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S1E4.
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Anton Corbijn: imperfection is perfection.
Published: Dec, 15, 2024.
“I don’t do big setups. I see photographers in America, especially, they work with a lot of lights, assistants, and it’s a very different thing. It’s an idea of a rock star or something. And I think, in my photographs, they really are these people.”
INTRODUCTION: In the early 70s, as punk was still forming in Malcolm McLaren’s mind, Dutch avant-garde musician Herman Brood made waves with his band, The Wild Romance.Known for his hedonistic lifestyle, Brood embodied the rebellious spirit of rock and roll.
And at the same time, a young man who had turned away from his religious upbringing picked up his father’s camera and captured it all. Eventually, finding himself in London, inspired by Joy Division’s Unknown Pleasures, a single photo would canonize the band and establish him as one of the world’s most influential photographers.
His iconic images of David Bowie, Elvis Costello, Billy Idol, Nick Cave, The Slits, and Siouxsie and the Banshees often featured on the cover of the coveted New Musical Express, immortalizing their personas, and capturing the spirit of England’s thriving music scene. I’m Richard Smith, and I’m your host. I’m a filmmaker and art director.
In episode four, we meet a powerhouse image maker—someone whose work across multiple creative disciplines has helped shape the identities of bands like Depeche Mode and U2, and many, many more.
“When I was young, growing up on this very religious island, I felt that the musicians I saw in photographs and magazines seemed to have a much more liberal world than the one I was inhabiting.”
RICHARD SMITH: Where do I begin introducing my guest today? Not only is he one of the world’s most prolific photographers, he’s also a prolific video director.
He’s directed multiple films and has published multiple books. He’s a painter, and one time he played drums on Top of the Pops with Depeche Mode. He’s a towering genius and someone who put my career on the map. Please welcome to the show, Mr. Anton Corbijn.
ANTON CORBIJN: Hey, Richard.
RS: Hey, Anton. Thank you for making it on the show. I appreciate you finding the time.
AC: Yeah, well, thanks for asking me.
RS: Tell me about that appearance on Top of the Pops. Did you always want to be in a band?
AC: Well, when I was young, growing up on this very religious island, I felt that the musicians I saw in photographs and magazines seemed to have a much more liberal world than the one I was inhabiting.
So when we moved to a bigger city when I was 17, there was a band playing in the city called Groningen, which is in the north of Holland. It was a band I really liked called Solution. But, I was very shy when I was young, and we had just moved to this town, so I hadn’t met anybody yet in school or anything.
And I asked my father if I could borrow his camera when I went to this concert. And I felt more secure having a camera in my hand so I could always pretend. So, I walked to the stage, and I did take nine pictures—I counted the other day. I sent most of those over to a magazine, and to my surprise, they published them, and I didn’t know anything about focusing or whatever.
“I asked my father if I could borrow his camera when I went to this concert. And I felt more secure having a camera in my hand so I could always pretend. So, I walked to the stage, and I took nine pictures. I sent most of those over to a magazine, and to my surprise, they published them, and I didn’t know anything about focusing or whatever.”
But because they published them, I thought it was the dog’s bollocks, as it were. They, of course, didn’t pay me. That’s how it started for me, and then I wanted to be part of the music world. And I realized through photography I could be.
And Top of the Pops—it was just because when I was in the studio, I got a little bored, so I would go and play a bit of drums. But when Alan Wilder left the band, and the first single off the new album was released, they asked me to play drums on Top of the Pops, and they even asked me for the tour. And I said, “I’m too expensive.” I don’t know how I got out of that one, but I got money from the BBC—a check of £200 pounds twice.
That’s the only money I earned as a musician, ever.
“For a long time, I thought I was going to be a missionary. And then when I was about 12, I read in the paper that in New Guinea they ate two missionaries, and that was the end of that idea. And then there were many years that I had no idea what to do with my life. I was so grateful when the camera came around.”
RS: Did you consider going on a path in religion, or was it just your family was very religious?
AC: Most people in my family were ministers of religion, for some reason. So, I felt, being the eldest of the four kids, I probably was supposed to go that same direction.
And for a long time, I thought I was going to be a missionary. And then when I was about 12, I read in the paper that in New Guinea they ate two missionaries, and that was the end of that idea. And then there were many years that I had no idea what to do with my life. I was so grateful when the camera came around.
I felt I suddenly had a purpose in life. And that’s why I gave it everything. I gave photography everything because I had nothing to fall back on.
