How did you meet Mick Jagger? BAILEY: I met Mick because Chrissie Shrimpton, Jean's sister, said to us, "Oh, I'm going out with this guy who's gonna be as big as the Beatles." I said, "Oh yeah." I was wrong. Mick was 19. In fact, I did the first picture of Mick that got published in America. I showed it to British Vogue, but they said, "No, we don't want it." Then I showed it to Vreeland and she said, "I don't care who he is or what he is, he looks great! I want the picture." And she was the first person to run a picture of Mick in America. Mick Jagger March 1964 © David Bailey (7 of 20) Did you and Jagger become "mates," as you say? BAILEY: Yes. We used to live together—for about two or three months, I guess. He was very middle class. Mick wasn't a bad boy. When was this? BAILEY: Oh, I don't know, some time in the haze of the '60s. Speaking of "the haze of the '60s," weren't drugs very much a part of what was happening? BAILEY: I never liked drugs. I feel stoned all the time, so I don't really need drugs. Sometimes I smoke a joint but all it does is make me cough. But there were drugs all around me. I didn't have one friend who wasn't busted by the police. I was the only person who wasn't—not because I was a goody goody, I just don't like smoking. I like smoking cigars, which I shouldn't because it's not good. Although I quite like smoking in America because it annoys people. Wasn't early '60s London the first time that youth, the boy and girl on the street, had a voice? A presence? BAILEY: I think the First World War kind of helped destroy the aristocracy—although the class thing did still exist. And then the Second World War just destroyed the aristocracy. People suddenly realized that even if you didn't have the "right" accent you could still do things. It was as much a social revolution as anything. When I first went to work at Vogue they used to pat me on the head and say, "Oh, doesn't he speak cute?" I'll give you cute. Within nine months, the managing director was asking me if I'd mind moving my Rolls-Royce so he could get his Ford out. I used to savor those moments. He was an awful, pompous, "off-like-a-flash-old-boy" ex-RAF type—with a mustache. At what point did you think, "I am successful"? BAILEY: I'm not being modest, but I don't think I'm successful now. Because if I thought I was successful, I'd stop and go back to painting or making movies. I don't think you're ever successful. I think if you become successful artistically—as opposed to financially—you might as well stop and play chess, like Marcel Duchamp. There's no point going on. I'm distressed every time the contact sheets come back, every time I see the results of a job: I think, "My God, after 50 years of mucking about with photography I'm still getting it wrong." I get it wrong all the time, and it's so depressing that I want to keep trying. John Lennon and Paul McCartney January 1965 © David Bailey (8 of 20) Did London influence you? Or did you influence London? BAILEY: I guess it's a bit of both. London is the greatest city in the world. I could only live in London, then maybe New York. But there's too much political correctness in New York, so I don't fit in. And in L.A. they think I'm from Mars because I'm so outspoken. But London's just a great place. I guess it did influence me. What about the Beatles? BAILEY: The Beatles were kind of silly. We were very unimpressed with the Beatles. I mean, we were more impressed with the Rolling Stones because they came out of the tradition of jazz. And that was the kind of music I liked. The Beatles, certainly when they first came along, were very square. They looked silly with their little haircuts and little double-breasted suits. Were they your Monkees? BAILEY: Yeah, they were like the Monkees. I mean, the Monkees were as ridiculous as the Beatles. The Stones were more raw. I mean, Keith Richards is still out there—40 years later!