Joe Stevens, the celebrated rock photographer who masterfully captured the essence of an amplified rebellion from Woodstock to the raw energy of the Sex Pistols, passed away on August 26 in Concord, N.H., at the age of 87. His illustrious career was a stark shift from the demanding life of a road manager for iconic bands like the Byrds and the Lovin’ Spoonful.
Jane Tyska, a close friend and fellow photojournalist who had been caring for him, confirmed his passing at a skilled nursing facility.
This understated, witty New Yorker possessed a unique ability to blend into the background, often becoming virtually invisible within exclusive rock circles. This talent allowed him to snap incredibly intimate and unguarded portraits of music’s biggest stars, whether backstage, in hotel rooms, or amid the hazy atmosphere of nightclubs.
Chris Salewicz, a renowned rock journalist and author, once remarked, ‘At any post-gig party or music industry event, you’d suddenly notice Joe, quietly positioned behind a pillar for most of the evening, persistently capturing every moment.’
Salewicz collaborated with Stevens at the influential British music magazine New Musical Express, where Stevens served as a staff photographer throughout much of the 1970s, following his move to London early in that decade.
Reflecting on his approach, Stevens once told Pitchfork in a 2007 interview, ‘I wasn’t intimidated by stardom. I’d already spent time with all the big names and realized they were just ordinary people. They might be incredible on stage or in the studio, but otherwise, they were as mundane as anyone else.’
Stevens often pierced the glamorous facade of celebrity, capturing moments like Paul McCartney burying his head in his wife Linda’s arms after a marijuana arrest in Sweden in 1972, or Rod Stewart looking perfectly stage-ready while simply leaving a New York nightclub restroom.
Among his other striking photographs were John Lennon and Yoko Ono appearing as unassuming street protesters at a 1971 demonstration. He also immortalized his friend David Bowie, visibly fatigued, conversing with a railway porter in Paris in 1973, immediately after a taxing boat and train trip from Japan (Bowie had a fear of flying).
As punk rock exploded across London in the mid-1970s, Stevens emerged as a premier chronicler of this revolutionary movement. His initial introduction to the world of musical anarchy was through Malcolm McLaren, the Sex Pistols’ manager, whom he previously knew only as the co-owner of a daring fetish wear boutique named Sex, alongside designer Vivienne Westwood.
He recounted in a 2014 interview with Seacoast Online, ‘One day, McLaren burst into my apartment, waving flyers announcing ‘Sex Pistols — Live at Logan’s Loft.’
He admitted, ‘I had no clue it was a band. I genuinely thought it might be some kind of unusual demonstration, perhaps even a ‘Tupperware party’ for vibrators.’
Before long, Stevens became an indispensable figure within the punk scene. In 1978, he documented the Sex Pistols’ singular, tumultuous American tour during their peak, a chaotic journey that primarily saw them playing in honky-tonk bars across the Southern states.
Soon afterward, he returned to New York, immersing himself in the vibrant punk scene around CBGB, the legendary Bowery club. He photographed bands like the Ramones and Blondie, finding punk to be a refreshing and visually compelling antidote to the tired glam-rock aesthetics of the early 70s.
He stated, ‘I was simply tired of the platform shoes and overly choreographed performances.’
Born Joseph Stevens Grady on July 25, 1938, in the Bronx, his father, Joseph Clifford Grady, was an art appraiser and boxing coach, and his mother was Anne (McPhilips) Grady. After his parents’ divorce when he was five, he was raised mainly by his mother in Queens.
He recalled to Pitchfork, ‘We often lived in basements. My mother, a waitress, supported us on her tips.’
In his early twenties, he was drawn to Greenwich Village, eventually managing a coffeehouse called The Playhouse. There, he rubbed shoulders with local folk luminaries such as Phil Ochs, Fred Neil, and John Sebastian, the latter of whom later enlisted Stevens to manage road logistics and expenses for his band, The Lovin’ Spoonful.
During a prolonged period in Los Angeles, Stevens associated with bands like The Byrds, eventually becoming their road manager. He also served in the same role for the esteemed South African singer and activist, Miriam Makeba.
On tour, he began to admire his occasional roommate, photographer Henry Diltz, who would simply drop off his film after a day’s work and head straight to the bar.
Stevens told Pitchfork, ‘I thought, ‘Wow, that’s the life!’ I was dealing with all the hassles: arrests, relationship dramas, illnesses. I worried about everything, while he’d just casually say, ‘I hope there’s some nice girls downstairs.’
Stevens’s passion for photography began as a hobby during his time at The Playhouse, capturing musicians casually. In the summer of 1969, equipped with three Leica cameras, he embarked on a journey to Woodstock.
At Woodstock, he serendipitously encountered Jim Marshall, a renowned rock photographer he knew from his Greenwich Village cafe. Stevens persuaded Marshall to secure him a press pass. ‘That moment defined my life,’ Stevens stated in a 2012 video interview. ‘I’ve been a photographer ever since.’
Initially pursuing traditional photojournalism, Stevens secured a staff position at The East Village Other, a prominent underground newspaper. His assignments included covering the Chicago Seven trial, Black Panther rallies, and women’s rights marches.
After relocating to England, he joined another alternative publication, International Times. In 1971, while documenting the sectarian conflict known as the Troubles in Northern Ireland, he was arrested on arson charges after being apprehended by authorities while escaping a firebombing incident.
Though acquitted after a three-month trial, he decided that sweet-talking his way backstage was far safer than dodging gunfire. This realization led him to fully embrace rock photography, a field in which he excelled throughout the 1980s.
By the late 1980s, the relentless pace of the rock scene had taken its toll. Stevens sought a more tranquil existence in Portsmouth, N.H., where he worked as a bartender, pursued sailing, and occasionally contributed photographs to local publications.
Stevens was married and divorced twice and leaves no immediate survivors.
Despite spending decades immersed in the ever-evolving world of rock, Stevens maintained a distinctive detachment.
He once reflected, ‘I wasn’t a punk, a beatnik, a hippie, or a rock ‘n’ roller — none of those things. But I was there, capturing all those scenes.’
‘I wasn’t a follower. I was a photographer,’ he declared.
