Jetting some images off to MTV to spread Perfect Nancy world view of rockstars. Have been slightly addicted lately to Patti Smith's Easter . Why I weep for today's concert-attending youth: as they sit stupefied by MTV (oops, today we LOVE MTV) - glitzy - stage productions as popstarz lipsynch and dance the night away they'll possibly never discover and/or appreciate the pioneering artistry of Patti who could, with one phrase from one song, rip the fake tits off of any top 40 girlie.
Tonight I shoot Wesley Willis - fat, black, heavily medicated drummer of small renown. Last time I shot him he sat on the floor of a now-defunct downtown club ringed with (drunk, equally-chem-addled) teen boys... and me. He had plumber's butt. As he reached for something from his nearby bag about 5 prescription meds bottles spilled out. He scared me. It was beautiful. And tonight I'll be back for more drumming fear. When I spoke with his press guy in LA he kept phrasing out NO WORRIES. It was equally scary. People in LA really say things like that.
NO WORRIES.
Say it.
Voice must intone on the reeze part.
NO Werrr-EASE.
Got it?
Good.
NO WORRIES.