The Legends

The mid-1960s were heady times in rock and roll, attracting a pantheon of photographers who sometimes became as noteworthy as the talent they were following. One of the first was English photographer Barrie Wentzell. “We were out there discovering bands,” he says of the days when he worked as chief photographer for Melody Maker, an influential British music magazine that predated Rolling Stone. “Nobody was really famous, apart from the Beatles, and even they were very sweet.”

Mad for Max

Silverton, Australia, a lonely, outback outpost 335 miles northeast of Adelaide, isn’t much to look at - a hotel and bar, three art galleries, a tea room and surprise, surprise, the world’s only Mad Max Museum. It’s hot, humid and I’m surrounded by hundreds of fat, hungry flies as I make my way across the town's dusty main street. Why the hell am I here? And then I remember. I’m here on a pilgrimage because of my love for Mad Max movies.

On the Loose in Kitschy-Kan

Kitschy-kan? "Yeah, kitscny-kan," the local high schooler repeated. "This place is so damn kitschy." He put down his half-consumed can of Coke and jumped off the bridge, clothes and all, into the marina below. Even at this latitude, the summer heat was driving the teen and his buddies into the water, an unusual occurrence here in Ketchikan, famous for its fishing and lately, much to the chagrin of many locals, tourists. The gang had now grown to about 12 adolescents united in their contempt of day-trippers.