More Carlos Santana: Before the World Knew His Music

Posted on May 17, 2012 by m3jimphoto

I just love this picture! According to Jay Blakesberg, JMPLLC archivist, he came across this one random shot of Carlos Santana and canine pal on a proofsheet (“a thousand roles of film before Woodstock"). The proofsheet seemed mostly devoted to a live Grateful Dead concert, except all of sudden there was Carlos with dog. It was probably shot in 1968 somewhere on the streets of San Francisco.

“It’s time for people to realize that we are all mixed up inside.  That is why there is so much diversity on my records.  I can relate to so many cultures and I want that to be reflected in my music.”  — Carlos Santana

Today’s blog continues our exploration of Jim’s work capturing the playing and passion of Carlos Santana, a true guitar original who has become synonomous with the early SF scene and who remains a catalyst for the ascendancy of “world music” onto the world’s stage.

The passion, spirit and open-mindedness that Carlos brought to his music seemed to be present from the first time he picked up an instrument at age 5.  He started on violin at the urging of his father, Jose, who was a renowned Mariachi violinist in Mexico, but Carlos gravitated to the guitar at 8 years old and never looked back.

Another random early Carlos Santana shot in late 1968 or so, backstage at somebody else's show, just hanging with an admiring blonde friend. Check out the carnation on his coat, so suave!

As a musician who is widely credited with popularizing “world music,” it seems that Carlos always had big ears and the heart to match, you can hear it in his earliest work and you can see it in the joy captured in Jim’s photos that we have unearthed for you … most of them published here for the first time.

This quote offers a taste of Carlos’ world view, then and now:  “The ’60s were a leap in human consciousness.  Mahatma Gandhi, Malcolm X, Martin Luther King, Che Guevara, Mother Teresa, they led a revolution of conscience.  The Beatles, The Doors, Jimi Hendrix created revolution and evolution themes.  The music was like Dalí, with many colors and revolutionary ways.  The youth of today must go there to find themselves.”

A close up of an intense and focused Carlos Santana at one of his first recording sessions, which produced an iconic series of images we will run in the next blog. Stay tuned.

So how did Carlos Santana come to this realization?  What were the early influences and struggles that helped form his mind, heart, music and world view?  Here’s a decent recap from his wikipedia page:

“In San Francisco, [Carlos] got the chance to see his idols, most notably B.B. King, perform live.  He was also introduced to a variety of new musical influences, including jazz and folk music, and witnessed the growing hippie movement centered in San Francisco in the 1960s.

“After several years spent working as a dishwasher in a diner and busking for spare change, Santana decided to become a full-time musician.  In 1966, he gained prominence by a series of accidental events all happening on the same day.  Santana was a frequent spectator at Bill Graham’s Fillmore West.  During a Sunday matinee show, Paul Butterfield was slated to perform there but was unable to do so as a result of being intoxicated.  Bill Graham assembled an impromptu band of musicians he knew primarily through his connections with the Grateful Dead, Butterfield’s own band and Jefferson Airplane, but he had not yet picked all of the guitarists at the time.  Santana’s manager, Stan Marcum, immediately suggested to Graham that Santana join the impromptu band and Graham assented.

Carlos Santana hanging out at Fantasy Records in Berkeley during a Creedence Clearwater Revival session sometime in 1970 or perhaps '71.

“During the jam session, Santana’s guitar playing and solo gained the notice of both the audience and Graham. During the same year, Santana formed the Santana Blues Band, with fellow street musicians, David Brown and Gregg Rolie (bassist and keyboard player, respectively).

“With their highly original blend of Latin-infused rock, jazz, blues, salsa, and African rhythms, the band (which quickly adopted their frontman’s name, Santana) gained an immediate following on the San Francisco club circuit. The band’s early success, capped off by a memorable performance at Woodstock in 1969, led to him signing a recording contract with Columbia Records, then run by Clive Davis.”

Carlos Santana playing out, probably in SF, perhaps at the Fillmore, in the summer of 1969. Woodstock and his now-famous debut on the world's stage was looming right around the corner.

Carlos the Conscience

From Carlos’ official website a nice blurb on his humanitarian side: “The arc of Santana’s performing and recording career is complemented by a lifelong devotion to social activism and humanitarian causes.  The Milagro Foundation, originally established by Carlos Santana and his family in 1998, has granted more than $5 million to non-profit programs supporting underserved children and youth in the areas of arts, education and health.  Milagro means “miracle,” and the image of children as divine miracles of light and hope — gifts to our lives — is the inspiration behind its name.”

In our next blog we will take an in-depth look at how Jim captured Carlos’ otherworldly guitar playing, both in the studio and on some of the world’s greatest stages.  Until then, I’ll leave you with one more of Carlos’ apt observations, and one that Jim (not the world’s most spiritual man) would certainly be able to agree with, at least in part: “If our history can challenge the next wave of musicians to keep moving and changing, to keep spiritually hungry and horny, that’s what it’s all about.”

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Carlos Santana, Supernatural Supernova

Posted on May 3, 2012 by m3jimphoto

This wonderful shot ran in Jim's "Not Fade Away." Here is the caption that went with it: Carlos Santana at a free concert in San Francisco’s Mission District during a Cinco de Mayo celebration, 1988. I shot this from behind the stage with a 21-mm lens. The glow on the guitar neck was just a natural effect from the sunlight.

For the month of May we’re going to focus on Jim’s relationship, both in front of and behind the camera, with one of the San Francisco music scene’s most enduring stars: Carlos Santana.

Throughout the highs and lows, thicks and thins of life with Jim, there can be no dispute that Carlos always stood by him; a great and loyal friend. I can speak to this directly because I saw it up close and personal.

