Last year Omnibus Press published a book of Jim’s photographs entitled Trust which was, I believe, the first time so many of his colour pictures were compiled together. This was not an easy undertaking but although it took far longer than we anticipated we somehow managed to produce a book that Jim was happy with. This was no small relief for me as there are a few people in the world I wished to displease less than Jim. His reputation for taking matters into his own hands with extreme prejudice if he was upset about something was legendary.
In the course of negotiations over the book I had the pleasure of taking Jim to lunch (at the Gay Huzzar on Greek Street) and over several large whiskies and not much food he regaled me not only with loads of stories about his adventures but his blunt philosophy about photography in general and less than flattering opinions of those artist who today restrict access to photographers. In a nutshell it was “Fuck ‘em.”
He was hugely entertaining and, to my surprise, immensely courteous. He talked about Janis and Grace, and John (never Johnny) Cash, and Jimi (whose name he shared, a source of amusement when they first met) and Bob and Miles. I asked him why I’d only ever seen pictures by him of the Beatles’ last gig at Candlestick Park, August 1966, and he laughed. “There was another guy there from the San Francisco Chronicle but he left after the first song… had to get back to develop his film for the next day’s paper. Bin cursing ever since.”
After that lunch I realised that behind the fearsome reputation was a genuinely lovely guy. He demanded respect, sure, but he’d earned it.
One Response to R.I.P. JIM MARSHALL: A VIDEO INTERVIEW
Last year Omnibus Press published a book of Jim’s photographs entitled Trust which was, I believe, the first time so many of his colour pictures were compiled together. This was not an easy undertaking but although it took far longer than we anticipated we somehow managed to produce a book that Jim was happy with. This was no small relief for me as there are a few people in the world I wished to displease less than Jim. His reputation for taking matters into his own hands with extreme prejudice if he was upset about something was legendary.
In the course of negotiations over the book I had the pleasure of taking Jim to lunch (at the Gay Huzzar on Greek Street) and over several large whiskies and not much food he regaled me not only with loads of stories about his adventures but his blunt philosophy about photography in general and less than flattering opinions of those artist who today restrict access to photographers. In a nutshell it was “Fuck ‘em.”
He was hugely entertaining and, to my surprise, immensely courteous. He talked about Janis and Grace, and John (never Johnny) Cash, and Jimi (whose name he shared, a source of amusement when they first met) and Bob and Miles. I asked him why I’d only ever seen pictures by him of the Beatles’ last gig at Candlestick Park, August 1966, and he laughed. “There was another guy there from the San Francisco Chronicle but he left after the first song… had to get back to develop his film for the next day’s paper. Bin cursing ever since.”
After that lunch I realised that behind the fearsome reputation was a genuinely lovely guy. He demanded respect, sure, but he’d earned it.
RIP Jim.