Everybody knows that New York City was a lot cooler 40 years ago. Sure, there was crime and corruption and the kind of lawlessness that spawned Travis Bickle and Bronson in Death Wish, but somehow out of that Petri dish of filth sprouted a fantastic downtown art scene. In the mid-70s, the same renaissance was happening across the pond in the UK, and photographer Mick Rock—nicknamed “The Man Who Shot the 70s”—somehow managed to document both blossoming worlds.
For my sins in a former life, I’ve been forced to spend an inordinate amount of time with musicians in this life. Of course, I love them.
A camera is a wonderful ally. It requires minimal maintenance and provides entry to a world of endless imagery.
My ambition was not to be a great photographer (though that certainly would have been a worthy stance). It was a lust to embrace anything that startled or energized me.
I am not in the business of documenting or revealing personalities. I am in the business of freezing shadows and bottling auras.
Without the rock ‘n rollers, I would not have developed as an image man.
You want to shock people with a bit of mystery and beauty. That’s my favorite kind of shocking.
I’ve never felt like a voyeur, although I’ve certainly done plenty of looking!
There’s an art to looking back - how to celebrate the past without being entrapped by it. Photographs provide the great physical link.
My allegiance was always to the act. I wanted them to be happy. I wasn’t owned by a magazine or a record label.
I smell pictures more than I see them and I hear pictures more than I can smell them. It’s very habit forming.
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