At the time Jim came into my life (March, 1984) there were VERY few people in general — and in the music business specifically — who were interested in seeing Jim make a comeback. In fact, in the timeline of Jim’s life featured on the Bio page of our official website we note that 1979-1986 were “The Lost Years.”

I was lucky enough to meet Carlos during those “lost” times, and he was unfailingly polite and quite sweet actually, with not a drop of ego or pretense where Jim was concerned. I distinctly remember around Christmastime in 1984; it was a really bad time for Jim as he had no money, could barely make rent. The first time I met Carlos, he popped into Jim’s 16th St. apartment to pick up a bunch of prints (I think various Coltrane shots if my memory serves). Carlos planned to give them out as Christmas presents. Jim made it clear to me that Carlos didn’t have to do this, was in fact doing Jim a major favor and how grateful he was to him for it.

That cash kept Jim going through the holidays until he finally started to land some small gigs here and there and slowly crawled his way back into life as a working photographer. And, I guarantee you, it was not the first time Carlos “did him a solid,” as Jim liked to say.

Here’s a bit of a quick view of Santana, courtesy of his wiki page:

“Carlos Augusto Alves Santana (born July 20, 1947) is a Mexican and American rock guitarist. Santana became famous in the late 1960s and early 1970s with his band, Santana, which pioneered rock, salsa and jazz fusion. The band’s sound featured his melodic, blues-based guitar lines set against Latin and African rhythms featuring percussion instruments such as timbales and congas not generally heard in rock music. Santana continued to work in these forms over the following decades. He experienced a resurgence of popularity and critical acclaim in the late 1990s. In 2003, Rolling Stone magazine listed Santana at number 15 on their list of the 100 Greatest Guitarists of All Time. He has won 10 Grammy Awards and 3 Latin Grammy Awards.”

Stay tuned for much more complete coverage of Jim’s work capturing the heart and soul of Carlos Santana in our next blog.

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Monterey Jazz Festival, 1963: It’s About Family

Posted on April 19, 2012 by m3jimphoto

Jack Teagarden, his mother, Mama T, his sister, Norma, and his brother, Charlie, backstage at Monterey Jazz Festival 1963.

Today’s blog wraps up our coverage of Jim’s early work covering jazz, specifically as the official photographer of the Monterey Jazz Festival of 1963.  The more I’ve looked at and studied this early work of Jim’s, the more I see how he was intent on making connections and creating a sense of intimacy, a feeling of family.  I always chalked his fascination with family up to Jim’s fraught childhood, his black sheep status and how upset he remained throughout his whole life over his lack of siblings.

I think that was a big reason why he was always moved so profoundly when presented with the opportunity to document moments of love and bonding that occurred among intimates, strangers and clans alike.  And this lead shot of the Teagarden family is a  wonderful example.

Turk Murphy, another influential jazz trombonist at Monterey Jazz, 1963.

From William Minor’s Monterey Jazz Festival: 40 Years, “1963 is remembered as the year of the emotion-filled reunion of the Teagarden family.  Brothers Jack on trombone, Charlie on trumpet and sister Norma on piano were joined by their mother, Helen, a ragtime pianist who jammed with her ‘children’ on stage.  ‘Considering the entire history of the Monterey Jazz Festival,’ jazz educator Herb Wong says, ‘that still stands as one of the most special events.’  Most writers and fans alike found the reunion to be the Festival’s most touching moment.”

Miles Davis at Monterey Jazz, 1963

This recollection is from Jim’s lovely book “Jazz”: “I shot Jack Teagarden, his mother, Mama T, his sister, Norma, and his brother, Charlie, backstage at Monterey Jazz Festival 1963.  Jack died shortly after this picture was taken in the early part of ’64, about six months later.  There was a recording called ‘A Hundred Years From Today.’  It was a song that Teagarden had had a big hit with during World War II.  There’s a line, ‘Don’t save your kisses, just give them away,’ and then there’s another line, ‘Who’ll ever know you gave them away a hundred years from today?’  He tells the story at the jazz festival about how, during the war, a soldier in England came up to him and requested that song.”

Gill Evans at Monterey Jazz, 1963

“I sometimes think people like Jack were just go-betweens,” Bobby Hackett (a trumpeter with the Glenn Miller and Benny Goodman bands) told a friend. “The Good Lord said, ‘Now you go and show ‘em what it is’, and he did. I think everybody familiar with Jack Teagarden knows that he was something that happens just once. It won’t happen again. Not that way…”.

The Family of Jim

Jim seemed to be constantly prowling for connections to add to his “family of choice,” and he knew it when he saw them.  He always told me one of his biggest inspirations was the extraordinary, monumental 503-image exhibition, The Family of Man, put on at New York’s Museum of Modern Art in 1955 and curated by Edward Steichen.

Gerry Mulligan at Monterey Jazz, 1963

Steichen described the exhibition as “a mirror of the essential oneness of mankind throughout the world. Photographs made in all parts of the world, of the gamut of life from birth to death.”

The essential oneness … it’s a phrase that inspires me to wrap up this series of Monterey Jazz recollections with a rather     important memory from one of Jim’s treasured “family of choice,” Louisa Jane Judge aka “Janie Girl,” whom Jim considered the little sister he always wanted.  It turns out Jane met Jim as a teenager at the Monterey Jazz Festival, probably 1964.  Jane, who is a cultural savant, music lover and generally all-around brilliant person, had gone to check out the fest with family friend SF Chronicle music critic Ralph Gleason and his wife, Jean.

