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Anyone who frequents the Newport Jazz or Folk Facebook groups would likely recognize the name Jack Casey. For the last few years, Casey has regularly shared with these groups memories of artists he’s captured at Fort Adams over the past almost four decades. Given his output’s high-quality and sheer volume, one could reasonably believe Casey to be a full-time photographer at the Festivals. But he’s not. Instead, his primary responsibility is to drive artists to various locations – for instance, from the airport to the stage. Photography comes second but fills a role not wholly unrelated to his driving. Through camera and lens, Casey again serves as a transporter but to a different group. Rather than artists seeking to perform, his passengers are observers yearning to experience the Festival. Through his images, he brings the event and its characters to both those seeking to recollect their past and those desiriing to experience a concert they never even attended. 

We continue our series on the history of the Newport Jazz Festival by stepping a little behind the scenes with Casey to discuss his role as a driver at the Festival, his work as a photographer, and the interplay between the two.

PostGenre: When did you start photography?

Jack Casey: Well, it’s funny. I’m going to step back on that because most people who see me at the Newport Folk or Jazz Festivals think of me primarily as a photographer. I am one, however, that’s not why I’m there. My first job is to work for the festivals as a driver. My principal role is to drive the artists. But any free moment that I have, I love to shoot. I’ve been collecting images and memories for over fifty years of my life. And this is gonna be my thirty-eighth year working with the Newport festivals.

I took an interest in photography when I was ten. I had a little – it wasn’t even an Instamatic – junky camera that a parent would give a kid who’s that young. I still have the black and whites I took on it. A couple of the photos are pretty interesting, and I remember thinking back then that those few were almost good enough to be in the newspaper, which was the standard by which a ten-year-old set the bar in those days. As time passed, I stopped shooting regularly. 

I was in the Navy during Vietnam from ‘71 to ‘75. I was on two Navy ships, and one of the guys had a thirty-five-millimeter camera. It was the first one I had ever seen, but it looked very cool. I took a big interest in it and fired a lot of questions at him about it. 

Then, when I got back home, my father-in-law gave me a camera. He worked for the State Highway Department and had found it on the side of the road. The lens was smashed, but the body was okay. He gave me the body, I bought a used lens, and I started shooting with a Honeywell Pentax standard camera back in ’72. I took a lot of life memories mostly on slide film and some print film back then. After 125,000 frames on that camera, it gave up, and I bought a Nikon and started building in the Nikon family.

PG: Do you still use Nikon?

JC: I remain there now because once you own the glass, the bodies will come and go. But the glass is going to be a critical element that stays. And it’s expensive. And with every picture I take, I try to learn from it and try to improve from it. I read stuff and talk to other shooters. It’s an interesting group of characters in the [photo] pit that have come to me and befriended me over all my years of doing it.

PG: How do you balance your photography with your role as a driver?

JC: Well, I try to frame it up this way. I get instructions to go and pick up an act. They’re at the airport or a hotel, and I have a timeline to follow. I get the artist back to Fort Adams, and bring them wherever they need to be dropped off. Then, if there’s enough of a window before the next commitment to go out and get somebody, I might have time to take photos.

PG: The Newport festivals allow photographers in the photo pit during only the first three songs of each set, or the first ten minutes of an extended piece. Does that timing limitation make things difficult for you?

JC: Well, I have to strategize and look at the schedule, which they stay pretty close to, as you know. You do have only a three-song window. Sometimes it’s a wash, depending on when I get back to the Fort. I may have only a forty-five-minute window before I have to leave again.

I continue to be very thankful to the folks that run the Festivals so I can access the photo pits and the artists. I have to tip my hat to [former Newport Folk producer] Bob Jones’ wife, Marguerite Jones, who made it possible for me to get stage access back in the early years when I did not have the credentials. She saw what I was doing, liked the results, and continued to make it possible until I could procure a photo pass for myself. 

PG: She saw the passion in your work. 

