Anna Webber - Los Angeles Photographer

LAST NIGHT: CSN, Jackson Browne, Keb’ Mo’

admin — Thu, 13 May 2010 18:44:06 +0000

Second Annual “Dream, Believe, Achieve” Gala Last Night Featured Performances By Jackson Browne, Crosby, Stills & Nash, Ben Harper, Keb’ Mo’ last night at the Skirball Center.

Click to hear CSN Live Audio (from inside my pocket)

David Crosby performs for the ICEF Foundation at the Skirball Ctr., Los Angeles, CA

What do you think of when you hear the names Jackson Browne, CSN, Keb’ Mo’ and Ben Harper? And then throw them in an intimate room with inner city school kids, foi gras, and fancy guests?

Last night these legendary musicians raised just over $472,000 for one of the largest private entrepreneurial foundations that brings success in the arts to schools in areas with some of the highest dropout rates. Teenagers who would otherwise never make it to the end of their high school term, let alone move onto college, are now mentored and encouraged by this organization, and are accepted into top schools like Dartmouth, Berkeley, even IVY leagues like Yale and Harvard.

Jackson Browne © ANNA WEBBER 2010

Success Through the Arts Foundation, co-founded by Jackson Browne, focuses its efforts on using the arts to help young people realize their full potential by creating an environment where students of all ages who have been traditionally underserved by the public schools, can learn to appreciate and produce music and art.

Last night these kids brought out their musical talents and covered songs by Jackson Browne, a formal tribute to a longtime mentor. They played on the same stage as CSN, Ben Harper, Jackson Browne, and Keb’ Mo’ – a bone chilling room to be in. Usually to see that kind of talent as a westsider, that means a drive to the Hollywood Bowl or Staples Center. Last night, we got them intimately in our own backyard.

Stephen Stills © ANNA WEBBER 2010

Graham Nash © ANNA WEBBER 2010

David Crosby © ANNA WEBBER 2010

Keb' Mo' © ANNA WEBBER 2010

Ben Harper © ANNA WEBBER 2010

David Crosby and Monty Python's Eric Idle © ANNA WEBBER 2010

Fernando Pullum, Keb' Mo', David Crosby, and guest © ANNA WEBBER 2010

T-Bird Shoot Part 2: The Urban Cowboy

admin — Thu, 06 May 2010 23:24:22 +0000

View the making of this shoot here:

T-Bird Shoots with Anna Webber

I eventually got hold of a generator rental facility in Austin, TX. I needed the 2000 EU Honda Generator – a pure sine generator, 120 volts at the minimum. I didn’t bring my battery pack to SXSW this time around, it’s a small 27 lb. cumbersome brick. If I had a converter, I could probably have run it off a car battery, but I wasn’t sure how like 4700 watts of light power would respond to my brother’s patchwork cattywompus RAM van.

Anyway, I picked the thing up, filled it full of gasoline, and off we went to meet T-Bird on the East side of town. I set up some lights around the caddy (already present), T-Bird arrived, and we shot while my brother James DJ’ed out of the very same wompus van mentioned previous. We grabbed these here shots —->

T-Bird, Birds, Propane and Mojo.

admin — Thu, 06 May 2010 21:58:03 +0000

In two hours on one gorgeous morning in Austin, twelve or thirteen of us gave birth to one of my favorite photoshoots. (I know I know, how can you say that? It’s like picking a favorite gun, or beer, or kid even).

When I was told, “Anna – I need you to shoot a 10-piece Texas funk band.” Ten people? Make 10 people look cool all at the same time? “Okie doke.”

To side-track, this is the shoot where I looked down at my camera, which I had resting in an open acoustic guitar case, and thought, If Robert Rodriguez were here, I’d have him made me one of those cool gun cases where I could shoot my Canon like this—>

I’ve always wanted one of those.

Anyway, solving that riddle might have been way more hopeless had we not made a BBQ party out that gorgeous afternoon. I wanted Questlove to man the barbeque, but he was too busy to man some BBQ in Austin that day, so, whatever. We just had to make do.

I also, wanted the ribs to be flying out of the pinata, but that didn’t happen either. What am I?