“My grandfather knew Ralph quite well and suggested, since I loved music so much, that I go to the festival with the Gleasons.  They took me under their wings and we sat in their box which was very close to the stage.  At some point, Jim noticed me (ed note: Jane is beyond striking, a honey blonde with piercing blue eyes that can see right through a person) and asked if he could take my picture.  I thought it was a little strange, but Ralph said to go ahead, Jim was OK.  So we went out to the Fairgrounds where there were all these oak trees and he had me pose similarly to a shot he had just done of Judy Collins because he said we had the same eyes.

Band leader extraordinaire Harry James, caught in a quiet moment at Monterey Jazz, 1963.

“Jim was just 24 years old or so back then and I was maybe 15, he promised to come visit me in Pasadena where I was living at the time.  I remember he showed me the proofsheets of the shot of me leaning against that Monterey oak tree at the festival.  I was really into photography, Edward Curtis, I loved portraiture, but I was just so young.  I think I said, “Sure, they’re OK.”  And then Jim started showing me all of these 8 x 10 black and whites that he had probably printed himself in his bathroom;  jazz greats like Thelonius Monk that he had been taking over the past few years, a lot from his time in NYC.  They were really, really strong portraits.  And then he asked me, ‘What do you think, should I keep taking photographs?  I looked at him like he was crazy.  Why was he asking me, but then I saw he really needed to know.  So I looked him in the eye and said very simply, ‘Yes, keep taking photographs.’

Nothing says family like a jug of Mondavi burgundy, part of what fueled the fantastic performances at Monterey Jazz, 1963.

“And, you know, that was it.  From then on we were family, I was his little sister, Janie Girl.  He would always tell that story about how we met and what I said to him, how I was just a kid, but I could see it so clearly.  I think it meant a lot to him because he could tell I meant it.”

And then Jim’s sister, who is perhaps the loveliest of all Jim’s blonde, lovely-eyed muses, remembers to add with a laugh and a sigh, “Of course, as the years rolled on I would need to change that sentence a bit to a revised, “James, put the guns away and keep taking photographs.”

But, that, as they say, is a story for another day.

And so concludes (for now) our look at some of Jim’s most seminal work — his photojournalism from the Monterey Jazz Festivals of 1960 and 1963 — where he learned to meld the personal and the professional to uncover new connections and heights in his work … and his life.

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Monterey Jazz Festival 1963, Backstage and Beyond

Posted on April 5, 2012 by m3jimphoto

Bebop godfather Dizzy Gillespie cops a squat on a briefcase backstage at Monterey Jazz 1963. Even though you can't read it at this resolution, that's a CORE (Congress for Racial Equality) button on the trumpeter's lapel.

By 1963 Jim was living in NYC and enjoying one of his most productive periods as a photojournalist, specializing in documenting all genres of entertainers and beyond.  However, the Monterey Jazz Festival of that year managed to lure him back home to Northern California with the prospect of once-again serving as the festival’s official photographer.

Jim had been the official photographer at the 1960 festival as well, which I focused on in the these past two blogs:

Monterey Jazz Festival, 1960

More Monterey Jazz Festival, 1960

It seems back in the day the Monterey Jazz Fest organizers were simpatico with Jim’s all-encompassing approach to documenting the festivities … and it’s a good thing because I can practically hear the expletives that Jim would have unleashed with anyone who might have dared to question his need for absolutely unlimited access.

Film and TV actress Kim Novak in the stands at 1963 festival. Star of film classics such as “Picnic,” “The Man with a Golden Arm,” and Hitchcock’s “Vertigo,” Novak was a huge fan of Monterey Jazz.

The ability to freely go where he wanted, when he wanted, with whom he wanted was an unfettered status that Jim would continue to demand (with varying results) for the rest of his career and his life.  He was quick to point out to me that the ONLY people who could refuse him were the artists themselves, which almost never happened.  He always looked so proud of that fact; he used to say he felt that earning that level of trust and access were the only testaments to his talent that he would ever really need.

And let’s not forget that by 1963 Jim was beginning to make a name for himself in the photography world, his reputation building on his full-frame results, his tenacity and timing, his vision, his knowledge of the importance and historic connections propelling the entertainment industry (including but not limited to music) … as well as his soon-to-be infamous hair-trigger temper.

Miles Davis relaxing offstage at Monterey Jazz 1963.

Philip Elwood, who from 1965 to 2002 covered jazz, blues and all manner of music and nightlife for the SF Examiner initially and then the combo Examiner/Chronicle, wrote the introduction to Jim’s wonderful 2005 book of black and white images, “Jazz” .  He manages to capture the essence of Jim’s approach to shooting jazz artists quite aptly in the following excerpts:

“It’s not a coincidence that most of the pictures in this [book] were taken in recording studios, rehearsal halls, backstage areas, festival grounds, or home living rooms.

I wonder what Jim saw in this image? A chic fan at Monterey Jazz in 1963.

“Marshall often admits his lifelong enthusiasm for not just getting a ‘how’r ya’ from a performer but, rather, becoming a backstage friend—hanging out with musicians, getting to know them and their colleagues, and often, developing a friendship with their families.  His photos radiate with this informal, friendly intimacy—they are like family snapshots.

“To know Jim Marshall and observe him at work, Leica M4 [Editor’s note: or Leica M2 depending on the year] in hand, paraphernalia nearby or dangling from his shoulder, can be both fascinating, unnerving, and occasionally entertaining in itself.

“More than once at avarious venues I have seen ushers, burly guards, stage managers, and concert impresarios—all with (perhaps) an even shorter fuse than the tempestuous Marshall—attempt to remove Jim from the stage.  Of course, these efforts are most often unsuccessful; Jim never just stands by the stage-lip waiting for shots to appear.”

