the entire planet with Wal-Mart. Capitalism (consumerism is more apt) depends on ever more expansion - of course, one day, you can’t grow any further, unless you open a Starbucks on Mars.

Not for me to meditate where this planet is headed - let the young ones figure it out. All I know is, we don’t need walls like this one. Walls are never to keep anyone out, they’re there to keep people in.

Images by Wolynski: somewhere in Germany, early 70’s.

The Virulent Mother Played By Jane Wood

2011-08-19T16:15:00.000-07:00

A mother finds toothpaste dribblings in the bathroom sink. She slaps her son with a newspaper to remind him not to do it again.

She empties his dinner on his head.

And shatters a plate on his head.

A few whacks across the ears with a dustpan.

And a few kicks now that he's down

Then a beating with the telephone.

The doctor, played by Jane's husband, Dave Hill, takes her away.

Jane's daughter, Polly Hill. In real life she's a terrific mother.


Dave helping out with the baby.

Ken Campbell reconvened the old Roadshow "Bar Room Tales" at the Key Theatre in Peterborough in March 1974.

Jane Wood played that awful mother again and Andy Andrews her son - a tour de force performance of a woman gone mad. Frightening and funny.

images by Wolynski

Expaining The London Riots

2011-08-15T14:04:00.000-07:00

Photo by Amy Weston

No sooner did I dust off my old negatives, some of them showing urban blight in England of almost 40 years ago, then London explodes. And to think that I was naïve enough to assume things had improved.

All this week various neighbors and strangers have been asking me to explain the London riots - just because I sound a little British, doesn’t mean I’m any kind of authority. Then the nice cashier lady at Trader Joe’s really wanted to know - I had to make a 2 minute summary, because she was fast at bagging. This is what I told her:

All I know is what I read in the papers (on the Internet), but it all started when the police shot a black man - they claim he was armed, but it turned out he wasn’t. Funny, but the police in England are mainly unarmed - don’t know why this lot had guns. The police didn’t bother notifying the family - they found out on the news along with everyone else. Then the family went down to the police station and they kept them waiting for 5 hours. Not surprising then it turned into a big, nasty brawl.

England is a tinderbox. Their economy is on the skids, just like ours, with a lot of people out of work. Instead of taxing the rich and corporations, they’ve cut off vital social services like housing subsidies, unemployment, after-school activities and club houses - these young are just hanging in the streets now looking for something to do. The slightest spark might set them off and it did. What started out as a race thing became a an equal opportunity free-for-all - whites, blacks, Asians, Muslims - they all ransacked.

Advertisers are to blame as well - they’ve targeted young blacks for over-priced sneakers and must-have goods they can’t possibly afford. Nothing pisses off people more than being accosted with enticing images of stuff on TV and everywhere that’s not for you - makes them feel inadequate. No wonder they primarily targeted sporting goods and computer shops - if I absolutely must have the latest gadget, well, I’m gonna get it.

The nice cashier lady said it was the first sensible explanation she heard all week. Didn’t have the heart to tell her that America is next.

All I can do is watch the inevitable unfold, far away at the moment, but getting closer. When I leave my apartment, I can see mainly empty “luxury” high rises - not for the regular Joe. America is full of empty homes, but the number of homeless is growing. Don’t be surprised then when the vast and ignored underclass puts two and two together - judging by the sophisticated gadgets they were looting last week, they’re not entirely clueless.

As for that unfortunate Polish woman leaping from the flames in the now iconic photo of the London riots - 5 months out of Poland and this shit happens. I wonder if she’s on the first train back to Poland…

Mice Racing In Peterborough

2011-08-12T19:13:00.000-07:00

The lineup - Johnny Roach (maybe it was Roche) and Roadshow veteran, Jane Wood figuring out the odds on the runners

The betting is on - Jane is keeping track

And they're off... not exactly. The mice need a little coaxing from Jane.

And they're really off!

Proud champion

Ken Campbell and Andy Kaufman had one thing in common - they manipulated the emotions of the audience, got everyone involved. Ken believed in pre-show entertainment, just to set the mood. He got Johnny Roach to bring his mice racing to the bar of the Key Theatre in Peterborough, where the the Roadshow was performing. The most exciting part was taking bets from the audience, as the mice limbered up.

images by Wolynski: Key Theatre, Peterborough, March 1974

Blondie At Tramps

2011-08-08T14:40:00.000-07:00

Chris Stein and Debbie Harry

Terry Dunne used to own Tramps, a great blues club on E. 15th St and used to call me if he needed photos. Debbie Harry and Chris Stein - Blondie - were guests on a radio show coming out of Tramps and that was my favorite band at the time.

After a mind-blowing decade, 70’s music was mainly drek - Middle Of The Road, Adult Contemporary, John Denver, Anne Murray, Olivia Newton-John, Carly Simon - that’s what polluted the airwaves. The soft rock of Fleetwood Mac - good band, but can you party to that? Honestly, I thought my record buying days were over - oh, well, time to grow up. Then came Blondie’s “Parallel Lines” and I felt like a teenager again - an album I could love. New York exploded with New Wave music, inspired by great English bands like the Clash and the whole punk movement - it was an exciting time in the city. Glad I was there.

Images by Wolynski: Blondie interviewed on the Radio Radio show out of Tramps, April 1980.

The Poppees and Sorrows

2011-08-05T16:53:00.000-07:00

I guess the Poppees and Sorrows albums got re-issued, except for the bottom one.

Don't know if anyone else is having problems with posting photos on Google blogs - there were more photos for today, but I kept getting a message "server rejected". Could be technical, could be copyright bullshit. It's been taking 3-4 tries to post any photos in the last few weeks. Oh, well, I get what I pay for - who said free blogging was easy?

Sorrows Live

2011-08-01T17:44:00.000-07:00

Arthur Alexander, Jett Harris, Joey Cola

Joey Cola, Ricky Street

Ricky Street

Joey Cola

Sorrows at CBGB's - Arthur and Joey

Jett

In the early 80’s I photographed a lot of bands - no longer working for a music magazine, I was hired to do promotional shots. The rock world and the people in it were a blast and the music was fun.

