Post by darkstar on Nov 17, 2005 0:37:48 GMT
San Diego City Beat News
November 16 2005
ROCK OF AGES
La Jolla’s Morrison Hotel Gallery Enshrines A Era’s Musical Elite
by Martin Jones Westlin
In early 1972, only a stupendous California daybreak stood between the Eagles and the group’s first taste of real popularity. Last call at a fabled Hollywood venue, the Troubadour, would mark the start of a trip to the high desert east of L.A., where the early sun lit the eventual cover shot for Eagles, the band’s debut album. A few weeks later, the group was up and running, and it would proceed to cut or compile a whopping 16 LPs or CDs through 2003. According to Billboard magazine, Vol. I of the guys’ greatest hits is the best-selling recording ever produced.
But the real story made its way onto something called Under the Covers, a completely excellent DVD about the lives and work of some of America’s biggest ’60s and ’70s rockers. Seems that little morning excursion blew up into a big impromptu peyote party—the harmful side effects pretty much scattered the band about three and a half sheets to the desert wind. Small wonder, maybe, that the front of the jacket features cacti instead of people.
“Y’know,” Eagles guitarist Glenn Frey would quip years later, sheepishly nodding in the direction of some negatives, “this is not history. This is evidence.”
Rich Horowitz and Henry Diltz like that tale a lot. And why wouldn’t they? Aside from being rather whimsical, it accompanies some defining stages in each man’s career. Diltz, who shot the album cover, had already built a reputation as one of the nation’s eminent rock photographers; Horowitz would eventually channel his collector’s fetish into Off the Record, a San Diego-area record shop that’s enjoyed landmark status since the late 1970s.
Horowitz sold his last store in 2003 en route to an expanded business relationship with Diltz. The two have parlayed their passions for close to six years, trying to sell lots of pictures of people running around onstage and chugging booze and staring into space and playing with their food and stuff.
And with each transaction, the world is a culturally safer place to rear its young.
Welcome to the Morrison Hotel Gallery, La Jolla’s first-class repository of rock’s defining moments and a destination venue for salable fine art. The exterior at 1230 Prospect St. rivals next door’s Top of the Cove restaurant in its pristineness, but a roily side swirls within, its musical envoys frozen in monumental tribute. Dylan, Joplin, Hendrix, Clapton, Smith, Springsteen, Page, Browne, Mitchell, Strummer, Ramone and beyond: The names are as formidable as the times that generated them. With the gallery, their very public posterity is assured.
A cluster of pen-and-inks by John Lennon shares two floors and 1,600 square feet with things like Jimi’s hangdog mug, Janis’ vapid leer, Eric’s shit-eating grin and Johnny Cash’s stubby middle finger. Hair and sartorials collide at breakneck speed. Mic stands are often the only recognizable objects as bodies and instruments meld into a blur. Horowitz, the affable co-owner, flashes a doughboy smile and breezes by them like they were candids from your mom’s high-school yearbook—such is his unaffected delight at the spectacle of it all.
The Encinitas resident is a hopeless rock junkie first, a hobbyist second and a businessman third. When he talks, each facet feeds effortlessly off the others.
“I was watching it all go down,” Horowitz, 51, said of his tenure in the music trade. “I was watching it first as a collector and then as a record-store owner and seeing all the different time periods. I think a lot of these photographers in the past, when they had had all these gallery shows in other parts of the country, were dealing with more traditional photo galleries. I don’t think the people who ran the photo galleries were necessarily fans. But every band that [somebody] would mention, no matter how obscure, I either knew about or had all the records.”
The Morrison’s exhibitors have included Elliott Landy, one of Bob Dylan’s closer acquaintances and a photographer at the original Woodstock music festival; Frank Stefanko, lensman to the likes of Bruce Springsteen and Patti Smith; Bob Gruen, Lennon’s good friend and photographer to the Clash, the Ramones and the Sex Pistols; Neal Preston, Led Zeppelin’s tour shooter; and co-owner Diltz, who’s “smoked grass with every one of the people I shot, except maybe the Osmond Brothers and one of the Monkees.” His acclaimed jacket photos, including the one for the first Crosby, Stills & Nash LP, were featured at the gallery’s opening show last January.
Underneath the star-studded roster, Horowitz has discovered a group of deadly serious collectors whose effect on sales helps maintain the gallery’s $400,000 annual budget.