JC: Again, to the outside viewer that doesn’t know my backstory, they might think I’m just one of the crew that bounces from stage to stage and puts their photos up within their media realm. Ultimately, I shoot for myself. I put my photos up on my site and share them through social media. My site is set up to be able to sell stuff. But, truth be told, it costs me hundreds of bucks every year to share it. I’d be happy to be able to get what it costs to do that, just to break even. However, today everybody has a camera in their pocket. Everybody. And the chance to market stuff is very, very limited.

PG: Though your work is certainly more professional looking than that by some random fan on a cell phone.

JC: I’m really happy and proud of my photos. A lot of my work is what I consider documentary. It’s not going to win any prizes, but it tells the story of what happened that particular year, with that particular artist, on that particular stage.

And, through my photos, you have the opportunity to see artists develop. I have been taking photos at the Newport festivals for thirty-eight years, so I have seen many artists grow and change. I have pictures of a young Brandi Carlisle the first time she performed at Newport Folk. It’s been really fun to see the Avett Brothers at the start of their career. Gosh, just so many players. And, on the jazz side, I saw Josh Redman and Christian [McBride] come in with the Young Lions. Actually I drove Josh Redman’s father.

PG: Dewey

JC: Yeah, Dewey Redman. And he’s no longer with us. He had some great experiences on the road with different players. 

And of course, it has been cool seeing Christian come up and grow into his own art form. To see him go from starting out to playing with so many greats, to being one of the greats himself has been amazing. He also makes himself so available and is very comfortable in his own skin. I think he represents the art form as well as anyone ever could. It’s great that Christian is driving the bus on the Jazz side. He’s still young and has his finger on the pulse of what’s happening. I think he’s exposing all of us to what he sees as the future of the music.

I’m trying to organize my portfolio with these types of stories into book form though I think that would have limited appeal to people.

PG: Do not be so sure; a book could be fascinating.

JC: Well, I do think some folks would be curious. And I think there are a lot of folks that are, no different than I once was, wondering what the hell it is like back behind the stage and what goes on there. If you haven’t been in that place, you have no way of knowing.

I do have lots of memories. There was the time Harry Connick, Jr. first came to the Newport Jazz Festival. He was about twenty-one at the time and building his career. He hadn’t done any film work yet but was young, handsome, and a beast of a player. He was also sick as a dog the day he played Newport. But not one soul in the place would ever know it from how he acted because he was so professional. He kicked ass his whole set. Fast forward, and he’s the only guy I have seen – he was certainly the first though probably everybody does it now – to score charts on the day of the gig. He was working digitally so each of the players on the bandstand had the equivalent of an iPad in front of them instead of sheet music, and he could pull up something he had scripted that morning. I am working on a book because I want to tell stories like that and my stories from being both a photographer and a driver for the Festivals. 

PG: As you mentioned earlier, you are not the typical concert photographer, though, surely, you have learned from them. 

JC: Yes. In particular, there was a period when I was following [the late acclaimed jazz journalist and photographer] Ken Franckling. He was Mr. Jazz to me. He really knew his stuff. He was a really good shooter and a tremendous journalist. He knew everything about the history of the players, but he also knew about who was coming up. I watched him in my early years at Newport go up to Dizzy [Gillespie] with his portfolio over his shoulder, have some chatter with Diz, and then ask Diz to look at something he pulled out of it and sign it. 

For about maybe fifteen or twenty years, I was doing my best to try to engage artists with images that I had taken of them in earlier years. I was sure to give them copies of my stuff and ask if they might sign a copy of it for my collection. As a result, I have a pretty interesting archive of autographed originals from many folks.

PG: Presumably most artists are happy to sign their photo. 

JC: Yes, but that reminds me of one year, when Ray Charles played the Jazz Festival. As Ray was about to hit the stage, I had to leave for a drive. I had a photo I wanted him to sign and I asked a friend to ask Ray’s tour manager to see if Ray could sign it. When I returned to the Fort, my friend handed me the signed copy. I later showed someone the signed photo, and they asked if me or my friend had actually seen Ray sign it. We had not, as his manager arranged it. The person I spoke with told me that Ray never signed things; his guy did it for him. And I said, “Well, does Ray’s guy sign his checks?” He did, which was good enough for me. It was as close to an official signature as you were going to get from him. [laughing].

