Excerpt from Cue the Camels, Rucksack Essentials: La Musica

“ Music is a safe kind of high”

- Jimi Hendrix

 It’s not that I am a snob about music but any world traveler will tell you that one of the most essential item in your rucksack is your music. My choice of tunes has become the soundtrack for many of my journey and it has saved my sanity. I can attest that there is nothing better then listening to your iPod under the influence of Ambien on a trans-Atlantic flight. It is a wonderful hypnotic chemical that takes you away from the crying babies and exasperated mothers on El Al Airlines (not the Ambien, the song). The music has isolated me from Egyptian wedding parties at two o’clock in the morning as well as helping me pass days (not hours) while waiting for a flight out of Kabul. For me, Justin Bieber  just doesn’t round out the experience of tearing across the sun bleached sands of the Sahara Desert  in a Toyota Land Cruiser – although, the Clash’s “Rock the Casbah” does a terrific job in setting the mood. I have collected CD’s from souks, bazaars, back alley kiosks and hotel lobbies. I’d like to think that my taste in music is eclectic; you can find Middle Eastern Dance, Bollywood, Japanese Pop, Electronica, Soul, Rock, Tango and Neapolitan ballads on my iPod proving that I am in constant search for my own personal soundtrack. 

Like a still image, a song can transport you back to a moment in time that has been forgotten. For instance, during the wild fires of Southern California in 2009 I had a very real flashback when Shakira’s song; “Whenever, Wherever” blared out from the radio while driving on the Glendale Freeway. The smell of a burning hillside mixed with fumes of diesel, the thump, thump, thumping of the helicopters overhead transported me immediately back to Bagram airbase in Afghanistan. Music is sort of a synthetic acid which enhances flashbacks of one’s own memories. 

Scans of the brain show that when people listen to music, virtually every area of their brain becomes more active. Which may explain why I have overcome a learning disability with dyslexia and attention deficit disorder. Strange as it may seem, when I listen to Groove Salad on somafm.com (as I am doing right now) it forces me to focus and keeps my ADD at bay. Growing up, my parents could never understand why I would play music when reading or studying. They would just shout at me to turn the record player or radio off. But, instinctively I need this learning aid to focus – go figure! Music helps me concentrate. Once I sit down, play my music I fall into a zen like zone and my brain slows down to a crawl so that I can concentrate. If it were not for music and the computer I would probably be selling used furniture in Tulsa, Oklahoma. 

In all societies with the exception of one that I know of, the Taliban. Music’s primary function is collective and communal, to bring and bind people together. People singing together, dancing together in every culture when allowed. We have been making music since that first camp fires a hundred thousand years ago.In Kabul, Afghanistan I spent the afternoon eating lunch that was cooked on the sidewalk in front of carpet store on Chicken Street. I was invited by the owner and his son to stay and have lunch so that he could practice his English. When Kabul was under Taliban control, paper bags, white socks, kite flying and music was forbidden. This was serious oppression, for instances, possession of a paper bag constituted the death penalty. Never mind, what would happen if there had been a flash mob dancing to  “Eye of theTiger” by Survivor – the Taliban would have nuked Chicken Street.  To celebrate my host and his son’s new found freedom we played my CD  “Jump Around” by House of Pain on his chrome trim ghetto blaster which he kept hidden from the Taliban. It must of been very amusing for the ISAF ( International Security Assistance Force) troops to see a couple of Afghans and one big white guy jumping to the beat of the music in front of the old carpet store. To this day, when I hear “Jump Around” I can smell the Pilaf cooking, feel the heat of the day and in my minds eye seeing the physical expression of freedom on the owner and his son’s face as they dance with joy. 

