For a quarter of a century, they sat in the dark. Not abandoned, exactly, but preserved. A vast collection of unprinted negatives, tucked away in the climate-controlled Kodak vaults, lay waiting as the music industry evolved around them. The photographer who shot them had ensured their survival, protecting the celluloid from the degradations of heat and time, but for decades, that was where the story ended. It began in 1982, at Maple Leaf Gardens in Toronto. A fourteen-year-old, tall for his age, stood on a folding chair five rows back from the stage, firing off shots of Queen with his uncle’s camera.
The next day, at a poster shop on Yonge Street, the clerk behind the counter, who had been at the same show, made an offer that would define a life: $150 for an extra set of prints. It was a fortune for a kid, and it marked the moment a hobby became a calling. What followed was a front-row seat to the golden era of the 1980s. As the photographer recalls, it was a time when musicians were at their zenith: Prince with Purple Rain, Madonna with Like a Virgin, U2 with The Joshua Tree. Armed with a camera, he became a trusted presence, someone managers would call to document their touring acts. He captured Whitney Houston before she was a global phenomenon, laughing through an entire shoot.
He caught Paul and Linda McCartney goofing off backstage at what was then SkyDome. In Las Vegas, he walked with Bono down Fremont Street as the band filmed the video for “I Still Haven’t Found What I’m Looking For “a shopping cart filled with audio equipment trailing behind them. These were the moments that defined a genre of photography.Images born of unfettered access and the spontaneous chemistry between artist and shooter. It was an era when photographers like Lynn Goldsmith could mingle freely with bands, capturing the symbiotic, unguarded energy between performers and fans. It was a time before the “pit,” before photographers were herded into a confined space for a rigid three-song window, before artists learned to protect their “precious space,” as Iggy Pop once put it. That world began to crumble with the arrival of social media.
For this photographer, the turning point came in the mid-2000s, while working with Paris Hilton. “I should watch out for this social media thing,” he remembers thinking as Twitter emerged. He was right. Instagram was on the horizon, and with it, a fundamental shift in power. Celebrities became their own news sources, their images carefully curated and controlled by PR teams. The raw, real-life quality of celebrity photography—the kind that captured a sweat-soaked Mick Jagger mid-show or a contemplative Bob Marley on a tour bus—gave way to the polished artifice of the red carpet and the gas station snap.
The business model imploded. Photographers who once sold double-page spreads to newspapers now find themselves competing with fans holding iPhones in the crowd, their work devalued by a market flooded with instant, algorithm-optimized content. “I don’t sell pictures to newspapers anymore,” the photographer admits. “I put them on Instagram.”
It is on that platform, and in the physical spaces outside the traditional gallery system—coffee shops, hotels, private residences—that his archive has found new life. There is a renewed hunger for the analog past, a nostalgia for a time before the “visuals over music” approach took hold, before DJ booths rose higher and haze machines ruined the shot. The Kodak vaults, originally opened in the 1990s as a “statement about its commitment to Hollywood” and the preservation of film, safeguarded these memories through the turbulent digital transition. Now, decades later, they are being opened. The negatives are being scanned.
That significance is now being formally recognized. According to the former head of Media Commons at the University of Toronto, “The Lou D Fonds is indisputably of national significance according to the Cultural Property Export and Import Act (11-1). It has a close association with Canadian history or national life, especially as it pertains to the photojournalism and documentary photographic communities, and to North American popular culture (particularly music) from the 1980s. It definitely contains elements which exhibit aesthetic qualities. Finally, I believe the Lou D Fonds is of such national importance that its loss to Canada would significantly diminish the national heritage.”
The guy with the camera, who just happened to be there, is finding that his work—preserved from the environment and the whims of a fickle industry—is once again in demand. The music industry isn’t what it used to be. But the images, timeless and untouched, remain.
You went from being a fan in the crowd to a “trusted insider.” Was that transition intentional? What was the key to earning that trust from artists, managers, and labels?
It happened as I learned early that the camera could provide a way to continue going to concerts and earn income by helping the artists, managers and labels get the promotion in print media that would help sell concert tickets and build out the image of the touring artist via the placements I was able to secure for them. I called it the advance: shooting a show in one city, then selling it into the next cities on the tour as a teaser, which helped move tickets.
The ’80s was all rock and roll concerts and coverage from me, and the ’90s onwards was pop culture from LA, Miami, NYC, St. Tropez, Cannes, Monte Carlo, Sundance and the Toronto Yorkville celebrity scene, which was a busy one. My trusted camera was always invited to be front and centre, capturing the history and sharing it globally, which helped put Yorkville on the Hollywood North map.
You pinpoint Twitter’s arrival during your time with Paris Hilton as a turning point. Looking back, was there a single moment when you realized the old model was truly over?
When social media arrived, I could see that user-generated content would be live, and cellphones helped link the delivery in real time onto platforms for all to view for free, instead of in print the next day or next week.
Your images sat in “Kodak vaults” for 25 years. What was it like to finally revisit that work after so long?
Yes, every time I look at another sheet of 35mm film, I see something new. It’s like going back in time to the exact moment at the concert, as the images that emerge in most cases I’ve never seen and digitizing reveals them for the first time. Almost like a time capsule being opened.
One example was a batch of 35mm negatives I found that had never been filed and I discovered that Queen image that I didn’t know I had. It’s now my favoUrite image from that night. Also one of the first times I used the 35mm camera.
Are there moments you’ve witnessed that you consciously chose not to photograph because they felt too private?
I think it’s safe to say private moments in public are the norm these days with cellphones, and back then with cameras.
You argue that artist-controlled social media is “less authentic.” What is lost when the artist and their PR team become the gatekeepers?
It depends on the images, but the real news value is reduced, and indeed it just becomes potential PR delivery and generally predictable.
Contrasting the “real-life quality” of your old work with the controlled nature of today’s celebrity image. Do you see any hope for a return to that kind of authenticity?
Luckily I’m digitizing the new work slowly and will be looking for partners/donors to preserve and educate with my early ’80s concert work. New installations that bring nostalgia into play are emerging at a nice pace. So something old becomes something new. Most of the work has never been seen, and I avoid social media with it, so that adds a layer of protection overall and intrigue.
Does where you exhibit change its meaning for you?
I try to make it relevant. My latest permanent installation at Exhibition Place is curated from shows that happened just steps away from the showcase at the old Exhibition Stadium. Another recent one is in Harbour 60 Restaurant, as many of the people who go there are also from the demographic that attended the concerts back then. Now they can be embraced by some nostalgia, as well as having fun conversation pieces for the younger generation.
The plan now is to find a donor home for the archives to be preserved once funding support is secured. Places like the Ontario Archives, the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame, and the University of Toronto are on the radar, as the archives hold a significant piece of Canadian music history. The digitization will need to happen as well so that a potential pop culture museum can be created, and more showcases, fine art prints and tabletop books can be curated for all to enjoy.
Opening feature photo: Italian icon Sophia Loren at the 27th Annual TIFF
All photographs courtesy of Lou D
