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GALLERY: Tom Sheehan Exhibition
The Quietus , November 15th, 2013 07:03

Ace music photographer picks out ten images from his Analogue exhibition. All photographs copyright Tom Sheehan


Snoop - Los Angeles, January 1994
Tom says: “We were out in L.A. for about four days. The whole thing went bandy and the interview and photo session kept on being put back and back. So much so that we did ended up doing it on the way back to the airport on our way home. We turned up at his house, which was in a kind of gated/private estate. We thought it was quite flash, very quiet and well arranged. But then we heard that Snoop was waiting to move into a larger house and this was just a stopgap.

“On arrival we found what seemed to be the end of a party, gals and guys, chronic, some little kid rapping like a good 'un. All great and friendly. He didn't give a fook but knew there was a job at hand. While there we were sworn to 'not mention' some law case where a chum of Snoop was in the frame for a tussle/shooting. I had an idea on the way to the airport to do a shot of him in handcuffs (which was not really mentioning the case). So I bought some hand cuffs at a joke shop on the way to the airport. After some faff, I suggested that he pose like those cats Tommie Smith and John Carlos giving the Black Power salute at the 1968 Olympics. He agreed, I suggested clipping on the cuffs and bingo... we had the shot.

“I met him a while later, again in L.A., around the time of Murder Was The Case and I suggested painting RIP on his chest. He kind of told me to fuck off the only way an American rapper can, with total disbelief and lots of laughing. I said, "Come on, we have to top what we did last time.” He said, "You did that?” and we ended up getting him with RIP painted on his hand and his initials on the other as if he was laying in a coffin.

“Warren G was there as well and one of them had a fucking Devil Dog. Man, those fuckers stink when they shit and this one laid some coil in the studio. There was no escape. One of the hands grabbed some fly spray and emptied it out into the room and our lungs. I still have nightmares over the Devil Dog’s truncheon. Horrible. I’ve never met the cat since, but would like to if only to tell him that my lungs haven’t worked the same way since.