Friday 8th August 2003 - Dallas TX
Outsmarting a ten-year-od
I awoke around 11AM; late for me. After a shower, I felt some semblance of normality (whatever that is) returning. I went to the van to get some clean clothes out of my bag. I was just putting on my LA Kings jersey when this little boy rode up on his bike.
"Are you a hockey player?" he asked.
"No," I replied.
"You look like one," he continued.
"Well, I'm not," I added.
"You're wearing a hockey jersey," he observed.
"True," I confirmed, "but that still does not mean that I'm a hockey player."
"So, why are you wearing a hockey jersey, then?" he inquired.
I looked the little lad up and down. Pesky brat had on a Dallas Cowboys No. 22 shirt!
"Well," I countered, "you're wearing a Dallas Cowboys shirt, but you're not Emmitt Smith," I announced triumphantly. I slammed the van door and strutted back to the house, pleased with myself for outsmarting, oh, at least, a ten year-old.
I awoke around 11AM; late for me. After a shower, I felt some semblance of normality (whatever that is) returning. I went to the van to get some clean clothes out of my bag. I was just putting on my LA Kings jersey when this little boy rode up on his bike.
"Are you a hockey player?" he asked.
"No," I replied.
"You look like one," he continued.
"Well, I'm not," I added.
"You're wearing a hockey jersey," he observed.
"True," I confirmed, "but that still does not mean that I'm a hockey player."
"So, why are you wearing a hockey jersey, then?" he inquired.
I looked the little lad up and down. Pesky brat had on a Dallas Cowboys No. 22 shirt!
"Well," I countered, "you're wearing a Dallas Cowboys shirt, but you're not Emmitt Smith," I announced triumphantly. I slammed the van door and strutted back to the house, pleased with myself for outsmarting, oh, at least, a ten year-old.
The Big Dallas Sky
We had agreed to start early for Dallas - no later than noon, due to potential heavy traffic. However, due to unforeseen circumstances, we didn’t get away till 1AM.
Thinking back on it now, ah, never mind, unforeseen circumstances are like that, aren't they?
I must admit to being surprised that we had been travelling across Texas for twenty years and I still hadn’t seen an oil well. Where are they all? Is it a myth? Where is all the Texas Tea?
We had agreed to start early for Dallas - no later than noon, due to potential heavy traffic. However, due to unforeseen circumstances, we didn’t get away till 1AM.
Thinking back on it now, ah, never mind, unforeseen circumstances are like that, aren't they?
I must admit to being surprised that we had been travelling across Texas for twenty years and I still hadn’t seen an oil well. Where are they all? Is it a myth? Where is all the Texas Tea?
Big Dallas Sky
I may not have seen an oil well, but I had seen the big Dallas sky; there is just so much of it.
The 109ºF heat was as oppressive as ever and, in the van, it was like the box where they perpetually stick Luke, in 'Cool Hand Luke'. That, combined with an excessive intake of Lone Star beer the previous evening, caused me to doze for most of the three hour drive, waking only when we stopped for gas, about thirty miles outside of Dallas. The promise of an air-conditioned store was all I needed to rouse me from my slumber. I didn't actually want anything, it was just nice to get cold and dry indoors.
The 109ºF heat was as oppressive as ever and, in the van, it was like the box where they perpetually stick Luke, in 'Cool Hand Luke'. That, combined with an excessive intake of Lone Star beer the previous evening, caused me to doze for most of the three hour drive, waking only when we stopped for gas, about thirty miles outside of Dallas. The promise of an air-conditioned store was all I needed to rouse me from my slumber. I didn't actually want anything, it was just nice to get cold and dry indoors.
A Mike Schofield Moment
Who? What? A moment? Uh? I know. Who the Hell is Mike Schofield?
Mike was a friend of mine, who died some years back. I couldn't help but think of him when I took these pictures; he would have taken these same pictures. He was a great fan of America and made a few trips there, over the years. I suppose I never really thought about it when I first started taking photographs, but looking back now, over my thousands of pictures, I see that he influenced me much more than I had realised.