“There are people who collect vintage photography,” Horowitz explained, “who won’t even consider buying a newly done print, even if it was from an original neg[ative] from 40 years ago, unless it was printed back then. If you have a 1953 [Jaguar] XK120 and you’ve popped a new Jaguar engine in it, it has a huge effect on the value of that car. If you put a Chevy engine in it, you can kiss it goodbye.”
Although he declined to reveal his sales figures, Horowitz said that about 5 percent of his patrons eventually purchase a Morrison piece (prices start at around $150). And while tourists account for about 60 percent of the foot traffic, he added, cultural interest accounts for it all.
“There’s not really a lot of people doing what we do,” he explained. “Right away, when somebody’s walking down the street in La Jolla, no matter where they’re from, all they have to do is walk by the front window. They see pictures of John Lennon and Jimmy Page and the Doors. That piques their interest right away. If they’re a rock ’n’ roll fan, that’s an instant magnet. If they’re not a rock ’n’ roll fan, then a lot of times they’re just curious.”
Presumably, the reaction’s the same in New York’s Soho neighborhood, where Diltz and Horowitz have run a similar gallery with partner Peter Lachrymose since 2002.
Once in a while, the patrons are also looking for a place to stay. Horowitz will then kindly explain that the Morrison Hotel Gallery doesn’t rent rooms, dammit—it takes its handle from the second-to-last Doors LP before lead singer Jim Morrison’s death in 1971. Diltz, 67, shot the Morrison Hotel cover off the real-life L.A. building of the same name. And just as fandom feeds Horowitz’s obsession, Diltz is pumped by the era’s historical significance. The Morrison jacket, he said, is typical of his unhurried approach, one that reflects alliances among everybody involved.
“It was just that renaissance time of singer-songwriter stuff happening in L.A.,” Diltz explained. “And the groups like Crosby, Stills & Nash and the Doors didn’t let the record company tell them what they were going to do. The group gave the cover to the record company and said, ‘This is what we want.’ We had the group behind us, not like today.”
And that Eagles jaunt to the high country was no spur-of-the-moment affair. Trips like that were Diltz’s way of assuring his subjects’ spontaneity. Junkets to Big Sur or into rural California would yield hundreds of photos and a slide show to determine the cream of the crop. Diltz’s partner Gary Burdon took it from there, shading and centering the final product on a jacket mock-up.
The process sounds unremarkable by today’s standards, but for the pre-MTV crowd, it was a definitive source of information.
“Before there were music videos and VH-1,” Diltz said, “this is the way people sort of got their image of the musicians. They’d sit there and stare at the album covers while the record was playing or turn it over and read the liner notes. It’s more than the art form that’s lost—it’s the experience of sitting there and looking at the cover.”
But a fellow legend, whose bottomless bass counters Diltz’s disarming lilt, once foresaw the end to a lot more than album-jacket photography. The bands and their fans weren’t getting any younger, and the United States would pull out of Southeast Asia in a mire of self-inflicted disgrace. No less than photographer Mick Rock—the so-called “man who shot the ’70s” and who will open Through the Lens of Mick Rock at a Morrison reception on Friday, Nov. 18—was there to capture the escapist aftereffects. He’s shot David Bowie, Iggy Pop, Syd Barrett, Lou Reed, Freddie Mercury and about a jillion others for exhibits in Tokyo, New York and London (his birthplace).
Magazines like Gentlemen’s Quarterly and Playboy have also hit him up for fashion work. And amid his decades with the glammest of the glam and the punkest of the punk, it’s easy to understand the demand.
Rock explained that his ’70s images “look a lot like today’s, the glammy, punky, fashiony stuff, whereas the stuff from the ’60s looks like it’s from a long time ago. That’s not necessarily a bad thing when you’re trying to sell prints. The older it looks sometimes, the better. The more people are willing to shell out the money.”
But early glam’s artists had little use for the past and even less for sentiment.
“Obviously,” Rock observed, “there was a lot of campiness to glam, but there was also a futuristic vibe about it, and there was also an undercurrent of a self-destructive thing. It wasn’t just a bunch of pansies bouncing around with a bunch of makeup on and a bunch of silly clothes. It was a lot more informed. It certainly had a kind of literary resonance to it. It’s not just about makeup and mirrors and looking like a girl. There was a lot more edge.
“And in the last days of glam and punk, we always thought those were the last days of rock ’n’ roll anyway, and that there wasn’t going to be much more. That contributed to that decadent feeling, that fantasy-act feeling. I think we felt pretty dislodged.”