In today’s post, I’ve decided to present Jim’s shots from everywhere but the stage or its lip at the Monterey Jazz Festival of 1963.  Next time we will focus on the the music played and perhaps a bit more from around the edges.  Enjoy!

Jim's shot of chair with trumpet neatly captures the Monterey Jazz Festival's longstanding logo seen at right modified for the 50th anniversary celebration in 2007.

 

 

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More Monterey Jazz Festival, 1960

Posted on March 22, 2012 by m3jimphoto

Duke Ellington joyously leading his inimitable orchestra, featuring Paul Gonsalves on tenor sax with one of his trademark solos, at Monterey Jazz in 1960.

“You’ve got to find a way of saying it without saying it.” – Duke Ellington

Jim’s output from his initial foray to the Monterey Jazz Festival in 1960 was so prolific we needed to split it into two batches, leaving some of the heavier hitters and headliners for this week’s blog.

And, at the time, who was heavier than Duke Ellington?

Always a serious touring road warrior Ellington, one of the most important and influential musicians of the 20th century, was riding the crest of a great popular wave in a variety of media.  For instance, in 1959 he won three Grammys for his soundtrack to Otto Preminger’s “Anatomy of a Murder,” and two years later he was nominated for an Oscar for his work on the film “Paris Blues.”

Ellington tickles the ivories at Monterey Jazz in 1960.

Just how heavy the Duke was has been captured in a sequential album release, “At The 1960 Monterey Jazz Festival, Part 1 and “At The 1960 Monterey Jazz Festival, Part 2,” which are definitely worth checking out.  Here’s a bit from the liner notes by jazz journalist Ken Dryden to explain why:

“This CD of Duke Ellington at the 1960 Monterey Jazz Festival is notable for several reasons … Lambert, Hendricks & Ross introduce the main act with a quick version of the spiritual ‘Deep River,’ followed by ‘Take the “A” Train.’  Ellington opens his set with a snappy and long interpretation of ‘Perdido,’ which sounds very different from his typical approach.  He also previews two numbers from his reinterpretation of ‘The Nutcracker Suite,’ which was to be released the following week.  ‘Suite Thursday’ receives its premiere during this concert, as it was commissioned especially for this occasion.

John Coltrane at Monterey Jazz in 1960, contemplating his next solo perhaps. Sadly, there seem to be no recordings of his work that night, but I like to think he was listening to Wes Montgomery's virtuosic guitar in this moment.

“The sound is so intimate it feels like having a seat among the musicians, while the crowd is respectfully quiet.  The historic nature of this concert easily overcomes the minor audio shortcomings, most of which are likely due to the age of the tapes by the time they were located and prepared for release.”

And then there was the burgeoning sax great John Coltrane, who became a good friend to Jim and the subject of some of Jim’s greatest work, certainly in the jazz realm (see earlier blog:  “Jim, John Coltrane and President Obama” .

Coltrane at Monterey Jazz 1960

According to the book “John Coltrane: His Life and Music” by Lewis Porter, sadly there are no known tapes of Coltrane’s set at Monterey Jazz in 1960, or so said legendary jazz producer Orrin Keepnews.

I think it’s safe to assume Coltrane blew the crowd away with his burgeoning “sheets of sound” and overall passionate, soulful intensity, especially with brilliant jazz guitarist Wes Montgomery in his band that night.  In fact, after a world-beating run as a sideman with Miles Davis and the like, Coltrane had formally launched his solo career as a band leader earlier that year at the age of 30.

Saying It Without Saying It

As mentioned above, Lambert, Hendricks & Ross were also on the bill, introing for Ellington.  The trio of Dave Lambert, Jon Hendricks and Annie Ross, all prodigious singers in their own right, joined forces in 1957 and really caught fire when they signed with Columbia two years later.

Annie Ross, Scottish chanteuse and key member of Lambert, Hendricks & Ross, catches Jim's eye at Monterey Jazz in 1960.

The group’s recording of “High Flying” won a Grammy Award for Best Performance by a Vocal Group in 1962, which also happened to be the year that Annie Ross left the group.  Lambert, Hendricks & Ross were voted Best Vocal Group in the “Down Beat” Readers Poll from 1959 to 1963.

And, to my practiced eye, I think Jim might have had a bit of a crush on Annie, just something about the way she lit up his lens and jumps off a lot of these proof sheets.  And it’s like Duke said, Jim wouldn’t necessarily admit that he was smitten, but he’d definitely find a way to use that bare bones 50mm lens and Leica M2 to say it without sayin’ it.  I loved that about him.

Stay tuned for more Monterey Jazz as we plan to focus on his work from the 1963 festival next.

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Monterey Jazz Festival, 1960

Posted on March 8, 2012 by m3jimphoto

Louis Armstrong at the Monterey Jazz Festival of 1960 with trademark handkerchief. Jim, just starting to shoot the jazz heavyweights of the day, was always looking for angles to enliven the mood of his shots and camouflage his lack of access at the time.

There is so much of Jim’s early work to love and find inspiring, but for me the real power and passion lies in the body of work he created in the early ’60s documenting the jazz greats, their supporting casts, adoring fans and even the tools of their trade.

That’s why we’ve decided to focus on his exemplary work capturing the Monterey Jazz Festival in its nascent days, specifically his body of work from the 1960 and 1963 festivals, which bookended his intensely productive sojourn in New York City.  And a special thanks to Kitty Margolis, SF-based virtuoso jazz vocalist, who provided invaluable assistance in identifying the early greats that will be featured in these blogs.

