Since I’ve come down to London to meet one of my heroes, I ask him about his. Was there any photographer growing up, or in his early days in the industry, who David Redfern admired? “Well….” he pauses for a long time, “I loved the work of Herman Leonard, and I still do. And there was Bert Stern, who was wonderful. I really liked the film he did though, Jazz on a Summer’s Day which he shot like a stills photographer.” I ask him to expand – “Well he sort of did a lot of really long shots, which lasted for ages, and people would walk in and out of the shot, like through a camera viewfinder.” He went on, “but [unlike] Herman and Bert I’ve always been a bit of a long-lens man.” Redfern is renowned for his long-standing loyalty to the Hasselblad system of cameras, which are large, heavy, but beautifully constructed, and with superb optics to match. “My favourite lens is a 180mm on the ‘Blad, which is about 135mm on a 35mm camera”. (The Hasselblad takes medium-format film, which produces a larger negative. 180mm is a medium-length telephoto)
“I prefer that sort of perspective, from a bit further away, and the depth-of-field is different on medium format.”

Has digital imaging altered the way Redfern works? “Oh yes, it’s changed the way the archive works completely. We have to bear the cost of buying film scanners, and expensive computers, but it will save money in the long run”. Has he used digital cameras? “Yes”, replies Redfern, turning to the last few pages of the book, which is open on the table in front of me. “A lot of the stuff here from 2004-2005 is on digital, either a (Fuji) Finepix or a digital back on my Hasselblad.” What does he think of digital technology? “Well I wouldn’t use it for black and white, because it’s not good enough yet, but in colour it’s wonderful. If someone asked me to shoot something specifically in black and white though I’d still do it on film.” He points to 3 images on one of the pages of The Unclosed Eye, taken in a series. “The top two are on film, and the bottom one is on digital. You can’t tell the difference. In low light too, digital definitely has the edge” he tells me, “you get some noise, but you can work on that afterwards, and at a sensitivity of 1600 on my Finepix I can get shots that I just couldn’t have managed on [colour] film”.

To flash or not to flash
Flash, the use or otherwise thereof, is a perennial bug-bear for live music photographers. Some people love it, and use flash whenever they can, and some photographers look down on it, as obtrusive, or an easy way out when the light isn’t perfect. Redfern rarely uses flash. “I think you’ll find about 3 photographs in my book where I’ve used it” he says, “I just don’t like it. It’s annoying, and especially in an intimate venue it can ruin the atmosphere” Looking at some of his photographs it is clear that over the years, Redfern has enjoyed some pretty amazing lighting rigs from a photographer’s point of view, and he tells me that a lot of his best images have come out of T.V. studios, where the lights are particularly bright. He is reminded of one occasion when he was photographing a series of concerts of, and ultimately for Frank Sinatra, with whom he had gradually built up a mutual respect.
“I think if Frank liked you, you were alright” remembers Redfern, smiling, “If he knew his ‘people’ were getting a bit sniffy with me he would override them, you know. Once I remember he was playing the Royal Albert Hall, and he had this idea that he wanted a photograph of him coming out onstage with the audience all lit up, with me behind him to take the picture. But obviously it didn’t work, we showed him the photos and there just wasn’t enough light in the auditorium. But Frank was adamant that he wanted the picture, so he just told his lighting people to set the hall up for the photograph for the next night, because he was performing again.” Redfern chuckles as he remembers, “The next night I came in, and the Hall was hung like a Christmas tree with hundreds of lights, from gantries like a horseshoe around the back of the hall. Then at the prearranged moment Frank just clicked his fingers and the whole place lit up!” Redfern pauses, “and I got the picture.”
Didn’t Sinatra ask him to do his passport photograph? I ask him, “Oh yes, that was funny really. I think his passport had expired or something, and he needed a new photo taken and his people got in contact because they wanted a photographer they could trust. I just took 4 or 5 pictures, click click click, and handed the film over. I was nervous as hell!”

Playing the Hasselblad
Now that photographs like his have found their way onto the walls of art galleries, I ask Redfern, has photography finally become accepted as an art? “Yes, I think so” he answers, “but it’s long overdue really. I think as time goes by, the interest in prints as art increases, just because they’re older. Hendrix belongs to the past now for example, and his pictures sell really well. Also as I get older,” Redfern chuckles again, “people seem to take my work much more seriously. It’s just what happens.”

Redfern is widely quoted as saying, when mistaken for a member of a band, which instrument he played, “I play the Hasselblad”. Does he see the process of creating photographs as analogous with the act of performing music? “Yes,” he says, “I do really. That used to be a stock answer I’d give, – you know, to put people off, “I play the Hasselblad”, but there’s a perception from some people, especially now actually, that anyone can take a photograph, but that’s not true, and it never has been.” I mention the increase in popularity of digital imaging, and the corresponding belief that anyone at a gig can be a music photographer, “absolutely” he agrees, “and it’s stupid, because for a start you can’t see anything on those little screens, and then there’s a delay on the shutter, so there’s no sense of waiting for the right moment anymore at all. You have to have an eye for it, and no amount of technology will change that.” I ask him whether he has seen the industry change in the past few years, and mention David Bailey, who has been appearing in the pages of the Broadsheets recently with his (fairly straightforward) ‘Autograph’ fashion photographs, whilst young photographers struggle to get a foothold in the industry. “Yeah”, Redfern sighs, “it’s hard now, but I remember a time in the 70s where the Sunday supplements only wanted the big names, even then.” He laughs, “I’ll always remember once, I was shooting Duke Ellington, in a T.V. studio, and Don McCullin (renowned conflict photographer, veteran of several foreign wars in the 50s, 60s, 70s and 80s) was there for The Times and he was so bored! He kept saying how boring it was, and I got so pissed off! He just wanted to be in a war somewhere I think!” Speaking of other photographers, I ask, was Redfern ever tempted, along with characters like the legendary Mick Rock, to get involved with the lifestyle, as well as the music of the people that he photographed? Mick Rock partied alongside Bowie, Lou Reed and Iggy Pop for most of the 1970s and has pa
id the price in recent years with se
rious heart problems. “Not really” Redfern answers. “I wasn’t really into that. You don’t get that so much with the jazz musicians anyway, although there was always a lot of alcohol around. I’ll always remember though, it was when I was working with the Roy Eldrich band, quite early on, and they were drinking pretty hard, and Roy took me to one side and said, very seriously, “Don’t even think about keeping up with us.” And that was very, very good advice.”

The interview over, David takes me into the gallery, a couple of doors up the street, the walls of which are covered in wonderful black and white images of the Rolling Stones. A photographer from one of the broadsheets is waiting for him; – they’re doing an interview today too. The photographer apologises to Redfern, “it’s a bit weird, a photographer taking photos of another photographer!” he exclaims, but Redfern demurs, hunching towards the door. “Not really,” he says, – the photographer following the photographer, – “not really.” We wave goodbye, and I turn back to the photographs.

*Later it turns out that it was in fact voice-activated. Balls.

Redfern’s book, The Unclosed Eye: The Music Photography of David Redfern, is published on 1st November 2005 and costs £25. (ISBN: 0955071801) Click here to buy it from durham21 in association with Amazon at a reduced price of just £17.50

All images © David Redfern, except image of David himself, © barney britton