Bowie contemplates it all from a sitting-room mirror, his reflection a mixture of finesse and fear as the lush greenery from outside takes its menacing measure. He’s dressed in a low-cut leather-jacket kinda thing with a big collar, his perfect coif nearly standing on end amid the bleak prospect of instant anonymity. It is an absolutely flawless photograph—and it’s one of Horowitz’s more prominent selections for this show.
For Rock, 55, it also speaks to the revolving door that faces many of his current clients, such as Kasabian and the Killers. In the old days, he said, giants like Bowie and Lou Reed languished for years before hitting it big; Bowie’s breakout deal was signed in the U.S., as he’d met with little or no interest in Britain.
“Obviously, we’re 30 years on,” Rock said, “and, obviously, bands today are alert to promotion. In a certain sense, they can’t just rely on their art or photography to carry them forward. They need to hit pretty fast; otherwise, the record companies won’t stick with them. Thirty years ago, there was more time for gestation. There was more time to grow as an artist. Today, you have to get that record out. People want you to stir it up pretty quick. We’ll wait and see how many of these people have long careers.
“But what’s happening in La Jolla with me,” he added, “is pretty much about the past. When it comes to selling prints in galleries, people want the old stuff. Everybody wants the stuff when the acts were young and beautiful. Out of order.”
But while Horowitz’s business side recognizes that vanity element as a selling point, the art dealer in him embraces the authenticity factor. The art dealer wins.
“There’s very few people that care about [’80s British rocker and Rock client] Steve Harley,” he said, “and probably no one will buy a Steve Harley shot. But I feel like we should have a Steve Harley shot in the show. If they don’t sell, I don’t care. They’re representative of the time, and that’s what I want this exhibit to be. I want it to be a true representation of what was happening while Mick was there.”
A skinny kid with a studded lip shuffles in with the parents, his crankiness tipping off some serious discomfort about the waste of time ahead. Horowitz senses the dilemma. He offers the youngster his hand and three seconds later the once-sullen face is a billboard of curiosity. This is not just any stuffy ol’ art dealer, man—this is the dude who used to own Off the Record! Horowitz’s stock is soaring, and mom and dad’s coolness quotient has hit an all-time high. The family didn’t leave with a print, but that’ll come. For now, the brief lesson in cultural history, and the smile on the star pupil’s face, were their own reward.
“That era was an amazing time on so many fronts,” Horowitz said, “not just musically but politically and socially. The music spearheaded a lot of that—but it also happened to be great music! It was great music and it is great music. All these years later, it’s still so fresh and appealing to people that weren’t around.”
Horowitz, of course, is understating the case. The music spoke to the national anger and the national hope. And in its simplicity and elegance, the gallery echoes that crucial refrain. “For so many people who come in here,” Horowitz fairly whispered, “this era was their life.”
As it happens, the Eagles are playing San Diego’s Cox Arena Nov. 16, the latest installment in a farewell tour that started in about 1863. A quick look at the Internet shows that seats are available, as is the case for all the group’s concerts in California and Hawaii through Dec. 3. If you were planning to catch the Anaheim entry Nov. 17, you should have no trouble getting the best chairs in the house. Given their price tag of nearly $5,300, nobody’s exactly gonna scarf ’em from under you in the next few hours.
Whatever your destination, you’ll probably stumble across a concession that includes a slightly less costly Eagles CD. The cover’s really pretty and all, with the faintest hint of orange propping up random whites and blues while a stand of sage and saguaro cactus contemplates the day ahead.
The shrunken design and skimpy liner notes mock the genuine article, the product of an earnest young L.A. photographer who once boldly surrendered himself to his art and his reverence for the musicians in it. His work points the way to an exhaustive pride in ownership and a culture’s artistic destiny. And a well-to-do San Diego enclave eagerly looks on.
Through the Lens of Mick Rock runs through Dec. 11. The Morrison Hotel Gallery is open Sundays through Thursdays from 11 a.m. to 7 p.m. and Fridays and Saturdays from 10 a.m. to 9 p.m. Further information is available at 656-551-0835 or from the gallery’s bitchin’ website at www.morrisonhotelgallery.com.
11/16/05
www.sdcitybeat.com/article.php?id=3760
Morrison Hotel Gallery
1230 Prospect Street
La Jolla, CA 92037
858-551-0835
Hours:
11:00 – 7:00 (Sun - Thurs)
11:00 – 9:00 (Fri - Sat)
Morrison Hotel Gallery specializes in limited edition and collectable fine art photographs of some of the most historically significant musicians and moments in music.