“I gave everything to photography. I persevered. I had no money, but I had a dream, and I had ideas for pictures, but I couldn’t describe them to myself. It was once or twice a year I took a picture where I felt that’s the kind of picture I want to take, not knowing how I got to that sometimes. I’m very, intuitive. I’m not a studio photographer.”
RS: Some of your early photographs were pictures of the Dutch musician Herman Brood and The Wild Romance. I read that he was a little anti-establishment, a little extreme in his points of view. Something about that felt a little bit like punk before punk for me. As an outsider at that time, did punk make an impact on your work?
AC: Well, in the sense that without any qualifications, I just became a photographer. So that was quite punk. But attitude-wise, I wasn’t so punk. I think I was a bit scared. I didn’t like shooting punk concerts, because I was quite tall, and when they would spit, it was not so nice to be at the front.
But Herman Brood wasn’t punk. He had an attitude that was very, interesting. He was a mix of swagger, and sophistication. He was very good-looking, always with girls. He was a painter. He studied art. He was also a drug user and was countless times taken in by the police, but he was very liked, you know, he was a real charmer.
RS: You moved to London towards the end of the 70s. Seeing what was happening in the music industry, it must have been exciting.
AC: It was, but I think I was very clueless, to be very honest. I mean, I liked Supertramp and the Sex Pistols, so that gives you an idea of not having developed a proper taste. But in the end, I liked people who gave everything to music, who were very intense, because I felt a similarity to my own life.
“I went to the NME in 1979, and said, ‘Hi, I moved.’ The editor Neil Spencer said, ‘What? Who is this person?’ I remember it so well, he took me into the room where all the writers were, and they all had piles of papers and all kinds of things on the desk. He said, ‘Hello, everybody. This is Anton. He’s a Dutch photographer. He’s very good. Anybody got some work for him?’ And you heard people stop typing, and they looked at me, and then slowly they started to type again, and one person started to sing, ‘I hate the fucking Dutch’. My heart sank.”
I gave everything to photography. I persevered. I had no money, but I had a dream, and I had ideas for pictures, but I couldn’t describe them to myself. It was once or twice a year I took a picture where I felt that’s the kind of picture I want to take, not knowing how I got to that sometimes. I’m very, intuitive. I’m not a studio photographer.
RS: Your photographic style is reminiscent of the heroes of reportage.
AC: Yeah. In a way, I think documentary photography had an influence on my work. That was quite big in Holland in the seventies.
RS: What convinced you to move to London?
AC: I think there were two things. I worked for a music magazine in Holland called Oor magazine, which, funnily enough, still exists. That was very popular and cool and all these things and I became the chief photographer, so late 70s. I went a few times to England for them to shoot for their stories.
I always felt that coming to England, my pictures, I think, were better than when I photographed in Holland. I don’t know. That’s maybe just a romantic sense of what was really the case. But I loved that, always, to shoot in England.
Then in ’79, this album came out from Joy Division, Unknown Pleasures, and I liked it very much. And I felt I should just go there and be where that music comes from. So, in October ’79, I moved to England.
I had, in the summer of that year prior to that, gone to the New Musical Express, showed them a sort of portfolio, and the editor, Neil Spencer, liked it a lot. And he said, “Oh yeah, leave some here. We’re going to publish some.” And they did. I said, “Well, if I come back would you give me some work?” he said, “Sure, sure.”
So, I moved there, and I went to the NME again. I said, “Hi, Neil. I moved.” He said, “What? Who is this person?” I remember it so well, he took me into the room where all the writers were, and they all had piles of papers and all kinds of things on the desk—total opposite of clean Holland. People, music magazines—it’s all very organized there.
Anyway, he said, “Hello, everybody. This is Anton. He’s a Dutch photographer. He’s very good. Anybody got some work for him?” And you heard people stop typing, and they looked at me, and then slowly they started to type again, and one person started to sing, “I hate the fucking Dutch, they live in windows and wear clogs.” It was some song I didn’t know, by John Dowie. My heart sank.
RS: That was your lucky break!
AC: Then, within a few days, I got a call, and they said I could photograph a gig at the Marquee, that was Bill Haley and the Comets. I did it, and then they published it, a small but great piece. They liked it, and then one of the photographers got ill, and the job was to shoot Joe Jackson. So, they called me, and of course, I was available—nothing else to do.
So that was my breakthrough because Joe liked the pictures, and the NME liked the pictures a lot. Then, a few weeks later, I did covers already. Because it was a weekly, the turnover was incredible; it just went very fast.
“When Ian Curtis passed away, the NME used it on the cover, so that’s why people think it was a commissioned shoot, but it wasn’t. Prior to that, I had offered it to many magazines, and nobody liked the picture—couldn’t see all the faces, you know. And of course, when Ian passed away, it seemed very apt. That picture got a life of its own when Ian passed away that I had nothing to do with.”