Anyway, after it all, we made this:

T-Bird and the Breaks, "Day party"

And This:

T-Bird and his one legged tree bird

So… T-Bird, The Breaks, they’re breaking a Bird Pinata… Not too in-your-face of a metaphor, huh?

Props included: pinatas, Pacificos, propane, an old Cadillac, 10 awkward musicians standing around (no offense), a BBQ, an impossibly huge flame, and drumstick chopsticks. And a record player. A perfect recipe to make some things happen.

Check out the shoot video here:

T-Bird and the Breaks shoot with Photographer Anna Webber

www.tbirdandthebreaks.com

Photographer/stylist/storyteller: Anna Webber

Fancy iPhone footage: James Webber (www.whitecrowe.net)

EXCLUSIVE: Legendary Rock Photographer Jim Marshall Remembered by Baron Wolman, Neal Preston, Lisa Law and Other Colleagues

admin — Wed, 31 Mar 2010 01:14:45 +0000

(Original Story HERE AT LA Weekly)

[Legendary rock photographer Jim Marshall passed away last week at 74.

One of our own photographers and writers, Anna Webber, wrote this personal reminiscence about Marshall and his legacy. She contacted Marshall's fellow purveyors of iconic '60s images and got their exclusive permission to reproduce here some of their shots of Marshall. This is a rare chance to see the man behind the camera captured by some of his best colleagues.]

The Water is Muddy, the Belly Is Lead, the Wolf is Howlin, the Heat is Canned. Jim Marshall, Rock and Roll Photography Legend, 74, Dies.

After getting the message about Jim Marshall’s passing last Wednesday, my heart went narrow. And my hand — surely leaked mojo. “Too close for comfort, baby,” I thought. “But as always, too far away.”

Jim was responsible for some of the most iconic rock n’ roll photography this world has ever seen. His work can be seen in galleries internationally, and his legend, like fellow music photographer Neal Preston explains below, “truly preceded [him] — like an R. Crumb cartoon character, drawn walking down a street with his feet and legs 10 feet in front of him.”

I met Jim while I was working for Baron Wolman, most famous for his seminal photography for Rolling Stone Magazine in the late 60s through the early 70s. At the time, Jim made it abundantly clear he wasn’t thrilled by me — a 19 year-old girl with a camera who liked to take pictures of rock stars.

It was the mere thought of yet another music photographer that made him twitch, in a world where music photography is so saturated — almost demeaned — and where few new photographers seemed to know the difference between aperture and f-stop, or that it was a trick question.

Jim did not feel that way because he was threatened. How can anyone ever attempt to be as good as him? He’d taken all the pictures already. So, little girl, what are you gonna do? That’s Jim. Jim is the guy that will inspire you, the guy so close yet so far from reach, the guy who would look at you — a wide eyed kid — and say, “The world doesn’t need another music photographer.”

Jim Marshall’s legend will not only live well beyond our lifetime. It now has the chance to take the mythical, otherworldy form perhaps only big-screen gurus like Tim Burton, David Lynch, Cameron Crowe, Tarantino, Scorsese, et al could take on. Which one, I can’t say.

But if they won’t, I will.

When I can see a character onscreen who pulls a gun on an encroaching photographer in a photopit at the SF Fillmore West circa 1968, or watch someone tell Johnny Cash to pose for the Warden and receive the iconic San Quentin finger shot, I’ll have been delivered. I can definitely see a feature film bent on Jim Marshall’s scathing, extraordinary persona, artistic lunacy, confidence and candor.

The way I see it, it’s a Big Fish sort of film, where the story gathers into some mythical world, with an abrasiveness only Tarantino could conjure (with guns, mud and ammo), or a humorous reality which could only hurl headlong from the wit of Cameron Crowe (or David Lynch), or a “No Direction Home” type of documentary from Scorsese stock.

After March 24, 2010 perhaps, this film will be made.

When I thought about how to conceivably write a piece on Mr. Marshall, now as a 23 year-old full-time career music photographer (take that, Jim!) I figured it had to be a compilation of stories, anecdotes, thoughts and reels from Jim’s life, from Jim’s closest friends and colleagues.