Morrison Hotel Gallery is proud to exclusively publish and represent the photography of Henry Diltz.
www.morrisonhotelgallery.com/index.html
November 16 2005
ROCK OF AGES
La Jolla’s Morrison Hotel Gallery Enshrines A Era’s Musical Elite
by Martin Jones Westlin
In early 1972, only a stupendous California daybreak stood between the Eagles and the group’s first taste of real popularity. Last call at a fabled Hollywood venue, the Troubadour, would mark the start of a trip to the high desert east of L.A., where the early sun lit the eventual cover shot for Eagles, the band’s debut album. A few weeks later, the group was up and running, and it would proceed to cut or compile a whopping 16 LPs or CDs through 2003. According to Billboard magazine, Vol. I of the guys’ greatest hits is the best-selling recording ever produced.
But the real story made its way onto something called Under the Covers, a completely excellent DVD about the lives and work of some of America’s biggest ’60s and ’70s rockers. Seems that little morning excursion blew up into a big impromptu peyote party—the harmful side effects pretty much scattered the band about three and a half sheets to the desert wind. Small wonder, maybe, that the front of the jacket features cacti instead of people.
“Y’know,” Eagles guitarist Glenn Frey would quip years later, sheepishly nodding in the direction of some negatives, “this is not history. This is evidence.”
Rich Horowitz and Henry Diltz like that tale a lot. And why wouldn’t they? Aside from being rather whimsical, it accompanies some defining stages in each man’s career. Diltz, who shot the album cover, had already built a reputation as one of the nation’s eminent rock photographers; Horowitz would eventually channel his collector’s fetish into Off the Record, a San Diego-area record shop that’s enjoyed landmark status since the late 1970s.
Horowitz sold his last store in 2003 en route to an expanded business relationship with Diltz. The two have parlayed their passions for close to six years, trying to sell lots of pictures of people running around onstage and chugging booze and staring into space and playing with their food and stuff.
And with each transaction, the world is a culturally safer place to rear its young.
Welcome to the Morrison Hotel Gallery, La Jolla’s first-class repository of rock’s defining moments and a destination venue for salable fine art. The exterior at 1230 Prospect St. rivals next door’s Top of the Cove restaurant in its pristineness, but a roily side swirls within, its musical envoys frozen in monumental tribute. Dylan, Joplin, Hendrix, Clapton, Smith, Springsteen, Page, Browne, Mitchell, Strummer, Ramone and beyond: The names are as formidable as the times that generated them. With the gallery, their very public posterity is assured.
A cluster of pen-and-inks by John Lennon shares two floors and 1,600 square feet with things like Jimi’s hangdog mug, Janis’ vapid leer, Eric’s shit-eating grin and Johnny Cash’s stubby middle finger. Hair and sartorials collide at breakneck speed. Mic stands are often the only recognizable objects as bodies and instruments meld into a blur. Horowitz, the affable co-owner, flashes a doughboy smile and breezes by them like they were candids from your mom’s high-school yearbook—such is his unaffected delight at the spectacle of it all.
The Encinitas resident is a hopeless rock junkie first, a hobbyist second and a businessman third. When he talks, each facet feeds effortlessly off the others.
“I was watching it all go down,” Horowitz, 51, said of his tenure in the music trade. “I was watching it first as a collector and then as a record-store owner and seeing all the different time periods. I think a lot of these photographers in the past, when they had had all these gallery shows in other parts of the country, were dealing with more traditional photo galleries. I don’t think the people who ran the photo galleries were necessarily fans. But every band that [somebody] would mention, no matter how obscure, I either knew about or had all the records.”
The Morrison’s exhibitors have included Elliott Landy, one of Bob Dylan’s closer acquaintances and a photographer at the original Woodstock music festival; Frank Stefanko, lensman to the likes of Bruce Springsteen and Patti Smith; Bob Gruen, Lennon’s good friend and photographer to the Clash, the Ramones and the Sex Pistols; Neal Preston, Led Zeppelin’s tour shooter; and co-owner Diltz, who’s “smoked grass with every one of the people I shot, except maybe the Osmond Brothers and one of the Monkees.” His acclaimed jacket photos, including the one for the first Crosby, Stills & Nash LP, were featured at the gallery’s opening show last January.
Underneath the star-studded roster, Horowitz has discovered a group of deadly serious collectors whose effect on sales helps maintain the gallery’s $400,000 annual budget.
“There are people who collect vintage photography,” Horowitz explained, “who won’t even consider buying a newly done print, even if it was from an original neg[ative] from 40 years ago, unless it was printed back then. If you have a 1953 [Jaguar] XK120 and you’ve popped a new Jaguar engine in it, it has a huge effect on the value of that car. If you put a Chevy engine in it, you can kiss it goodbye.”