RS: One of the first images that you took was the famous image of Joy Division, with Ian Curtis looking back as the band is going down the stairs. At the time, it captured a lot of how people felt about his death, which didn’t occur until the following year. How did that make you feel? What was the impact on you at that moment? I know the NME used that on the cover to announce his death.
AC: Yeah, that’s right. In May 1980. Well, it was an autonomous photograph. I instigated it, I think early November. I had just moved to London, and I managed to blag myself into a gig, to get backstage by saying I was an important photographer from Europe.
I spoke to them; said I loved the gig. I took some pictures of the gig, and I wanted to do a group shot, could they meet me the next morning? I lived in Bayswater then, and the only tube station I really knew was not Bayswater, but the one before—Lancaster?
RS: Lancaster Gate?
AC: Yeah, exactly, which had stairs going down and then these lights over it. And so I asked them if they’d come there, and they reluctantly, I guess, said yes. So, they were there the next day, which was a Sunday, and it was quite quiet. I asked them to look away from the camera.
To me, it was like working with the title of the album, which was Unknown Pleasures, and I thought they’d make a trip to unknown pleasures and the darkness of the music.
RS: At the time, it felt like reportage, photographing a moment …
AC: No, it was set up by me, I had this vision. I asked Ian to look back, because I thought otherwise it’s just four heads, and it’s nice if there’s some moment of connection.
That was it, and I sent them the contact sheets. They liked the pictures a lot and asked me to come to Manchester a few months later to do one more shoot. I had no inclination of Ian’s state of mind, though—it was just, that he was the singer, and it was a visual thing. Of course, I felt the mood of the music was in the picture. I thought the bodies indicated what kind of music it was.
Then, when Ian passed away, the NME indeed used it on the cover, so that’s why people think it was a commissioned shoot, but it wasn’t. Prior to that, I had offered it to many magazines, and nobody liked the picture—couldn’t see all the faces, you know. And of course, when Ian passed away, it seemed very apt. That picture got a life of its own when Ian passed away that I had nothing to do with.
“I was quite ambitious, I have to say, when I look back, because I would buy all the music magazines every week and put them all on the table—Sounds and Melody Maker and all those, and the NME. And then I would think the NME, was the best, and I wanted it to be the best.”
RS: You told me that you sold your house in North London so that you could fund the making of your film Control.
AC: No, I didn’t sell it. I sold it afterwards, but I mortgaged it to the hilt.
RS: Why was it so important for you to make that film?
AC: I started doing videos in ’82, and ’83, and they were usually not performance-based videos, but more little stories, and a lot of people said to me, “You should be making films; these are like little movies.” However, like I said earlier, I was quite shy, and I couldn’t envisage myself to be at the head of a movie—a team of 100, 150 people.
Also, as a photographer, I work quite intuitively, and for a movie, I need to have ideas upfront. I find it really difficult. So, I held off, and then my friend Herbert Grönemeyer always said, “Well, you should do movies, you know?” I said, “Well, no, I can’t do that.” So eventually, this script came around. I felt I had a connection with the story, an emotional connection, and thought maybe this is the one film I could make.
Then I financed it mostly myself, because the people who said they were producers really fucked up. But it’s a long story. I put some money in, and Martin Gore put some money in. I put everything I had in, and we made the film.
RS: It seems similar to when you started out in photography; you were very driven by wanting to do something to further an aspect of your creativity.
AC: I like everything that I do to have some depth, and that’s why it becomes quite intense for me to do those things.
RS: A lot of the photographs, like the Joy Division image, ended up on the covers of the music press. Do you think that’s why so many people wanted to work with you? Because an Anton Corbijn photo would mean you’d end up on the cover?
AC: Abso-fucking-lutely. I don’t really like cover photography of magazines, because there’s so many rules. But for the NME, there was a lot of freedom, so I really enjoyed that.
“My most well-known picture was of Steely Dan. That was shot in ’76 then it was published in Holland, then it was published in Rolling Stone magazine because they saw it and they wanted to publish it. Then, the band wanted to use it on the gatefold of their greatest hits. And I remember I went, in ’78 to New York, and the then-girlfriend of Walter Becker wanted to be my agent, and she got a lot of my prints. I didn’t realize she was hooked on drugs. So, these pictures just disappeared. I got $500 for the use of that picture of Steely Dan; she said, ‘Is that okay with you?’”
