The truth is, Andy wasn’t an arbitrary choice of photographer. A celebration of strong identity and self-expression in many forms: from the mesmerizing dance of FKA Twigs right through to the unbridled rage of John Lydon. Initially simply a love letter to a few musicians we liked, but then something deeper than that. So we say let’s see what happens and Andy gives me more images. He likes it, says he enjoys the way I have tapped into each one’s essence, considering what these extreme characters mean to those who they inspire, and remained sympathetic to the image without overwhelming it. I paint over Ian Brown, Damon Albarn, Keith Flint, send them back and return to the pub. Most photographers wouldn’t do this, too precious to even dream of letting someone with ink near their goods. Finishing up the beer, we head round to his house where he gives me a USB drive full of images I like to have a play with. On the screen is the number for Andrew Cotterill, the photographer behind the images on the wall.Ī voicemail and a returned phone call later, I’m in the pub during the day again, facing Andy, an East Londoner who’s been taking music photographs for a couple of decades. He did a load of stuff for us at The Big Issue.” The friend slid his phone across the table, landing in the sunlight. I said how much I loved the photograph and how I’d like to apply my hand lettering style, new at the time, to music photography. One other bloke in the corner.Īs had now become customary on each visit here, I raised a finger to point at Jarvis, one hand covering a side of his face. Just a little sunlight coming through from the market square and hitting the dusty table. Me, an unsettled illustrator nursing a pint at 2pm, new to the big city and escaping the cabin fever of working from my bedroom.Īn art director friend, now also freelance, mirroring me.
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