Of all the up-and-coming bands I photographed, the Sorrows came closest to getting a big break - they signed a deal with Pavilion Records, part of CBS. Unfortunately, both albums sank without a trace, although they’ve been re-released recently on CD. Their leader Arthur was a childhood friend from Warsaw and he was in one band or another since the age of 15. And that’s how come I’m sifting through loads of Sorrows (and Poppees) negatives.

Having photographed hundreds of performers, some who became famous, but mostly not, I must say getting your big break is solely down to luck, well, talent and luck. Talent alone won’t do it. In order to become a star, the stars have to be perfectly aligned in your favor. The Beatles met Brain Epstein, then George Martin. Without either one, they’d be just another Northern band. And, of course, Epstein and Martin met the Beatles.

A band has to have the chance to develop and mature over time - most artists are dropped if they don’t produce revenue instantly. It takes talent, charisma, very smart management and loads of luck to make it… and a big hit to kick start it all. The odds are against you, but you should still try - what’s the point of living if you never reach for the sky?

Images by Wolynski: Sorrows at Trax, NYC, 11th April 1980 and at CBGB’s

Witold Malcuzynski, 1973

2011-07-29T08:58:00.000-07:00

Witold Malcuzynski was Poland's best known concert pianist. His brother Karol was my father's best friend. If you're going to be the foremost interpreter of Chopin, it helps to look like him. Funny how folk have to look the part - can't have a serious pianist with a crew cut or a balding punk rocker with a beer belly. That's why I loved photographing musicians - more than anyone, they project an image of what it is they do exactly.

images by Wolynski: Witold Malcuzynski (and wife), Montreux, Switzerland, 31st Aug 1973

Berkshire Theater Festival: "I Married An Angel"

2011-07-25T17:13:00.000-07:00

The Aerial Ballet from "I Married An Angel"

Valerie Mahaffey and Phyllis Newman (Phyllis was married to Adolph Green of Comden and Green)

Opening night. The main theater was designed by Stanford White, who was murdered in 1906 by millionaire Harry Thaw over a woman, Evelyn Nesbit.

I spent the summers of ‘76 and ‘77 photographing the Berkshire Theater Festival - used to come from Boston to Stockbridge every couple of weeks for a few days.. Then the director, Allen Albert, got fired and everyone else with him.

Since I photographed the dress rehearsals - the opening was the next night - the Festival had to find me darkrooms in the area, so they could get prints the following day. If the New York Times reviewer was coming, it was an all-nighter for me.

The closest darkroom was at Austen Riggs, the famous high-end psychiatric institution - James Taylor came here to kick heroin. I would be locked in at midnight - no leaving even if I wanted to (the kindly lady from the box office would supply a thermos of coffee and sandwiches) . I had to develop the film, hang it out to dry, cut it up, make contact sheets and pick 6 different shots and make 6 prints of each - 36 prints in all - all by 9am. As I was loading the film in pitch blackness to the accompaniment of demented moans and screams coming through the walls, it occurred to me I was an inmate myself for the night. What if the Festival forgot where they put me? I’d still be in the loony bin today.

Digital photography is a miracle. Today I could curl up on a comfortable couch on the porch of the Red Lion Inn, sipping on the best Bloody Mary in the world and have the whole thing wrapped up in an hour. No fuss, no chemicals. But then photographers make less today, because it’s not apparent what we pay them for exactly. Everyone can have a photo come out - it’s all too easy - and then there’s Photoshop for the photos that need help.

Images by Wolynski: Rodgers & Hart's “I Married An Angel”, Berkshire Theater Festival, Stockbridge, Mass, August 1977

Father And Son

2011-07-22T14:05:00.000-07:00

Matt can't bear to look, but survives elimination

"I'm on top of the world-"

"-and you have to bring up this shit?!"

The World Series of Poker is a very long event - from May 31st to July 19th - over 50 bracelets are handed out. I pop in from time to time to take photos - it’s a challenge to make an static situation look mildly interesting - not exactly bull riding or boxing. And the famous players don’t necessarily make it to a final table. Who the hell remembers the Main Event champions from the last few years? More money is won than Wimbledon and the US Open put together and not even 15 minutes of fame. But it’s $8 million dollars for the winner.

The last night of the Series proper, when it’s whittled down to the November Nine, is always the longest. Poker on TV is very exciting because you can see the hole cards and the whole thing has been deftly edited - in real time, it’s hours of nothing happening, punctuated by heart stopping moments. For those of us seeing it live - we don’t know the hole cards - it’s like watching paint dry. It only becomes exciting when it’s an all-in and the whole place erupts.

So I hunkered down for a long night, mainly to chat to the poker media. I couldn’t help noticing a tall gentleman in an orange polo shirt, standing far away from the action with suitcase in hand, looking very anxious. I passed him a few times and finally I took an educated guess “Come to see your son play?”. He said yes, but his son can’t know he’s here, because he’ll lose focus. The father was on a business trip and secretly popped into Vegas for a few hours. I asked which one is the son - please don’t tell anyone, but it’s Matt Giammetti.

Well, Matt was the short stack, barely holding on, expected to bust out at any moment and then everyone could go home. I said, whatever happens, your son has done well - $600,000+ minimum. At this point, they announced a 15 minute break. The father said, I think I’ll reveal myself now, because Matt needs something. Oddly enough, Matt walked past us twice without recognizing his dad. Finally the father planted himself in Matt’s way - the son looked up “Hi, dad, how long have you been here?”. 6 hours.

After the break, Matt survived an all-in, then another one and is now the third chip lead in the November Nine. The father told me this is the first time ever they haven’t been in touch during a tournament. The entire family was watching the half hour delayed broadcast in Albany, NY, but dad was phoning and messaging ahead of time, bursting with pride - most thrilling thing that ever happened to the family.

I took another educated guess - I bet you weren’t thrilled when Matt said he’s leaving college to play poker full time. The father said he had to lay down some ground rules, but was OK with it. Does Matt get to keep all the money or does he have backers? He’s at least a millionaire now. Dad told me Matt had a backer who pulled out at the very last minute - oops.

