Chris Steele Perkins: "Wolverhampton en los 70s era un sitio gris, más bien soso, vacío y deprimente, pero había pequeñas islas de energía - como este club joven en una iglesia. Fuí allí una tarde de 1978 y me encontré una fiesta de puro reggae a todo volumen. El sitio estaba abarrotado, tenías que hacerte sitio como pudieras. La gente se solía quejar de que corté los pies de los protagonistas de la foto, pero no podía alejarme mucho más. Era un sitio muy pequeño, reducido incluso más por el sistema de sonido.
Las iglesias de la zona habían comenzado a albergar fiestas juveniles para que estos pudieran alternar, hacer talleres o jugar al billar. La gente en los clubes no era tan joven al final y creo que solían ir allí porque no había muchos sitios donde bailar reggae. Podías beber refrescos, pero creo recordar que no servían alcohol - era una iglesia después de todo.
Llegué a Wolverhampton después de que la revista del Sunday Times me encargara cubrir una historia sobre el décimo aniversario del discurso 'Ríos de Sangre' de Enoch Powell. Querían una mirada a las minorías étnicas de la ciudad donde Powell había pertenecido a los conservadores y vió lo que pasó después de su profecía. El apocalipsis que atribuía a la inmigración era una colección de estupideces. Era un idiota medio tarado y lo expulsaron después de aquel discurso, pero lo más increíble es que llegara a pronunciarlo. Pasé cerca de una semana alternando con la población hindú y caribeña junto al escritor Gordon Burn, fotografiando iglesias, templos, fábricas, clubes deportivos, parques... Cuando la historia estaba lista el sindicato de impresores convocó una huelga y el Sunday Times no se publicó por un año.
Fue una de las historias más difíciles que me toco cubrir: había cierta tensión. Venía de Londres y no soy Afro-caribeño. La juventud estaba alterada y no les hacía mucho gracia alternar conmigo. Le mejor forma de describirlo es que me tenían en el punto de mira. Hay un tipo al fondo de la foto que me mira de forma poco amistosa, pero las chicas eran geniales. estaban pasándolo genial - me agrada particularmente esa chica que camina con un abanico.
En ese momento disparaba en blanco y negro a menos que se pidiera especificamente color para un encargo concreto. No fue hasta los 80s que decidí ponerme al día con el color y practicarlo poco a poco, mejor que haberme forzado a ello. En cualquier caso ahora disparo en color con bastante frecuencia.
Probablemente vendo más copias de esta foto que de ninguna otra, lo cual tiene su gracia porque no me gustaba la foto en su momento. A pesar de eso ha crecido conmigo y parece haber calado en el imaginario popular."
Chris Steele Perkins: "Wolverhampton in the 1970s was a grey place, rather flat, dull and uninspiring, but there were little islands of energy – like this church youth club. I went there one evening in 1978, to find hardcore reggae playing. The place was packed out: you had to squeeze through the gaps where you could. People have complained that I cropped the dancers' feet off in this photograph, but I couldn't get any further back. It was a tiny place, made even smaller by the sound system.
The churches in the area had started a number of youth clubs and day centres where young people could go and hang out, do some classes or just play pool. The people in this club weren't all that young, and I think they were there because there weren't many options if you wanted to go and dance to reggae. You could get soft drinks but I don't think there was any alcohol – it was a church after all.
I had come to Wolverhampton after the Sunday Times magazine commissioned me to do a story on the 10th anniversary of Enoch Powell's "Rivers of Blood" speech. They wanted me to have a look at ethnic minorities in this town where Powell had been a Tory MP, and see what had happened after his prophecy. The apocalypse he had touted as the outcome of immigration was poisonous nonsense. He was a half-demented idiot and got fired from the shadow cabinet for that speech, but it was incredible he could even make it.
I spent about a week poking around among the local Indian and African-Caribbean population with the writer Gordon Burn, photographing everything from churches and temples, to factories, sports clubs and playgrounds. In the end the story was laid out and ready to go, but then the print unions went on strike and the Sunday Times wasn't published for a whole year.
This wasn't the easiest story that I've done: there was a degree of tension. I had come up from London and I'm not African-Caribbean. These were slightly pissed-off youth and they weren't dying to hang around with me. The best way to describe it is that they put up with me. There is a guy in the background who looks a bit less than friendly, but the girls were great. They really got into it – I particularly like the girl walking across with the fan.
At the time I was shooting in black and white unless an assignment specifically asked for colour. It wasn't until the 1980s that I decided to get to grips with colour and start owning it, rather than feeling resentful that I was made to do it. Nowadays I shoot in colour all the time.
