Perry Farrell
I grew up with the sounds of Jane’s Addiction and Porno for Pyros as the backdrop to my later 20s, though they weren’t always by choice.
At the time, I wasn’t a photographer; I was in college, training to be a history teacher. I lived in a Power 106/102.7 world, but my friend Javier was determined to blast my ears with KROQ until the hard rock stickiness finally took hold.
Over the years, my ears sweetened to the sounds of rock music, and the genre grew on me. I didn’t have a camera yet and I hadn’t started my work in “the business,” but I knew Perry Farrell was a God of the alternative arena. He was a legend I viewed from a distance.
When I finally did pick up a camera and entered the industry, it was the urban music world that pulled me in and supported my work. I spent years building a career photographing the icons of R&B and Hip Hop, never really leaning back into the rock world until the year Perry Farrell and Courtney Love both came knocking.
When Kings and Queens of rock knock, you open the door, and if I’m going to photograph rockstars, they’ll be the legends in the stanza.
Directing through suggestions
To be honest, this was a challenging transition. Most male artists don’t naturally perform for a still camera; you usually have to coach them through every frame.
With Perry, it was a delicate balance of directing by suggestion rather than command. You don’t command a soul like that; you merely create a space and let him live. I wanted to see the music legend without the caricature, so I suggested things like him wearing his wife Etty’s red heels. I disguised the ask as a humorous offering, but inside I was dead serious. The ideas I presented, he accepted. He not only wore them, but he was comfortably the same size.
On the streets of Los Angeles, I was careful not to over-direct gender.
If you wish to wear heels, wear heels. If that defines your masculinity or femininity in that moment, so be it. I was just there to document a legend and let him play in LA.
When we moved into the studio, I asked him to wear Etty’s crown. If you’re in a room with a king of the stage, he wears a crown.
We turned up the music and I asked him to dance, to perform, and to entirely disregard my presence. For many of the interior imagery, he’s looking away from me and into the distance.
I just told him to let go, ignore everyone and remember who you are.
For the images in the long coat, my inspiration was 100% Los Angeles: the Zoot Suits of cholo culture, but filtered through Perry’s inimitable version of reality.
There is a long line of legendary photographers who have captured Perry’s image over the decades. On that day, it was my turn. I was set on one goal: add an honest page to an already amazing book.
Sometimes my job is to shape an artist’s look; other times, my job is to simply escort a legendary career through another chapter.
The entire day, my mind kept drifting back to riding in Javier’s car, the music blasting so loud I couldn’t hear my own thoughts.
I wondered if I was making those memories of blasting Jane’s Addiction and Porno for Pyros in Javier’s Nissan Stanza proud?
Because Javier was the one who originally educated me on the world of hard alternative rock, I felt it was only right that he curate this gallery. I stood back and let him choose these frames, every one of them. I told him he had 100% control over the selection. I hated letting go and sent a few messages asking if he’d seen the xxxx images or if he was sure about his choices. If anyone should curate this gallery of my work, it would be him.
Actually, that’s a small lie.
I added one extra image at the very end because I can’t ever truly give up total control.
How Aries of me.