Prior to a shoot in Egypt I listened to Egyptian singer Amr Diab which gave me some insight into modern Egyptians taste and a clever way to win over friends. I phonically learn Amr Diab’s  hit  “Nour El Ain – Habiby”.  Never mind that Arabic is not a language I can grasp quickly, I know a few phrases like; tiizak hamra, “Your ass is red” (i.e. like a monkey’s) or moxxu gazma, “His mind is (as low and dirty as) a shoe”- This is pretty insulting. I persevered and mimicked Amr Diab’s song “Habiby” before leaving the States. Once we landed in Cairo we hit the ground running and start shooting, on a production like this there is not much time in building a friendly relationship with your Egyptian fixer, crew and driver. We were all very courteous to each other and worked really well together in spite of the language barrier. On day four, we traveled from Cairo to Giza by van and the opportunity presented itself. Abubak our driver pulled a cassette tape out of a black box of his personal collection of music – which he was very protective of.  I was sitting in the back of the van as the Egyptian crew sat up front smoking Cleopatra cigarettes, the music started with it’s instrumental, my stomach turned a bit with butterfly’s as I prepared to sing out loud “Nour El Ain- Habiby”. Amr Diab sang the first lyric and I stood-up as much as I could in a van and belted out “ Habibi ya nour el-ain , Ya sakin khayali , A’ashek bakali sneen wala ghayrak bibali. Translation: My darling, you are the glow in my eyes, You live in my imagination, I adored your for years, no one else is in my mind. Chorus: Habibi, Habibi, Habibi ya nour el-ain  (My darling, my darling, my darling glow in my eyes). I swear to God, that one of the crew members cigarette dropped out of his mouth and I could see in the review mirror Abubak eyes widen – he nearly rear ended a Cairo taxi in front of us. There was a momentary shock of silence that a big white guy from California was singing one of their most popular songs in Egypt. They began to clap in unison to the beat of the the song, then one-by-one they stood up and held hands high and swayed their hips as the we all began to sing the chorus “Habibi , Habibi”. The remaining seven days of our shoot when flawless, at the end of each day we all spent the evening together smoking shisha, playing dominos and learning each others curse words.

At the end of the shoot and before checking in for the flight back to the States, we all stood in the Cairo International Airport parking lot to say our goodbyes. I  passed out their payment with the traditional bonuses when I noticed Abubak walked from the cab of his van with something wrapped in newspaper in his hands. As he approach, Abubak reached out and presented me with my very own hookah and shisha as a gift. Surrounded by the Egyptian crew tears filled my eyes as I accepted their gracious gift, we had become brothers with a the common love of music.  As we said our goodbyes I couldn’t hold it in any longer and sobbed as I hugged each of the big, burly, bearded men and they too began to weep as I walked away. Life is made up of a series of events and when reflecting upon our own history it is those events that come to mind. 

Journal Entry, 1998, El Minya, Egypt

While researching material for my book I came across this old journal entry from a shoot I did in Egypt. This entry will definitely be a chapters of my book, Cue the Camels.

Social Detective with the Jimmy Legs

Some people call it Attention Deficit Disorder or ADD. I call it the “Jimmy Legs” which seems to take the psychiatric bite out of my condition. For me, sitting is nearly impossible for any length of time and wandering, exploring or just doing something is a great organic treatment. The only drug that seems to help me is called “a camera” (which, by the way I’m sure the pharmaceutical companies would disapprove of). Along with the Jimmy Legs, Road Fever pops up and off I go, wandering the streets, seeking the perfect shot and engaging people for their backstory. 

My Jimmy Legs and Road Fever have served me well shooting documentaries around the world. At home in southern California, I fancy myself an amateur anthropologist or a social detective discovering subcultures, from gutter punks to surf Nazis, faux celebrities, old adventurers and even Charreadas. If you don’t know, a Charreada is part rodeo, part fiesta, and one of Mexico’s most revered sporting events on both sides of the border, dating back to the 17th century. With nearly 40% of the population in southern California, the Mexican sport of Charreada is thriving though it is hidden from disapproving eyes. For instance, the competitors are strictly amateurs with occasional members of the cartel competing in the events – they’re the ones in Armani silk shirts. 

