I love the juxtaposition between photographs of underground film star Sylvia Miles Van Halen wild man David Lee Roth, shown on opposing pages. Both photos were taken independent of one another – she in Beverly Hills, he in Inglewood – but both with hands on hips and chests puffed out proudly.
Inexplicably, there are a few photos taken in New York slipped into the mix. While they are portraits and one would probably never know where they were taken if not for the captions, I still feel like if this is a book about my beloved Los Angeles, it should be consistent. Along that vein, there is no organization to the photos. They are not chronological, not grouped by type or location or event.. The fires might be consuming the hills of Malibu on one page; and Wendy O. Williams has her tits out in West Hollywood on the next.
I do appreciate that, however, at the back of the book, there is a little bit of information about each photo.
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