Hours later it was all over and the father went over to congratulate the son. Finally Matt came over. I didn’t hear what the father said exactly, but I heard the word “investment”. Matt erupted, “I’m on top of the world and you have to bring up this shit?!” and stomped off.

Dad beamed, turned to me and said I must meet the rest of the family in November - they’ll all be here. And now I must go and celebrate with my son.

All I know is I had to put the Atlantic Ocean between me and my mother - loved her dearly, but…

images by Wolynski

It All Began With Susan Littler

2011-07-18T19:20:00.000-07:00

Can't remember where this was taken - Wales rings a bell

If not for Susan Littler, I’d probably never have thought photography could be a way to make money. True, I was attending photography school, but I was there for the film department - I thought my talent was for story telling. Besides, nobody thought me as particularly outstanding at school.

Sue Littler was Ken Campbell’s girlfriend at the time, appearing in his “Bar Room Tales” and a very promising actress with exquisite comic timing. She asked if I could do her headshot. I said I’d never done portraits before (except for that time in Warsaw when I was 15 and photographed Champion Jack Dupree at the jazz festival), wouldn’t know how to go about it. Well, you have a camera and access to a darkroom, we’ll go to Regents Park, have some fun and I’ll buy lunch. If the photos don’t come out, they don’t come out. Put that way, why not?

As it turns out, Sue loved her photos (could've been a lot better), showed them to all her actor friends and the following week I had my first paying customer - all this while I was praying I’d put the film in correctly.

Sue broke up with Ken - difficult to live with a genius whose mind goes 100 mph 24/7 - started dating other men and ruefully told me that after Ken everyone else is incredibly boring.

After I departed for New York, Sue’s career really took off - numerous TV and stage parts, a Tony nomination on Broadway for Alan Ayckbourn’s “Bedroom Farce” (saw her in that - brilliant - Sue could get laughs with a look) and a film with Burt Reynolds and Lesley Anne Down “Rough Cut”. And then she died in 1982 of cancer at age 33.

Image by Wolynski: Susan Littler in Regents Park, 1972, I think. I was so green it didn’t occur to me to write down names and dates on the glassines.

The Lederer Family

2011-07-15T15:04:00.000-07:00

Not the opponent you want to see - thank goodness it was a friendly game

Annie with the excellent blog Hard Boiled Poker

Years ago I had a book “Anguished English” by Richard Lederer, an anthology of assaults on the English language - very funny. It turns out the author is the father of two famous poker players, Annie Duke and Howard Lederer. There is a third sibling, Katy Lederer, who did not take to poker, but is a poet instead. What an interesting family.

Katy Lederer wrote a memoir “Poker Face”, about growing up amongst future noted gamblers - they all lived in the bucolic setting of a New Hampshire college, where Richard taught English. The parents met over a game of bridge - it figures - and card games were encouraged in the Lederer household. At that time a career in poker was unthinkable - what a sleazy occupation - yet that’s exactly where most of the Lederer offspring ended up. Bright enough to tackle almost any career, they picked poker. Katy says the mother, Deedy, was the best player in the family, but ladies of her generation just didn’t frequent casinos.

Money, or the lack of it, seems to be the underlying theme. English professors don’t make that much and the Lederer kids spent their childhood amongst wealthy pupils of an exclusive school, maybe feeling inadequate. To hell with life in academia, we want to make money and poker certainly gave you instant cash.

Howard was the first to leave for New York City, where he hooked up with the underground poker clubs, sometimes sleeping on park benches before he got really good. He later taught his sister, who raised four kids with the aid of poker. I still remember the old “Nightline” interview with Annie Duke, when she was still grinding it out at the Bellagio cash games, before all her tournament wins . If all else failed, she’d wear her opponents down with incessant chatter - pissing off other players is a perfectly valid poker strategy.

Annie has become the most famous poker player, because of her appearance on “The Apprentice” and her famous run in with Joan Rivers ( “You are a pokah player. That's beyond white trash!”), probably invented for publicity value.

I’ve run into Annie over the years at the WSOP - always kind and courteous, but so fiercely intelligent and combative that I wouldn’t like to get on her bad side - no, that wouldn’t be good.

So now we had our annual WSOP Media Tournament the other day - just an occasion to drink beer, schmooze and get silly. Not to be taken seriously. We all got a copy of Annie’s new book “Decide To Play Great Poker” - a very useful gift. Then Annie herself shows up and partakes in the tournament. Very smart woman - no slouch at promotion.

I was very short stacked when Annie joined our table. Now she was doing everything she could to lose - wanted to leave ASAP. The worse she played, the more chips she accumulated. She raised in the cutoff and I was in the big blind with only a meager stack- nothing else to do but shove. But I picked up her book, opened it and asked which page should I consult under this situation? She laughed. Of course, her J6o beat my K2o and she had the nerve to win the entire tournament, while trying to lose.

Note: before we broke up for dinner, I was momentarily alone with Annie at the table. I decided to tell her about the top she was wearing for her lecture - when the light hit it at a certain angle, it was completely see-through and she wasn’t wearing a bra. She thanked me - must never wear that top to a lecture again. Then she said, wait a minute, what did you see? I was wearing a hoodie over my top the day you were there. No, you weren’t. Yes, I was. Well, I have the photos - no hoodie whatsoever. If I say I was wearing a hoodie, I was wearing a hoodie. Oh, O.K, sorry, you were wearing a hoodie. Good, that’s settled then - and thank you. I edited around the photos - no hoodie and no Duke breasts for the world to see .

images by Wolynski

Dana Andrews In "Come Back Little Sheba"

2011-07-11T15:36:00.000-07:00

Dana Andrews was one of the biggest movie stars of the 1940's - the haunting "Laura", where he fell in love with a portrait of a dead girl, "The Best Years Of Our Lives", "The Ox Bow Incident", "A Walk In The Sun".

At the Berkshire Theater Festival he starred in William Inge's "Come Back Little Sheba" - a recovering alcoholic playing a recovering alcoholic. Perfect casting, not so much because of the alcoholic factor, but he looked so 1940's - very good actor, mesmerizing to watch.

