F16

 

 

 

 

 

The world is going down the toilet. As Israel bombs whichever the fuck country it wants to, Russia continues its brutal destruction of Ukraine and Poland's had to launch F16s to shoot down Putin's drones. On top of that, and literally as we speak, France is going nuts at tyre-burning blockades around the country because a Prime Minister had the temerity to tell them they're up shit creek without a paddle ..

What's wrong with this picture? Yes, exactly .. this is two people TALKING to each other, back in the days before tweeting and texting and thinking the worst of your fellow man (woman!) because they didn't agree with your social media stance. I wish our leaders were like this, meeting over the divide to communicate and hammer things out. Maybe even reaching out a considerate arm to better facilitate their dialogue ..

I pine for simpler days, when F16 was a camera aperture and tweeting was left to the sparrows and the blue tits. I realise they were only simpler because I was young and gormless and ignorant of the world about me, but it would be nice to go back there for a while, wouldn't it!

Balls ..

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Today's blog isn't a blog, because I was going to blog about all the pretensions that surround a lot of photography but, having just watched the 'I am Martin Parr' documentary, I can leave it to Grayson Perry, who sums it all up nicely, thank you very much. In the film he talks about the 'wafts of philosophical waffle' that often pervade the art of photography. It's a load of balls, in other words! Ooh look, a picture with a ball in it .. deep! (I can't explain why I like this photo so much. As a kid, 'training' myself to be a press photographer in the 1970s, I used to photograph the Sunday League footballers who played on the field behind our house. It used to amuse me that, just like us, these 'grown-ups' would often lose their ball too, and have to send someone off into the undergrowth to retrieve it!)
 

End of non-blog!

    

Backs against the wall ..

 

 

 

 

 

 

I'm hearing a lot about the British flag appearing all over the UK, and how that's not going down so well in some quarters. Here in France the tricolour flies everywhere, a welcome sign of civic and national pride. If only that was the reason a lot of the Union Jacks are being displayed in the UK. Anyway, I'm not getting into politics, I just wanted an excuse to show you one of my old photographs, a picture taken on Jane Street in Salford during the celebrations for the Queen's 1977 Silver Jubilee. Jane Street has long gone, a chap takes his life in his hands when he attempts street photography of kids these days, and the simple meaning behind the good ol' red, white and blue has gone out of the window .. Sigh!

I'm in love with the girl on the ...

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

In photography, some things just work. A young couple hug in Eccles precinct, the lad's arms wrapped tightly around his girlfriend with a dangling 'sign' that says 'Virgin'! But I think this photograph is made so much better by the fact that the kid has spotted my camera. It's like we've caught him 'at it' .. we know what his plan might be now with this young lady, who almost seems embarrassed to have been discovered with him .. or am I reading too much into it? On another level, remember when everyone went around with LPs (they were never albums back then) in plastic bags from record shops? And, of course, this all ties in nicely with my Chris Sievey blog, as his band The Freshies did that famous track 'I'm In Love With The Girl On The Manchester Virgin Megastore Checkout Desk'. Hey, maybe that's her!

In me 'ead!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Chris Sievey would have been 70 years old yesterday. Shocking to think he didn't make it past 54, the poor bugger, and even harder to realise he's already been dead for 15 years. Chris was Frank Sidebottom, if you see what I mean. It was his head inside Frank's, the only way he ever gained any real taste of fame after his band The Freshies failed to make it big. I was lucky enough to photograph a gig by the group in 1979, and shot them again a couple of days later during a fun day out in Sale. Years after that, I photographed 'Frank' at some launch event after I'd cheekily encouraged him to creep up behind Sophie, the Duchess of Edinburgh. (She wasn't best pleased after she spotted him, I can tell you!!) So this is for you, Chris. I just want you to know you're inside my 'ead, too!

65, eh? ..

 

 

 

 

 

Bloody hell, I've reached the grand old age of 65. Happy Birthday to me! Until recently*, hitting that milestone used to mean retirement after 50 years of hard graft and probably death within a fortnight! Sixty-five meant you were an old-aged pensioner, put out into the long grass to concentrate on your hobbies and contemplate the approaching end. It meant an awkward little soirée with your work-mates and a speech from the boss, two cans of Watney's, a gold clock and a bouquet for the missus. Until I was eighteen I worked at the Gardner Diesel factory in Eccles, where there were retirement parties like those in the offices and on the shop floor on a regular basis. I used them to 'practice' press photography, honing my skills until the day I could quit my shitty job and start working full-time on a newspaper. Here are pictures from two such events, the lucky new pensioners gripping hands with their gaffers and staring their demise in the face. How I feel for the chap that received an electric razor ..

*If I were still working, I would now face another two years at the coal-face before my time was 'up'. The retirement age was raised to 67, which makes me feel all the better (smug alert) for retiring a full ten years early. Anyone for frisbee?

Modest men, lovely men ..

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

As a follow-on from my 'Read this' post, here's a photograph I took of André Kertész with a cake that was made for his 90th birthday. It was July 1984 and he was at the Museum of Photography, Film and Television in Bradford for the opening of a wonderful exhibition of his work. (It was there that I first came across the word 'festschrift' - a collection of works published in honour of an artist - because I bought a copy and still have it, signed by the great man himself .. )

I believe Salford artist Harold Riley had a lot to do with bringing this exhibition to life. I lived down the road from him and photographed him often. "I'm a painter," he modestly told a lady at an event one time. "Oh yes?" she replied. "Can you give me a quote to emulsion our front room!" ..

Modest men, lovely men. I hope they're chattering together excitedly in heaven ..

Ps: This is from an original print, on RC paper, with my hand-written caption up the side!