RS: During that time, you probably photographed almost every single significant musician or band—Joy Division, Elvis Costello, The Slits, Simple Minds, Fad Gadget, Nick Cave—so many people. In some ways, it almost seemed like if you were photographed by Anton Corbijn, you’d arrived. You really helped establish and legitimize a lot of their careers. It’s clear that there was something about a photograph by you that really resonated with the bands, but also with the public.
AC: I don’t know how other people see me in that sense. I was quite ambitious, I have to say, when I look back, because I would buy all the music magazines every week and put them all on the table—Sounds and Melody Maker and all those, and the NME. And then I would think the NME, was the best, and I wanted it to be the best.
RS: That opportunity to capture the cultural history in the making obviously really established you, like I said, as one of the masters of photography. What do you think your legacy will be?
AC: I love people that get something out of it, of course. I’m proud of it because I have no education. I’m proud of it because it’s what I wanted to do, and I succeeded. But it was also a time where you could succeed, right. I do design, I photograph so many different kinds of people. I did little films, I do real films, I do stage design. So, there’s always somewhere something I can do.
RS: How much record cover work did you do in the very beginning? Did it take a while?
AC: I did some in Holland. I did some Steely Dan, and some Herman Brood records, Van der Graf Generator—I did stuff in pieces, not always the cover, I did covers for Golden Earring and Spargo – it doesn’t ring a bell?
But my most well-known picture was of Steely Dan. That was shot in ’76 then it was published in Holland, then it was published in Rolling Stone magazine because they saw it and they wanted to publish it. Then, they wanted to use it on the gatefold of their greatest hits. And I remember I went, in ’78, I went to New York, and the then-girlfriend of Walter Becker wanted to be my agent, and she got a lot of my prints.
I didn’t realize she was hooked on drugs. So, these pictures just disappeared. I got $500 for the use of that picture of Steely Dan; she said, “Is that okay with you?” I said, “Yeah, it’s fantastic,” but I could have gotten 20 times that at least. But I was a little boy from Holland. I had no idea the money you can make. I didn’t know. I’m still happy it got used and it’s known.
RS: What was the first cover you did like the Depeche Mode covers where you did pretty much everything?
AC: I think Fad Gadget, I did some stuff.
RS: Oh, interesting.
AC: I did Under the Flag, where I painted it and projected it, and used shadow and projection.
RS: That’s the one where he’s carrying the flag.
AC: But it’s shadow and projection at the same time.
RS: Okay, so he’s not actually carrying a flag?
AC: No, the flag was projected, and he stood in the light as a shadow, so it looked like that. So now I already used paint there.
RS: He was a very groundbreaking force in the music industry at that time.
AC: Absolutely, and the first time I saw Depeche Mode, I think they were a support act for Fad Gadget.
RS: So you were there with Daniel Miller, I take it, because he was at that concert too?
AC: I’m sure. But I was just there for the NME, doing a shoot of Fad Gadget live.
RS: It’s almost like the equivalent of the Sex Pistols playing in Manchester—you had Daniel Miller, you had Anton Corbijn, you had Depeche Mode all in the room at the same time, and they all went off and became famous.
AC: I lived in Somers Town then, which is next to Euston Station, and I had this little corner shop, and I built a darkroom in that corner shop—it was tiny. I remember I got a call at some point: “Hi, this is Frank Tovey.” I’m like, “Oh, yes, hello.” “Have you heard of me?” I said, “No.” He said, “You might have heard of Fad Gadget.” I said, “No.” So that was before that concert. Anyway, he wanted to work with me, and he said, “I’m doing a concert if you want to come and have a look.” Then we started work together. I did quite a lot of albums with Frank. He was a lovely guy, quite artistic. That’s how it went. Those days, people would call you, chase you.
“I got so annoyed with the videos I saw at the time because they were not very artful. I felt that in my photography, I tried so much that the photos fit the music of the people I was photographing, and I couldn’t see why they didn’t have the same standards for music videos.”
RS: I read you got a break shooting music videos through Paul Morley and The Art of Noise and Propaganda.
AC: I filmed with an old video camera from Trevor Horn, and I just shot on the streets of London.
RS: It’s nothing like anything I’ve ever seen by you.
AC: Oh, you have seen it?
RS: Yeah, it’s on the internet. Was it daunting to go from still photography to video?
AC: If you see my first videos, the camera doesn’t really move. People move in front of the camera. And it wasn’t until ’86 when I did a video for Depeche Mode in America, where there was no money, and I had to be my own cameraman—that’s when I started to move the camera more, and that’s when I understood more about movement.
RS: You seem to find your voice very quickly.