As a photographer I find that with older people the eyes are the first to go, but not Dana Andrews - his still sparkled. He spoke of the battle with alcohol with great enthusiasm - in fact, he spoke of nothing else, not even his fascinating career. I believe he drove everyone in Stockbridge to drink, just so they, too, could recover.

images by Wolynski: Dana Andrews and Rosemary Murphy in "Come Back Little Sheba", Berkshire Theater Festival, Aug 1977

Roger Rees And Lisa Harrow, 1973

2011-07-08T19:07:00.000-07:00

Some people liked to be photographed by me over and over - Lisa Harrow was one of them. One time she brought her pal Roger Rees for comfort and inspiration. Roger got his big break in the Royal Shakespeare Company's "Nicholas Nickleby" for which he won a Tony. Then he did "Cheers" and "The West Wing" and now has replaced Nathan Lane in "The Addams Family" on Broadway. Last time I saw him was on the subway in New York - he was going to work - an evening performance of "Cat On A Hot Tin Roof" alongside Kathleen Turner. The lad has done well.

Funny how everyone ended up in America.

images by Wolynski: Regents Park, 1973

The Regents Park Orangery

2011-07-04T20:45:00.000-07:00


A playground nearby - these mothers were not about to take their eyes off their kids, not for a moment.

When I started getting more glamorous clients, we’d go to the Orangery in Regents Park. It was ideal - tall windows, white walls and practically deserted - my own private studio smack bang in the middle of London.

Lisa Harrow was playing Desdemona in the Royal Shakespeare Company’s production of “Othello” - very prestigious. She was being touted as the next Julie Christie - certainly had the looks and the chops. Lisa turned out to be lots of fun. When Ken Campbell saw the photos, he insisted on an introduction. Then he cast her as the Perfect Woman in a play he’d written “The Great Caper” staged at the Royal Court. From the Royal Shakespeare to a caper with Ken Campbell - Lisa was game. Would’ve loved to photograph that, but I’d already scampered off to America.

And why did I stay in New York? Three reasons:

- Central heating. Wearing nothing but a T-shirt in winter was a revelation. The English have this notion that being cold all the time is bracing. Three layers indoors all the time. Brrr.

- Open all night, breakfast at 4 a.m. was the norm. London closed at 11.

- I could afford orange juice even on a paltry salary. Orange juice was a luxury item in England. You suddenly lived a lot better.

Lisa Harrow played Lady Astor on the TV miniseries, did a number of films including Omen III and then went off somewhere to save the whales.

Images by Wolynski: Lisa Harrow at the Regents Park Orangery, 20th Feb 1973.

Ken Campbell Goes To Munich, 1973

2011-07-01T08:28:00.000-07:00

Gavin Richards, Ken Campbell at the Munich Olympic stadium - that tragedy was still fresh.

Ken with the white cliffs of Dover

Germans not only love to make sausages out of everything, they like to show how they do it. I guess this is better than factory made.


Hundreds of bizarre carvings for sale at Oberammergau. Now where exactly would you put a statuette of a man having his stomach pumped? And this is ornamental?

Ken’s shows and plays were popular in Europe, especially Germany, a country with a weird vibe.

It was on this trip that we found “Fuck The Hell” bar in the Schwabing district of Munich, where you got locked in till 11 am the following morning and your money was no good. The mad bartender, Paul, served his famous Volcano cocktails all night. Ken wrote a play “A Bar In Schwabing” about that bizarre Chekhovian evening, where everyone had an emotion and displayed it.

images by Wolynski, Munich, May 1973

"Jack Tripper Stole My Dog" by Paul McGuire

2011-06-27T15:48:00.000-07:00

I opened Pauly’s new book with some apprehension - don’t really read fiction anymore and if I do, it better have a good plot, interesting characters and move along at a fast clip - no literary wanking, please. Well, after the first few pages I knew “Jack Tripper Stole My Dog” was going to be a crackling good read.

Pauly can’t help but be a marvelous writer - words gush out of him a mile a minute and land on one of his 1700 blogs - OK, I exaggerate, there’s only a handful - Tao Of Pauly, Tao Of Poker, Tao Of Fear, Truckin’ (I’ve been a contributor here), Coventry Music, Tao Of Bacon… obviously the man is possessed by the love of writing. How he can keep up with all of this is beyond me.

Considered the best poker writer today ( the poker people pay the bills), his writing is not so much about the game as it is about life. Pauly can write about anything, even bacon.

“Jack Tripper Stole My Dog” was initially started in the aftermath of 9/11, when Pauly still lived in New York City. It follows the daily grind of a Russian cab driver, Ivan, and his passengers - the rants of the kooks, nut jobs and otherwise righteous are my favorite part of the book (actually the story of the flask is my fave - you‘ll just have to read it). The only thing wrong with the novel is that it’s a little too short - once you’ve established that everyone has a theory about 9/11 and how life really works - usually with sinister underpinnings - no need to stop until every crackpot idea has been exhausted. And then you inadvertently end up with the truth disguised as a comic novel, not that the truth matters.

There’s also plenty of violence and sex , which I so enjoy while sipping a proper cup of tea curled up on my couch. It’s not gratuitous - cab drivers have the most dangerous job and end up as part of that world. I asked Pauly why a Russian - McGuire is so Irish Catholic. Pauly used to tend bar in NYC and one of his regulars was a Russian cab driver. It’s a mark of a good writer when you take yourself out of your comfort zone and explore other cultures convincingly. Authors who describe only what they know are the reason I hardly read fiction anymore. Take me on a journey that’s surprising for both of us, as Pauly does - familiar places seen through foreign eyes.

“Jack Tripper Stole My Dog” is available at Pauly’s websites - great read for a good price.