I’ve heard stories. Dare I try to speak them? It would only be a piece fueled by rumors (of which there are countless). I contacted these greats, asked targeted questions, then realized who I was asking and wrote back: “Or, you can talk about none of that and just write what you want.”

They did anyway.

I spoke with Baron Wolman, Neal Preston, Lisa Law, a few other close friends and acquaintances, and regrettably, could not track down our own, Henry Diltz. I’m including their intact responses to me on Jim, all of which can now be filed under historical memorabilia.

NEAL PRESTON

I was a friend of Jim Marshall’s for 35 years.

He was a very complicated person. As the news of his passing spreads, a lot of things will be said and written about him- and I dare say all of them will be true. His much-larger-than-life personality was legendary.

He was stubborn, crass, and temperamental to a fault. He could be extremely mean, aggressive and threatening – even towards someone he’d just met…and as his friends can attest to, that was just the tip of a very dark iceberg. Jim was more comfortable around loaded guns than anyone I’ve ever known, and that includes cops, drug dealers, military, and D.E.A. agents. In fact, I’d always thought that when Jim died it would be caused by some sort of cocaine-and whiskey fueled gunplay gone awry.

Jim really reveled in that dark persona. He loved that his legend truly preceded himself – like an R. Crumb cartoon character, drawn walking down a street with his feet and legs 10 feet in front of him.

Where that dark legend that he’d cultivated so lovingly came into play was when it came to business. There wasn’t a record company art director alive that didn’t cower when the time came to call Jim about a project. Picture researchers with less than 20 years tenure were not even people he’d speak to on the phone, much less work with. Usually there was one lone person at a record company or magazine that by default was designated “the guy that Jim likes” or “the guy that gets Marshall on the phone”…. or the ultimate compliment, “the guy that can cut a deal with Jim and actually get him to send pictures”. It was an art or photo department badge of honor to be that person. Trust me, there aren’t a lot of those people out there. They know who they are and they know EXACTLY what I’m talking about.

He loved the finer things in life and didn’t give a rat’s ass what anybody thought of him OR his lifestyle. But Jim’s really filthy nasty secret was that he was a sweetheart of a guy who was generous and extremely kind to the people he cared about. He just wanted to dole out that kindness on his own terms. He’d badger rich people for cash to buy his prints and he’d give the same prints away to some girl he’d met 10 minutes ago. Just last month, at a dinner for 10 people where he picked up the check (easily $1000), I watched him berate one of our waitresses for 2 hours and then slip her a $100 bill above and beyond the huge tip he’d already added to the bill. She looked as if she couldn’t decide if she wanted to slug him or kiss him. There isn’t an art director on the planet that hasn’t felt that way about Jim.

But there was something else, something deep in his DNA, that lived inside of Jim Marshall that was beyond bluster or ego. That something else was a simple, unshakeable sense of supreme confidence – the confidence that came with knowing that he was THE master of his chosen craft. He was the best there ever was and the best there ever will be.

Neal Preston
Studio City, CA
March 2010

BARON WOLMAN

I’m writing this from Munich, Anna, where I and some fellow photographers and musicians learned the sad news. There is so much I could tell you, but I must be brief.

First this from another well-known rock shooter, Lynn Goldsmith, who emailed me yesterday:

“Jim passed on last night
in his sleep
clean sheets
nice hotel
lucky guy
I’m sure he’s partying with Janis”

Jim was an eccentric and brilliant photographer whose memory will live on not only in his extraordinary pictures but in recounting the tales of his storied behavior. His photographic legacy is incomparable, his archives a visual history of decades of our
greatest jazz and rock musicians.

Jim was a hugely talented unique man, an irreplaceable “one-of-a kind” friend who will be sorely missed by me and countless others.

Love you. xxoobaron

BOBBY KLEIN

I was travelling with the Doors to San Francisco where they were playing at the Avalon ballroom.

I had heard about Jim but we had never actually met.

I established my ‘place’ in front of the stage as I always did and waited for the boys to go on. The room darkened and I felt someone elbow me and say “Hey motherfucker you’re in my spot. I saw by the cameras it was another photographer who wanted my position. I told him I was there with the Doors and to fuck off. He elbowed me again and opened his camera case to show me a snub nose .38 revolver. He looked at me and said, “it’s loaded.” ….I gave him my spot.

