How a small downtown paper gave one photographer unrestricted access to the most documented decade in New York history

Transmission 356: Interview with Allan Tannenbaum

Allan Tannenbaum is a photojournalist whose images helped define the visual memory of New York City. He documented the culture from within it, as a participant as much as an observer. He is a visual historian, and has a singular position as a witness to the “Golden Age” of The City That Never Sleeps. To look at an Allan Tannenbaum photograph is to see the Big Apple with its guard down. Attracted to the emerging art scene in Manhattan’s SoHo area, the legendary photojournalist sought employment as a photographer while working as a bartender and taxi driver. He was appointed Chief Photographer and Photo Editor when the SoHo Weekly News started publishing in 1973. The newspaper began as a free eight-page publication but quickly rose to prominence as a newsstand competitor to the well-known Village Voice. He constantly covered politics, the entertainment industry, the music scene, the art world, and nightlife. This documentation continued until the SoHo News collapsed in 1982. His work spans the sweat-soaked dance floors of Studio 54, intimate final portraits of John Lennon and Yoko Ono, the front lines of international conflicts, and the harrowing dust of Ground Zero. Known for his ability to move fluidly between political reportage and cultural portraiture, he developed a visual language rooted in proximity, instinct, and narrative awareness. His lens has framed presidents and protestors and cultural revolutionaries, revealing the tension and vitality of an era that reshaped modern culture.

His first book, “New York in the 70s,” which was based on his photos from the SoHo News era, was released in 2003 by Feierabend Verlag, a German publisher. In 2005, a second book titled “New York” was released that included images of New York City from the 1980s, 1990s, and up until July 4th, 2004. Based on his own photos of John Lennon and Yoko Ono, his third book, “John & Yoko: A New York Love Story“, was released by Insight Editions in October 2007. It was listed as one of the top ten photography books of 2007 by American Photo Magazine. The 2008 Independent Book Publisher Awards awarded it a Gold Medal. For his latest book, “Grit and Glamour – Street Style, High Fashion, and the Legendary Music of the 1970s“, released by Insight Editions in October 2016, Tannenbaum collected a number of rare images from his SoHo News library. This piece has been shown in exhibitions in Toronto, Miami, Los Angeles, New York City, and Malibu.

His prints have also been donated to charity auctions, raising funds for organisations including ACE, the Association of Community Employment Programs for the Homeless, Equality Now, Friends in Deed, Art in Tune, and Foundation Rwanda.

His archive remains a vivid chronicle of a city and a generation, preserving the atmosphere of a period when art, activism, and identity collided in ways that still register today.

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Have you always dreamt a career in photography? Was there a specific moment when you realized photography would become not just your profession, but your language?

Well, it was kind of an evolution and I wasn’t sure really what direction I would go in when I was younger, but I just started picking up a camera and taking pictures in the mid-1960s and I used that for the campus newspaper when I was in college and also for some of my art classes. I was also interested in filmmaking and did some student films and went to graduate school in filmmaking, so I wasn’t quite sure of my direction, but after a while I realized that I liked seeing my work published, so I wanted to work for newspapers and magazines because then you see your work and get a variety of subjects and get to see a lot of different things, meet people, and get access to events.

So little by little I went in that direction and it was a goal that I had, but it wasn’t really easy to get started. I went to magazines, wire services, newspapers, and got turned down quite often, but I was determined. I decided that I wasn’t one of these people who was like a child prodigy, so I had to just keep plugging away, and I decided that if I didn’t get something by the time I was 30, I better look for something else. But just before my 29th birthday, I got this job at the Soho Weekly News, which at the time was an eight-page giveaway newspaper, very small, but all of a sudden these doors opened to me, to everything in the art world, the music scene, and I just started working and taking pictures and seeing the work published, making contacts, going to events, going to places, and became very quickly part of the downtown scene. So that’s how it worked, and then I realized after doing that for a while that I would have a body of work that would be something that I could be proud of.

In the 70s, SoHo was a desolate manufacturing district before it was an art mecca. How did that ‘pioneer’ atmosphere influence the raw, unpolished aesthetic of your early work compared to the editorial style of that time?

I don’t know if I really had a style. I wasn’t consciously trying to make a style in my photography. I was essentially doing documentary work, although I was doing portraits as well, and everything was kind of spontaneous. I wasn’t really someone who planned pictures to look a certain way. I really liked the post-industrial look and vibe of Soho in that era. There’s that Rhythm and Blues song from the disco era called Funky Town, and Soho was definitely Funky Town back then, not like it is now. If you’ve been here recently, you know that. So I guess that had maybe a subconscious influence on the look of my photos, but I think more of my influences were the great documentary and street photographers of the 50s and 60s. Those were probably my more predominant visual influences.