Sometimes Ivan closed his eyes and tried to imagine what everyone in the city was doing at that exact time. (…)

He overheard an aging yuppie couple discussing Sartre’s influence on Tony Blair’s stance on Iraq, as they casually shopped for California wines and Nova Scotia lox at Zabar’s on the Upper West Side. He pictured all the rich pretty people enjoying their privileged lives - including surgically-enhanced waifs named Sutton and humorless stiffs named Tad, properly attired in catalogue clothes, as they mindlessly chatted on their cell phones, ignoring their other supper guests from snotty prep schools in Connecticut, the breezy ones who “jetted in from Provence” just to catch up with old chums, who themselves helplessly morphed into despicable characters from the Great Gatsby that Holden Caulfield scorned and plotted against. They didn’t blink at a $1,800 bill for a three-hour long six-course meal as they decadently sipped $100 glasses of Champagne. They became the one thing they said they would never become - vapid Randian capitalists - who ignored the plight of dozens of homeless panhandling in front of the hipster fusion restaurant of the week - a Guatemalan-Canadian-Icelandic-Nigerian-Cajun tapas bar on the Upper East Side. - from “Jack Tripper Stole My Dog” by Paul McGuire

image by Wolynski: Pauly McGuire at the 2011 WSOP

Sian Phillips, 1973

2011-06-24T17:11:00.000-07:00

What a face - if it looks familiar, it's because she played the murderous Livia in the brilliant mini-series "I Claudius". But not easy to photograph. At the age of 20 she was in a car crash and had to have her face reconstructed. Quite frankly, the first two rolls I shot were terrible - by the third roll, things started clicking - maybe we both relaxed. Actors hate to have their photo taken, because they have to be themselves and have no character to fall back on. At first, Sian was very uncomfortable, but I got her talking - the necklace cost 75 cents at a flea market. Then she told me stories of her then husband Peter O'Toole and his adventures in Poland while filming "Night Of The Generals". And then we took some photos. That outfit shouldn't have worked, but it did.

When I was a child, looking in the mirror was discouraged, as was beautifying oneself artificially. I didn't know anybody who wore make-up where I lived in Wales. The only good-looking people I knew were born that way and I sure wasn't one of those. I remember looking in the mirror as a child, and my mother and I laughing and laughing because I looked so homely. I was very plain and I didn't give a damn because I was as happy as a clam. I was having a wonderful time, performing, being made a fuss of and earning money. I realised early on that it didn't matter two hoots what I saw in the mirror.
In later life, I learned to disguise myself. I'd be on those lists in Vogue - "One of the 10 most pretty" - and it didn't fool me for a second, because I knew all I'd learned was to do myself up a bit.

When I was in my early 20s, I smashed up my face in a car accident. I thought, "Oh well, I'll play plain parts." I had to be persuaded to let Paramount Pictures send me to a doctor in East Grinstead to have my face reassembled and Columbia Pictures crowned my teeth. Left to myself, I wouldn't have bothered. So there I was, reassembled, but I don't have an emotional connection with what I saw in the mirror.

Now that I'm getting older, I can see that if I had a fraction of a lift around the lines from nose to mouth, it would make a world of difference to my face, but who am I to take the law of gravity personally? It happens to everybody, and it really doesn't matter. - Sian Phillips, The Guardian, 2009

images by Wolynski: Sian Phillips at Regents' Park Oranagery, 19th June 1973

Tom Waits, 1977

2011-06-20T17:25:00.000-07:00

Good lighting, a charismatic and expressive performer - even a blind monkey would get interesting photos.

The man chain smoked and this was 34 years ago. As far as I know, he's still around today. Good poster boy for leaving smokers alone.

images by Wolynski: Tom Waits at Club Paradise, Boston, 5th Oct 1977

Gilda Radner In George Abbott's "Broadway"

2011-06-17T14:39:00.000-07:00

George Abbott wrote "Broadway" in 1926 - it was revived 51 years later at the Berkshire Theater Festival, starring Gilda Radner, Chris Sarandon and William Atherton - a fun, summer romp about gangsters and showgirls.

Couldn't help noticing Gilda was seriously anorexic and showgirls are supposed to be curvy - still, it was Gilda.

The production was the most underlit I've ever photographed - why do lighting designers equate darkness with artistry? You have three attractive leads, so show them already.

Chris Sarandon was Susan's first husband - boy, does she have good taste in men. Everyone in Stockbridge had a crush on Chris. Drop dead gorgeous. Wonder why he never became a big star.

images by Wolynski: "Broadway" at Berkshire Theater Festival, Stockbridge, Mass, 4th July 1977

Gilda Radner At The Berkshire Theater Festival

2011-06-13T14:06:00.000-07:00

Gilda and Chris Sarandon

Chris Sarandon, Gilda, William Atherton

Gilda was already famous because of Saturday Night Live when she decided to do a Broadway musical called "Broadway" in the idyllic village of Stockbridge, Mass - nice way to spend the summer (for the photographer as well).

images by Wolynski: June - July 1977

Impressions Of Kirkby, Liverpool, 1971

2011-06-10T17:14:00.000-07:00

Sylvester and Elizabeth trying to warm up, still in our overcoats - no place had heating in Kirkby


Judith, Sylvester, Gavin Richards, Ken Campbell - the VW van was also the changing room

Ken Campbell brought his Roadshow to the most deprived place in England. Normally landscapes did not interest me, but this urban blight did - gray and grimy all the time, pubs the only escape.

Scenes From A Campaign

2011-06-08T18:18:00.000-07:00

The youthful energy hits you the moment you enter campaign headquarters - teenagers and kids (children of volunteers) of every race and class in a giant melting pot, along with older folk, all excited to be part of Chris G’s all-inclusive team. Nicest people I’ve ever met in Vegas.