Although he declined to reveal his sales figures, Horowitz said that about 5 percent of his patrons eventually purchase a Morrison piece (prices start at around $150). And while tourists account for about 60 percent of the foot traffic, he added, cultural interest accounts for it all.
“There’s not really a lot of people doing what we do,” he explained. “Right away, when somebody’s walking down the street in La Jolla, no matter where they’re from, all they have to do is walk by the front window. They see pictures of John Lennon and Jimmy Page and the Doors. That piques their interest right away. If they’re a rock ’n’ roll fan, that’s an instant magnet. If they’re not a rock ’n’ roll fan, then a lot of times they’re just curious.”
Presumably, the reaction’s the same in New York’s Soho neighborhood, where Diltz and Horowitz have run a similar gallery with partner Peter Lachrymose since 2002.
Once in a while, the patrons are also looking for a place to stay. Horowitz will then kindly explain that the Morrison Hotel Gallery doesn’t rent rooms, dammit—it takes its handle from the second-to-last Doors LP before lead singer Jim Morrison’s death in 1971. Diltz, 67, shot the Morrison Hotel cover off the real-life L.A. building of the same name. And just as fandom feeds Horowitz’s obsession, Diltz is pumped by the era’s historical significance. The Morrison jacket, he said, is typical of his unhurried approach, one that reflects alliances among everybody involved.
“It was just that renaissance time of singer-songwriter stuff happening in L.A.,” Diltz explained. “And the groups like Crosby, Stills & Nash and the Doors didn’t let the record company tell them what they were going to do. The group gave the cover to the record company and said, ‘This is what we want.’ We had the group behind us, not like today.”
And that Eagles jaunt to the high country was no spur-of-the-moment affair. Trips like that were Diltz’s way of assuring his subjects’ spontaneity. Junkets to Big Sur or into rural California would yield hundreds of photos and a slide show to determine the cream of the crop. Diltz’s partner Gary Burdon took it from there, shading and centering the final product on a jacket mock-up.
The process sounds unremarkable by today’s standards, but for the pre-MTV crowd, it was a definitive source of information.
“Before there were music videos and VH-1,” Diltz said, “this is the way people sort of got their image of the musicians. They’d sit there and stare at the album covers while the record was playing or turn it over and read the liner notes. It’s more than the art form that’s lost—it’s the experience of sitting there and looking at the cover.”
But a fellow legend, whose bottomless bass counters Diltz’s disarming lilt, once foresaw the end to a lot more than album-jacket photography. The bands and their fans weren’t getting any younger, and the United States would pull out of Southeast Asia in a mire of self-inflicted disgrace. No less than photographer Mick Rock—the so-called “man who shot the ’70s” and who will open Through the Lens of Mick Rock at a Morrison reception on Friday, Nov. 18—was there to capture the escapist aftereffects. He’s shot David Bowie, Iggy Pop, Syd Barrett, Lou Reed, Freddie Mercury and about a jillion others for exhibits in Tokyo, New York and London (his birthplace).
Magazines like Gentlemen’s Quarterly and Playboy have also hit him up for fashion work. And amid his decades with the glammest of the glam and the punkest of the punk, it’s easy to understand the demand.
Rock explained that his ’70s images “look a lot like today’s, the glammy, punky, fashiony stuff, whereas the stuff from the ’60s looks like it’s from a long time ago. That’s not necessarily a bad thing when you’re trying to sell prints. The older it looks sometimes, the better. The more people are willing to shell out the money.”
But early glam’s artists had little use for the past and even less for sentiment.
“Obviously,” Rock observed, “there was a lot of campiness to glam, but there was also a futuristic vibe about it, and there was also an undercurrent of a self-destructive thing. It wasn’t just a bunch of pansies bouncing around with a bunch of makeup on and a bunch of silly clothes. It was a lot more informed. It certainly had a kind of literary resonance to it. It’s not just about makeup and mirrors and looking like a girl. There was a lot more edge.
“And in the last days of glam and punk, we always thought those were the last days of rock ’n’ roll anyway, and that there wasn’t going to be much more. That contributed to that decadent feeling, that fantasy-act feeling. I think we felt pretty dislodged.”
