In front of the lens of Barry Feinstein the greatest celebrities of Hollywood and of music not only made in the USA have come and gone. Between the 50s and 70s of the last century, the photographer contributed to spreading the image of the most loved characters through the covers of magazines and LP covers, but also with shots taken out of the limelight, which revealed the aspects more hidden, the most intimate jet set souls.
Of him, who accompanied him on the European tour, Bob Dylan said he was a “really great” photographer. And certainly to Feinstein the minstrel of rock owed the diffusion of the images that portrayed him in the most tested moments, far from the crowds that acclimate him and seemed to annoy him, and so we remember him thanks to Feinstein.
And to him many rock stars entrusted the photography of their albums, which magically became historical. Eric Clapton almost frightened, staring straight ahead, George Harrison surrounded by a series of garden dwarfs, perhaps a metaphor of the Beatles, or perhaps simply a shot that depicts him into his most intimately loved environment: the garden; Janis Joplin in a flirtatious and colorful version, B.B King with the inseparable guitar, Aretha Franklin and her photographed voice.
We are talking about a different era from the current one, an era in which the cover of the most loved LP was filmed and turned thousands of times in the hands until it became historical not only for the iconography of rock but for our own life. In those images, perhaps the secrets were hidden to understand the notes, the most personal meaning that was hidden in them, and the images became one with the music.
Even today it may be so, but let’s face it, our addiction to the image, at least fifty years later, makes everything less romantic.