Renowned blues shouter and jazz swing singer, Jimmy Rushing, aka "Mr. Five x Five" for his rotund presence, caught backstage, Monterey Jazz, 1960.

In my mind’s eye I can see corduroy-coated, desert boot-wearing Jim prowling around the fog-shrouded, oak-studded Monterey Fairgrounds with his Leica M2 and his 50mm lens in 1960, a relative nobody in the photography world at the time.

It was so early in his career, Jim is fresh out of the Air Force and I’m quite sure he didn’t have but a few fixed lens and a couple of camera bodies, if that; most likely he was relying on his 50mm lens, wide open and Tri X film to be pushed later in the darkroom.

Helen Humes replaced Billie Holliday in the Count Basie Big Band in 1938. Later, as a successful solo artist, she bridged the gap between big band swing and R&B. Here she is putting one over at Monterey Jazz, 1960.

I seem to remember Jim telling me he preferred the “normal lens” because it came closest to capturing what you saw with your own eyes. Another thing about Jim’s vision that just jumps out at you studying this work: He is shooting full frame, editing through the lens in real time, in the moment with no lighting equipment and no net.

In the age of digital everything all the time and the ability to correct, excuse me, “enhance” even the most egregious of errors via PhotoShop magic and the like, it staggers my mind to think that Jim never even CROPPED a shot. He used to say, “It’s either in the negative or it’s not.”

Wes Montgomery, considered one of the most influential jazz guitarists of all time, earned Down Beat magazine's "New Star" award the same year he debuted at Monterey Jazz in 1960.

A Jazz DJ’s Dream

The Monterey Jazz Festival was the brainstorm of Jimmy Lyons, a prominent jazz radio broadcaster in San Francisco, and pioneered the use of the 20-acre Monterey Fairgrounds as a major musical venue, starting on October 3, 1958.  One of the longest consecutively running jazz festivals, this year’s Monterey Jazz will mark the 55th anniversary of the festival, now held on the third weekend in September. In 1997, the 40th anniversay was heralded with the release of a book written by jazz historian William Minor, Monterey Jazz Festival: Forty Legendary Years as well as a three-disc set by the same name of musical highlights spanning those four decades.

Miriam Makeba and Jon Hendricks enjoy the action from the wings, Monterey Jazz, 1960.

Here’s an excerpt from the CD set’s liner notes penned by the former mayor of Carmel, big jazz buff, festival board member and, oh yeah, fairly successful “movie guy,” Clint Eastwood. These notes do a good job of capturing the mood, music and improvisational spirit that Jim must have experienced and found equally inspiring:

“I attended the first Monterey Jazz Festival; it was a great event. There was a lot of fog, and old-time airplanes were flying overhead, but it was a lot of fun and everybody had a good time. One of the planes came down out of the fog just as Dave Brubeck was in the middle of a solo. He was jamming away and the audience wondered what he’d do as that plane zoomed overhead. He just broke right into ‘Off We Go Into The Wild Blue Yonder’ — bang, and then went back to what he was playing. The audience laughed and went with it — he had them in the palm of his hand.

“I came back to the Festival many times through the years. When I moved back to Monterey part-time during the ’60s, it was one of the big events for us, something we always looked forward to. I brought my son, Kyle, to the Festival when he was young, and now he’s performed there himself several times, which makes us both very proud.

“Jazz was an important factor in ‘Play Misty For Me,’ the first movie I directed: We filmed several scenes at the Festival. We shot part of “Misty” in the main arena using a hand-held camera and I had to learn to improvise.

The answer to what do you do with your axe when there's no sax stand available, Jim grabs a still life backstage at Monterey Jazz, 1960.

“Improvisation as a filmmaker is analogous to improvisation as a musician. I think in some ways my work has helped deepen my appreciation of this type of music. I’ve also done several jazz documentaries, including one on Thelonious Monk, whom I saw at Monterey. I liked his bold style and seeing him perform at the Festival had a strong effect on me.

“Jazz is not only bluesy and forlorn – it also has humor and an upbeat, happy thing about itself. It reflects the independence of the people who were willing to spend their lives playing their music.”

And make no mistake, back in the day Jim was there with every fiber of his being, eyes wide open, willing to spend his life to capture the story for all of those not fortunate enough to be there with him.

Stay tuned for more of Jim’s wonderful work from early Monterey Jazz Fests in upcoming blogs.

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Miles Davis: Don’t Hit Me in the Mouth, I Gotta Play Tonight

Posted on February 23, 2012 by m3jimphoto

“I’m always thinking about creating.  My future starts when I wake up every morning … Every day I find something creative to do with my life.” — Miles Davis

This iconic image of Miles Davis was taken at Newman's Gym in the Tenderloin in 1971.

Continuing with our focus on Jim’s work with Miles Davis, we now bring you the heavy hitters, leading off with one of my all-time favorite of Jim’s photos: Miles in the Ring or as Jim sometimes referred to it: Don’t Hit Me in the Mouth, I Gotta Play Tonight, which was apparently what Miles would tell his sparring partners at Newman’s Gym before they tussled.

Why do I love this shot so much?

1. The setting, Newman’s Gym, in 1971 and the fact that Miles would let Jim, or ANY photographer, shadow him during his workouts, which he viewed as sort of a sacred part of his regimen.  And a boxing gym in the Tenderloin?  For me, whose grandpa boxed Golden Gloves, I’m not sure there’s anything cooler.

I always thought the 1971 shot above was from the first time Jim went to Newman’s with Miles, but this shot with Miles working the heavy bag is from 1970. First time this has ever been seen!