You documented the downtown music and art scene at a time when it was raw and largely undocumented. How and what allowed you to gain the trust of artists and musicians in such intimate settings?

Well, first of all, our newspaper was unpretentious and unimposing, and I think also having an easygoing personality and being knowledgeable about the people I was photographing helped. I’ve always loved music ever since I was a kid, especially rock and roll and jazz, and when I met these people, I was able to relate to them because I know the history of the music and know a lot about how it’s made, and I’m a musician myself. So in that regard, it’s basically pretty easy to talk to people, gain trust, and have pretty much an instantaneous relationship where the person I was photographing would be relaxed and their personality would come through in the pictures.

Allan Tannenbaum lived the transition from the gritty 70s to the high-glamour 80s.

When looking back at your photos for example of Andy Warhol or Blondie, is there a specific moment where you realized you weren’t just someone recording, but a part of the scene  and of the history itself?

I think I was pretty much aware of that all along. I mean, let’s say I’m covering something in the downtown scene. It’s funny you mention Andy Warhol and Debbie Harry, because I would see them a lot. I could say hi to Andy; I wasn’t really part of his inner circle, but Debbie I got to be friendly with. In fact, we’re still friends, and that culminated in 1985, where I got to photograph Andy Warhol and Debbie Harry together, where they were promoting a new computer system, and Andy was working on a photograph of her that he was manipulating digitally on this new Amiga computer. But the fact that we were the Soho News, and not, let’s say, the New York Times or Life magazine, made a difference. We were downtown, we were based downtown, we would hang out in the same places, and be backstage after a show. I remember I was looking at pictures the other day after a Clash concert at the Palladium in 1979, and the Clash were hanging out backstage. I’m there with my music editor and the other music writers, and actually Debbie Harry was there, maybe Iggy Pop, Billy Idol, and we’re just hanging out together, talking and snapping a few pictures. That’s how it was, so it’s not like we were parachuting in from some ivory tower. We were on the same scene.

Allan Tannenbaum, whose lens captured legends like Mick Jagger,Jimi Hendrix, Andy Warhol, Debbie Harry, Patti Smith, Iggy Pop, Joe Strummer, The Ramones, Jack Nicholson, Meryl Streep, and Nelson Mandela is renowned for a ‘street’ style that captures the essence of creative chaos.

When taking portraits of personalities like Sid Vicious, Patti Smith or Tom Petty, how did you hold their public persona alongside something more personal? 

That’s something that happens during the photo session, and it’s not something you can do consciously as a photographer. You mentioned Tom Petty and Patti Smith. If you’re referring to the photographs of Tom Petty in his hotel room that I took in 1977, that was all very spontaneous and fast. I had maybe 10 minutes there at the most. I think I set up one light, and he was at the breakfast table, and I noticed the TV was on but it wasn’t tuned to anything, and I guess he was just used to posing in a certain way, and he looked a bit disinterested, maybe bored, but that was fine. It made for a great picture, and I got a total of 10 frames from that session on a 35mm roll of film, and there were three good pictures from that. So that’s how that went. Patti was different, because I’ve been good friends since the 60s, from college days, with Lenny Kaye, her guitar player, and we’re still good friends, and that’s how we got into the first show that we photographed for the Soho News, which was at the Metro Club in 1974, and we were able to go to her apartment and do some posed pictures, casual pictures, her and Lenny speaking, her with some members of the band, and there I had more time, and it was very free and loose, and it culminated in a very nice photo of her in her little studio, and that led to other situations where I could photograph her. So in a sense, it’s all organic, and you have to play it by ear. You have to be sensitive to the vibe of the moment and see what you can get, figure out the situation quickly, and figure out when you’re working with people in their home or in a hotel what you can get to make something that’s going to tell the story and be visually interesting.

You eventually moved from the nightlife scene to photojournalism, covering international anti-war demonstrations. How did the ‘street smarts’ you developed in the New York club scene prepare you for that chaos? How did working in New York during that turbulent era shape the way you approached both politics and culture subjects through your lens? 