To help understand the Mexican culture of Charreada I was able to make contact with a gentleman who provides livestock for the Charreadas.  He gave me sketchy directions to his next Charreadas event, which was in the town of Mira Loma (English translation; Look at the Hills). Surrounded by three freeways and north of Norco Hill and south of Fontana (aka, Fontalajara), Mira Loma has a dark history. In 1931, the town voluntarily changed its name from Wineville to Mira Loma. The name change came about as a result of the “Wineville Chicken Coop Murders”. One leading citizen of Wineville was quoted as saying in a local paper: “Wineville was such a nice town until them boys got killed… Let’s rename the town Mira Loma so we can all forget about It”.

 With a faint smell of jet fuel and tucked away in a remote labyrinth of industrial parks, warehouses full of used furniture, and on a dirt road, I find the small arena. Charreadas always begins at noon, are entirely in Spanish and unadvertised to the general public for obvious reasons -  criticism from animal rights and anti-rodeo activists keeps the events off the public radar.

By the time I arrive, the Coleadero or steer tailing is about to begin. A mounted charro (cowboy) grasps the tail of a steer and brings the animal to the ground. A properly tailed steer should end up like this, with all four hooves in the air. Winning charros aren’t awarded any money but ribbons and bows are pinned to their sleeves as trophies to their skill and horsemanship. Many of the charros are middle-aged men who struggle to hitch a lavishly embroidered leather belt around their paunches, but this does not hinder or impede their skillful horsemanship or tailing the steer.

 Most Californians don’t know that California is the number two rodeo state in the nation, second only to Texas. California hosts about 60 professional rodeos annually. Of these, most are sanctioned by the Professional Rodeo Cowboys Association (PRCA), the largest such organization in the US. There are likely double that number of small rodeo events, plus scores of Charreadas. 

Despite being dirty, sweaty and dehydrated the experience of being in the arena with the charro’s was more than I expected. It was a good day for the Jimmy Legs. 

For more information regarding the traditions and sport of Charreada follow this link: http://charrosfederationusa.com/

Filmstrip:

Whooping It Up For Patmos: The Nicholas Tour

Memories of events and misadventures are happening more frequently as I pour over thousands of slides from my analog era. I recently came across several plastic boxes of transparencies marked “Greece, Island of Patmos.” I had been hired to shoot a documentary on the Apostle John which took me on a large plane from L.A. to Athens, then a smaller plane to the city of Thessaloniki and finally a ten-hour hydrofoil to the tiny island of Patmos.

The backstory on the Apostle John is that he was one of the twelve disciples who followed Jesus during His earthly ministry. In 95 A.D. John was banished by the Roman authorities to the island of Patmos, but not before being thrown into a cauldron of boiling oil where he miraculously survived. The story goes that after witnessing this mind-boggling event the entire Coliseum converted to Christianity immediately. Deep in a cavern on Patmos, John had a profound and disturbing vision. It was the vision of the world to come and wrote the 27^th and final chapter of the Holy Bible known as the Book of Revelation.

The first time I realized the connections between the island of Patmos, the Apostle John and the Book of Revelations was in a Baptist church in Dothan, Alabama. How did I end up as the only white guy in an all black church on a Saturday night? I was invited as a result of a near collision with three well-dressed black men. Half naked and soaking wet, I darted from the motel pool to my room when the four of us meet head-on as I rounded a corner. Skidding to a stop, I quickly made an apology and wrapped the towel around my waist. Each of the gentlemen held tattered bibles with gold print on the leather covers. They were preachers in Dothan for a revival at a local Baptist church. I surprised myself by asking if I could attend the revival and to my good fortune they said yes.

For those who don’t know, “whooping” (pronounced hooping) is a celebratory style of preaching that pastors typically use to make sure the congregation can feel his sermon. In many ways, it is nothing short of a biblical opera performed by the man at the pulpit. His overture usually starts with a calm, reflective introduction to a topic such as temptation or adultery and magically transforms the characters from the bible into another misguided member of his personal flock. The tempo begins its steady rise as the pastor plays out the roles on stage. There is constant pacing back and forth from the podium as his voice slips into a falsetto that bellows out over the church’s speaker system. The pastor is accompanied with interludes from the organist and shouts of holy affirmations from those in the pews. Wiping his brow with his white handkerchief, then waving it high into the air as if surrendering to the Lord, he then bellows out his crescendo.“ We all can make our own Patmos!” he shouts, “just as the Apostle John was sentence to the island of Patmos by the Romans”. The minister pauses for a good 30 seconds as the assembled worshippers sit silently in their seats.Then, in the finale the pastor whispers “We too can sentence ourselves to our own island of Patmos.”

