Philip Glass

Philip Glass, Manhattan NY, 1992. How cool is it to go from shooting Van Halen and Bon Jovi to Philip Glass the same month? It’s a big jump...but what made it work for me was treating him the same way I’d treat any rock star. I go to his house, this basement apartment in Greenwich Village that was funky and kind of messy—sheet music everywhere and a parrot flying around. He was clearly brilliant, and a little frazzled, focused on what he did. He was like Einstein in a way—I mean, you could practically see musical notes coming out of his ears. But he was open and fun with me.

I shot him with the bird, inside the house, and then took him outside to the street. I sat him down right in front of his house on the curb of this gritty New York street and did a sort of raw, down-and-dirty kind of photograph. It was the kind of photo you’d expect of a rocker, not of someone with a more highbrow approach to music. But that was why it worked—his music was elevated, but his personality really fit with this grittier approach. I got to capture a side of him that maybe somebody else would not have.

He later brought me to shoot him at the Met for one of his operas. It was almost impossible to get in with a camera because of union rules—I couldn’t even step foot on the floor of the stage. I couldn’t do anything with lighting, no tripod…they barely let me in with my camera. I mean, it was a photographer’s nightmare. But when no one was looking, I braced myself and had Phillip hold very still, using the stage lights to grab my picture before anyone saw me. It was a struggle—but I still got the shot.

I don’t think anyone else worked with him the way I did. I had no interest in just taking a picture of who people thought he was. I wanted to capture the real Philip Glass—this eccentric genius, a total original, parrot and all.