What Is “Black Magic?”
It all started with my sister, if a bit indirectly. I’ve never been a namer of inanimate objects. I have always been content to sit down on a sofa without calling it George or Devon. Even my musical instruments have gone anonymous — no names for any one of the components of my drumset, even though I’ve had them a long time; same story for the Casio keyboard I got for Christmas half a lifetime ago, which has seen me through good weather and bad, and probably deserves a name more than any of my other possessions.
When it was time to go to college, and Sarah, my sister, inherited the red Honda Civic that I adored like an extension of my own body, she decided to call it Carlos. I was simply outraged. The car had been mine first, and I felt I should be the one to name it. Just because I was going off to college didn’t mean she could take over the thing and fill it with Broadway music albums, or hang fuzzy pink dice on the mirror, or give it a title that seemed part of an underhanded plot to draw charismatic Latino suitors to the doorstep. (All these things, I note ruefully, have happened, despite my best efforts.) Every time I get into the driver’s seat, I can’t help but think of the machine as Carlos.
It was around the time of this picture, taken in Whitby more than a month ago, that I realized my camera should probably have a name. Sure, it’s a rental, and it’s going into somebody else’s hands within a month or two, probably to film a group skit for a business class or something. But I’ve carried it all over this country, and we’ve spent enough time together that were it a human being, we’d probably be friends by now. And besides, I knew that if I didn’t do it now, somebody else would do it later, forever negating the bonds of fellowship I’ve made this summer with my electronic sidekick.
I’ve been watching blues videos all across Britain in my spare time. I liked the sound of “Lucille,” the chopper B.B. King strums on stage when he’s not bellowing beautifully into the microphone. And I thought I could do better than “Blackie,” Eric Clapton’s custom made Fender Stratocaster, which still represents for me a kind of unexplained creative blank spot in a career that’s otherwise been a factory for memorable lyrics. It was the day that I came across a recording of Santana and Alicia Keys performing “Black Magic Woman” that I knew I’d found a winner. Catchy and seductive, intimate from the first meeting of vocals and guitar, it was the perfect match.
Black Magic is a Panasonic DVC30, with a Leica lens that gets 100x magnifying power. This means that in addition to capturing beautiful shots of the English countryside, it can transform crickets from harmless insects to marauding, city-sized monsters in the space of seconds. Clearly, this camera was meant for me, and my all-too-easy-to-please sense of humor.