Mike was a friend of mine, who died some years back. I couldn't help but think of him when I took these pictures; he would have taken these same pictures. He was a great fan of America and made a few trips there, over the years. I suppose I never really thought about it when I first started taking photographs, but looking back now, over my thousands of pictures, I see that he influenced me much more than I had realised.
Mike's photos were the first I had seen that were not just a regimented series of shots of people and things. There may have been a picture of the Manhattan skyline, but it would be from an unusual angle, in weird light, or there would be something in the frame that gave it an unusual point of reference. There was usually more to the pictures than you first thought; the more you looked at them, the more you saw. Then of course, there were the pictures he took and you wondered why. I now find myself doing the same thing. I take pictures of trains, trucks, pickups, roads, road signs, bushes, bums on benches, bugs, fire hydrants...
A photograph is much more than just an image. It may capture a moment, but there is so much attached to each picture; memories, stories, feelings, emotions, some of which you may have even forgotten about.
A photograph is much more than just an image. It may capture a moment, but there is so much attached to each picture; memories, stories, feelings, emotions, some of which you may have even forgotten about.
Pictures Of A City
I don't think Dallas was the city that Peter Sinfield had in mind when he wrote the lyrics to 'Pictures of a City' for the second King Crimson album, 'In the Wake of Poseidon'. However, having been there, I thought they were the perfect accompaniment to my photographs of Dallas.
Concrete cold face cased in steel
Stark sharp glass-eyed crack and peel
Bright light scream beam brake and squeal
Red white green white neon wheel.
Dream flesh love chase perfumed skin
Greased hand teeth hide tinseled sin
Spice ice dance chance sickly grin
Pasteboard time slot sweat and spin.
Blind stick blind drunk cannot see
Mouth dry tongue tied cannot speak
Concrete dream flesh broken shell
Lost soul lost trace lost in hell.
Well? They fit rather well, n'est-ce pas?
Concrete cold face cased in steel
Stark sharp glass-eyed crack and peel
Bright light scream beam brake and squeal
Red white green white neon wheel.
Dream flesh love chase perfumed skin
Greased hand teeth hide tinseled sin
Spice ice dance chance sickly grin
Pasteboard time slot sweat and spin.
Blind stick blind drunk cannot see
Mouth dry tongue tied cannot speak
Concrete dream flesh broken shell
Lost soul lost trace lost in hell.
Well? They fit rather well, n'est-ce pas?
November 22nd 1963
I was five months old when Jack Kennedy was assassinated. As his open limo entered Dealy Plaza, a single bullet fired from a window on the sixth floor of the Texas school book depository, by an alleged communist sympathiser named Lee Harvey Oswald, changed history.
In the 20th century, it was guaranteed that a whole generation, irrespective of their location on the planet, had but one or two shared experiences; they remembered Neil Armstrong setting foot on the moon, they grieved for Princess Diana, and they all knew where they were when the news broke that JFK had been killed in Dallas.
Then again, you have to decide for yourself if Lee Oswald acted alone, whether Armstrong was merely the first man to merely set foot on a Reality TV show on a soundstage in Burbank, or if The Saxe-Coburg-Gotha's had Diana whacked because she was pregnant with a half Egyptian baby.
For almost twenty years, Dallas was remembered for just one thing: it was the city which killed Mr President. Until, March 21st 1980, that is. From that date forward, it was also the city that shot JR Ewing. So, it remains today, Dallas is famous for two things: murder and attempted murder. Actually, it's three things: murder, attempted murder, and murderous parking charges.
In the 20th century, it was guaranteed that a whole generation, irrespective of their location on the planet, had but one or two shared experiences; they remembered Neil Armstrong setting foot on the moon, they grieved for Princess Diana, and they all knew where they were when the news broke that JFK had been killed in Dallas.
Then again, you have to decide for yourself if Lee Oswald acted alone, whether Armstrong was merely the first man to merely set foot on a Reality TV show on a soundstage in Burbank, or if The Saxe-Coburg-Gotha's had Diana whacked because she was pregnant with a half Egyptian baby.
