9 minute read
SKINS, PUNKS AND MOTORCYCLES
from MMM #002
Iconic 'Skins & Punks' photographer Gavin Watson steps in front of the camera for a chat.
Gavin Watson is one of the most iconic photographers on the planet and one of the most unique in terms of his work and personality. He’s a down-to-earth maverick. For him, it’s all about passion, being authentic, not giving a f*ck and doing it your own way.
So that’s why in this issue, we’ve not only invited him to get behind the lens for a load of the editorial features. We also convinced him to sit down with us, chew the fat, and throw in a couple of never-before-seen photographs from his archives. So let’s set the scene. Gavin Watson, a man whose detailed history of photography includes his books Skins, Skins & Punks, Raving ‘89, album covers for Plan B and Jake Bugg, ad campaigns for Dr Martens with Agyness Deyn, editorial work in the likes of Vice, Sounds, Dazed and exhibitions of his work everywhere from Australia to Paris. In essence, his work celebrates British youth culture. It gives a personal insight into the cultural aspects of people’s lives, particularly Skinheads. This work was so monumental that it became an essential inspiration for Shane Meadows’ iconic ‘This is England’.
With his daughter Kayleigh on duties behind the camera to give him a break (he’s not the kind of man who takes a selfie), we talked to Gavin at length about his passion for photography, bikes, music, and more.
So, where did his love of photography start?
At the age of 14, as your average teenager might at the time, Gavin walked into Woolworths with his Christmas money, and it was there he bought his first camera. He tells us how he was pleased the new camera had a glass lens, so the photos were immediately better than what he was used to seeing, which were “blurry pictures with people’s heads cut off at your uncle’s house.” “My dad saw something, and he decided to invest in this Olympus OM-1, which, looking back, was quite an amazing thing to do with three sons. I just threw myself into it because I just fucking loved taking pictures. No one ever saw them because I never printed them, just processed them. I enjoyed taking them more than the rest of the process, but I just loved doing them, and I thought at the time, and I was right, that it was a really special time.”.”
Gavin didn’t officially start working as a photographer until he was 40 when VICE first published his book Skins & Punks: Lost Archives 1978-1985.
“When I did that book, it was in every fashion house, and loads of high-profile photographers have been inspired by it. I knew nothing of this when I was carrying washing machines around on the dole. I thought I had just done a book for some skinheads, and I was an old has-been that never got anywhere.”
“But that wasn’t true, the book had gone out there and been truly influential, and no one knew where I was. They couldn’t get hold of me. When they did, the whole thing blew up, and I sort of got turned into a fashion photographer. It’s been a very strange and odd journey.”
What’s unique about Gavin’s work is how personal it is. In his words: “Who has a fucking microscopic journey of their life as a young man detailed to such extent? You get up, you get in groups, you forget. Forgetting is something that comes naturally to human beings for a reason. You’re not meant to relive every fucking tiny detail of your life.” A case in point is some of the photos from the Watson archive.
Gavin tells us how he first stumbled across some old scooters whilst working at a petrol station in High Wycombe. He and a friend managed to wheel a couple home and do them up before selling to a local mod. As you do.
Gavin’s has loads of stories that roll off the tongue, most of which seem to be documented on film (which is handy for proving doubters wrong). When asked about his other motorbike experiences growing up, he tells tales of ‘borrowing’ a mate’s mum’s bike. Getting fined by the police for riding without a helmet, and once riding down to London for a job on a 100cc Kawasaki: “By the time I was halfway there, I thought ‘I’m never doing that again’ all day long I’m thinking I’ve gotta ride home too. It was fucking terrifying. That was my motorbike experience. Thank God it didn’t last long because I definitely wouldn’t be here. But I’ve always been a great admirer. I love them, but I can’t ride them because I’m a coward.”
So what does Gavin think of Mutt? “I would get that Fat Sabbath, 100%. I would get that as an old, middle-aged man popping around in my leathers, helmet, and goggles. I’m a great admirer.”
He tells us of countless bikers who have been around him throughout his life. “I only owned one at 16, and I’ve got those photographs because bikes were such an important thing to teenage kids back then. None of us ever wanted a moped. There was that song by Peter and the Test Tube Babies’ Moped Lad.” Gavin treats us to a brief rendition of the song before continuing. “Of course, all these lads would leave school, get a Honda 50 and be outside school, giving it large. But none of us were fucking around with those scooters because it was embarrassing, and they even wrote that song about it.”
Conversation returns to the Fat Sabbath and why Gavin is so interested in them. “I was so shocked when I saw it existed, and I couldn’t believe that they were making something so wicked - the sort of thing that my dad used to ride because he had a bike when he was young and went on his honeymoon with it. So it genuinely filled me with joy that these kinds of bikes exist.”
When asked why he thought his work has proven so popular, Gavin replies: “The honesty of it. I don’t think it was meant to exist. There was a narrative: skinheads against the wall, aggression, punk aggression. You’ve got to be scared of this, and we’re going to push the narrative that this is who these people are. But mine is just human beings, which wasn’t part of that narrative.” Gavin’s work portrayed skinhead culture in a much human way.
“My photography is quite romantic in its own way. It’s not hard, brick walls, angry young people pictures. Parents are there, friends are smiling, and girls are laughing and just being young in a horrible environment.” It’s this love for people and the clear, trustworthy relationship between the subjects and him that make his work so endearing.
And how did his friends feel about having a kid around who was constantly taking photographs? “They didn’t give a fuck!”. In fact, Gavin insists that he was a trendsetter. “All of my friends had some sort of camera by the time I was 16. They all thought they could have a crack at it. The surprising thing was that I kept doing it, I suppose. If I saw something and had my camera on me, I’d take it very fast. It was a very small, very inoffensive camera. It’s like the perfect camera because it’s this tiny, small little thing but with a beautiful lens on - it wasn’t in your face. I didn’t whip out a great big Nikon and start asking people to do this and the rest of it. I’d see something, be in the middle of that conversation, take the picture and just carry on with the conversation or whatever else we were doing.” In 1989, raving exploded in the UK. Gavin was 23, and, as he put it, he was “old by then” and thought his day of snapping these moments may have passed. “At that age, I thought the next step was going to be marriage and kids. I didn’t realise that a whole new world would open up just as everything else got really shit. It was like a gift from God.”
When asked what piece of advice he would give to young photographers, Gavin responds with a simple “focus on what gives you joy”.
So what were the main differences between the cultures? How did he adjust from being a skinhead to going to raves? “Clothes” is the short answer. “It wasn’t much of a difference because I was surrounded by my mates and brother. We just grew our hair and wore baggier clothes, but you know you can’t get rid of that ten years of skinhead. It was that divide. Either people wanted to embrace it, or they didn’t, and it just wasn’t something they were going to get involved in. Me and my brother were always on the more adventurous side. We went to the gigs in London. We actually did stuff and got out there, so it was natural for us to progress to that.”
The more things change, the more they stay the same.
A GLIMPSE AS PROMISED, THESE SHOTS ARE FROM GAVIN WATSON’S ARCHIVE AND NEVER SEEN BEFORE. SO YOU, READER, HAVE AN EXCLUSIVE ON YOUR HANDS.
