By William Carter

Photographer, Author, Jazz Musician

Posts Tagged ‘photography

Professionalism and Creativity

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LAWilliamCarterOnce in the late 1950s, when our friend, the bassist “Squire” Girsback, was on the road as a member the Louis Armstrong All Stars, Squire invited us to his home on the San Francisco Peninsula to enjoy red beans and rice and meet the great man.

Louis was sitting on the floor in a back bedroom with his pants legs rolled up and a big plate of the beloved New Orleans dish in his lap. He was glad to meet Squire’s friends but looked slightly sheepish at first because he was hiding from a road manager one of whose jobs was to prevent Louis, who was afflicted with stomach problems, from eating the wrong foods, including such good ole spicy n’owlins fare.

I was not yet a photographer, but would soon become one, and would meet Armstrong one more time — in 1962, at Rutgers University — and photograph him there. The picture on this page was never printed until 2014, 52 years later. A print of it is going to the unique Louis Armstrong archive in Queens, New York, and another will be donated to Stanford University, whose Archive of Recorded Sound holds important jazz collections. These include those of the San Francisco Traditional Jazz Foundation, the original Monterey Jazz Festival tapes, and the over 400 Jim Cullum radio shows which Stanford has been streaming free worldwide, 24 hours a day.

Squire, in semi-retirement, sometimes regaled us with stories of those two years with Louis — the highlight of the bass man’s life. Constantly playing one night concerts in huge auditoriums on the road, the All Stars used a set routine, like most successful touring shows. Squire told us the players mostly played the same notes, in the same places, with the same crowd-pleasing antics, every night. With some exceptions — especially Satch. Now and then, Louis would seemingly receive some message from outer space and blow — or sing — a flurry of notes Squire never heard before or since. The band just kept the same routine going, but Squire would answer these flourishes with a special flurry of his own, which caused “Pops” — who heard everything happening in his band at all times — to turn and give his bass man a big wink. Squire carried those winks in his heart until the day he died.

Professionalism in any field means producing, or reproducing, a reliable product. Careful preparation, good chops and perfect execution. Big bucks in the top echelon of the entertainment industry is no different in this respect from bands remaining stable, and stable enough to get invited back every year to established festivals.

But is this middlebrow predictability not fundamentally in conflict with a premise of jazz, namely spontaneity? Many musicians will tell you that some of the great moments in jazz happen out of the limelight, in dim bars or backroom settings allowing for creative chemistry — happy accidents. Which means leaving open the possibility for bands and players to depart from expected routines, even at the cost of the occasional wrong chord or creative “mistake.” Dimly lit Bay Area joints like Pier 23 and Café Borrone and Nick’s and Berkeley’s old Monkey Inn are and were the seedbed for such creativity. As were, in the whole history of jazz, a precious few record labels, and leaders whose DNA understands not only reliability but freshness.

Louis’ crowd-pleasing was the opposite of a circus routine. It flowed directly from his heart in communication with other hearts — from an understanding, in his personal DNA, which was inseparable from the DNA of New Orleans jazz, that this music is about a kind of inner and outer openness in which spontaneity is key.

girsbackSquire Girsback, San Francisco Peninsula, 1970s © William Carter

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February 4, 2015 at 6:34 am

Much More on the Kurds Part 6

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northern Iraq 1965

photographs and text © William Carter

They defended their birthright as a people.









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January 14, 2015 at 12:00 pm

Much More on the Kurds Part 5

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northern Iraq 1965

photographs and text © William Carter

Is there no end to my photo-memories of these beautiful people?
The children, if they survived, would be around 60 by now.









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January 7, 2015 at 12:00 pm

Much More on the Kurds Part 4

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northern Iraq 1965

photographs and text © William Carter


Mullah Mustafa Barzani (right) with an assistant

Marching peshmergas getting directions from locals

Shepherds in spring: Kurds and their lands are distinct from others in the Middle East

Migrant shepherd family in spring

Relaxing in a village tea shop

Christian girl sheltering in a cave from Iraqi bombing

Mullah Mustafa Barzani during our last interview

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December 24, 2014 at 12:00 pm

Much More on the Kurds Part 3

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northern Iraq 1965

photographs and text © William Carter


These are actually Yemenis. See explanation below in comments.

Kurdish villagers beside a well-used road in northern Iraq

Kurdish village, northern Iraq

Shepherd boy in spring

Spring religious ritual, near the Iraq-Iran border

Spring religious ritual, near the Iran-Iraq border

Sorting grain on a rooftop

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December 10, 2014 at 12:00 pm

Much More on the Kurds Part 2

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northern Iraq 1965

photographs and text © William Carter


Morning in Kurdistan

Native Ibex from Kurdish area of eastern Iraq or western Iran

Conference between locals and peshmerga commanders

Burial of an executed “josh” (“donkey” or Iraqi government spy)

Kurdish graveyard

Peshmergas enjoying home hospitality in village north of Suleimaniya

yet_more_2.7Peshmerga platoon on the march

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November 26, 2014 at 12:00 pm

Much More on the Kurds Part 1

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yet_more_1.1northern Iraq 1965

photographs and text © William Carter


Because there’s been such a huge response to my Kurdish blogs (including a speaking request in California), I dug deeper and found more images from my trip to their mountain homeland in June 1965.
The figure at left is legendary leader Mullah Mustafa Barzani, father of the current President of Kurdistan, Massoud Barzani.

(By the way, I received several requests that I call it simply “Kurdistan,” not “Iraqi Kurdistan.” Well, that request is thick with politics. Suffice it to say I am an American, and my country is a member of NATO, which includes Turkey, whose southeast corner has an overwhelmingly large Kurdish population. Yet in my heart I am thrilled that the U.S. military and the Kurdish peshmerga fighters are working shoulder to shoulder these days–in a part of the world where trust is always in short supply)

More than 50 years ago, the day I was saying goodbye to Mullah Mustafa, we shook hands, and he said, “Please help us in America.” Through the translator I replied, “America is a big ocean, and I only have a small cup.”

Everyone laughed.

A few days later, when I rode away on a donkey, east toward the Iranian border, my peshmerga hosts lined themselves along the brow of a hill, waving for a while, then just standing there and watching me go, for nearly an hour, until I dropped out of sight.

Not, though, out of mind.






Written by bywilliamcarter

November 12, 2014 at 7:06 pm


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