Page 26 - the NOISE October 2015

frozen noses
The Frozen Noses were excited. Their first record was in the can and it was fantastic. Iconic even, as befitting the band’s pedigree. Their label waited expectantly, the release
date drawing near. All they needed was a suitably iconic album cover.
And a name. The group wondered whether anyone at Atlantic Records knew what Frozen Noses meant. Cocaine was a relatively new drug in 1969 Los Angeles, but there had to be one employee at the label hip enough to catch the reference. Their girlfriends swore they would never get away with it. The truth was, they hadn’t thought of a name yet. The Frozen Noses made them laugh, so it stuck until one more suitable was found.
The band consisted of Steven Stills (formerly of Buffalo Springfield), David Crosby (formerly of The Byrds) and Graham Nash (formerly of The Hollies). The trio toyed with the idea of calling the band by their last names. Of course, Stills wanted his name up first, Crosby wanted his up first, and Nash didn’t care. Stills thrived on conflict. His competitive nature had driven Neil Young out of Buffalo Springfield, but now he was in a group with David Crosby, a man with an ego the size of his. Steven was undeniably the better musician, but he was also the bigger a**hole. Stills’ bluster was no match for Crosby’s cool. Nash played den mother and tried to keep them on track.
One day Graham Nash and art director Gary Burden were cruising around West Hollywood and noticed a small abandoned house on Palm Avenue, just off Santa Monica Boulevard across from a car wash. Burden thought it would be a good spot for some photos. Nash agreed and contacted his bandmates. A short time later, Crosby, Stills, Nash, Burden, and photographer Henry Diltz convened at 815 Palm Avenue.
The spring afternoon was lovely, and they had all taken acid. Everyone dug the house immediately. It was a funky, old one- bedroom shack, vacant ten years or more. They wondered who had built it and how many people had called it home. Maybe it was the love nest of a movie star from the golden age of Hollywood, or a speakeasy and gambling parlor during prohibition. Perhaps Mickey Cohen and his gangster pals had used it for a hideout or stash pad. Maybe some poor sap had been lured there under false pretenses then murdered in the living room and had his body chopped up in the bathtub. Or perhaps a newly married couple had rented it, fought bitterly for years, then the wife had gone away and left the man to grow old and die in the house alone. Or instead the wife had gotten pregnant and they had moved to a bigger place to start a family.
Diltz spotted an old couch inside and had the boys drag it onto the porch, underneath the cracked and peeling front
Crosby, stills & nash circa 1969 PoPsPotsnyC.Com, PHoto by Henry Diltz
by tony ballz
window. The trio sat in various poses, Stills cradling an acoustic guitar, while Diltz snapped away. About halfway through the shoot, the photographer knew he had the cover the second the shutter closed. He prayed the photo would come out as good as his eye had seen it.
Later that night, The Frozen Noses decided to christen the band with their last names. Steven and David were still at loggerheads, so the deciding vote was cast by Graham, who thought that “Crosby, Stills and Nash” rolled off the tongue nicely. And so Crosby, Stills and Nash they were.
The next evening, the trio went to Henry Diltz’s studio to look at the previous day’s photos and announce their official band name. The shot Diltz had earmarked came out beautifully, better than he had hoped. In his mind, it stood out from the rest like a diamond. As Crosby, Stills and Nash perused the pictures, Diltz remained silent, curious to see if the musicians’ reactions to the one particular shot would be the same as his.
They were. All three zeroed in on the photo and agreed it was the one. Every element was in place. The young men in the frame sat relaxed on the ratty old burgundy couch. Graham perched on the headrest. Steven was in the middle strumming his guitar, left leg crossed over the other. David sat on the right with one suede cowboy boot propped up on the couch, the other on the ground. Weeds grew through the cracks in the cement next to his foot. Nash and Crosby looked unsmilingly at the camera, Stills grinned slightly, eyes staring off to his left.
The photo conveyed mellow good times and friendship and a bit of The Band’s Big Pink Americana filtered through dirty, glitzy Los Angeles. Somehow the vibe of the house came through as well. The picture had character. It was a perfect complement to the music the group was making, and they fell in love with it.
Diltz blew up the photo to 12x12 and created a mockup of the LP cover with the band’s name above their heads. As soon as he was finished, they all saw the problem. The layout was stunning, but the lettering read Crosby, Stills & Nash while the men on the couch sat in the opposite order: Nash, Stills & Crosby. Every shot was the same; none of them had traded places on the couch. The issue never came up during the shoot because the band’s name had not been decided on yet. The photo could not be flipped since Stills’ guitar would appear the wrong way around in his hands.
Crosby, Stills & Nash themselves did not care, but thought their label might, since the record was introducing them to
26 • october 2015 •
NOISE arts & news • thenoise.us
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