2. The way Jim captures the combative side of Miles … somehow it’s not so surprising that Miles was a devotee of the sweet science.  Boxing, especially back in the day, was a combo of deft, swift and lethal talents, something that Miles’ playing and Jim’s approach to capturing his subjects had in common.

3. After Jim and I split up and I was in NYC I had a fairly serious (for 23) beau, Matt Goldenberg; I was serious enough about him to tell Jim, who still carried a major torch in my general direction (he was nothing if not tenacious).  Matt was a big jazz aficionado and fan of Jim’s work and secretly coveted a shot of Miles in the Ring … and Jim gave him one.  Even though Matt and I didn’t last, I like to think that shot still graces his wall, a small testament to the fact that Jim could be a very classy guy … as long as you had his trust.

Isle of Wight Festival

A rare smile from Miles at the Isle of Wight Festival in 1970.

I also love the color shots of Miles at the ground-breaking Isle of Wight music festival in 1970, especially the shot of Miles grinning (pictures of a genuinely happy Miles are so rare!)

Here’s more from Wikipedia on the festival’s historic status:

The 1970 event was by far the largest and most famous of these early festivals; indeed it was said at the time to be one of the largest human gatherings in the world, with estimates of over 600,000, surpassing the attendance at Woodstock. Included in the line-up of over fifty performers were The Who, Jimi Hendrix, Miles Davis, The Doors, Ten Years After, Emerson, Lake & Palmer, Joni Mitchell, The Moody Blues, Melanie, Donovan, Free, Chicago, Richie Havens, John Sebastian, Leonard Cohen, Jethro Tull, Taste and Tiny Tim. The unexpectedly high attendance levels led, in 1971, to Parliament passing the “Isle of Wight Act” preventing gatherings of more than 5,000 people on the island without a special license.

Another great shot from the Isle of Wight Fest.

The 1970 festival was filmed by a 35mm film crew under the direction of future Academy Award-winning director Murray Lerner, who at that point had just directed a documentary on the Newport Folk Festival. Lerner distilled material from the festival into the film A Message to Love: The Isle of Wight Rock Festival released theatrically in 1996 and subsequently on DVD.  Check out this great video of Miles and his amazing band playing “Call it Anything” live at the festival.

The Full Story of How Jim Got to Miles

And, for those of you keeping score, I had time to dig just a bit deeper on the “interwebs” and found the story of Jim finally getting through to Miles and earning his trust in Jim’s own words on the NPR jazz blog:

Just eight years after Jim first photographed Miles "not too well" he was able to capture this very rare moment of a contemplative Mile in his bedroom in NYC in 1967.

“I first photographed Miles Davis in 1959, but not too well. I remember after a show in Berkeley, California, a little later around 1960, I went up to him backstage and asked why he had a green trumpet. He shot back at me, ‘M—————r, do I ask you why you have a black camera?!’ Frightened the s—- outta me for the next five years! After I moved to NY in 1962, I did a couple of covers for Miles, live records on Columbia. I went down the first time he played for Bill Graham at Winterland in San Francisco. I had made him a picture of my John Coltrane photo that I had taken in John’s garden. Backstage was crazy.

Miles backstage at the Berkeley Community Theatre in 1971.

“He was surrounded by all the media, press, local TV stations and newspapers … it was a real big deal. I saw him and said, ‘Hey Miles’ he sort of grunted and acknowledged my presence. I gave him the print and said, ‘This is for you.’ ‘What is it? I’m busy.’ ‘It’s just something for you.’ ‘I’m busy,’ he says again. I walked away and he opens the package. People are all over him, asking questions, bothering him and trying to get to him, he tells them all to shut the f—- up and leave him alone.

“He’s looking at the print. He loved Coltrane. ‘Hey Marshall, did you take this of John? You knew him like that? Why don’t you take pictures of me like this?’ And I said, ‘Why don’t you let me?’ After that I could do whatever I wanted with him. He had his moods but we were cool. It was trust. If John trusted me, then so did Miles and with trust I got great shots of him.”

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Miles Davis: Why Don’t You Ever Take Pictures Like That of Me?

Posted on February 9, 2012 by m3jimphoto

This shot ran in Jim’s great book, “Jazz.” The caption reads Here’s Miles Davis talking shit, probably about some chick, to Steve McQueen backstage at the Monterey Jazz Festival, 1963.

In honor of Black History month, we thought we’d focus February’s blogs on another of Jim’s musical heroes: jazz musician, trumpeter, bandleader, and composer extraordinaire Miles Davis, widely considered one of the most influential musicians of the 20th century.

When I first met Jim, I knew almost nothing about jazz; I was deplorably ignorant, really.  So Jim, as always, went about murdering that ignorance in the most effective of ways by showing me the images and than playing music of his favorites.

I especially remember when he introduced me to Miles Davis’ recordings from 1959 and 1960, “Kind of Blue” and “Sketches of Spain.” I remember one of Jim’s favorite things was to slip a tape into his bedroom system, crack open a nice bottle of white and just lay back and listen while the soft SF afternoon light streamed through the windows.  It was the true personification of cool and hot all at the same time. Perfect.

Back in the day, the most famous jazz club in SF was the Tenderloin’s Black Hawk at Hyde and Turk streets. Here’s a shot of Miles at the Black Hawk in 1961.

Hearing Miles for the first time for me was like someone blew the cobwebs out of my ears … and less than a decade later I was a music journalist in NYC interviewing Dizzy Gillespie and the like for “Windplayer Magazine.”  Just another aspect of my career for which I owe more than I can say to the ole man.