Then Chris G arrives - a hug and a kiss and kind words for each and every person. Knowing she’s not going to win this one, smiling and laughing and holding up morale, making everyone feel like the most important person in the room. If I didn’t know better, I’d swear I just attended a giant victory party. Brains, humor, empathy and class and she's still not Mayor?

images by Wolynski

Ken Campbell's Roadshow In Edinburgh, 1972: Sylvester McCoy

2011-06-06T14:35:00.000-07:00

Sylvester McCoy, Marcel Steiner, Eugene Geasley doing the levitation

The guy had to move in for a closer look

Not magic

Marcel the bearded lady gets married

Another mishap

Ken Campbell's Roadshow at the Waverely Market, Edinburgh, Sep 72. After almost 40 years this still looks like a lot of fun.

images by Wolynski

When Poker Players Have To Play Poker

2011-06-03T14:28:00.000-07:00

Magriel at the 2010 WSOP

As it turns out, most poker players, especially the famous ones, are broke. Now that online poker has been banned in the U.S. they’ve all lost their sponsorships and a lot of them have had to resort to actually playing poker to make money - there’s been sightings of Doyle and Negreanu at the Aria and in my little poker room at Bally’s, the world’s greatest authority on backgammon and a finalist in a few WPT final tables, Paul Magriel (Mr Quack Quack) has taken up residence at the NL 1-2 games. Broke indeed, all trying to raise money for buy-ins at the WSOP.

It’s not that the famous players haven’t made money, but they’ve pissed it all away (easy come, easy go) on sports betting, craps and insane prop bets amongst themselves. The online sites used to rain big dollars on the poker community - it was all parties, free-flowing booze, gifts at the WSOP - now it’s a bit of a mausoleum. Without that influx of big money, I’m afraid the WSOP will return to being a sleepy little event of no consequence. The only thing keeping it alive is the ESPN broadcasts and how long will that last without star players participating? They’ll probably still be here this year, but no one wants to put up $10,000 of their own money for a crap shoot. Yeah, $10,000 to go up against the best in the business - thanks, but no thanks. Chris Moneymaker got there with a $40 investment online and that’s how the poker boom began. Without online money, the WSOP is doomed. Poker has been branded illegal and unlawful. If you can’t play at home and dream the dream, what’s the point of watching it on ESPN?

The fall out from all of this is that Magriel sat down at my table at Bally’s on my right. Oh, great, now I’m up against a mathematical genius. The table was already difficult, now impossible. I was already down. However, I got an AK and joined the fray of a big pot looming. On the turn, I made the nut straight. Magriel made a giant bet, I went all-in, everyone else folded and Magriel called. I instantly assumed we both had the same hand and it would be a split pot. Imagine my surprise when he turned over a KQ for a lower straight. The dealer pushed all these chips towards me and I was a bit shocked. I have Magriel’s money? How can that be? Even a blind hen…

I played the rush for a few hands and then felt hungry. Bally’s has $2 Nathan’s hot dogs and I asked Magriel if he’d like one - he eagerly accepted. I brought back our food. Turns out without the TV lights, he’s quite normal - not quite the idiot savant he pretends to be.

In Vegas, I don’t need online poker - I can always go out and join some live strangers in a game. But I’m wondering how long people will keep coming to play now that the rug has been pulled from underneath everyone. Maybe I should take up bowling.

Image by Wolynski

Billy Connolly,1972

2011-05-29T17:32:00.000-07:00

The Great Northern Welly Boot Show

The guy in the hat certainly looks like a young Bill Nighy - who else is so dapper?

In Edinburgh Ken Campbell's Roadshow was sharing space with The Great Northern Welly Boot Show, a musical about striking dock workers. Its author and star, a scruffy lunatic, kept insisting I take his photo - I had my hands full with my own lunatics, but I obliged. Just the other day while looking through negatives I realized this mad man grew up to be the legendary Scottish comic Billy Connolly.

images by Wolynski: Billy Connolly, 7th Sep 1972

Alan Devlin, 1973

2011-05-27T18:06:00.000-07:00

Ken Campbell's "Pilk's Madhouse", Royal Court Upstairs, Jan 73

Pilk changing his baby's diapers (with Eugene Geasley)


Ken Campbell's "Stonehenge Kit", Edinburgh, Sep 72 (with Marcel Steiner)

Alan Devlin, the grand old man of Irish stage, died two weeks ago. I'm amazed he lasted that long - dreadful drinker - completely bonkers - in and out of lunatic asylums and homeless for long stretches, but a sweetheart.

If you were nuts, Ken Campbell would use you.

Ken Campbell's Stonehenge Kit The Ancient Brit

2011-05-25T11:21:00.000-07:00

Eugene Geasley, Marcel Steiner

Marcel Steiner, Sylvester McCoy

Alan Devlin, Ken Campbell, Sylvester McCoy, Jeni Barnett

Sylvester McCoy

Ken Campbell, Sylvester McCoy

While in Edinburgh doing the Stonehenge show, Ken decided we should do a photo shoot in the hills - bring the cavemen to their natural setting.

Alan Devlin, who died on May 13th, went on to become the grand old man of Irish stage and its most drunken and notorious actor. While performing in Gilbert & Sullivan's "HMS Pinafore" in Dublin, suddenly in the middle of the show, he said "Fuck it, I'm going home" and walked off stage in costume. He went to the bar next door unaware he was still miked - the audience could hear him ordering drinks and muttering what a pile of rubbish Gilbert & Sullivan is. Oddly enough, when the show was transferred to London, Alan was re-hired - it sold out, the audiences hoping he would walk out again.

images by Wolynski: Stonehenge Kit in Edinburgh, Sep 72

An Evening With Sylvester McCoy

2011-05-22T15:09:00.000-07:00

After Kirkby, Ken Campbell’s Roadshow moved to the Royal Court Theatre Upstairs, London in Jan 72. It evolved into an evening with Sylveste McCoy, a hapless stuntman who quite couldn’t get the tricks right. Ken’s goal was to write and direct the worst show ever, during which the audience would have the time of their life. And they did. At intermission the entire audience was taken outside, so Sylveste could eat fire and explode a bomb on his chest.

Sylvester’s real name is Kent Smith, but there was an American actor already called that. So he went with the name Ken Campbell thought up for him. Years later both of them auditioned for the part of the seventh Doctor Who and Sylvester got it. Now, according to what I read on the Internet, Sylvester is filming “The Hobbit”, a prequel to “Lord Of The Rings”. Couldn’t have happened to a nicer and sweeter man.

Images by Wolynski: Sylvester McCoy at the Royal Court Theatre, Jan 72, standing in front of a photo I took in Kirkby. The fire eating was actually taken in Edinburgh months later, requiring split second timing - after numerous tries I finally got it exactly right.

