I don’t want to live in a world where there are no iconic band photos
Over the holiday, I finally had the time to read The Replacements: Waxed-Up Hair and Painted Shoes – which shouldn’t have been such a to-do, considering the book’s primary focus is to share rare, unseen photos of the band, but I wanted to nurse the book, not flit through it like it’s a soul-sucking Facebook gallery, and Christmas Eve finally delivered that opportunity. Right from the start, the discussion of fanaticism launches, with an aside that whispers: Remember, this was a time when all you had to experience your favorite band were magazine clippings, old flyers and album art. Today, we have entire albums of photos of our favorite bands from each stop on every silly tour, a catalogue that makes iconic shots few and far between, and frankly compels me to just stop looking. (This, coming from the girl who had every photo of Kurt Cobain she could scrounge up glued to her bedroom door.)
You likely know what I’m going to say next. This is yet another fucking terrible development for dweeby music lovers who feed off the mystique, style and artistry of their favorite performers.
I don’t want to see a blurry picture of Kurt Vile at a piano in a creepy apartment where apparently nobody wears clothes and the piano is the only furniture for you to kick your Reeboks up on.
Or holding some mystery baby on a boat or something?
I want the package. I want personality-driven photos taken by a photographer who follows the band on the road or takes stylized band photographs like it’s what they live for. Or city show photogs who smartly seek to capture the mood of the performance. Or anything other than a fleeting moment captured by a stupid iPhone, glossed over by a noisy filter.
I took this one. I admit I am part of the problem.
I am, however, totally OK with this Matador-endorsed Photoshop:
This is still my favorite photo of Kurt Cobain. Because memories.