The photobook Epicly Later'd is a masterclass of storytelling through multi-media. The photographer Patrick O'Dell takes Sophie Leigh Walker through the songs that inspired the chapters of his love affair with music.
2004, New York City.
You stumble upon a stolen beer keg in the bathtub. A Samsung flip phone has run out of credit. Skateboards are hugged between knees on the subway and your friend is daydreaming in the park on a summer’s day with a paper bag for a pillow, listening to their iPod through a tangled of wired earphones.
The cherry of a cigarette is as red as the flash-caught eyes belonging to faces smiling so close, so unselfconsciously, into the lens. Skin is sweaty and imperfect. A team of forearms are inked with the same, still-sore tattoos: “To all my friends…”
This, for a moment in time, was Patrick O’Dell’s world and the people who moved through it. By then, he was already an accomplished photographer documenting New York City’s skaters and subculture at large for Thrasher, VICE – then a scrappy print magazine cutting its teeth in the city’s record and skate shops – and other publications stepping boldly into the 21st century which have since been lost to time. O’Dell’s blog, Epicly Later’d, was born from his simple desire to show you what happened that night, because it was a fun one.
In her introduction for the photobook which immortalises those stories otherwise lost to the internet oblivion or a perishable piece of plastic, Amy Kellner – once “a nerd who taught him how to make a photo blog in 2004” and now New York Times Senior Photo Editor – describes posting pictures to the internet as a novelty; it was “new and it sucked”. She describes unsparingly the wasp’s net of wires, the clunky desktop computer wheezing like an old air conditioner and the primitive photo software which lived behind the curtain of its early magic.
But then there was the thrill of people seeing their life documented with such immediacy for the first time. The dizzying rush of how it felt to be seen, the occasion of having your photo taken (because then, it was an occasion); a shot of fame without having to pay the price for it. “I don’t think anyone expected to have their picture taken. I might’ve been the only person who took their picture that month, even,” O’Dell shares.
As the “Indie Sleaze” marketing psyop has so successfully lured Gen Z to take a look at the rearview mirror and mimic the spirit his photographs capture, it’s easy to see why. Three years before the iPhone and another six before the arrival of Instagram, O’Dell’s photographs exist as proof of an uninhibited world free from the unseen audience we now carry in our pockets. Fun was to be lived, not performed. “They were magical nights,” he reflects.
The trained eye will spot faces which they undoubtedly recognise from the era: New York’s underground icon Chloë Sevigny, the pro-skater and Sci-Fi Fantasy founder Jerry Hsu and wild child artist Dash Snow. Arranged without captions and without fanfare, that’s just Chloë brushing her teeth; that’s his pal Jerry hanging out one night at Max Fish, and there’s Dash with some friends at a party.
The photobook doesn’t intend to be an exhibition of any skill beyond honouring photographer’s instinct to capture a moment in time. Epicly Later’d has since morphed into a VICE documentary series of the same name, which profiles fascinating characters in the skating scene (most recently the elusive Ben Kadow), and when O’Dell isn’t filming he’s a husband and father to his four-year-old so
“I can’t step outside of it and think of these pictures as anything more than my friends and my life,” O’Dell says. “But when I was going through my hard drive there was this euphoric recall of a certain situation, or the excitement. It’s like my own little personal time machine. Every night felt like it was going to be the best life of my life.”
Music is usually an unseen figure, but when it comes to Epicly Later’d, it was the force which bound its stories together.
Whether it’s O’Dell himself shoving a bunch of flowers in his back pocket in a homage to Morrissey, the iTunes library stacked with The Smiths, New Order and David Bowie songs or the opening pages blanketed in hyperlinks – lyrics which once captioned the photos, such as “All those people, all those lives, where are they now?” from “Cemetery Gates” by The Smiths – the pictures can almost be heard as readily as they are seen.
“I like words, I like singing and I like characters”, O’Dell tells me – and his Nine Songs selection were the songs, the A-sides loved wholeheartedly and unpretentiously, which lived in his earphones and spilled out the speakers in the frame. They bring us closer to a long-lost moment; you could almost reach out and touch it.
“Random Rules” by Silver Jews
I love Silver Jews and David Berman, but that song… that song was so good I couldn't get past it. I listened to that song over and over.
It’s the first song on American Winter, and the lyrics are so fucking good. I imagine the lyrics were written out before the music and the singing. The opening line, “In 1984 I was hospitalised for approaching perfection” is so fucking amazing. It’s so beautiful. Every lyric, every line in that song, is a banger.
I lived in San Francisco at the time, where I was going to art school. I used to go to the record store at least once a week when it was release day and I’d see what was new. I probably bought it on CD, actually, I didn’t know what I was in for. At the time, it existed in this little sub-genre of alt-country, and I believe Drag City put it out. They were a label where I would buy whatever they put out, without question. To me, it’s an all-time classic song.