AC: I guess. I just got so annoyed with the videos I saw at the time because they were not very artful. I felt that in my photography, I tried so much that the photos fit the music of the people I was photographing, and I couldn’t see why they didn’t have the same standards for music videos.
RS: It definitely was a pioneering time in terms of music videos. I was reading about Peter Care, who shot some work with Cabaret Voltaire.
AC: Yes, he was great.
RS: It was such a novel thing back in 1980, or whenever it was.
You mentioned Depeche Mode a minute ago, and I read that you didn’t hold them in very high regard, but you did that first video in ’86 for A Question of Time because, again, you wanted to do something—you invested in your work.
AC: I did a still shoot of them in ’81 for the NME, and they really liked it. Mute Records asked me to do the press pictures, but I found them too lightweight, so I turned that down twice. It wasn’t until that video that I didn’t care what it was for—because it was a video that had to be done in America. I’d never done a video in America, and I liked this whole idea of the American landscape and roads, road movies. So that’s why I said yes to it. I was surprised they liked the video.
“Depeche Mode plays the same places as U2. They have this incredible following, it’s like a cult. There are people who buy every record go to all the concerts. They sometimes take holidays so they can go to ten gigs in Europe or America. Pretty amazing. And then the kids grow up listening to Depeche Mode. So, there is this huge audience.”
RS: Well, I read that they were going through a change as well. Vince Clarke had left early in the ’80s, and then the band was still trying to find a voice, a new voice for themselves. I read that they were looking to change direction a little bit or to grow, I suppose. Did you take them more seriously in ’86?
AC: Yeah, still a bit poppy, my video, but it was impressive seeing them live because we shot it mostly live. But it was the end of the tour, they never got back to me after they saw the video, and I thought, oh, they must have hated it. Nine months later, I got a call: “We’ll be recording in France for a new album. Would be lovely if you’d come and listen to a song,” but with a view of maybe doing a video. That’s when I realized they had liked what I did then, and that’s when we started a long relationship. But I was never asked to be in there for the long haul. It was just one thing after the other.
RS: It’s been a long time. It’s rare that there’s that long-term relationship, but you’ve grown with the band, or the band’s grown with you
AC: It’s very different in hindsight than when you’re there, taking decision by decision, one at a time.
RS: You have described them as a cult. Are you involved in more than the visuals?
AC: Well, I don’t write the music. I’m involved in the visuals, and they’re friends, and I like to think with them or for them. Same with U2. It’s bands you work with a lot—you want to be part of the process in some way. You think for them. You don’t try to do the same picture you would do for somebody else. For me, there are U2 pictures and Depeche Mode pictures because I still think in terms of stills as the first thing and then the moving bits.
RS: Coming back to that one question that you brought up: you described them as being a cult. Elaborate on that a little bit.
AC: Well, you know, you’re in a taxi, and they talk to you, and they say, “Well, I work with Depeche Mode.” “Depeche Mode is still going?” Whereas if you talk about U2, then you don’t get that answer, whereas Depeche Mode plays the same places as U2. They have this incredible following.
So that’s why I think it’s like a cult. There are people who buy every record go to all the concerts. They sometimes take holidays so they can go to ten gigs in Europe or America. Pretty amazing. And then the kids grow up listening to Depeche Mode. So, there is this huge audience.
RS: The movie you made, Spirits in the Forest—
AC: Yes, that shows you what a cult band it is because it was people from lots of different places in the world saying what Depeche Mode meant to them. Then at the end, everybody’s going to the same gig we were filming live.
That was, in a way, an idea from the band, I don’t know, actually, maybe of the record company. But I liked the idea, and all the footage of the fans in Mongolia or California was not filmed by me, but I took all the material and made it into a film.
RS: It was very unique. I’ve never seen a concert movie like that before.
AC: You know, it was very moving, but Depeche Mode saved people’s lives. The stories were very compelling.
RS: You talked about style a minute ago, and you said you don’t have a lot of styles. I think something that is so powerful about your work is how it demystifies the subject. They often feel very accessible but heroic. And I’m interested in how you create such bonds with your subjects. There are so many people you photograph that you maybe have met for one minute.
“I’ve become a bit lighter in life. It’s such an incredibly serious world at the moment, and without resorting to photographs that are meaningless, I still want to have a little bit of spark in them.”
AC: I mean, you mentioned it earlier—reportage photography. That’s what I saw in Holland happening in newspapers in the 70s, and I think it’s an integral part of my approach, and that makes things feel quite real, realistic. So there is that element. And I think that I don’t come across too threatening to people, so when I photograph them, they relax a little.