I probably sell more prints of this picture than any other, which is bizarre because I didn't really like it at the time. It's grown on me, though, and it seems to have caught the popular imagination."
Las iglesias de la zona habían comenzado a albergar fiestas juveniles para que estos pudieran alternar, hacer talleres o jugar al billar. La gente en los clubes no era tan joven al final y creo que solían ir allí porque no había muchos sitios donde bailar reggae. Podías beber refrescos, pero creo recordar que no servían alcohol - era una iglesia después de todo.
Llegué a Wolverhampton después de que la revista del Sunday Times me encargara cubrir una historia sobre el décimo aniversario del discurso 'Ríos de Sangre' de Enoch Powell. Querían una mirada a las minorías étnicas de la ciudad donde Powell había pertenecido a los conservadores y vió lo que pasó después de su profecía. El apocalipsis que atribuía a la inmigración era una colección de estupideces. Era un idiota medio tarado y lo expulsaron después de aquel discurso, pero lo más increíble es que llegara a pronunciarlo. Pasé cerca de una semana alternando con la población hindú y caribeña junto al escritor Gordon Burn, fotografiando iglesias, templos, fábricas, clubes deportivos, parques... Cuando la historia estaba lista el sindicato de impresores convocó una huelga y el Sunday Times no se publicó por un año.
Fue una de las historias más difíciles que me toco cubrir: había cierta tensión. Venía de Londres y no soy Afro-caribeño. La juventud estaba alterada y no les hacía mucho gracia alternar conmigo. Le mejor forma de describirlo es que me tenían en el punto de mira. Hay un tipo al fondo de la foto que me mira de forma poco amistosa, pero las chicas eran geniales. estaban pasándolo genial - me agrada particularmente esa chica que camina con un abanico.
En ese momento disparaba en blanco y negro a menos que se pidiera especificamente color para un encargo concreto. No fue hasta los 80s que decidí ponerme al día con el color y practicarlo poco a poco, mejor que haberme forzado a ello. En cualquier caso ahora disparo en color con bastante frecuencia.
Probablemente vendo más copias de esta foto que de ninguna otra, lo cual tiene su gracia porque no me gustaba la foto en su momento. A pesar de eso ha crecido conmigo y parece haber calado en el imaginario popular."
Chris Steele Perkins: "Wolverhampton in the 1970s was a grey place, rather flat, dull and uninspiring, but there were little islands of energy – like this church youth club. I went there one evening in 1978, to find hardcore reggae playing. The place was packed out: you had to squeeze through the gaps where you could. People have complained that I cropped the dancers' feet off in this photograph, but I couldn't get any further back. It was a tiny place, made even smaller by the sound system.
The churches in the area had started a number of youth clubs and day centres where young people could go and hang out, do some classes or just play pool. The people in this club weren't all that young, and I think they were there because there weren't many options if you wanted to go and dance to reggae. You could get soft drinks but I don't think there was any alcohol – it was a church after all.
I had come to Wolverhampton after the Sunday Times magazine commissioned me to do a story on the 10th anniversary of Enoch Powell's "Rivers of Blood" speech. They wanted me to have a look at ethnic minorities in this town where Powell had been a Tory MP, and see what had happened after his prophecy. The apocalypse he had touted as the outcome of immigration was poisonous nonsense. He was a half-demented idiot and got fired from the shadow cabinet for that speech, but it was incredible he could even make it.
I spent about a week poking around among the local Indian and African-Caribbean population with the writer Gordon Burn, photographing everything from churches and temples, to factories, sports clubs and playgrounds. In the end the story was laid out and ready to go, but then the print unions went on strike and the Sunday Times wasn't published for a whole year.
This wasn't the easiest story that I've done: there was a degree of tension. I had come up from London and I'm not African-Caribbean. These were slightly pissed-off youth and they weren't dying to hang around with me. The best way to describe it is that they put up with me. There is a guy in the background who looks a bit less than friendly, but the girls were great. They really got into it – I particularly like the girl walking across with the fan.
At the time I was shooting in black and white unless an assignment specifically asked for colour. It wasn't until the 1980s that I decided to get to grips with colour and start owning it, rather than feeling resentful that I was made to do it. Nowadays I shoot in colour all the time.
I probably sell more prints of this picture than any other, which is bizarre because I didn't really like it at the time. It's grown on me, though, and it seems to have caught the popular imagination."
[The Guardian>My Best Shot]
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