Bowie contemplates it all from a sitting-room mirror, his reflection a mixture of finesse and fear as the lush greenery from outside takes its menacing measure. He’s dressed in a low-cut leather-jacket kinda thing with a big collar, his perfect coif nearly standing on end amid the bleak prospect of instant anonymity. It is an absolutely flawless photograph—and it’s one of Horowitz’s more prominent selections for this show.
For Rock, 55, it also speaks to the revolving door that faces many of his current clients, such as Kasabian and the Killers. In the old days, he said, giants like Bowie and Lou Reed languished for years before hitting it big; Bowie’s breakout deal was signed in the U.S., as he’d met with little or no interest in Britain.
“Obviously, we’re 30 years on,” Rock said, “and, obviously, bands today are alert to promotion. In a certain sense, they can’t just rely on their art or photography to carry them forward. They need to hit pretty fast; otherwise, the record companies won’t stick with them. Thirty years ago, there was more time for gestation. There was more time to grow as an artist. Today, you have to get that record out. People want you to stir it up pretty quick. We’ll wait and see how many of these people have long careers.
“But what’s happening in La Jolla with me,” he added, “is pretty much about the past. When it comes to selling prints in galleries, people want the old stuff. Everybody wants the stuff when the acts were young and beautiful. Out of order.”
But while Horowitz’s business side recognizes that vanity element as a selling point, the art dealer in him embraces the authenticity factor. The art dealer wins.
“There’s very few people that care about [’80s British rocker and Rock client] Steve Harley,” he said, “and probably no one will buy a Steve Harley shot. But I feel like we should have a Steve Harley shot in the show. If they don’t sell, I don’t care. They’re representative of the time, and that’s what I want this exhibit to be. I want it to be a true representation of what was happening while Mick was there.”
A skinny kid with a studded lip shuffles in with the parents, his crankiness tipping off some serious discomfort about the waste of time ahead. Horowitz senses the dilemma. He offers the youngster his hand and three seconds later the once-sullen face is a billboard of curiosity. This is not just any stuffy ol’ art dealer, man—this is the dude who used to own Off the Record! Horowitz’s stock is soaring, and mom and dad’s coolness quotient has hit an all-time high. The family didn’t leave with a print, but that’ll come. For now, the brief lesson in cultural history, and the smile on the star pupil’s face, were their own reward.
“That era was an amazing time on so many fronts,” Horowitz said, “not just musically but politically and socially. The music spearheaded a lot of that—but it also happened to be great music! It was great music and it is great music. All these years later, it’s still so fresh and appealing to people that weren’t around.”
Horowitz, of course, is understating the case. The music spoke to the national anger and the national hope. And in its simplicity and elegance, the gallery echoes that crucial refrain. “For so many people who come in here,” Horowitz fairly whispered, “this era was their life.”
As it happens, the Eagles are playing San Diego’s Cox Arena Nov. 16, the latest installment in a farewell tour that started in about 1863. A quick look at the Internet shows that seats are available, as is the case for all the group’s concerts in California and Hawaii through Dec. 3. If you were planning to catch the Anaheim entry Nov. 17, you should have no trouble getting the best chairs in the house. Given their price tag of nearly $5,300, nobody’s exactly gonna scarf ’em from under you in the next few hours.
Whatever your destination, you’ll probably stumble across a concession that includes a slightly less costly Eagles CD. The cover’s really pretty and all, with the faintest hint of orange propping up random whites and blues while a stand of sage and saguaro cactus contemplates the day ahead.
The shrunken design and skimpy liner notes mock the genuine article, the product of an earnest young L.A. photographer who once boldly surrendered himself to his art and his reverence for the musicians in it. His work points the way to an exhaustive pride in ownership and a culture’s artistic destiny. And a well-to-do San Diego enclave eagerly looks on.
Through the Lens of Mick Rock runs through Dec. 11. The Morrison Hotel Gallery is open Sundays through Thursdays from 11 a.m. to 7 p.m. and Fridays and Saturdays from 10 a.m. to 9 p.m. Further information is available at 656-551-0835 or from the gallery’s bitchin’ website at www.morrisonhotelgallery.com.
11/16/05
www.sdcitybeat.com/article.php?id=3760
Morrison Hotel Gallery
1230 Prospect Street
La Jolla, CA 92037
858-551-0835
Hours:
11:00 – 7:00 (Sun - Thurs)
11:00 – 9:00 (Fri - Sat)
Morrison Hotel Gallery specializes in limited edition and collectable fine art photographs of some of the most historically significant musicians and moments in music.
Morrison Hotel Gallery is proud to exclusively publish and represent the photography of Henry Diltz.
www.morrisonhotelgallery.com/index.html