Joe Stevens, a renowned rock photographer, passed away on August 26 in Concord, N.H., at the age of 87. He had previously transitioned from a demanding role as a road manager for iconic bands like the Byrds and the Lovin’ Spoonful to a celebrated career capturing the raw energy of amplified rebellion, from the legendary Woodstock festival to the chaotic world of the Sex Pistols and beyond.
His death, which occurred at a skilled nursing facility, was confirmed by Jane Tyska, a close friend and fellow photojournalist who had been his caretaker.
A native New Yorker with a keen, understated wit, Stevens possessed a unique ability to move effortlessly, almost invisibly, within the exclusive circles of rock royalty. This allowed him to snap candid, intimate portraits of stars in their most unguarded moments—be it backstage, in dimly lit hotel rooms, or within the smoky confines of nightclubs.
Chris Salewicz, a prominent rock journalist and author, recalled in an email, “At some post-gig party or music business reception, you would suddenly realize that Joe had been tucked away behind a pillar for most of the occasion, steadfastly snapping away.”
Salewicz collaborated with Stevens at the influential British music publication New Musical Express, where Stevens served as a staff photographer for much of the 1970s after relocating to London earlier that decade.
“I wasn’t intimidated by stardom,” Stevens explained in a 2007 interview with the music site Pitchfork. “I’d already been around all the big shots. And I saw that they were just like you and I, no big deal. They just happened to be unbelievable sometimes when they get onstage or make a record. The rest of the time, boring, like the rest of us.”
Stevens famously peeled back the layers of celebrity, capturing images like a weary Paul McCartney burying his head in his wife Linda’s arms during a pot bust in Sweden in 1972, or Rod Stewart looking ready for the stage while simply stepping out of a New York nightclub’s men’s room.
His impressive portfolio also includes timeless shots of John Lennon and Yoko Ono appearing as humble street protesters at a 1971 demonstration, and his friend David Bowie, visibly exhausted, chatting with a railway porter in Paris in 1973 after a demanding boat and train journey from Japan (Bowie was famously afraid of flying).
When punk rock erupted in London in the mid-1970s, Stevens quickly became a key documentarian of the burgeoning movement. His introduction to this anarchic new sound came from Malcolm McLaren, manager of the Sex Pistols, whom he initially knew only as the co-owner, with designer Vivienne Westwood, of a distinctive fetish wear boutique called Sex.
“One day, McLaren came barreling into my flat with these fliers that said ‘Sex Pistols — Live at Logan’s Loft,’” Stevens recounted in a 2014 interview published on Seacoast Online, a New Hampshire news site.
“I had no idea it was a band,” he admitted. “I thought maybe it was a vibrator show. You know, like a Tupperware party.”
Soon, Stevens was deeply embedded in punk circles. In 1978, he chronicled the Sex Pistols’ sole, famously brief and chaotic American tour, which largely consisted of performances in rough-and-tumble honky-tonk bars across the South.
Not long after, he returned to New York, where he continued to photograph prominent figures like the Ramones and Blondie, who were integral to the vibrant scene at CBGB, the legendary Bowery club that became the heart of punk. He found punk’s visual raw simplicity a refreshing departure from the glam-rock clichés that dominated the early ’70s.
“I was bored with the platform shoes and choreographed shows,” he stated.
Joseph Stevens Grady was born on July 25, 1938, in the Bronx, to Joseph Clifford Grady, an art appraiser and boxing coach, and Anne (McPhilips) Grady. His parents divorced when he was five, and he was raised predominantly by his mother in Queens.
“We lived in basements,” he told Pitchfork. “She was a waitress, she raised me on tips.”
In his early twenties, he found his way to Greenwich Village, eventually managing a coffeehouse called the Playhouse. There, he rubbed shoulders with local folk singers such as Phil Ochs, Fred Neil, and John Sebastian, the latter of whom would later hire him as a road manager for his band, the Lovin’ Spoonful.
During an extended period in Los Angeles, Stevens socialized with bands like the Byrds, who eventually asked him to become their road manager. He later held the same position for Miriam Makeba, the renowned South African singer and activist.
On tour, he grew envious of his occasional roommate, photographer Henry Diltz, who would simply drop off his film at the end of the day and head to the bar.
“I said, ‘Wow, that’s a good gig!’” Stevens recounted to Pitchfork. “I had all the headaches, people getting busted, girlfriends, diseases. I had to worry about all that stuff. And he’d just sort of say, ‘I hope there’s some nice girls downstairs.’”
Stevens had been taking photos of musicians as a hobby since his Playhouse days. In the summer of 1969, equipped with three Leica cameras, he ventured to Woodstock.
There, he encountered Jim Marshall, a leading rock photographer he knew from his cafe, and convinced him to secure a press pass. “That gave me my life,” Stevens stated in a 2012 video interview. “I’ve been doing photography ever since.”
Initially, Stevens pursued a more conventional photojournalism path, beginning with a staff position at The East Village Other, an influential underground newspaper. His assignments included covering the Chicago Seven trial, Black Panther rallies, and women’s rights marches.
After moving to England, he worked for another alternative publication, International Times. In 1971, while documenting the sectarian conflict known as the Troubles in Northern Ireland, he was arrested and jailed on arson charges after being caught fleeing the scene of a firebombing.
He was acquitted after a three-month trial, but the experience led him to conclude that scoring backstage passes was far more appealing than dodging bullets. Thus, he fully transitioned into the field where he would excel throughout the 1980s.
By the close of that decade, he had grown weary of the relentless rock and roll lifestyle and chose a quieter existence in Portsmouth, N.H. There, he worked as a bartender, pursued sailing, and occasionally contributed photographs to local newspapers.
Mr. Stevens was married and divorced twice, leaving no immediate survivors.
Despite spending decades immersed in the ever-evolving landscape of rock music, Stevens always maintained a healthy distance from the scenes he captured.
“I wasn’t a punk myself,” he reflected. “I wasn’t a beatnik, I wasn’t a hippie, a rock ’n’ roller — none of that. But I shot all those scenes.
“I wasn’t a follower. I was a photographer.”