While the Apostle John was destined to write about the apocalypse over 2,000 years ago, Nicholas Negroponte currently writes about a brighter and a more enlighten world through technology. Mr. Negroponte is one of the early disciples of computer technology and Chairman Emeritus of Massachusetts Institute of Technology’s Media Lab. He is also the progressive founder of the One Laptop per Child Foundation which aims to provide each child with a rugged, low-cost, low-power, connected laptop. He believes that with access to the computer, children are more engaged in their own education.

For over 25 years, Mr. Negroponte and his wife have had a home on Patmos and have selflessly provided the island’s 3,000 plus residents with free wireless broadband web access. In spite of being isolated on the eastern borderline of the Aegean Sea and being the northernmost island of the Dodecanese island group, the world is only a key-stroke away for the citizens of this remote and rocky island. Unfortunately, the Negroponte’s were not home when I was there, but I did manage to invite myself to a Greek Orthodox wedding.

Greek Orthodox weddings are always on Sunday. They aren’t performed after Easter and Christmas, nor during periods of fasting or the day preceding a Holy Day. Vows aren’t exchanged since marriage is considered a union between two people in love, not a contractual agreement. Wedding bands are traditionally worn on the right hand, not the left. The bride may throw a pomegranate instead of the bouquet (duck if you’ve had too many uzos). The many seeds of the pomegranate symbolize the fertile possibilities between the two young lovers. At the reception, plates are broken on the dance floor (or some other hard surface) for good luck. A member of the immediate family begins and others quickly join in with much yelling and laughing as the plates shatter.

Patmos covers only 34 square kilometers (13.1 sq. miles) with its greatest length of about 25 kilometers (9.6 miles). For such an isolated little island, the poet Peter Porter said it best in his poem “Saint John on Patmos”: “For the right visions you need a desert or an island.”

Life in the City of Angels

And he likes his own backyard,
And he likes his fags the best,
‘Cause he’s better than the rest,
And his own sweat smells the best,
And he hopes to grab his father’s loot,
When Pater passes on.

‘Cause he’s oh, so good,
And he’s oh, so fine,
And he’s oh, so healthy,
In his body and his mind.
He’s a well respected man about town,
Doing the best things so conservatively – The Kinks

According to the Institute for the Study of Homelessness and Poverty at the Weingart Center, an estimated 254,000 men, women and children experience homelessness in Los Angeles County during some part of the year and approximately 82,000 people are homeless on any given night. Unaccompanied youth, especially in the Hollywood area, are estimated to make up from 4,800 to 10,000 of these.

Atlantis of the Sands

Lawrence of Arabia

Mr. Dryden: Lawrence, only two kinds of creature get fun in the desert: Bedouins and gods, and you’re neither. Take it from me, for ordinary men, it’s a burning, fiery furnace.
T.E. Lawrence: No, Dryden, it’s going to be fun.
Mr. Dryden: It is recognized that you have a funny sense of fun.

There is a great stillness in the sand and her sights and sounds are tastefully presented in a easy tempo to our senses. Long endless miles of sand dunes and scorching heat, this is the image one has in mind when one thinks of the Sahara.With the reputation for the hottest place on earth, temperatures can reaching up to 57.7 degree Celsius (135.8 degree F). Which makes working conditions uncomfortable and first degree buns common. I relished in shooting midday, capturing waves of heat rising from the scorching sand and apparitions of lakes beyond our reach. My camera would get so hot to the touch I’d soak my kefflyeh with water and wrap it around the camera to keep it cool. I learn to do this when I first came to the Sahara and rested my cheek on the side of the camera while looking through the viewfinder. My face burned with such intensity  that  for a couple of days I had one  large red rosy cheek. From that first experience I learned to have long sleeve shirts, long pants, a hat and a kefflye in my kit.

