You feelin' alright? I'm not feeling too good myself.

Joe Cocker gets by with a little help from his pig.

In hindsight, the purple shirt atop the bright yellow seamless was a poor sartorial choice. All photos Chris X Carroll.

I was in high school when Joe Cocker appeared on Saturday Night Live. He had a bizarre affect, holding his arms in tight, creating hugely comic faces while literally singing his heart out. We knew the song from the radio, but his method of delivering it was shocking and compelling. He didn’t care (in an understatement of the year) how he looked, it was like the music was tearing its way out of his body through any means possible. He must have Tourette’s Syndrome, or be learning disabled (we used the r-word back then with gay abandon, never stopping to think how awful it must have made people feel), or be some kind of possessed shaman high on fumes from some mystery disease. 

And then, so shocking and startling it literally made you jump, a SECOND Joe Cocker! What what what, we all sputtered, how can this be? A closer look reveals, the second one is actually John Belushi, dressed exactly, and I mean exactly, like Cocker, exaggerating his weird delivery style with even weirder gestures: pudging out his belly, arms held tight to the chest, loose from elbows down, spitting in a perfect imitation of the bizarrely gesturing singer. And doing it all right next to him! This entire thing blew my teenaged mind, on so many levels. Having a weirdo like this to sing on the TV was one thing, but imitating him directly to his face was just head-explodingly weird.

Joe Cocker, an ugly sweater, and a bush sit atop Jane Fonda’s ranch.

That was my main association with Joe Cocker for several years afterwards. So when I had the opportunity to photograph him just a few years after that, I was expecting him to do his weird affectations, half figured Belushi might show up, dead or no. Up we hied, to his aerie above the Santa Monica shoreline just north of LA, to spend a lovely afternoon at his house, eating snacks, hanging out, and finding cool places to take pictures. 

His “affectation” if one can call it that, is a real deal, the physical embodiment of what it takes to make those amazing sounds with his voice. And whenever he’s near a microphone, you don’t even have to ask, he just immediately starts doing his spastic weird singing act. Which is great if you’re trying to make his portrait. His house was amazing, with a different but no less amazing view (of mountains, canyons, or ocean) out each particular room. This was the first “rock star domicile” I’d ever come across and it was magnificent.

Seems I’ve got to have a change of scene….

Cocker himself, ensconced in such fabulous digs, gave mightily of himself, blithely and easily having a go at everything asked of him, even singing like a lunatic. Great guy, greatest host, great subject. 

We prepared a number of different setups, using different rooms, and outdoor areas. At one point we even traipsed up to his neighbor Jane Fonda’s place, but it was really just a field so we went back to his house for more. And all the while, he kept talking about his pig. This was in the day when those Vietnamese pot belly pigs were all the rage. So we were all picturing this little puppy sized thing. But when we finally got out to the pen and checked out the porcine occupant it was like beyond. The thing (which apparently started life as a little purse sized individual) had been well fed, and by the time we got to it it was the size of a Volkswagen. Cocker was so proud of it and we were all laughing no doubt shocked by the enormous size more than anything else. 

Every night I have the strangest dreams.

But here’s the rub. I shot like four, five setups, tons of different looks (for a cover and various inside spreads). I hung out, laughing, while Cocker extolled the virtues of his enormous pig. I spent the day in this amazing house, with tchotchkes, views, decorating galore. 

Do I have picture one of any of this? No! What the hell? I know I was trying to fake studio looks as my art directors had asked (shlepped rolls of seamless all the way from LA). But as I look back, it’s amazing to me I don’t have more pictures of what I remember from these productions. I did at least go outside for a couple.  Anyway, yet another reason I’m grateful for the ubiquity of dim daylight eating iPhones nowadays. And we’re calling Joe Cocker’s enormous pig the one that got away. At least we got to see it in person, and that’s not nothing.