langhorne slim at the troubadour (or, you can do anything you want, just so long as you don’t do anything you want)
Written on June 6, 2008
i live in pasadena, which is in the greater los angeles area. it just so happens, though, that the greater los angeles area is very, very big. it encompasses many different cities and neighborhoods, each with their own individual identities and personalities. it also happens that when people who don’t live in the greater los angeles area consider what it means to live in LA, they think of a very few specific things that really have nothing to do with how i live in LA. first they think of celebrities and superficiality (and sometimes plastic surgery) and extravagant spending – beverly hills, parts of santa monica. if they’re a different kind of person, though, they think of hollywood.
i hate to spoil it for all of you out there in the middle of nowhere, but the plain fact is this: hollywood – the real hollywood – is kind of a shithole. it’s a bit of a mess. hollywood blvd, the “walk of fame” is full of tourists. the rest of it is just run down and dirty. like new york city, but it smells less of urine, maybe slightly more of desperation. people in nyc seem trapped. people in hollywood look like someone has just pulled a fast one on them, and they’re tragically trying to stick to whatever dream they might have once had that brought them out there in the first place.
hollywood is also the birthplace of rock n’ roll. well, kind of. maybe that’s more memphis, really, but LA is home to the welcome to the jungle variety of rock n’ roll that you would’ve grown up with if you’re like me, in your mid-thirties. and before that, if you’re somewhat older, the same clubs were the birthplace of the kind of rock n’ roll that you needed herbal supplements and really big pants to enjoy. new york gave you punk rock, LA gave you psychedelic music and hair bands. sorry about that. anyway, as a result all these clubs – the whisky a go go, the roxy and the troubadour – got really famous, and now, even though wonderful uninhibited photographs were made there decades ago, and even though far less people care now, they still – like everyone else – find it fun to mess with and shut out photographers for almost no reason.
the point, rambling though it might be, is this: i shot sean scolnick (who calls himself langhorne slim) at the troubadour on santa monica blvd, just east of the famous beverly hills sign that’s been used a thousand times in movies as an establishing shot. the shoot happened before the show, before the club opened doors for the night. there was nobody there, and not much going on, but just for fun the bouncer at the club declared that i could take pictures in there, but i wasn’t allowed to use any of their power outlets. that’s a new request. strobe lights use very little juice, comparatively. it was such an absurd statement that i didn’t even think to argue it, even given that i had been forced to park far away and schlep all my gear in anyhow. either way, i had fifteen minutes to get my shot before slim was whisked away to the next thing, so it’s not really any use arguing with the bouncer.
sean was pleasant as could be, his songs are great, and as a photographer i appreciate anyone who can pull off a good hat and not look foolish. i just can’t help but be a bit irked by arbitrary rules designed to exert influence for no purpose. it’s like a backhanded compliment. something that sounds helpful but isn’t really. go ahead and do whatever you want, just don’t use any of our power or take any pictures inside the actual club. do whatever you want as long as it’s not anything you want.
still, you can only spend so long being pissed at middle management. the job has to get done regardless of the circumstances, and something has to work. and, of course, now you’ve got ten minutes left to set it up. and i firmly believe that i, as a photographer, have an obligation not to take it out on the subject – none of the nitpicking, scheduling snafus, rushing, cutting corners, bitching, and carrying 200 pounds of equipment up three flights of stairs in the middle of summer – none of that is the subject’s fault. and in the rare cases where it is the subject’s fault, it’s my responsibility to make sure that it doesn’t get in the way of the relationship we need to have, however brief, to make the picture work. because in the end, really, every subject gives you a gift. and if as a photographer you’re at all receptive to these things you’ll be able to overlook all the hassles later and just focus on the image, and the possibility given to you, once again, to attempt to make a connection with someone else.
enough has been said about the downsides of photography. this job has its problems, its dead ends and its demoralizations. but look at what we get to do everyday. sometimes it’s anything we want.