David Berman was so strong and is one of my favourite singer-songwriters of all time. Purple Mountains was his last record, which was when he’d moved on from Silver Jews, I bought a ticket to go see them play and he killed himself before the concert happened. It was just a digital ticket in my phone, but I kept it there for so long in my wallet. It’s probably not there anymore, but I was so heartbroken I couldn’t bring myself to get rid of it.
“All My Happiness is Gone” was the last song he put out and it hit so much harder when you think, ‘Man, what was this guy going through?’ I don’t know, it’s hard to psychoanalyse them, but someone sent me his Reddit account – which I don’t know how they knew – and I poured through it, and he was really interested in presidents and history, all these things he left behind.
There were some beautiful photos in there, one of him as a teenager at a concert for The Cure or something, and you just look at it, and you’re like, ‘Damn, this person was so enthusiastic and excited about life and then it just crumbled’. I don’t want to psychoanalyse someone I don’t know, but you just look at a picture as it’s sad. It hit me hard because I almost felt like I knew him through his music.
“There Is A Light That Never Goes Out” by The Smiths
The Smiths was a hard one to pick, because almost every song is amazing to me. I think you could get rid of the ten best Smiths songs and you’d still have one of the best bands of all time. Almost every one of them means something to me.
When I was thinking about this interview, I put on a random Smiths playlist and I was like, ‘How many songs do I have to listen to before I skip one of them?’ But this one I think this is the peak.
I think about this time I was with a girlfriend in London. When I go to London I look the wrong way to cross the street, and we both almost got hit by a double decker bus because I looked the wrong way and had to dive back. I was like, ‘Damn, it could’ve been like that fucking song, it was so close’.
But really, it takes me back to New York City. I didn’t listen to The Smiths when they were around. When I was aware of them, Morrissey had already put a bunch of solo records out, but I burned through the discography and got into it. Meat Is Murder got me hooked, but this song towers above the rest for me.
I remember when skaters didn’t play The Smiths. There was a time in the late ‘90s when skaters were pretty homophobic, or at the very least weird, about what they were into and what it said about them. I would go on skate traps as a photographer, and I think Jerry Hsu was the first person where I looked through his CDs and saw he had The Smiths in there.
It felt almost subversive to be so into them at that time. Him and I started vibing on it and forcing the guys to play it, but it was something that skaters didn’t enjoy. It felt like, for a time, we were in a little club that set us apart.
“Aladdin” by Future Islands
Well, I saw them the first time by accident. I think a friend of mine was opening for them or something. It was a show with a bunch of bands and they didn’t have a drummer then, so I just walked into Future Islands having never heard of them before. I was so mesmerised – but I also couldn’t decide whether I liked it or not.
I was thinking, ‘Is this really cheesy and terrible, or is this amazing?’ because the frontman, Sam [T. Herring], is just so unusual. He’s really theatrical, but everyone thought the guy was amazing. So then, that night, I found performances of theirs on YouTube and started watching; little by little, I got so sucked in to the point where I loved Future Islands. I’ve just always loved every album that comes out. I do a lot of running, and when I run for a long time Future Islands are always upbeat enough to keep me going. But also, it’s serious and interesting, with great lyrics.
When they did their David Letterman performance, nobody had really seen them before. They were pretty small, but I’m not surprised it went viral – it just proved how interesting they are. One thing I remember was that when I saw them perform for the first time, there were so many girls there.
Sam was almost like a sex symbol, but it was funny because he’s not conventionally the type. But it was because of his confidence or charisma on stage that gave him that energy, which I found interesting. I swear I went to the show and saw girls freaking out. It’s his lack of inhibition: he just does whatever he wants and that’s what makes him so attractive.
I love how “Aladdin” fades in really slowly. And Sam also has a rap persona called Hemlock Ernst. That song, at the very beginning, almost has a rap to it and a bit of a southern twang. I like his vocals, but it’s really hard to define. But then I love this guy, Gerrit Welmers, who is their keyboardist behind the music. I think he’s a little more influenced by Kraftwerk and electronic stuff, and it’s just the perfect mix.
I remember I was trying to describe them to my friends, and I just couldn’t. I was like, ‘Wow, it’s maybe David Bowie in his “Let’s Dance” era, or “Ashes to Ashes”’ – but that was as close as I could get. They don’t even sound like David Bowie. They opened for Morrissey once, and that’s one concert where I wish I could’ve gone.
“I’ll Keep It With Mine” by Nico
Well, I love Nico. I think it freaked me out. I discovered her obviously through the Velvet Underground, and I’ve always been somewhat enamoured with her.
This particular song is a Bob Dylan cover, and I think the combination is quite perfect. The Bob Dylan version is great, but hers is much more haunting and interesting. Most of her songs which stand out to me are covers because I think she adds a lot that isn’t present in other versions.