From the Miles Davis Wikipedia page: “Producer Quincy Jones, one of Davis’ longtime friends, wrote: “(Kind of Blue) will always be my music, man.  I play Kind of Blue every day — it’s my orange juice.  It still sounds like it was made yesterday.”  Pianist Chick Corea, one of Miles’ acolytes, was also struck by its majesty, later stating, “It’s one thing to just play a tune, or play a program of music, but it’s another thing to practically create a new language of music, which is what Kind of Blue did.

“One significant aspect of Kind of Blue is that the entire record, not just one track, was revolutionary.  Gary Burton noted this occurrence, stating: “It wasn’t just one tune that was a breakthrough, it was the whole record.”

And, if you were hanging out with Jim and Miles Davis came up … he was likely to share the following memories, at least he did with me.  Jim admitted that he was in awe of Miles, I think with me he used the phrase star struck.  And Miles, a notoriously cantankerous individual, was far less approachable than the mellow, diffident John Coltrane, who took an instant liking to Jim.  You can see it in the way Jim’s work with Miles progresses, starting with live shots and quick grabs backstage, Miles seemingly oblivious to Jim’s presence.

Miles backstage at the San Francisco Civic Center in 1960. Does anybody know who the gentleman on the left is?

This is how I remember hearing one of Jim’s favorite Miles stories, told ruefully even decades after it happened:  He was walking by Miles backstage probably in San Francisco or Monterey in the early ’60s, they had a nodding acquaintance at the time.  And Jim gets the bright idea to make conversation in an attempt to get to know Miles better.

I paraphrase: “Hey, Miles, why do you play a green trumpet?”  to which the take-no-prisoners Miles retorts, “Mothafucka, why are you askin’ me about the color of my trumpet?  I don’t ask you why you are using a black camera!”

I remember the way Jim flinched when he first told me that story, like Miles had just told him off the night before even though it was two decades ago; he looked a bit like a dog that got kicked.  And that’s the way it could have ended, but thankfully for all of us, Jim just had to give connecting with Miles one more try, this time leading with his one true strength, his work.

At another event, maybe the Monterey Jazz Festival in 1963, Miles is hanging out off stage surrounded by friends, bandmates, handlers and the like.  After the earlier altercation, Jim is petrified to go up to Miles.  Instead, he has brought along one of his favorite portraits, a print of John Coltrane taken when he was at Ralph Gleason’s house in Berkeley.

Jim tells the guy that when he gets a moment could he please give the Coltrane print to Miles with Jim’s highest regards and then stands back to wait.  When Miles sees the print he flips out, goes over to Jim to thank him, tells him that Coltrane is one of his favorite musicians (Jim’s says “Yeah, I know.”)  Miles looks Jim dead in the eye with those crazy laser beams as only Miles could and asks, “Why don’t you ever take pictures like that of me?”  To which Jim replies, “Why don’t you let me?”

Next blog: The fruits of Jim’s labor when Miles Davis finally “lets him.”  Stay tuned.

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Etta James & Johnny Otis: Linked Then, Now and Always

Posted on January 26, 2012 by m3jimphoto

Etta James at a club gig some time in the late ’70s. Jim’s 3x5 notes are sketchy so we’re not sure where or exactly when these shots were taken, but we’re sure happy to have found them. I just love how Jim was able to capture the nature of a performer’s connection with the audience even with limited access or under less than optimal lighting conditions.

They died within two days of each other — Ioannis Alexandros Veliotes aka “Johnny Otis” and Jamesetta Hawkins aka “Etta James” – and it got me to thinking about how music connects even the most disparate of souls and smooths over some of the roughest of roads.

So we dug around the JMP archives and the web to find some choice files to get your blood rollin’ and your hands jivin’ in honor of two musical giants linked in life, inducted into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame one year apart (Etta in ’93, Johnny in ’94) and now inextricably connected in whatever comes hereafter.

Here’s a sweet blog, “Etta James and Johnny Otis: The End of a Great R&B Song” , by New York Magazine’s Mark Jacobsen that does a fine job of describing their bond:

Etta James feelin' it.

“It is a rough day for the rhythm, a bad day for the blues when the 73-year-old Etta James and 90(!)-year-old Johnny Otis die within 48 hours of each other.  Still, like the internal logic that imbues all good songs, it figures, since Otis, avatar of “Willie and the Hand Jive,” discovered the then-14 year-old Jamesetta Hawkins in a San Francisco hotel room more than 60 years ago.  A man with an eye for a hot mama ready to rip it up, it didn’t take Otis but a minute to put Etta on the road with his “Hand Jive” revue, singing kind of dirty songs like ‘Roll With Me, Henry,’ which was changed to ‘Dance With Me, Henry’ to get it on the radio.

“Maybe it was that taste for the netherworld clubland that kept Etta James from crossing over to the mass market despite possessing a set of pipes to power a whole Rust Belt city. (Otis always went his own way, played a million one-night stands, and often recorded under the name Snatch and the Poontangs.)

“Genetically, I’m pure Greek,” Johnny Otis told The San Jose Mercury News in 1994. “Psychologically, environmentally, culturally, by choice, I’m a member of the black community.”

“She wasn’t churchy like Aretha, she wasn’t silky like Sarah Vaughn, she wasn’t skinny like Diana Ross, but of all the great female R&B singers to come of age after the rise of rock and roll, Etta James was the most street. She shot dope, got arrested for writing bad checks and forging scripts, claimed to be pool player Minnesota Fats’ illegitimate daughter, and blew up to 400 pounds. Plus, she scared the shit out of you. There were few forces on earth to put the fear of God into a young boy surreptitiously listening to a transistor radio after bedtime than Etta James roaring, ‘Tell Mama … all about it!’ ”

Johnny Otis and his eldest son, guitar prodigy Shuggie Otis, who starred in the Johnny Otis Show from the time he was a young teen.