But I don’t do big setups. I see other photographers in America, especially; they work with a lot of lights and assistants, and it’s a very different thing. It’s an idea of a rock star or something. I think, in my photographs, they really are these people.
RS: So much of your early work, for me, had a real seriousness—there was a real brutal beauty to it. In your recent book, I think the Depeche Mode book, you talked about “imperfection is perfection.” What I started to see—and you touched on this a little bit—is that your more recent work is beginning to get more playful, not as serious. It seems more of a reflection of your personality. I’m curious why the shift.
AC: I think that I’ve become a bit lighter in life. It’s such an incredibly serious world at the moment, and without resorting to photographs that are meaningless, I still want to have a little bit of spark in them. But that’s how my own mental state is. I enjoy life very much, like all the chances I’ve been given and stuff. So maybe that comes across in the pictures in the end. But it’s a somber world, but I don’t want to do political stuff.
RS: What about for political causes or things like Extinction Rebellion—let’s just say, people who are wishing to change things in the world?
AC: Yeah. But leave the soup off Van Gogh, please.
RS: Sorry,that was a very close-to-home subject.
AC: Yeah, it is. But I don’t see the point of that, to be honest. I think they should protest properly, but don’t destroy art. That’s one of the great things we have. But I can see people when they don’t get a result, they become frustrated and then resort to that kind of stuff.
I’m ambivalent about some of these goals, but I have no solution for it at the same time. I’m not pretending to have solutions.
“I’m not sure if I find it important to think that I’m an artist. I think some things are artful, some are less so. I use paint. I like the brush stroke. I don’t know much about typography, so I started to make my own typography. That’s where that comes from, and that was, in itself, successful and suited Depeche Mode really well.”
RS: You’re a big fan of Captain Beefheart—the artist Dan Van Vliet.
AC: Don Van Vliet, yeah. His grandparents came from Holland, I think.
RS: Right. A lot of the work that you’ve done and continue to do today, like with David Gilmour, you’re using art in your actual covers, even the set design, and obviously a lot of the work we did together. The question I’m getting at is, do you see yourself as an artist, or do you want to be an artist?
AC: I don’t know. I’m not sure if I find it important to think that I’m an artist. I think some things are artful, some are less so. I use paint—if that’s what you mean with art. I like the brush stroke. I don’t know much about typography, so I started to make my own typography. That’s where that comes from, and that was, in itself, successful and suited Depeche Mode really well. I’ve used it a lot.
I just did a cover for U2, How to Reassemble an Atomic Bomb, that’s coming out 20 years after the original thing. So, there’s an alternative cover, which I did, which I actually wanted to do at the time, but it was not approved, but now they love it. So, I was 20 years ahead of time.
“I like people finding my work somewhere, right? That’s what I always liked about magazines. It’s unlike an exhibition, where people go deliberately to see your work—you accidentally meet your work if you publish it in magazines. I always liked that. The same is true with Instagram.”
RS: It seems that you’re always inserting yourself into your work in some way or other, whether it be through the painting, whether it be through the video or the photography, or just the characterization of those things—it’s very much you, giving yourself.
I wanted to go back to one thing if we can: how hard it is to be a photographer these days, things like Instagram. You had mentioned to me how difficult it was, being forced to use Instagram as an outlet. That isn’t what you said, but—
AC: Yeah, no, that’s true. Because magazines fell away, and to show your work, I use Instagram.
RS: Has it changed your approach to photography, or do you still approach what you do in the same way?
AC: I like people finding my work somewhere, right? That’s what I always liked about magazines. It’s unlike an exhibition, where people go deliberately to see your work—you accidentally meet your work if you publish it in magazines. I always liked that. The same is true with Instagram.
RS: But it’s a harder channel. Back in the days of the NME and Melody Maker and Sounds, English newspapers particularly—like you said, they were weekly, so you were getting your work published constantly if you were good.
AC: True, yeah. That’s just a different era.
RS: You’ve told me in some of your early photographs you often had maybe 30 seconds—maybe I’m exaggerating—to take a photograph. And it seems you always have had to think very quickly. “Okay, how can I turn this situation into something meaningful?” I look at so many of your photographs, and they seem so spontaneous.
“Up till ’89, I photographed everything on 35mm, and then I started to shake things up a bit for myself. I had to rethink compositions and stuff. I was very severe about my pictures being full frame. I remember I would call magazines up if they cropped it, and I would be so angry. I don’t think it did me much good, that anger.”