Ken Campbell Roadshow In Kirkby, Liverpool

2011-05-20T01:36:00.000-07:00

Sylvester McCoy, Gavin Richards, Marcel Steiner at Kirkby shopping center

Sylvester McCoy and Marcel Steiner wrestling in old folk's home

Sylvester McCoy at primary school

Ken Campbell

Sylvester McCoy

The ferret who went down Sylvester's trousers

In 1971 Ken Campbell received a grant from the Arts Council to take his Roadshow to culturally deprived areas - take theatre to places where they don’t have any. The BBC wanted to do a documentary and they picked the worst place in Britain with the highest unemployment - Kirkby on the outskirts of Liverpool, a bleak and desolate housing project that grew into the size of a city without one cinema, but a pub on every corner.

They put on shows in the shopping center, old folks’ homes, schools and pubs, which involved wrestling, banging a nail up Sylvester's nose and stuffing a ferret down his trousers - the Sunday tabloids had a field day attacking the Arts Council with headlines “It’s Funny, But Is It Art?”. Well, exactly, it was funny.

The shows at night in the pubs were downright dangerous, because riots would break out - we witnessed stabbings and beatings and one time had to escape through a small window in the ladies’ toilet - all of us, including (and especially) the BBC crew. At night Kirkby was a war zone.

Those nine days are firmly etched in memory as the grimmest place I’ve ever visited, although the company was fun. They put us up in a technical college that had all the allure of Holloway Prison - freezing cold and damp. At night I kept hearing the pitter patter of feet across the floor, so the ferrets slept with me - not much use at catching rats, but they humped all night in my bed.

I remember England of the early 70’s as dank and dismal with strikes, rolling power cuts and IRA bombs going off in crowded places - the ladies in the old people’s home are inside, but all wearing overcoats - yes, that was England. It’s improved since then, at least in London, or maybe global warming has made things better. No wonder a girl had to bolt for America.

images by Wolynski: Kirkby, Liverpool 22-29th Nov 1971

more photos of Kirkby

Stan Getz, 1977

2011-05-18T12:38:00.000-07:00

Stan Getz was puckish and fun and loved to hang with the ladies. Maggie Soboil trailed him with her tape recorder and I with my camera.

images by Wolynski, Boston. Dec 1977

Chris Giunchigliani For Mayor

2011-05-16T10:14:00.000-07:00

Interesting mayoral race we’re having in Vegas - Chris Giunchigliani ( known to all as Chris G) versus Carolyn Goodman, wife of departing mayor Oscar Goodman. So basically it’s Chris G against Oscar Goodman. That’s the American way - if you want to stay beyond your term limit, have your spouse run.

Oscar is our colorful mayor, former lawyer to mobsters (mobstars in Vegas), who seemed a perfect fit for when this was a boomtown. Now that Vegas is leading the country in foreclosures and unemployment, there is no reason to have him hang around for a moment longer - all those businesses he claimed to have attracted haven’t done anyone a spit of good.

Chris G is the genuine article - worked her way up from waitressing to getting a degree in special education - she worked with disadvantaged children and then in local politics, sharp as a tack and uproariously funny. I know her from when we were in the trenches together, fighting the Stratosphere roller coaster. Not interested in brown-nosing the rich and powerful, doesn’t care in lining her own pockets or lining up a cushy job - what kind of politician is this anyway that anyone can have a beer with? Happy living with her husband Gary in the old ‘hood and not a shred of pretense - jeans, backpack, a pair of old sneakers and off she goes.

Before anyone ever votes, imagine being stuck with your candidate in an elevator for 6 hours. If only people did that, American politics would be restored to sanity. Who would you rather shoot the shit with, Chris G or Carolyn Goodman? Who would be more interesting? At the end of the day, that’s all politics comes down to.

Can’t bear the thought of being stuck with Oscar and his wife in an elevator for 6 hours - they’d probably freak after 20 minutes. The Obamas likewise - Barry likes his creature comforts too much and what could we possibly talk about? Hope? The Clintons would be more fun, although Hillary would have to sit between me and Bill - we’d probably discuss music and have singalongs. George Bush wouldn’t be a happy camper, but if Laura were there and I had a pack of cigarettes, I’d be her new best friend. Nancy and her Ronnie? A very gloomy 6 hours. Hate to admit it, but time would fly with Sarah Palin.

Now I have to go and work some more on my neighbor, a working class guy who insists on voting against his best interest. Voting for Chris G is a no-brainer - working stiffs with no brains are for Carolyn. Why do people vote for a rich boss instead of one of their own?

Images by Wolynski: Chris Giunchigliani and supporters

Andrew Llloyd Webber, Yvonne Elliman, 1978

2011-05-13T15:57:00.000-07:00

One day I was dispatched to cover a press conference along with Maggie Soboil, who did the interviewing (the Woodstock & Bernstein of the music business) given by an Englishman, Andrew Lloyd Webber. He’d written “Jesus Christ Superstar”, which was still mainly unknown in the U.S. Andrew was in Boston promoting the album “Variations On The Theme Of Paganini” written for his brother Julian, the cellist.

The ballroom at the Hyatt was full. First, a film was screened about the making of the album, after which the composer would answer questions. When the lights finally came up, Andrew Lloyd Webber took center stage, ready to talk to us. However, at this precise moment, the partition to the other side of the ballroom opened, revealing a sumptuous buffet laid on by the record company - shrimp, roast beef, ribs, the works. The entire crowd rose and made a mad dash for the food, like a pack of ravenous hyenas - hey, they were all starving.

The room emptied and Andrew Lloyd Webber just stood there stunned, his mouth opening and closing like a goldfish. Obviously no one had any questions. Maggie and I stayed firmly planted at our table near the front - we were the only ones left, although the shrimp looked tempting So we raised our hands to ask questions. Maggie politely asked him to join our table for lunch, which he did gratefully. As it happens, I had already bought the album of “Evita” for $2 from a cutout bin, so I had plenty to ask. The American press, at this time, dismissed this future most commercially successful composer in the history of the world, but not Woodstock & Bernstein - we knew better.