And from a thoughtful Jazztimes piece on what they both meant to the LA music community by Ed Hamilton:

“Etta James said about her mentor Johnny Otis, ‘I dig how Johnny Otis reinvented himself as a Blackman — his soul was blacker than the blackest black in Compton.  People took his Greek shading as Creole, but Johnny took it even further, he viewed the world especially the musical world through black eyes.’  Otis gave up his Greek heritage as Veliotes to adopt the culture of blacks …

“Otis said about his discovery, ‘I knew instantly when I heard Etta sing in a bathroom audition that she would be a star.”  He saluted Etta’s artistry as the apex of achievement in singing.”

Speaking of salutes and artistry, more than any words I could crank out, the following videos do a much better job of conveying how wonderful and full of life these two great artists truly were.  And a special thanks to the tireless Dan Sullivan and Amelia Davis for all the research help!

Etta James and her classic “At Last” … eat your heart out Beyonce.

Johnny Otis and “friends” perform “Willie and the Hand Jive” in 1958.

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Social Lubricant

Posted on January 12, 2012 by m3jimphoto

This early shot of Jim celebrates his passion for spirits in a way words can’t do justice. And, thanks to attentive blog reader Patti Poole who commented when we ran this shot on Jim's birthday blog last year, it appears to have been taken at his apartment on Union St. where many an iconic portrait was shot by Jim, as well. We’d still love to know who captured this classic moment, when and why.

It’s no big secret that Jim liked his women, his wine and his whiskey.  Anyone who spent any time with him knows the effort it took to keep him from practically pouring the booze down your throat, especially if he wanted something from you or if he sensed you wanted something from him.  And, let’s face it, Jim saw the world in rather stark black-and-white terms, so who wanted what from whom and why was pretty much the the name of the game with him.  If you didn’t like it, well, he was more than happy to tell you where you could stick your opinion.

With his typical obsessiveness, Jim really didn’t have an “off button” about drinking.  But, unlike his coke addiction which made him mean, paranoid and dangerous, Jim was mostly much happier with a drink in him.  Also, back in the day when he and I were together, he really didn’t get sloppy drunk.  It was only later that he turned into the sloppy, sappy, grabby drunk of legend.  It was never a big deal to me to fend him off (part of our lifelong bond really) but I always felt the worst for any recovering alcoholics who unsuspectingly met Jim in a restaurant, at his apartment, or a party.  He would ask them “What’s your poison? Scotch or bourbon?”

And, god help them when they’d tell Jim they didn’t drink …  Jim’s stock answer?  “What the fuck is wrong with you?”  I would watch him watch them stutter and flush trying to figure out a way to answer this crazy man and not piss him off.  Sometimes they would take a shot and pretend to sip it.  Sometimes they’d leave.  Sometimes they’d realize he was just fucking with them, and then maybe they, too, would have a friend for life.  But that was just Jim.

Irish Margaritas

Where booze was concerned, Jim had a distinctly on or off view of things.  You were either cool with it or a a drag, and he didn’t seem to be able to wrap his mind around little things such as you maybe a couple of years under age.  I was 19 when we met downtown at the Cadillac Bar for our initial approval session before he agreed to let me interview him. The first thing he did was ask me if I wanted a drink and, when I demurred, he just cocked his head in that way he had, sized me up and went ahead and ordered me one anyway: a margarita (dyed green for St. Patrick’s Day).  I think we might also have had food, but in those days when I got agitated I couldn’t eat.  And, believe me, Jim agitated me, big time.

After we “took up together,” as he would say, some of Jim’s favorite times involved taking me to Mulhern’s in the Marina (nice glass or two of Napa Valley “Cab Sav”) and then back to the now-famous 16th street apartment he had just moved into a few months before so that we could cozy up in the bedroom and watch “Hill Street Blues” with a nice glass of single malt, usually back then it was 18-year-old Glenlivet or Macallan … which I could NOT abide.

I think I may be allergic or something to scotches and bourbons, they just don’t sit right with me.  Jim, again, could not fathom this, found it hysterical.  I recall he would pour two fairly substantial shots of single malt (he might not have been able to eat well, but he ALWAYS had great single malt around) and he would grab me and pretend to try to pour it down my throat, cackling like a hyena.  Then, to add insult to injury, he would “sing” this little ditty he had come up with in this horrible faux-Scottish brogue: “Brown whiskey, brown whiskey, yon, Michie and me…” you get the idea.  If the booze didn’t make me nauseous enough that certainly did.  Although I never did succumb to brown whiskey’s charms, Jim and I discovered I had a taste for Cognacs and Armagnacs; thus, he was appeased.

Amelia told me the other day that she has discovered a reality show that she knows Jim would have really gotten into; in fact, the whole time she’s watching it she imagines what Jim would be saying, wonders if he knew any of these guys, etc.  The show combines his love of outlaws and whiskey and moral codes.  We like to think it could have competed with Jim’s obsession with police procedurals such as “Law and Order,” which seemed to be on the damn TVs in his apartment (with volume on 11!) every single time I came to hang out.

The show in question?  “Moonshiners,” of course

Tell Us Your Stories

In our ongoing quest to keep Jim’s memory alive and his legacy moving forward, we’d love to learn more from you all about Jim, as always.  And, specifically, we’d like to hear any stories you may recall about sharing Jim’s favorite social lubricant:  What was the first drink you ever had with Jim?  What about the time you and he “had one too many?”

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