Our bodies are about two thirds water and when we get dehydrated, it means that amount of water in our body has dropped below the level needed for normal body function. What is uncanny, is that it’s so hot sweat will evaporates before leaving a wet stain on clothing so drinking water at interval (even if you don’t feel thirty) is essential. Drinking to much water will washes away the electrolytes which is why I carry powder electrolyte supplements in my pack. In spite of all the discomfort the Sahara desert is my favorite place to work. The Sahara’s is one place on earth where all men become brothers to survive her embrace.

A silence so great that I can hear the earth breathing, I have found my Atlantis.

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Lawrence of Arabia

Reporter Jackson Bentley:  What attracts you personally to the desert?

T.E. Lawrence: Its clean

Afghan Polaroid

Kabul, Afghanistan

My Afghan Polaroid

Wandering the back streets of Kabul I found myself on Passport lane where Afghan citizens go to have their photos taken for government ID’s. After watching the photographer at work with a couple of subjects, I fell in line to have my photo take as well. The process was slow, about 10 to 15 minutes to shoot, develop and print a photo for each customer. Which gave me the time to study and admire the work of this real street photographer. The Afghan box camera is a giant handmade wooden box known as the kamra-e-faoree, meaning “instant camera” – I call it the “Afghan Polaroid”. Working with only natural light the photographer uses a 35-millimeter camera lens attached to the front of the box and instead of clicking the shutter, the photographer removes the lens cap for a second and replaces it. Inside the box camera is an entire darkroom – paper, developer and fixer. After the latent image is exposed to a sheet of photographic paper, the photographer inserts his hand into the box through a cut-off pants leg designed to keep out light that would ruin the print.

He develops the image by moving the paper through two trays, one holding developer and the other fixer, to create a paper negative. He then makes another exposure, which converts the negative image into a positive print. It was truly impressive to watch how smooth and precise the photographer worked.

Having been briefly banned along with music and paper bags by the Taliban the kamra-e-faoree camera is in danger of disappearing again as digital cameras become more common place in Kabul.

Lukas Birk is well aware of the historical signifiants of the Afghan street photographers and their camera. Mr.Birk  has creating the Afghan Box Camera Project. For any photographer who appreciates the history of cameras and film this is a worth while cause. Link:http://www.afghanboxcamera.com/

I waited to see if the women was going to remove her burka for the photo, she never did.

Life in the City of Angels: April 29, 1992 / Update: June 17, 2012

UPDATE : June, 17, 2012,  Rodney King, the man who was at the center of the infamous Los Angeles riots, was found dead this morning He was 47. According to media reports, King’s fiancée, Cynthia Kelly, found him dead at the bottom of a swimming pool. King recently marked the twentieth anniversary of the Los Angeles riots – the mayhem that took place after four police officers were acquitted of beating King in 1991. The beating, which was caught on camera, sparked national outrage and put King at the center of heated debate about the state of race relations in America. Mr. King, whose life was a roller coaster of drug and alcohol abuse, multiple arrests and unwanted celebrity, pleaded for calm during the 1992 riots. More than 55 people were killed and 600 buildings destroyed in the violence.

This is my video journal of the first night the L.A. Riots.

On April 29, 1992, twelve jurors in Simi Valley, California rendered their verdicts in a controversial case involving the 1991 beating of Rodney King by four LAPD officers. The case had received heavy media coverage dating from before it even went to trial, when a video of the beating hit the national airwaves. It came as a surprise then, as the verdicts were read: One of the officers was found guilty of excessive force; the other officers were cleared of all charges. The verdicts were broadcast live, and word spread quickly throughout Los Angeles. At various points throughout the city that afternoon, people began rioting. For the next three days the violence and mayhem continued. Mayor Tom Bradley imposed a curfew, schools and businesses were closed. Governor Pete Wilson dispatched 4,000 National Guard troops to patrol the streets. People stayed home, watching on TV with the rest of the country as live TV coverage showed fires raging throughout the city, innocent bystanders being assaulted and looters sacking businesses.