I never saw him again until a dinner David Fahey hosted for Jim many years later. I related the incident and he said, “Man I was nuts in those days.” but didn’t apologize. That was Jim.

A few years ago I ran into him at the Mondrian and he asked if I would donate some prints to an MS auction that he was sponsoring for his beloved assistant.
I did.

Jim was a good man, charitable and kind in his later days.

I still would not want to be in his position at a concert, you never know.
Rest in Peace brother Jim.

ROBERT KNIGHT

On shooting Knight’s Film Rock Prophecies with Jim… and other Jim scenarios.

Me: I love that photo of Jim with the tissue stuck to his bloody chin. How’d that happen? Did he… fall on set?

Robert: He called me and asked if I would help him on a shoot, and wanted me to find a studio – which I did. And then he asked to borrow my lighting and be at the studio at 8AM. He came in with all this blood on his shirt with the paper hanging from his chin. No one said a word. Finally I asked at the end of the day what happened. He said he cut himself shaving!!! Maybe?

He had a Hasselblad with him but forgot how to load it and asked me to do it. He also could not hear the beeper on the power back and was shooting too fast, so I had to slow him down and tap him each time it was charged up. He suddenly stopped shooting and wanted to eat and drink something – but made the Doobie Brothers stand on the backdrop until he was done. It was a real Jim Marshall moment.

When we went to his house to film him, the night before the director was told to wear body armor. Rumor was, sometimes if Jim did not know who was at the door, he would shoot at it… It was all good but, my director was scared to death the whole time.

ALAN MESSER

I have known Jim Marshall’s work for years – I recently met him in Seattle attending a book launch and exhibit for Graham Nash’s “Taking Aim”. We both had pictures in the book and the exhibit. We shared not only the common bond of being photographers, but of being chroniclers of Johnny Cash. Jim photographed Cash during the 70’s including the notorious Folsom Prison concert, and I from 1987 onwards. I met Jim briefly at the Bob Dylan Tribute concert at Madison Square Gardens in 1992 — I was there with Johnny, but Jim was preoccupied and a bit gruff that day.

Fast forward to February 5th 2010 in Seattle, meeting Jim was a memorable occasion. I found him to be a passionate and kind man who loved photography. He told stories and spoke about his pictures as if he was talking about his children or grandchildren. Jim’s photographs were his children. He was proud of them and knew he had brought some great ones into this world.

Jim was so excited about his current work and projects. He phoned me just before I left for a trip to England to see if I had received the ‘Johnny Cash at Folsom Prison’ book that he sent me and signed. I had, I told him and thanked him for his gift. Jim was delighted that he had just sold eight prints on his website. Those people have possibly the last Jim Marshall hand signed prints.

He was a lovely man and one of a kind. A real photographer and a Leica man. He just got his first digital camera, a signature M9 Leica, when I last saw him.

Alan Messer – Nashville Tennessee
www.alanmesser.com

LISA LAW

I lived in Forest Knolls in 1967 with my husband Tom. We would go to the Haight Ashbury almost every day – that is where it was all happening. Ron and Marshall Thelin, who owned the Psychedelic Shop, lived right down the hill from us. There was music in the panhandle every weekend and all the groups were getting together and playing in the streets and in the park. Tom was writing for the Oracle and I was shooting photos of everything for them too. It was a wild time.

Jim Marshall was there doing his thing. Every time I looked around… there he was, dripping with cameras. So, I started shooting him shooting, and did so in the Haight, at the Human Be-in and later at Woodstock and even up to recently when we did a show together at the Duncan Miller Gallery in LA for the 40th anniversary of Woodstock. My daughter Pilar had the idea for the show and Jim, Henry Diltz, Baron Wolman and myself were the four photographers. The four Musketeers, I called us. Over 1000 people came for two nights to view our work but most of all to see us all at once. The cameras were flashing all night and we signed some 200 posters that Baron had made of one of his shots. Jim was in great form as we all were. Hey, it had been 40 years since we shot Woodstock and we were all still doing our thing. Those photos were a big part of our work.