AC: Yeah, well, it sometimes is. I think I have an idea about a person in my head, and that probably influences the moment. It informs me of that person before I meet them quite often, because they’re usually in a public area, the people I photograph, and that helps a lot—getting an idea about the people before you meet them. Then that helps with the pictures. If I had to photograph people I didn’t know, people who don’t have an artistic profession, then I think it would be harder for me.
RS: In the beginning, all your photographs used a black frame–the black frame around the photo. I remember when we did Famouz, your first book, together, I was petrified about cropping your photos because you believed that you didn’t touch anything inside of that black edge. But why did you move away from that, and then start shooting color?
AC: Oh, well, color was just because I guess I had to change things. Up till ’89, I photographed everything on 35mm, and then I started to shake things up a bit for myself. I had to rethink compositions and stuff. I was very severe about my pictures being full frame. I remember I would call magazines up if they cropped it, and I would be so angry. I don’t think it did me much good, that anger. But I let all that go, and I found pictures much nicer without the black border in the end.
“I didn’t understand fashion at all. I thought, if I make it more graphic, that’s an approach, you know. I didn’t know what to do with beautiful girls and clothes, I have to admit. I shot on slide film—where you have a picture as a negative, processed as a positive. But I cared so little about it, that I sent the originals to magazines and never got those back.”
RS: Well, also a lot of people came along that were doing it as well.
AC: Yeah.
RS: Not as well.
AC: Yeah, as well.
RS: The process you called “painting with light” that you did for Depeche Mode’s “Policy of Truth,” I was curious where that came from because that was a departure from black and white, moving into color.
AC: That was then copied by U2 for Achtung Baby, which I did in color mostly. Bono said he loved that Depeche Mode stuff, “Can we do some of that?” But we did some quite experimental work in the early 90s when I did these pictures with a flashlight, which I first did in 1981 or ’82 with John Cale when I had no light and I had to do something, and I did that in full darkness. Then I came back to that in the late 80s, early 90s—I did something with Morrissey, then we did the Depeche stuff.
It was only recently, like maybe five or ten years—eight years ago—I became friends with Paolo Roversi, who’s a beautiful photographer, mostly in fashion, but he uses that method a lot. I was unaware of it, but he’s much more of a poet than I am. I’m more graphic in terms of how I photograph things, but we were going to do some shows together, with him, me, and Peter Lindbergh, the three of us, then Peter passed away. I’ll have to see if I can do a show with Paolo at some point, just with pictures with torchlight.
I’m doing one small one in Germany, which opens on the first of November, 2024, in Frankfurt, and it’s called Licht.
RS: Which is German for “light”?
AC: Or Dutch—it’s also Dutch for “light.”
RS: So, it sounded like you needed to do that, maybe you needed to do that in the first instance. But where was that technique coming from?
AC: It was just something I thought of, although of course it was established in some way. But when I first used it, it was my idea. Then I started to do fashion things, and I didn’t understand fashion at all. I thought, if I make it more graphic, that’s an approach, you know. I didn’t know what to do with beautiful girls and clothes, I have to admit. I shot on slide film—what’s it called again, by the way …
RS: Ektachrome?
AC: Where you have a picture as a negative, processed as a positive. But I cared so little about it, that I sent the originals to magazines and never got those back. There’s so much stuff missing from my color work because I didn’t care about color. I never liked it. I didn’t think I was good at taking a color picture. I always felt black and white was what I wanted to express.
“The first review we had for Closer, was in The Observer, and some guy who was just jealous of me wrote a review. He got in there through a ticket as a friend of somebody. It was a big review, and it was so negative, and I thought, ‘How? It can’t be. It’s a good film’.”
RS: You’ve directed a lot of films, and you’ve shot a lot of videos. When Control came out, I was surprised that you didn’t shoot that yourself.
AC: It’s hard to shoot that yourself, and especially your first film because you have to look so much at how the actors are acting—if they convey what needed to be done—and also look at the aspects of the camera, you do everything, but physically too hard for me also.
RS: I remember the first time I saw it, there was a stillness to it, which I was unsure about cinematically, but then seeing it again, there was an atmosphere to it. There was a stillness to it, which was really quite poignant and really drew you in. Was that deliberate?
AC: Yeah, the stillness. Yeah, because it’s how I remembered everything. It also was my first film. I was insecure, and I didn’t want it to look like other films. But it was tough. I remember we were setting up for the Berlin Film Festival, and they turned it down. I was like, oh my God, what’s going to happen? I put my money in there, which I didn’t get back, even when it was a success.
But I became very insecure. Then the first review we had was in The Observer, and some guy who was just jealous of me wrote a review. He got in there through a ticket as a friend of somebody, I don’t know. It was a big review, and it was so negative, and I thought, “How? It can’t be. It’s a good film.”
