Behind The Lens.. Michael Brennan
, by Behind The Gallery, 9 min reading time
Born in Sheffield in 1943, Michael Brennan began his career on the cobbled streets of the North of England before Fleet Street, New York, and a half-century of history came calling. His photographs have appeared in Life, Sports Illustrated and The Daily Mail; his portrait of Muhammad Ali hangs in the Smithsonian National Portrait Gallery. He has photographed queens and boxers, poets and rock gods and, as he'll tell you himself, one Albanian taxi driver he mistook for Arthur Scargill.
The Making of a Photographer
You started as a news photographer in the North of England before Fleet Street, before New York. What did that grounding teach you that studio photographers never learn?
I can't talk of 'studio photographers'. However, for my part the difference is quite simple. Being out in the population is everything. Learning and watching, whether tragic or happiness.
I remember being sent to an Irish wedding with the bride and groom: she in her wedding dress and the groom hugging a pint of Guinness while trying to hug his new bride. The beauty of streets with shiny cobblestones in and around Salford. The Salvation Army band on a street corner with kids playing football with a scuffed tennis ball. Try that in a studio.
"Being out in the population is everything. Learning and watching — whether tragic or happiness."
Donald Campbell, Coniston Water — 1967
You were there when Donald Campbell died on Coniston Water. That's not a gig or a press call — that's a man losing his life. How do you press the shutter in that moment, and what did winning an award for those photographs feel like afterwards?
Well, I'm hesitant to bring the 'luck' equation into this reply — but of course, if luck helped a result I prepared for, then so be it.
With the Donald Campbell pictures, the tragedy unfolded so that my squeeze-focus 400mm Novoflex f4 lens with a Pentax manual film movement also played its role. There was also wonderful help from a man called Pete Redfern, the darkroom technician who, knowing I might have captured something worthwhile, heated the D76 developer to compensate — the exposures would be three stops underexposed.
Winning the UK "News Picture of the Year" Award for 1967 was a great honour, and it sent me on my way to a wonderful career.
Muhammad Ali — The 1977 Shot
That photograph is now in the Smithsonian. But you'd been shooting Ali for years — Sports Illustrated assignments, ringside, all of it. What was different about that particular moment in 1977?
"The sweaty heavyweight" is pretty much a stereotype. But this is Muhammad Ali — the most recognised man in the world at that time.
I had photographed him in London, along with dozens of other photographers, many times. I had tried again and again to capture that full-frame, black-and-white portrait.
One Saturday morning in September 1977, Muhammad was training for a fight against a very heavy puncher called Earnie Shavers. The gym at Deer Lake, Pennsylvania was quiet — by Ali's standards — with just a few photographers and a couple of TV cameramen in attendance. Ali knew his opponent's reputation, so his trainers had brought in some likewise-sized sparring partners. The gym was extremely hot and Muhammad had extra weight to shed.
After three rounds with the second sparring partner, Ali went to the corner near a window letting in some light. He placed his arms around the corner post and rested his head. I stood alongside him with a Nikon F and a 200mm f4 lens. Muhammad — never one to miss an opportunity for a good picture — slowly turned his head and looked straight into my lens, which was racked as close as possible.
"Muhammad slowly turned his head and looked straight into my lens. Voila!"
The Rolling Stones & Led Zeppelin — Access vs. Control
Rock royalty in the early 70s either let you in completely or shut you out. How did you get the real access and did you ever have a moment where you knew one wrong move would end it?
When I moved to the US I became a freelance photographer representing newspapers and magazines worldwide. I really couldn't choose subjects or situations. If I wanted to pay the rent, I had to know what I was doing.
The music industry became mainstream news because of The Beatles, so there was constant demand for anything connected to the most popular musicians.
The Rolling Stones were kicking off their Tour of the Americas '75 and were anxious for press coverage. A group of us were invited to see a warm-up show in Baton Rouge, Louisiana at Louisiana State University. Mick had said he was interested in a political career, possibly standing as a Labour candidate — always a good way to attract publicity. Two days later in San Antonio came the infamous concert where Jagger embraced a rather large prop during the show, necessitating the band skip town before the local police became too involved.
Zeppelin were a whole different scenario. A colleague who ran the US Bureau of The Daily Express had written a glowing piece about their manager Peter Grant, comparing his work to Brian Epstein's. Grant was so pleased that he invited the writer and myself to join the band on their chartered Boeing 707 — which had, among other things, a built-in fireplace. The trip from Newark to Detroit was uneventful. We were introduced to Page, Jones and Bonham. I had complete freedom to photograph anyone and anything I wanted.
Unfortunately, the writer had a bit of a falling out with the road manager, resulting in a rather bumpy flight back to Newark. That was my one and only time in the company of Led Zeppelin. The music and the experience was extraordinary.
"I had complete freedom to photograph anyone and anything. I made the best of it."
John Lennon — Beverly Hills, 1973
You photographed Lennon post-Beatles, during a period when he was simultaneously one of the most famous and most guarded people on earth. Where did you find the unguarded moments?
The artist needs the mainstream media. John was living in California and his PR man, a delightful chap called Tony King, contacted The Sun in London saying John would make himself available for a morning photoshoot to accompany an interview promoting his new album Mind Games.
He was living in Beverly Hills in a house rented from Lou Adler, the record producer. When I arrived on the morning of 14 November 1973, he answered the door and hastily said: "Quick, come in, make yourself at home — I'm on the phone to my lad in Liverpool."
When he finished his call he jumped up and said, "Come on — what did you say your name was?" I said, "You can call me Mick. I know what your name is."
After taking some pictures in and around the garden we wandered back to the kitchen for a cup of tea. He jumped up onto the kitchen counter. Of all my experiences with people of note, that morning with John remains my crowning achievement.
"You can call me Mick. I know what your name is."
The One That Got Away
Fifty years. That list of subjects is almost unfair. What's the photograph you didn't get?
Oh, let's not kid ourselves — there have been many. Anyone who claims otherwise is a liar.
At the height of the Miners' Strike in the 1980s, The Daily Mail asked me to go to Cuba to photograph Fidel Castro with the infamous Arthur Scargill, the miners' leader.
I arrived on the 1st of May with other British journalists and learned that Fidel was to address a convention of worldwide trade union delegates — eight thousand of them. I had no idea what Scargill looked like.
I managed to get a spot on a riser no bigger than a tea chest with eight other photographers and was warned by Cuban Security I would have only fifteen minutes with Castro. A colleague, a close friend of Castro, heard of my plight. He pointed out a ginger-haired fellow in the second row of the thousands and said: "I think that's the bloke you're looking for."
I took as close a picture as I could of the man, then some of Fidel, and was escorted off the dais. I went straight to the airport to catch the last flight to Mexico City to wire my pictures to London. The airport was chaos. I greased the palm of a fellow traveller. At 4am I arrived in Mexico City, went straight to the AP office, developed and printed and wired my pictures to The Daily Mail, where the editor was holding the front page.
Unfortunately, the gentleman near Fidel Castro in my photograph was not Arthur Scargill. He was an Albanian delegate representing his country's taxi drivers' union.
I'm sorry — I know you were expecting a rock and roll story. But you did ask for the one that got away.
"The gentleman near Fidel was not Arthur Scargill. He was an Albanian delegate representing his country's taxi drivers' union."
The Final Word
What's the secret to the perfect cup of tea?
Easy. Yorkshire Tea. Warm the pot before adding the water. Milk in the cup first.