I was freelancing for several news organization and picked up an assignment for CBS News that evening. I was to cover Spike Lee speaking to the students at the University of California, Irvine. The drive is about 45 miles from L.A. After it was announced that Mr. Lee was unable to attend I made my way back to L.A. on the 405 freeway. I listened to KFWB all news radio for leads and followed police helicopters to cover the riots.

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On Monday, May 4, schools and businesses reopened and life returned to some semblance of normality. The toll from the worst civil unrest LA had experienced since 1965 was devastating: more than 50 killed, over 4 thousand injured, 12,000 people arrested, and $1 billion in property damage.

 

 

 

Homage to Rear Window

Link to video: http://youtu.be/4vHRw9XiFMI

Alfred Hitchcock’s Rear Window is one of my favorite movies. The story is about photographer L.B. “Jeff” Jeffries (James Stewart) who is recuperating from a broken leg during a sweltering New York summer. As a successful photographer, he’s known for taking difficult pictures no one else can get, including the one of an out-of-control race car which smashed his camera and broke his leg an instant after it was snapped. Jeffries lives in a small apartment, and spends his time looking out the rear window into the courtyard of the building; he can also see into the lives of all his neighbors, catching glimpses of their daily routines. It’s the sort of thing only an invalid might do, watching them eat, clean, sleep and argue. There’s the girl who exercises in her underwear (Georgine Darcy), the married couple (Sara Berner and Frank Cady) who sleep on their small balcony to beat the heat, the struggling songwriter working at his piano (Ross Bagdasarian); and there’s the salesman who lives across the courtyard from Jeffries, the one with the nagging bedridden wife. They seem to fight all too often.
Like archeologist digging into the earth and discovering ancient artifacts I will pause the DVD so I can check out L.B’s camera gear and admire the work of cinematographer Robert Burks . For any photographer, no matter what you market this movie is fun and beautifully filmed.

Filmmaker Jeff Desom has created a brilliant and beautiful homage to Alfred Hitchcock’s “Rear Window” . By editing a panoramic time-lapse video of the courtyard through the lens of Jeff Jeffries. Mr. Desom definitely captures the spirit and the subtext of  ”Rear Window” by observing the lives of others – which is what we photographers do best. Link to Jeff Desom’s time-lapse of “Rear Window” video: http://youtu.be/4vHRw9XiFMI   Also, check out Mr. Desom website, very creative. http://www.jeffdesom.com/

Director Hitchcock on the set with James Stewart

1954 Rear Window Movie Trailer Link: http://youtu.be/6kCcZCMYw38

A Rear Window’ recreation by Scarlett Johansson & Javier Bardem.

When In Rome

I have a wish. I wish I had the guts to wear salmon color trousers like my Italian cousins or like the musicians I photograph. I have been told by a love one ” When in Rome does as the Romans”. Unfortunately, I live in Los Angeles which is fashionable, but, only with Botox and breast augmentation. L.A. doesn’t have a little Italy but it does have plenty golf courses where old white men can wear kooky plaid or checkered pants, but, I don’t play golf.
By the way, where did that Roman quote come from ? Thanks to Google I found the story behind the quote – It seems that St. Augustine arrived in Milan, he observed that the Church did not fast on Saturday as did the Church at Rome. He consulted St. Ambrose, bishop of Milan, who replied: “When I am at Rome, I fast on a Saturday; when I am at Milan, I do not. Follow the custom of the Church where you are.” The comment was changed to “When they are at Rome, they do there as they see done” by Robert Burton in his Anatomy of Melancholy. Eventually it became “When in Rome, do as the Romans do.”
Well, on my next trip to Rome I will be taking my salmon color trousers with me until then I’ll just wear them around the house. Ciao!