I have just been scanning some old publicity shots for the Slaughterhouse 5 website and was reminded of another boozy photographic session we did with top rock photographer Ed Sirrs.
We were very in awe of the famous snapper; but although he was so well-respected within the industry and had such a glowing reputation, he wasn;t scary or pretentious at all. We found him to be very friendly, avuncular and down-to-earth. We were so nervous; we were shaking like French soldiers when we met him at the station. But he soon made us feel at ease. We spent all day on the session wandering around Mansfield and visiting several of our favourite watering holes, aiming for an authentic, angry, northern working-class feel to the shots. (I was obsessed with Alan Sillitoe and D.H. Lawrence at the time.)
Our record company had given Ed £100 and had told him that it would be an absolutely marvellous idea to get us drunk. Not because they were concerned that we would feel very self-conscious, uncomfortable and embarrassed wandering around our home town, but because Miles Copeland saw us as a sort of wayward and confrontational art/punk band, and hoped that we would cause some drunken commotion or other that would lead to our eventual arrests and thus develop into some kind of local controversy. A publicity stunt in other words. You may be astonished to hear that nothing like that happened. We simply became very inebriated and relaxed, and ended up with reel upon reel of amazing shots.
I recall that, towards the end of the afternoon, we decided to have a party in the house that we all shared. The young Nelson Galaxy was with us at the time. (We were, and still are, always together, him and me. We are so close, we’re like brothers; in fact, we are brothers.)
In his capacity as band gopher, Nelson was despatched to the local bakery to buy dozens of cream cakes for the evening’s celebrations. We didn’t save them for the party, however. They were hastily scoffed in the pub as Ed snapped away.
The cakes did indeed make a rather predictable reappearance later that evening, though. I remember pleading with Ed not to photograph me, whilst – playing to type – I was filling the kitchen sink with liberal amounts of creamy vomit.
Ed endeared himself to us throughout the day by regaling us with endless tales of the hundreds of colourful sessions he had done with famous musicians and bands. One story in particular really made us laugh: He was photographing an infamous and very serious (You mean sober – Alcohol Ed.) Scandinavian heavy metal band who were very popular at the time. They were renowned for being very dour, dark and doom-laden. (I can’t remember their name, I’m afraid. It was Thor or Thor’s Hammer or something. Maybe Mr. B. can enlighten me.)
Ed asked the po-faced lead guitarist to step forward and kneel on one knee in order that the dreary, all-standing-in-a-line composition be improved for a few shots.
‘I kneel for no man,’ Ed was told in no uncertain terms by the pompous Norwegian rock god in a voice so deep and resonant, it sounded as though it had emanated from the very depths of hell.
We reasoned afterwards that what he was actually saying was: ‘I kneel for
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