That Henry Rollins, the burly, tattooed ballistic behind Black Flag, has attempted to distill a decade worth of experiences wandering through the worst parts of the developing world into a photo-heavy coffee table book doesn’t undermine his rebel credibility as much as the new book’s contents, which show that, in extremis, the aging punk is less than extreme.
Occupants is collection of disconcertingly concrete images paired with impressionistic passages of writing in which Rollins adopts the voices of his photograph’s subjects or provides an emotional description of their circumstances. This works very well when Rollins does what he’s always done so well and embraces the hard-edged honesty of punk.
Next to an image of a camel outside Timbuktu, he writes: “No one discovered Africa. You might go, you might even return. But you didn’t discover shit.” If this sort of lyricism doesn’t get the Modernist design tomes sitting next to this book in stores moshing than nothing will.
Rollins also seems insightful about the way poverty can diminish the imagination. His subjects, who are really his characters, never dream of anything loftier than the next rung on the ladder: A butcher longs not to feel his work; a beggar wishes he could think about the future. In the book’s best passages, Rollins’ empathy allows him genuine and frightening insight. In weaker sections, Rollins -- who makes it clear in the introduction that he's comfortable playing the dilettante -- seems overwhelmed by sympathy and impotent rage at the status quo, a familiar position for a socially conscious rocker.
The most interesting aspect of the book is how family-friendly Rollins’ agitation for equality seems when compared the opinions held be his subject. The Black Flag shirt an Indonesian woman wears in one of the collection’s more memorable images was a signifier of ‘80s rebellion meant to upset the capitalist apple cart, but the Osama Bin Laden shirt a boy is seen wearing on a prior page is far more unsettling.
At the end of the day Rollins is questioning the machine, not raging against it: A little more traveled, a little less punk.
We had been out all day, visiting forward bases on the Afghanistan-Pakistan border. I was told that on the good days, the back of the Chinook is down all the way; on the not-so-good days, the back of the Chinook is partially up and there is a machine gunner posted. It must have been a good day because the back was down and I could see out as we went back to the Baghram base. The groun below was still littered with Soviet military junk. I saw some kids playing on what was left of a tank. The Afghans are the toughest people I have ever been around. Everything about their lives is extreme. For centuries, they have been invaded and have fought back until the invaders left. America will eventually leave; the just have to find a way to say they were victorious and save some face, like they tried to do in Vietnam.
I have found that there is nothing more still than a dead body. I guess I am so used to them moving that, when they are dead, the stillness is very still. The number of flies on this New Delhi man and the texture of the skin on his face made me think he had perhaps expired. I though I saw his chest slightly rise as if he were breathing, but it could have just been the flies moving.
I saw this woman walking toward me in Yogyakarta and noticed her T-shirt. At that moment, two teens on a motorbike recognized me, pulled over, and asked me what I was doing in town. I asked them if they would explain the T-shirt to the woman and how strange it was for the two of us to be passing in the street. After she was told, she just gave me a blank smile and kept walking.
I wandered through a market in Kolkata and found the butchers' hall to be most interesting. The rats that ran in all directions were huge.
I kept trying to back up and keep them in focus and was able to get a few shots until they ran too close to the lens. This one shot luckily captured the energy of the Mopti children that I wanted to show. The girl at the far right seemed shy compared to the others; it was nice to see her smile.