Over the past
with BASS PLAYER,
Art Director and
a shelf full of
and some dusty
some over the
next few columns
he can't remember
or they fail to be
Photograph from October 1997
SOMETIMES, A GOOD IDEA CAN BE BORN FROM MYRIAD
sources of intense complexity, incorporating grandiose depth and breadth of
insight and thought. Such are the most magnificent endeavors of man: the
construction of the Parthenon, the Apollo space program, and mapping the
sequence of the human genome, to name but a few. And other times great
ideas can come directly from the most pure, abject stupidity. I can say with
only the tiniest degree of reluctance that more of my ideas originate from
the latter than the former.
I am what most would label a shallow dimwit at my very best moments,
but occasionally I can produce what I describe as unmitigated conceptual
genius. Th is was precisely the case on the day of the cover photo session of
the bassist for the band 311. As Editor Karl Coryat and I rolled through Hollywood,
arguing intellectually at length—as we usually did in those days—
the finer points of the previous night’s David Letterman monologue, we were
forced to abruptly abort our conversation as the realization fell upon us that
we were about a half-mile from the shoot location and I had absolutely no
idea what I would do with this man’s portrait to make it remotely compelling.
I mused, and ruminated, and contemplated, and reflected from within for
what seemed like an entire minute, and then began to brainstorm out loud.
“Let’s see, shooting a bassist. Okay. His name is P-Nut. Hmm. P-Nut.
“I’ve got it!”