their name is Earl

i got a call last sunday night around 8pm just as my buddy shon was starting to tattoo my foot (sorry mom) to shoot Earl Greyhounds new cd and promo shots. literally just as the needle was entering my foot i accepted the job to shoot the next day. it was an absolute pleasure to photograph this band. we wandered around the grounds of a mansion for 3 hours and just took pictures. and the best part? their music is good! for anyone who knows me, i can be a huge music snob. google them.

RIP: MICHAEL JACKSON

no backing track required

Very few artists deserve the honor of being considered a benchmark. Many artists may feel entitled to it for creating great work produced during a depressed movement but true benchmark status is reserved for the very few. When the artist's definition of perfection transcends what the public could ever imagine tangible. Immediately rendering most, if not all, related contemporary art obsolete. The dense aesthetic of what was/is Michael Jackson is so much more than we ever deserved. When an artist dies before 35 and is then recognized, he's a "LEGEND", period, no questions asked. We never knew them. When a great artist lives a longer, more publicized life, we as their patrons have the illusion of knowing them. That "knowledge" coupled with the patron's hunger to own more translates to a false assumption that an artists life is part of their art. We celebrate the chance to wear down the gloss of the finest product the public has ever seen only to turn to bow at the feet of the emperor's new clothes.

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Don't Stop Till You Get Enough -- Rock With You -- Wanna Be Startin' Somethin' -- Thriller -- Beat It -- Billie Jean -- P.Y.T -- Bad -- The Way You Make Me Feel -- Man In The Mirror -- Smooth Criminal -- Dirty Diana

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Thanks for everything Michael Jackson. We didn't say it enough.

Signed,

Michael Greenberg

moonwalker for life

"classic greenberg"

Things were going too well for me on Valentine's Day so the world of "Greenberg" just had to right itself a little: 

Nothing says "I'm Mr. Right" after a romantic Valentine's Day dinner at a fantastic Middle Eastern restaurant like rolling your ankle, falling off a curb into traffic, and proceeding to lay in one of the dreaded New York City mystery puddles reeling delirious with pain in lieu of hailing a cab for you and your date.

The only pain that induces the vivid, nostalgic memories of those beautiful summer nights of 1997 spent trying all night to successfully ollie down a set of 5 steps for the first time.  Ending in the loss of about a pint of blood and ankles the size of grapefruits.  

You gotta love that "pop" your ankle makes to tell you definitively that your night is over.

* a huge Thank You to my date who was really awesome and took care of me the rest of the night.

** and the irony of the fact that it happened on the ankle i have a "heart" tattoo is not wasted on me.  the swollen bruise sorta looks like a heart too.

funeral for a friend

RIP:  Charlie Cooper III  (1977-2009)