After lunch we went up to his suite, where Maggie interviewed and I photographed. We had done the same with Yvonne Elliman a couple of months earlier, who was the original Mary Magdalene in “Jesus Christ Superstar” in London, on Broadway and in the film. She also had a massive hit from the Saturday Night Fever soundtrack “If I Can’t Have You”.

Yvonne said she’d been discovered by Lloyd Webber and Tim Rice, his lyricist, while busking (singing) in Leicester Square - they happened to be in line for a movie and she was entertaining the crowd for pennies. They offered her Mary Magdalene - at the time the albums came before the stage production. Now they could pay her 100 pounds or give her 1% of “Superstar” for ever. Yvonne took one look at the scruffs and took the 100 pounds - these two were going nowhere. Ouch. Ouch, ouch and ouch.

Can’t say I’ve liked anything by Andrew Lloyd Webber after “Evita. The brilliant lyrics of Tim Rice gave the musicals a cheeky edge. After they parted, the music became ponderous and syrupy. But what do I know - “Cats” and “Phantom Of The Opera” are the two longest running shows on Broadway.

images by Wolynski: Andrew Lloyd Webber, 6th April, 1978

Bob Hoskins, 1973

2011-05-11T16:09:00.000-07:00

While still at photography & film school, I had a brisk side business taking headshots of actors. I knew Bob from Ken Campbell’s Roadshow and he starred in both my student films - he was a bundle of energy, charismatic, funny and there was a buzz about him indicating greater things to come.

Natural light was preferred - actors needed to look interesting, but not improved.

As Bob and I were walking from my home at 40 Abbey Road to St. John’s Wood Cemetery, he took out a green pill and broke it in half. Here, take this. What is it? You’ll see, just take it. Bob was persuasive so we both swallowed some.

The bearded photos were taken just as we started to laugh uproariously. We returned home to shave the beard. Bob was laughing so hard, my mother had to step in and do the shaving. And then the hallucinations started.

Bob had given us LSD (or acid as it’s called today) - I have no idea how I took these photos - the grass was orange, trees moved about, I saw three Bobs and had no idea which one to focus on and he spoke with an echo.

Finally, we both collapsed on the grass.

Bob went on to make “Roger Rabbit”, “Mona Lisa”, “The Long Good Friday”, “The Cotton Club”, “Pennies From Heaven” and many more. Just saw “Made In Dagenham” about women’s struggle for equal pay - not a great film, too syrupy where it should‘ve been gritty, but Bob is always worth watching.

As for me, I resolved never to take LSD again, but moved to Vegas, which is basically the same thing.

Images by Wolynski: Bob Hoskins, St. John’s Wood Cemetery, 14th April 1973.

America Kills A Ghost

2011-05-09T09:50:00.000-07:00

Is that all there is? An ailing old man shuffling about a bleak compound filled with shabby furniture, never able to go out - entombed already - this was our mortal enemy? Hardly Hitler, who had amassed the world’s most powerful army in his time. Maybe one day we’ll really piss off China - then we’ll have something to fear on a daily basis.

Linh Dinh sums it all up in a piece on Counterpunch - more holes in this story than a giant lump of Swiss cheese. It seemed as if the man was already dead - never heard from him in almost a decade, except through a couple of dubious videos. What makes any civilization worth living in are four words: innocent until proven guilty. No one knows for sure (I only know what I read) if the man had anything to do with that September morning. Well, obviously not directly - the maggots who perpetrated this atrocity are all dead.

And then there’s the method: sending Navy Seals to gun down an unarmed old man, who could have easily been taken alive and made to stand trial. Hey, what’s good for John Dillinger and Bonnie & Clyde… Then the final surprise: the body was deposited in the ocean. If you have him, show him - wouldn’t be the first time special forces dropped in on the wrong household. Too lightly guarded for a man of great importance.

And what has all this accomplished besides some morbid dancing in front of the White House? A lot more inconvenience at airports, but not much help in the re-election. Anyone would think our president had personally squiggled down a rope in the middle of the night. No, he sat in a hi-tech cave, safe and pampered, his only worry those blasted polls.

Problem is, who’s the enemy now? Have to have one to keep the war machine oiled. A bunch of rag tag terrorists is too vague. Have to have a menacing figurehead, hopefully resembling Fagin from the musical “Oliver” - an all-powerful marionette our noble president can vanquish in due course. What a pathetic cast of characters we’re chasing.

Americans don’t know the meaning of war - if it’s not troops marching through town or a Sunday wedding pulverized by an unseen drone, exploding your wife and kids into instant ash, it’s not war. War isn’t something that happens far away - it’s nasty, brutal and immediate. What a bunch of pot-bellied armchair warriors we’ve become, dancing in front of the White House as if some great victory had taken place. In fact, nothing was achieved, save for the president’s bragging rights.

Some say war came on that September morning. Absolutely horrific but it was an incident perpetrated by very twisted men, no different from Oklahoma City. There’ll always be kooks who think a deity speaks to them, whether foreign or home grown. Others say if we weren’t bombing the Middle East in the first place, none of this would’ve happened. We can dish it out, but can’t take it.

I’m sorry if I don’t feel particularly victorious. Frankly, I’m more concerned watching the businesses in my neighborhood fall like dominoes. The assassination of a crazed old fart in some fly-infested country does not create jobs. I’d be a lot happier if they arrested a few top bankers for bilking the public and destroying the economy - now that might get me dancing.

Time to get over that September morning already.

Scenes From A Minor Gershwin Musical

2011-05-08T18:58:00.000-07:00

images by Wolynski: "Let 'Em Eat Cake" at the Berkshire Theater Festival, June 1978

I spent a couple of seasons at the Berkshire Theater Festival, Stockbridge, Massachusetts, a summer stock playhouse for stars on the way up and on the way down. Tony Roberts ( "Annie Hall" and the early Woody Allen films) and Arnold Stang from TV starred in Gershwin's "Let 'Em Eat Cake". The musical had political skullduggery, revolutions and baseball - the most convoluted plot that nobody could follow.