I love that movie she was in, La Dolce Vita – and it’s funny, because she’s so bubbly in it and so obviously an it-girl. She shows up with so much charisma. But with her stage presence as a musician, she’s almost like Hope Sandoval in Mazzy Star: someone who just comes out, doesn’t do anything except step into the light and sing.
She doesn’t sound like anyone else. There are a lot of singers, just like my reaction to Future Islands, where the first time I hear them I’m not sure I like them. Will Oldham, Morrissey – and Nico is another. It’s a voice that requires you to dig deep and investigate more even though it’s so off putting at first.
When you hear a song on the radio, you’re like, ‘Oh wow, what is this?’ and you play it a few more times and all of a sudden you never want to hear it again as long as you live. Nico’s music is the inverse: there’s so much to discover the more you listen.
“Knockin’ On Heaven’s Door” by Bob Dylan
That’s got to be one of his most famous songs. It’s from the soundtrack for Pat Garrett and Billy the Kid, but when I was a kid, Guns N’ Roses covered it. And I fucking love Guns N’ Roses, so I came into Bob Dylan the wrong way.
It’s just so iconic, and the song quite literally sounds like a scene from a movie, something so removed from real life. It evokes the gunslinger facing his own mortality, for me.
I really liked ‘60s Bob Dylan, you know, like “Hey Mr. Tambourine Man” or whatever. But now I like ‘70s or ‘80s – even current – Bob Dylan, better. I like the almost satanic Bob Dylan where it’s a little bit heavy metal.
“The Greatest” by Cat Power
I originally got into Cat Power when Moon Pix came out, and now it’s almost too sad for me to listen to. But when I heard this song, I just couldn’t stop listening to it: “Once I wanted to be the greatest”.
Maybe it’s about the plans you have for yourself and what happens to them; it’s pretty and it’s mournful. I know Chan, so it’s intertwined with something more personal – it’s hard to listen to her music without thinking about her in a real way, as a real person, and wanting the best for her.
When she played “The Greatest” live in concert, she did this boxing gesture – the album cover had boxing gloves too and evoked this feeling of really fighting for something.
“Perfect Day” by Lou Reed
Maybe I was going through a breakup, or a relationship or something, but the lyrics of this song really hit me: “Just a perfect day / You make me forget myself / I thought I was someone else / Someone good”.
One funny story about it though, is I was with Andrew Reynolds who’s a pro-skater and he wanted to skate to the song. He kept imitating his skate tricks to fit each part: a kick flip here, this trick there and he was going to use it for his video part.
Heath Kirchart was also thinking about using it, too. I thought it was interesting that two pro-skaters wanted to have these epic parts matched with this sad song.
It has a lot of dynamics which would make it a nice skate song, it kind of builds to become such a tender song.
“Janitor” by Suburban Lawns
There was this band called Suburban Lawns, and their singer, Su Tissue – nobody knows what happened to her, really.
They had this song I fucking love, “Janitor”, it’s a punk song kind of about nuclear war, and in the video she has this presence like Nico and Hope Sandoval, the band are behind her and she just looks so, like, over it. She isn’t dressed how you’d imagine either. There’s a double meaning with every line.
I think they came out with one album, she appeared in a film and then just vanished. There are probably five photos of her, ever. And she doesn’t want to be found. There are all these people trying to figure out where she is or what happened to her, and some people have solved it, but it’s fucked up to even try, because if the person doesn’t want to be a famous singer then you shouldn’t go and find them.
Every time I listen to that song, though, there’s this mystery and curiosity at the heart of it all.
“The Lamb Ran Away with the Crown” by Judee Sill
Judee Sill was a singer/songwriter who people were excited about when she came out, but it didn’t work out for her in the end. I think she became a criminal and a drug addict, but she was also super Christian and really into Jesus and stuff. Some of her songs sound almost preacher-like.
I haven’t perused her Wikipedia page in a while, but as I understand it, she lived an extremely troubled life and robbed gas stations to support her addiction and stuff like that. She never had the commercial success she wanted before she died. When I listen to her songs, they’re charged with this backstory.
But she has a lot of really sweet songs that I could listen to over and over again. It’s weird because she’s not usually the kind of artist I would like, but I love her. I had the vinyl on twelve-inch, and I can picture the artwork right now with the cross. I definitely don’t listen to Christian music, but I love Christian themes which I guess Bob Dylan and some of the other artists I’ve mentioned touch on in their work.
I found her through an ex-girlfriend who really liked alternative ‘70s country music. She has a cult following, and a lot of people have rediscovered her. There’s this lyric: “But I laughed so hard I cried” – I don’t know why, but when I listen to it, it makes me want to cry, because I think about her story and how sad it is, and then having this memory of laughing so hard you cried.
It’s a simple thing but it really gets to me. You can go through life and have struggle, but you can still remember times in life where you were just so filled with joy. I like to think that one line is something she was singing for herself.
Epicly Later'd is out now via Anthology Editions / Mexican Summer
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