Well, even during the Soho News era and even before, in the 60s in San Francisco, I would photograph street demonstrations. It’s actually one of the things that got me interested in photography. New York is a tough place. The things that happen in the streets can be tricky, dangerous, and you have to be strong and aware. You have to have your wits about you. You have to be sharp. And so, at the end of my Soho News years, I was a bit tired and bored with the nightlife and the music scene. Not buried, but I just wanted to do something else. And I had friends who were doing international photojournalism in South Africa, in the Middle East, Central America. That really got me very interested, but I couldn’t do it for the Soho News. When the paper folded in 1982, I had been giving some of my photos, like those of John Lennon, to Sygma, the French photo agency, which, like the other famous French photo agencies, doesn’t exist anymore. But they said, come work with us. And I gained their trust, and then I was able to go out and do assignments, going to Colombia and South America for the volcano disaster, and then going to South Africa to cover the unrest there. And I would say that definitely working on the streets of New York was good training for being in these other places.

As photographer and photo editor of SoHo Weekly News, he documented a city in transformation: politically volatile, artistically explosive, and culturally groundbreaking.

Have you ever taken a photograph that later gained a meaning you hadn’t anticipated at the time?

Well, it’s hard to think of a specific photo like that, but a lot of photos from historical moments are important at the time, but also as time goes on, the story evolves. For example, the work I did in South Africa in 1985, which was actually very heavy and got me in trouble with the government there; I couldn’t get a visa to go back. But that unrest and all the political things that happened in that interval led to the release of Nelson Mandela from prison. And the government relented, I was able to get a visa and go back. And I actually got the photo, along with some other journalists as well, that tells the story and culminates all the history that happened in the intervening period, when Mandela actually walks out of prison and is free for the first time in 26 years. And of course, then the story continues. So there are things that are moments, but they’re not necessarily the end of the story.

Your photos of John and Yoko feel incredibly quiet and private. How did you manage to lower their guard after they had spent years being stalked by the paparazzi?

Well, part of that was that I wasn’t a paparazzo. And I had the credibility of the Soho News, and I had seen Yoko around, and I had met John in 1975 when he was doing a concert for a TV special. And that was actually his last public performance. It was a salute to Sir Lew Grade. So I met John, and it was very cool. And of course, to meet John Lennon is very exciting, because I love the Beatles and their music. But then five years later, I had the idea of photographing them, because they were coming out with the Double Fantasy album. And I worked closely with the music editor, whose name is Peter Occhiogrosso. And he loved the idea, and we arranged to meet them. And then Yoko came to my studio, which is in Tribeca, and she used to have a loft when she first came to New York, two blocks away. So my place reminded her of that time. And then the next day, I went to the Dakota. We did some pictures of her. I suggested doing a picture with John. And she said, sure, she’d call him. And then he came down to her office, and I reminded him of meeting him in 1975. And he said, ‘Oh, yes, I remember you.’ And so we did these pictures, walking around Central Park and in front of the Dakota. And when I went back to the office with them, I heard them talking about a video that they were going to shoot to promote Double Fantasy. And I suggested to Yoko that I be there as a still photographer. And she simply said, ‘We’ll see.’ But a few days later, they called me and invited me to come to Central Park, where they were shooting with a film camera. And after they finished the outdoor shot, we went for a coffee at Cafe La Fortuna on West 71st Street. And so I had a coffee with them. And afterwards, Yoko said, John feels comfortable with you, so you’re going to come with us to the studio. And that was the key right there. Yoko was already someone I had a connection with. She was an artist of the Fluxus group. One of my instructors in college in the art department was Fluxus. So we had things in common already. But with John, it was just him feeling secure and comfortable with me. On the set, I was discreet. The photos where they’re taking off their clothes and getting into bed together, I just was completely discreet with them. And that was it, just gaining their trust and being somebody who was not going to make them feel uncomfortable.

Between tower falls, he took pictures of Ground Zero and the second plane’s explosion. Even though he was coated in dust and debris after the first tower fell, he continued to work there. His images of this horrible incident have been shown in photographic shows and published worldwide. 

When you look at that session now, do you see them through the lens of the joy they felt at the time, or is it impossible to separate those images from the tragedy that followed later?

I mean, it was such a magic moment to be with them and hang out with John, talking with him like he’s a friend, getting images I knew were really special. And it was such a real high, I was so excited. And I was so happy with the photographs I was getting and making this connection. I also had a feeling that we would continue to work together, and maybe even go on tour with them. So it was so exciting, beyond words. And then 10 days later, he was dead. I was actually supposed to be at the Dakota that night. I was in the darkroom making prints to bring to them when I got that news. But a few days before, I’d been there at their office and showed them photographs. And John said to me, ‘You know what I like about your photographs? You really capture Yoko‘s beauty.’ And that just cuts my heart to this day. So I just went from the highest of the highs to the lowest of the lows. It was indescribable. And that tragedy really affected me very profoundly.