I kept thinking, it’s a good film, this can’t be. Then, of course, after that, it won so many awards, it turned itself around. It was a tough start, you know, of course, you don’t make films for awards, but it gives you some more confidence, for sure.
“I’ve always seen people trying to copy my pictures, but the missing element is me. My insecurities are not in there. It’s really interesting to have imperfection rather than fine-tuning something, and human failure is important, I think.”
RS: It was tough because it was Joy Division, it was your first film, it was a story that maybe not everybody knew, but it was very familiar, particularly in music circles. So, I can imagine it—like any film, maybe it put a lot of pressure on retelling that.
AC: Yeah. Because there’s a lot of people who love, just like me, love Joy Division, and if you hit the wrong notes, they’re watching everything in detail.
I remember Peter Doig didn’t want to see the film, and I went over to see him in Tobago, in Trinidad – that was in 2012, I think. So, it was years after the movie had come out—he’d refused to see it because he didn’t want to be disappointed and didn’t want his memory to be taken away from him.
Fortunately, he loved it, so I thought that was good. But yes, it’s tough when you make a movie about a real person, because people have their own interpretation of how they see these people.
RS: Do you see any role for AI or anything like that in what you’re doing?
AC: I don’t like anything I see with AI, but I know the possibilities are endless. I don’t like it for my own work at the moment. I’ve seen people trying to “be me” through AI, or whatever—asking AI to make something like that. There doesn’t seem to be a human soul in there. There doesn’t seem to be doubt in there.
I’ve always seen people trying to copy my pictures, but the missing element is me. My insecurities are not in there. It’s really interesting to have imperfection rather than fine-tuning something, and human failure is important, I think.
RS: In the very beginning when I talked about punk, you said to a certain extent you had a semi-punk, do-it-yourself attitude.
AC: That’s what I got from punk, really.
RS: But you’ve really thrown yourself into so many different things. You’re a self-taught photographer, set designer, graphic designer, filmmaker—all of these things. You’ve done a little bit of drum playing, and you’ve just thrown yourself headlong into it. What haven’t you done, and what’s next?
AC: Well, I wouldn’t mind looking at painting at some point, because I use paint, but I can’t say I’m really painting. But I’m going to make another film. I have three exhibitions coming up, so it’s busy on that scale. I have a movie coming up with Helen Mirren—she’s playing Patricia Highsmith, the writer—and I’ve been trying to get this movie off the ground for two years, but because of the success of the Ripley series that she wrote, there’s a lot of interest now.
RS: Called Switzerland?
AC: Yeah.
“In Holland, not knowing much, having a fantasy world about the music world, I loved record sleeves. I just read everything on it. And I guess you have a fantasy about how that gets made, and it made a world for me that I wanted to be part of.”
RS: One thing you made me think of was the Squaring the Circle film.
AC: Oh, yeah.
RS: It was wonderful to see a film about album cover imagery. Obviously, that’s something that’s very close to your heart.
AC: Yours, too, I guess, because you did quite a few, too.
RS: But to you, what’s important about record covers? What do you think they mean to the people who buy them, buy the records, etc.?
AC: I thought the bit that Noel Gallagher was talking about—record sleeves, before you play it, you read everything on the sleeve, so you get into a frame of mind to be receptive to that music. That was the same for me. In Holland, not knowing much, having a fantasy world about the music world, I loved record sleeves. I just read everything on it. And I guess you have a fantasy about how that gets made, and it made a world for me that I wanted to be part of.
These record sleeves were very well known when I was growing up—the ones in the film. Some are better than others, but some I put in because the story was just great, like Paul McCartney with Wings on the top of a mountain. You can’t conceive that nowadays, that you would do that.
RS: Right. The process for making the imagery that Hipgnosis made—today you would probably create it on Photoshop or something, but back in those days everything had to be done manually in some way or another.
AC: Yeah, either through the camera or with scissors.
RS: Right, literally, manually piecing things together.
AC: Which I love.
RS: I love that too. All right, Anton. Good. I know it’s getting late for you. I appreciate you setting aside some time.
AC: That’s great, Richard. It was nice to talk to you.
RS: When is the film due to be released?
AC: We’ll be shooting January, February through to March, so we’re aiming for, I guess, the Venice Film Festival.
RS: So next year?
AC: Yeah, for next year.
RS: Well, good luck with that.
AC: Yeah, thanks.
RS: Have a nice evening there.
AC: Thanks, Anton. Ciao, Richard.
RS: See ya. Bye.
AC: Bye.