Portrait by Feinstein of Edward G. Robinson at Gary Cooper’s funeral
In the early sixties Barry was married to another of Grossman’s clients, Mary Travers of Peter, Paul, and Mary. He toured with the group as official photographer, Mary soon bearing their daughter, Alicia. Along the way Barry befriended the high and the low, from a down and out John Barrymore Jr. (who told Barry the single funniest story he’d ever hear), to Bill Keyes about whom Bob Marley wrote, “I Shot The Sheriff.” Stories concerning Roman Polanski, Jack Nicholson, Peter Fonda, Dennis Hopper (who threw a television monitor at Barry’s head) abound. Barry shot the graveyard sequence in Easy Rider, easily the most interesting scene in the movie. He also “rode with” Von Dutch whose painted motorcycles are today collected in museums. He befriended Steve McQueen who, according to Barry’s widow, Judy, appeared promptly at four every afternoon when the two would smoke a joint and terrorize the hills of Hollywood on motorcycles. Barry did an early spread on McQueen for Look magazine and later shot the publicity stills for McQueen’s ‘68 classic Bullit. That same year he was a cameraman for Monterey Pop and shot his own unscripted You Are What You Eat, a 75 minute film (favorably reviewed by Judith Crist) featuring talents as disparate as Tiny Tim and Frank Zappa, with the title spoken by Woodstock’s own mad genius, Clarence Schmidt. Before a second marriage to actress Carol Wayne, mother of son Alex, Barry’s house was obsessively cleaned by Linda Lovelace, who would show up unannounced with her vacuum cleaner. Comedian, theologian, and rant poet extraordinaire, Lord Buckley dubbed Barry “His Triple Hip-ness” (“your double hipness” — as high as the rating usually progressed).
Bob Krasnow in conjunction with co-owner Tommy LiPuma of Blue Thumb Records used Barry’s photographs exclusively during the early legendary years: Captain Beefheart, Dr. John, Arthur Lee and legions of other artists’ classic covers — all the work of Feinstein and his design partner, Tom Wilkes. The two once dreamed up an image they were rightfully terrified to propose: Ike & Tina Turner in whiteface eating watermelons — American racism turned inside out. Krasnow and LiPuma loved the idea but Ike — never without a loaded pistol and his infamous temper — could prove a dangerous sell. The actual pitch is a rocky bit of history but the cover remains (married to the tongue deep-in-cheek title: Outta Season) an outrageous testament to Barry’s balls-to-the-wall sensibility.
Dylan by Feinstein.
Aside from friendship, that sensibility is what Dylan sought out when, in an unheard move after dissolving his relationship with Albert, he reached back to Barry, re-hiring him for tour work, twice. That’s what George Harrison reached out for. Donovan, Eric Clapton, Delaney & Bonnie, and sad/glad Janis Joplin whose Pearl cover Feinstein shot the day before she died. The truth is, Barry didn’t give a shit about fame, he responded to humanity, the communication of which we call talent. He surrounded himself with people who had something to say and who risked their lives saying it.
By the late 70’s Albert Grossman had created an empire in Bearsville and imported his reluctant friend as in-house photographer, designer, and consigliere. I was tending bar at the newly re-opened Bear Cafe. Most every day a little past twelve Barry would appear in satin boxer’s trunks, tube socks and sneakers, a tour jacket over a spotless tee shirt. He’d sit and chain smoke Camel straights at the southwest corner of the bar without ever ordering a drink. A bullet-smooth dome of shiny skin tight to his small, simian skull; the gray handlebar mustache drooping over the too-long-without-a-tan dead pan…a grinch without a Christmas. I didn’t much appreciate his smoking or his sobriety, until the afternoon I inadvertently made him laugh. Suddenly that bored-silly face exploded into one of the most amazing smiles I’ll ever witness. Opened up, he told me a story. I traded one of my own. He gurgles a droll laugh, rolls his eyes at the mediocre existence awaiting us outside the beauty of story-telling, and steps off the stool towards it. In a matter of minutes we were friends and my secret vocation — as difficult a challenge as seducing any cool beauty — was to make him smile. Ironically, as the years have folded into each other, the fine print in the contract of that friendship has become the knowledge I’d one day be required to write this…
To the Editor: I would like to thank Tad Wise for his beautiful tribute to one of my oldest and dearest friends, Barry Feinstein. I speak not only for myself but for the many others who also loved and cared for the colorful, bigger than life character who made our worlds so much more interesting — our Barry. Thank you, Tad. There were obits in the NYTimes, The LATimes, the UKGuardian and many other publications but it was yours and yours alone that touched the heart.