You’ve seen the transition from darkrooms and film to instant digital gratification. Do you feel the ‘soul’ of street photography has changed now that everyone has a high-quality camera in their pocket and everyone is a ‘street photographer’ with their mobile?

Yeah, well, it’s something that’s evolved. It didn’t happen overnight, but it’s pretty incredible. Everybody’s a photographer now; everybody can take high-quality pictures. There are what’s called citizen journalists, but I think there’s still a need for professional photographers. And even though the phones are great, I got a new phone recently and the quality of the images blows my mind, but it’s not the same as having high capacity, certain lenses, lighting equipment, things like that. That’s always going to be around, I think. 

Of course, one of the things that changed was the move from film to digital; but even now, people have a nostalgia for film. Film photography is coming back in a big way. I mean, I wouldn’t be able to use it for my work; I still occasionally cover a news story and of course I have to send digital images right away. But in terms of personal work, I’m shooting film, six by six centimetres. I’m enjoying doing that. It’s a lot more complicated process. You have to process the film, see the contacts, then digitize the negatives. But it’s still exciting to work in this medium. And a lot of people are doing it. A lot of students are buying film cameras. Kodak started manufacturing film again themselves. And I think that’s a good thing.

With Artificial Intelligence now able to generate a ‘perfect’ image, what is the one thing the human gaze and the photographer’s eye provides that a sensor and an algorithm never will? 

That’s a good question, and one that’s going to continue to be asked. The images AI produces are quite uncanny; they look very real, very convincing. But maybe it’s my practiced eye that lets me always tell when an image is AI, at this point. It might really get to the point where you cannot tell the difference. But right now, you can. And there are other things in AI images that give it away. I find a lot of things I see online, on social media, quite entertaining. And some of them are super clever and funny. But I’m staying away from it myself. I’m not using ChatGPT. I’m not letting my images be used by the AI machine. And I’m very wary of it. I think it’s dangerous, like Hollywood actors are finding out. I just saw a story the other day that the Bollywood industry in India is going to switch to making AI films because it’s obviously much cheaper. So this is really a tragedy for real actors, real directors, and for people who love film. So we’ll see where it goes. But one has to be really careful.

For a young photographer trying to capture the ‘next big thing’ in a city that feels like it’s already been photographed from every angle, what’s the one thing they should be looking for that isn’t on the surface to everyone?

I don’t know, really, to be honest. Right now! I had a very special epoch in New York. And I was very lucky to be there. I had been in San Francisco in the 60s when it was a very exciting time, and that kind of burned out. And I came back and withdrew and then got the job at the Soho News. And I went through that whole very special epoch of the 1970s in New York City, which people don’t get tired of that. And lucky for me, because my images are always in demand, either for stories or licensing or fine art prints. But right now, it’s a very dull time in New York City. Things are not like they used to be at all. With Soho, for example, the way it was back in the 70s, you had a big concentration of artists in these big spaces that were available for very little money. So you had painters, sculptors, video artists, performance artists, theater groups, rock and roll bands, everything in this one concentrated area.

And all of that got dispersed when the real estate developers saw the opportunities there and people were moved out to the East Village and then further into Brooklyn, into Williamsburg, and then the same kind of gentrification and development happened there, and people were forced further out in Brooklyn. So the whole kind of scene, the creative energy and synergy was atomized. And we don’t have that anymore. And you don’t have the venues for music, for art. So it’s just not the same. I feel sad for the young people. They look at my book, they look at my photographs, and they go, wow, was New York really like this? And I say, ‘Yep! It sure was’. And they just don’t have that. So a young photographer who wants to be part of something like that, I can’t say what they should do, what they should look for. The only thing I would say to a photographer is to look for something unique. It’s not over, it’s not finished. New York is still very dynamic in a lot of ways. There are things happening in the streets that you can still photograph. I went out to a demonstration recently, and there were lots of photographers there. Some I knew from the old days, and a lot of them I never saw before. So people are still out there doing it. It’s not hopeless, but we have to see where the city is going to go and what’s going to happen here.

Photos courtesy of © Allan Tannenbaum

Dominique Musorrafiti

Ciao! My name is Dominique. I’m Italian and I’m proud to be a mix. My father was an Italian chemical engineer and high school teacher, with Greek and Polish heritage. My mother is Haitian, she was high school language teacher, with Dominican, Spanish, French, Portuguese, African and Native American heritage. Being a mix makes me appreciate to want to understand different cultures and lifestyles. I grew up in Italy, lived few years in Haiti, travel around main European capitals, lived many years in China, in Spain and UK. Traveling makes me feel that we can learn something from every situation in every part of the world.