Rosanne Cash's Enormous Shiny Brain
Rosanne Cash's Enormous Shiny Brain
Every once in a while you get shown the light...
Liz and I saw Rosanne Cash just this past weekend. We sat and picnicked between a stiff wire fence and the parade of New Yorkers passing by, laden with blankets, strollers, all the detritus a modern hipster needs for a free concert. The temporary stage was tucked right into the armpit of the mighty Brooklyn Bridge. The program was live on WNYC, titled “Rhapsody for this Land” and featuring variations on Gershwin’s spectacular American classic. You know, the blue one (it was also a voter-registration affair, as it happens). Rosanne herself was resplendent in a brilliant green silk coat, which she explained that her daughters had explained was Brat green. “I’m all in!” she exclaimed, to cheers.
I photographed Rosanne in my home studio in Tribeca in 1993 or so. I was a fan, I suppose she could tell; my main memory of the shoot is good vibes. She’s just a really nice person. The music I chose was sympatico (that Country music class I took at UC Santa Cruz really paid dividends at the oddest times), Black Lab Otis was in full effect. Though a stone-cold killer when the mood took him, the solid hunk of meat would plant himself in your lap and demand scritches, if you allowed it—which Rosanne assuredly did. Otis generally glommed onto people, especially women. The only truly notable exception was Natalie Merchant, of 10,000 Maniacs, but that’s a story for another day.
I photographed Cash again nearly twenty years later, in 2011. Two things struck me, neither having anything to do with the shoot. She was again a delight to work with, totally easygoing and just as normal as you’d like. She lives in a brownstone in the West Village and it is exactly as homey as you’d think Rosanne Cash’s house would be. Hygge City.
While idly conversing between shots, I asked if she remembered the last time we’d worked together. I reminded her that I used to have dreads, which often sparks people’s memories. Surprisingly, she did remember our shoot, describing my loft in Tribeca to a T. However, her main memory of our time together was getting into a serious car accident in the taxi up Sixth Avenue after leaving my apartment. I didn’t get the details, just that it was hair raising and took some time to recover from.
As I work on these memoirs, I’m intending to write about the celebrities and the photoshoots I performed with them. But, surprise surprise, it seems like they are as much about me and my contemporaneous life. It’s a pretty fun life so far, so I appreciate you all listening.
The second thing that rocked my world over at Rosanne’s place was the screensaver on her 17” Mac atop the kitchen counter. Cutting through the kitchen on the way to the bathroom, I was literally stunned by the image. A sharp, brightly lit, screen-filling shot of a human brain, in all its glistening glory. As if one sawed off the top three inches of skull and took a picture looking straight down into the brain. It was gory, it was intense, and it was Rosanne’s brain, as she blithely informed me. It was taken as part of the documentation of a brain operation she had undergone. I couldn’t imagine even looking at that, much less seeing it, every time your mouse paused for too long. Further discussion revealed Cash’s operation had been a resounding success, so she saw the brain shot as a reminder of reckoning with adversity and pulling through. It continued to make me uncomfortable, and it wasn’t until much later that I realized why. The photo was, without a doubt, the most intimate shot I’ve ever seen. I mean, the visceral shock it provoked in me wasn’t the gore; I’m a hunter, can handle that. No, it was that not only is it wrong to see inside someone’s skull, it’s super creepy to know that person. I was there to make her portrait, record a reaction to her physical being, try to capture some Rosanne-ish essence.
When researching our book Legends of Country a few years back, Liz and I came across this tidbit: Rosanne was so wildly talented at so many different skills, she became known in her family as “The Brain.” I’ve had my own brain issues these last few years; spent a lot of time ruminating on how such a literal piece of meat can comprise virtually everything there is that makes us us. It’s a shock to be reminded of that. Rosanne’s laptop screensaver image almost fifteen years ago stuck with me. It was her brain, sure, but was it her mind? Her essence? Still trying to figure that one out.
Hearing her onstage last weekend talking about her kids explaining the Brat thing (my own had done the same just that morning), it struck me how lucky we all are. One short circuit, one blocked blood vessel, and your entire story ends. I flashed back to Rosanne’s laptop with that shockingly intimate image on it. And I was reminded of that day in her cozy kitchen talking brains ‘lo some thirteen years ago now. Her life went on, that brain shot became an artifact of that time when she was sick. Rosanne’s alright, I’m alright, and that Brat green coat of hers is telling us we’re all going to be alright, brains, hearts, minds and all.