From Jim I learned to add 0’s to my fees. I was charging way too little for my work.

Jim was Italian and had a very quick wit and many times, were very abrasive. He would always curse when he was talking about someone who would give him credit or pay him. I remember for years he would wield a gun, playing the tough guy. If he liked you though, he was very sweet and always helpful.

Nion McEvoy of Chronicle Books met him once and told me he would publish him only after he was dead. He was so hard to get along with but eventually, they worked it out and they published his book ‘Proof’ in 2004.

I heard of his death by email from Chip Monck, as a matter of fact. He lives in Australia and was up before me to get the news. I am in Santiago, Chile at a Hare Krishna ashram. I dropped back into my seat in the office and took a deep breath. Good grief I thought. Another one disincarnating. Another friend gone. A great way to go though… in your sleep reading a book.

I hope I go as easy as that.

What a character he was and I am really going to miss him. He had a great eye and used only the best cameras. Loved his work with the Beatles.

Love and Peace, Lisa Law

When in LA, you walk into the Samy’s camera stronghold, up creaky licentious stairs that vow to one day sink through and take with them some lesser species of photographer like you or like me. You see Jim’s iconic images on the walls. Late Wednesday, those pictures went up in value to the point where you definitely screwed yourself for either not having bought one when you had the chance, or not having rolled one up into your hipster makeshift camera bag.

Dear Jim, there is something to be said about an ice cold Corona with fresh lime that tastes so much better when you think about being dead. To a man who has taught us all so very much about being so very alive.

Lightspeed.

Anna.

SXSW: The Quest and Conquer

admin — Tue, 23 Mar 2010 19:04:36 +0000

Austin town – you got me. Just as the trip itself lacked any fluidity, and most likely, so will this. What I’ll probably do here is individual blog posts and a quick recap of highlights. The “quick” part I speak of will most likely hurl headlong into a long-winded rant about wanton Austin zombies and tacos, but who’s judging?

Highlight 1. Getting through TSA.

Here was one of three suitcases that looked very similar. Two involving a gross amount of amps, watts, volts and hard wires, another full of lightstands, hardware, tools (and a curling iron.) And then there was my personal bag… batteries, dresses, shoes, and more shoes. My backpack, which had a Wacom airbrush tablet, a mini-hard drive, a laptop, The Rum Diary, and some cords, wires, and Southwest drink tickets.

Of course I checked all 337 lbs of luggage at Skycap (a pricey necessity), but what would happen in the TSA check? Two backpacks and a purse. I (my person + baggage) must have weighed 200 pounds that day, all loaded on top of some old cowboy boots.

They took everything out of my backpacks, while the moaning, groaning security line self-loathed for a minute or two. Shaking the Wacom like it was supposed to open, I found myself again considering their intelligence.

My hard drive. “Whoa, is this a kindle?!” No, moron. I was getting thirsty and impatient. Slightly nervous. My veins contracted and said, “it’s time for a beer.”

The arsenal, all set for take off.

Highlight #2: Austin Airport

Back on the dirt. Waiting at the baggage claim, my brother James approaches from behind, looking Classy with two Tecates stuffed into his pockets. He’d cut his hair a bit, though it still reached his shoulder blades, establishing himself as something of a likeable music maker. We grabbed the bags, and dragged them across the airport until we reached, his van. Not pictured here.

My Brother/Assistant/Chauffeur

Highlight #3 – The Ride In.

Once we reached the van, we loaded up, while loading up:

Highlight #4: My Business trip went on vacation.

The zombies were out early on night one – there was little I could do to fein zombility, so I joined in. Into the night James and I went, and found ourselves at the Scoot in, and evidently 2 hotels and a house party later, we were scooting our way back to the homestead. Our buddy Gian Ortiz from the loudest Austin band there is (Amplified Heat) found us attempting a few games of ski-ball in the middle of the room. It was a miraculous game… in fact, I picked up some taxodermy in-between the two lanes, and much to our surprise, the stuffed thing was sitting on three $1 dollar bills. The games continued.