For almost twenty years, Dallas was remembered for just one thing: it was the city which killed Mr President. Until, March 21st 1980, that is. From that date forward, it was also the city that shot JR Ewing. So, it remains today, Dallas is famous for two things: murder and attempted murder. Actually, it's three things: murder, attempted murder, and murderous parking charges.
The Red Blood Club
Dallas is notorious for its expensive and restrictive parking laws. The car park for the Red Blood Club was charging $8 to park, yet just across the road it was only $2! Dallas is obsessed with money. Money and murder. So, that makes four things that Dallas is famous for: murder, attempted murder, murderous parking charges and money. And oil. We shouldn't forget oil. Dallas is famous for five things...
The Dallas crowd was extremely feisty and several fights broke out.
I say fights, they pushed each other around and frowned a lot. Chig stepped in once to break up a love-tussle between a punk and a skin but other bitch-slapping contests broke out randomly, all night, ending up with someone getting a broken fingernail, or something. The people here really need to switch to decaf and get a grip. At the end of the gig a visible police presence was in evidence. Maybe there was a donut shop nearby, or maybe they just want to stop you lot from killing each other.
Am I getting cynical? Dallas does that to you. Of all the cities I had visited, heretofore, Dallas is the only one I didn't like. I'm sorry to admit it, but I didn't. I was uncomfortable there and it didn't seem at all like a nice place. The barman at the Red Blood Club was great but, sorry Dallas, you don't send out warm, fuzzy feelings and you're not very welcoming.
The Dallas crowd was extremely feisty and several fights broke out.
I say fights, they pushed each other around and frowned a lot. Chig stepped in once to break up a love-tussle between a punk and a skin but other bitch-slapping contests broke out randomly, all night, ending up with someone getting a broken fingernail, or something. The people here really need to switch to decaf and get a grip. At the end of the gig a visible police presence was in evidence. Maybe there was a donut shop nearby, or maybe they just want to stop you lot from killing each other.
Am I getting cynical? Dallas does that to you. Of all the cities I had visited, heretofore, Dallas is the only one I didn't like. I'm sorry to admit it, but I didn't. I was uncomfortable there and it didn't seem at all like a nice place. The barman at the Red Blood Club was great but, sorry Dallas, you don't send out warm, fuzzy feelings and you're not very welcoming.
Natty Dread
The post-gig party in Dallas never happened for us. Natasha (remember her?) soaked my camera in water because she is a psycho-bitch. I playfully flicked a few drops of water at her, so she took my glass and threw it all over me, soaking me and my camera.
Upset, I told Greg, nominally her boyfriend, to keep her out of my sight. Duly obliging, he did so, and she ran into the Bratmobile. I apologise to the Brats manager, Melissa, and all of the Brats for any of the subsequent events, which came about because of this. I realise that my threatening to kill the little whore caused her to not ride with us. So, sorry, guys.
As we headed off to the party, Davey got a phone call from Brat, Jordy, informing him that Melissa had lost her rag and hopped out of the bus at a Shell station. Davey, being the star he is began an hour long trek to locate and rescue the ex-manager of our support band. Eventually, we found her and took her with us to Davey’s Texas Wife’s place, in Fort Worth. Beer, food and sleep ensued, and something we all really needed - a night off. Weirdly, we all felt like shit the next morning!
Click here for the next bit
Upset, I told Greg, nominally her boyfriend, to keep her out of my sight. Duly obliging, he did so, and she ran into the Bratmobile. I apologise to the Brats manager, Melissa, and all of the Brats for any of the subsequent events, which came about because of this. I realise that my threatening to kill the little whore caused her to not ride with us. So, sorry, guys.
As we headed off to the party, Davey got a phone call from Brat, Jordy, informing him that Melissa had lost her rag and hopped out of the bus at a Shell station. Davey, being the star he is began an hour long trek to locate and rescue the ex-manager of our support band. Eventually, we found her and took her with us to Davey’s Texas Wife’s place, in Fort Worth. Beer, food and sleep ensued, and something we all really needed - a night off. Weirdly, we all felt like shit the next morning!
Click here for the next bit