That night I accidentally punched a girl in the face with a full glass of Cazadores. Since neither of us expected it to happen – a mere accident – we were able to laugh it off and cut our losses. Her hairdo, my refined thirst-quencher.

Gian insisted we remove ourselves and follow him to a friend’s houseparty. I caught some laughing bug, and the rest, all history.

INTERVIEW with Anna Webber: Music Photographer

admin — Thu, 24 Dec 2009 17:08:27 +0000

Oniracom, a Santa Barbara based new media collective/record label, has interviewed yours truly, doing a pretty good job at getting inside the head of a music industry photographer

You’ll even get to see me in action, and read about what it’s like being a “rock music photographer” today.

It wound up on their Solutions for Dreamers blog. Check it out here!

Solutions for Dreamers: INTERVIEW with Anna Webber

X and Calexico Share a Consonant – and Fans – at the Wiltern Saturday

admin — Mon, 21 Dec 2009 06:37:00 +0000

By Anna Webber in Last Night

See this post on LAweekly.com

Still a few years off from Social Security benefits and Denny’s Grand Slam Senior discounts, L.A. punk band X headlined the Wiltern Saturday, pushing the oldsters and youngsters back into a shared protopunk nostalgia.

Despite their age, punk is X (and the Blasters, the Ramones, and the Clash), and still eclipses the overproduced punk scene of today.

But time goes on; what started in Los Angeles as an aggressively modern shit-talking syncopation movement is now overshadowed by the crap-punk that a lot of us who aren’t 12 year-old skater punks hate. X still blows that slop out of the water – even if they’ve joined forces with the North Pole the past few Christmas seasons to play suburban family faves like “Jingle Bells” and “Santa Claus is Coming to Town.”

Exene Cervenka showed up to a punk-rock show in a post-colonial, floor-length, black neck-high frock; lace ruffles fell out of her long black sleeves.

Calexico was one of the two opening bands for X, but the only thing the two performers shared is a common consonant. Calexico is a Tuscon, Arizona descended Tejano-flavored band; their name is derived from the California Mexico-border town (which, randomly, I passed through earlier in the day en route from a desert hike near Mexicali).

Calexico transcends roots rock, Americana, Indie, whatever. The 12-piece band Saturday drew the attention of two semi-different crowds, and reveled in a world occupied by things like the Day of the Dead, cacti, and steak tacos. They didn’t play any Christmas covers or two-minute hard-edged rock songs; rather, they charmed with atmospheric mariachi (ever think that was possible?) and delicately spurred us, broke us, and dusted us off.

Calexico

With great lyrics and a striking sound, the band deserves much more attention than they’ve gotten, considering they’ve been a band since ‘96. Thematically, they pulse and kick and wistfully conjure the dreamy, wide-open southwest, and charmed us into a world that, like New Mexico’s catch phrase, is a wide sage desert, a “land of enchantment.”

Zero-7 Phone Home: Last Night at the Orpheum Theater

admin — Thu, 17 Dec 2009 22:06:58 +0000

Zero 7 is a UK bred downtempo touring band comprised of founding members Henry Binns and Sam Hardaker. Contributing artists come and go, however last night at L.A.’s Orpheum theater, their 7 piece band included soul blues singer Abimaro and multi-talented folk singer, Olivia Chaney.

The full band played the sold-out multi-leveled Orpheum Theater, performing a two hour set complete with a four-song acid jazz encore sure to make the seated crowd cross eyes, if not lose sensitivity in their backsides, during the louder-than-loud what-should-have-been techno trip-hop dance party earlier in the night.

Never before have I seen a seated techno dance hall not dancing, but better they start sitting than pass out shoegazing or free-form seizing to the bursts of downtempo remixes. While harmoniums are not particularly catchy (about as much as a theremin or Eigenharp) last night Chaney’s instrument was completely dizzying, a sound that didn’t seem to be of this earth.

Speaking of which, last night Zero 7 completely got pulled over by a UFO. The five male musicians — all clothed in white — began glowing hot pink, radioactive green and fiber-optic blue, raking in the industrial neon spotlights from above. They simulated what appeared to be a close-encounter 2010, and the piercing supernatural siren sounds pretty much sealed the deal: Those dudes are aliens.

Then, suddenly, a lone mustached dancer popped up from the crowd rising – to bust out some hexed YMCA-like dance moves. Once the spazzing man with the short butt shorts in winter broke the ice, about ten more mind-warped antsy seaters joined in.

The whole thing was quite video-gamey. We weren’t sure how you even make some of those sounds, but a lot of the instruments probably don’t really even exist. Go to a Zero 7 show, and your ears will definitely hear some brand new racket they’ve never heard before. Sound refreshing? Don’t fall asleep slouching in your chair.

Band of Horses, Tom Morello, and BRMC strip down for Pablove

admin — Tue, 24 Nov 2009 22:27:56 +0000

View more photos in the Pablove Benefit slideshow.

The Pablove Foundation has found a pretty hip way to raise money for kids with cancer by throwing benefit concerts with talent like Silversun Pickups, Neon Indian, Peter, Bjorn and John, and Avi Buffalo. Most of the performers have had to deal with cancer in their own way within their families or close by, a thing which is probably not to difficult to find anymore.

While Saturday’s concert featured bands like Band of Horses, Black Rebel Motorcycle Club, Tom Morello and Sea Wolf, the night was overshadowed by the tone, and the reason we were all there, overshadowed the music. If you were expecting to see a high energy rock and roll show, the majority of what you got couldn’t have been farther off. This was a place where all acts stripped down – Not to their skimmies, but to the bare bones, unplugged, overly aware, and a little self-conscious.

The humbled rock stars performed from two to four songs each in a room so quiet that even whispers were audible. When Tom Morello comes out saying “This is a song about sticking together, come what may” and plays “Guerrilla Radio” with a harmonica and colonial drum, Rage fans were stunned: Yes, you just heard Rage Against the Machine unplugged and completely recontextualized… in gypsy form.

Music has always been a way to speak messages to the masses. This particular night, Jeff Castelaz, father of Pablo Castelaz (whose life and heartbreaking demise at the claws of cancer prompted the birth of Pablove) brought his lessons and stories from his Pablove across America initiative. During his trek across the country, he visited pediatric cancer patients in hospitals all over the place. Earlier in the day he biked from Long Beach to Hollywood, the last leg of his national bike trek. “There was nothing I needed more than to get on this bike,” he explained.

Hosting a rock show may seem like a slightly abrasive way to tribute a recent departure to a six year old child, however, Pablo was a kid who adored music. Josh Riffkind, an extremely likable guy with a huge mop of curly blonde hair on his head – like whoa – travels from his home in Atlanta once a month to visit the L.A. Children’s hospital to play music for kids like Pablo.

Jeff Castelaz introduced the talented Mr. Riffkind: “He’s gonna come out here, and bring us all back to our childhood years for one song, and you guys have to participate, and scream, and sing as loud as you can for all the kids down the block who are lying in beds right now hooked up to IV’s getting chemotherapy. Can we do that!?” Riffkin then came out and explained to the crowd, “Okay guys, we’re gonna ditch the hipster irony for FIVE seconds everybody!” and proceeded to lead the crowd in an amazing Jack Black-style rendition of “Wheels on The Bus.” He not only urged, but bullied everyone to participate — even did the swish-swish-swish hand motions. About his program Songs for Kids, Riffkind said, “Does Oprah not know about this? Oprah needs to know!”

The Pablove Foundation has been hosting a concert nearly every month, so stay tuned. Get your community service by participating in this fine assemblage of talented speakers, comedians, jokers, musicians, minstrels, survivors, people, friends.

The Water is Muddy, the Wolf is Howlin, the Belly is Led, the Heat is Canned

admin — Thu, 12 Nov 2009 21:12:28 +0000

Reminding myself that I am writing in a blog that represents me as a photographer, I think I should talk about f-stops, shutter speeds, and how ASA changed to ISO…

But instead I am going to show you a picture of my Lawyer, Michael Goch, Esq., circa Long Beach Blues Festival ‘08. He was there in observance in case I got hurt on any scaffolding or trip-wires.

That’s all for now, hoping something more related next time.

Anyone know where I can find a headdress? I’ve got a shoot coming up.

Lovin Spoonfuls xo