PG: How did you become a driver anyway?

JC: Good question. Before I answer that, let’s go way back. I was a rock and roll keyboard player. I started playing professionally in 1966. I came to my first Newport Jazz Festival in 1969, because that was the year.

PG: The big rock year with Led Zeppelin, Frank Zappa, Jethro Tull, Jeff Beck, and others.

JC: Yeah, you’ve done your research. I was a rock and roller, and that year’s jazz festival had huge appeal for me as a kid from Connecticut. My bandmates and I drove across the [now Pell] bridge that had just opened a week before to see all these great rock players, particularly Led Zeppelin, which most people can’t believe were there. Blood, Sweat, and Tears closed the first night, Sly and Family Stone the second night, and Zep on the final night. I was there in my nineteen-year-old fervor. It was also two weeks before Woodstock, which I also went to.

But, then, I got a call from Uncle Sam that I couldn’t refuse. Vietnam was going on, and by ’71, my deferment ran out. So, I joined the Navy. By the time I came back to Newport, the festivals had been run out of town [ed. due to the turmoil at the 1971 Jazz Festival].

Of course, the Festivals came back in the 80s. I went back as an audience member when the Folk Festival returned in ’85. I had always wondered, “What does it take to go backstage? How could I get into the mix there? What do I have to do?” And just by serendipity, a friend of mine who was a businessman in Newport recommended me to the Festival team and they called me to ask if I wanted to work at the Folk Festival. I was excited. 

That year, George [Wein] had built a ticket system to make sure vendors were providing their agreed upon fees. Attendees would buy tickets and exchange the tickets for whatever they wanted from a vendor. The only vendor not subject to the ticket system was the festival’s sponsor, which that year was Nestle Ice Cream. Nestle could accept tickets or cash because they didn’t want people to have to stand in line or go somewhere else and exchange the money for a ticket to get the ice cream. But they needed someone they could trust with the cash. I was the guy whose name was offered. I stepped up and sold ice cream. In the end, the books were balanced, and all the ice cream was sold by two o’clock Saturday afternoon.

Folk was the week before the Jazz Festival back then as well. As I was leaving Folk, somebody asked me if I would be back the next week for Jazz. I told them I’d love to. I didn’t even know that the two were managed by the same group at that point. I told the organizers I wanted to work Jazz. On the Wednesday after Folk, I got a call telling me that the ice cream job was full but that they needed me to be a stage driver.

PG: That seems like a pretty significant promotion. 

JC: I didn’t even know exactly what it entailed when they told me. They just told me to meet at the Fort on Friday and that I would be told what to do. My mind ran wild for those two days. “Stage” is good, but what exactly was a “stage driver?” I was picturing that it could be one of the guys that set up the drum kits or something to keep things moving so they can transition smoothly. Or it could be a car driver. Who knows?

I went on Friday, they showed me a van, and I was told the Jazz Crusaders were coming to [Rhode Island] T.F. Green [International Airport] that night at 11 and asked if I could be there. I said, “I’m already there” and haven’t looked back since. I’m all in. Since then, I’ve not missed one second of any of the days of the festivals. I still get excited about them. Last year, this new band that’s making a hit of themselves called Goose played at the Folk Festival.

PG: Right.

JC: Goose specifically asked to be assigned to me for the first ride. They needed a few more rides after that and kept asking for me by name, which is very flattering.

I have a lot of stories. I’ve had the honor of having John Prine in my presence over three times in six years. I said, “John, it’s good to be with you again this year. I wouldn’t expect you to remember me.” But he said, “Jack,” he said, “you have been more constant in my life than my management team”, which really is typical John Prine.

PG: Do you find that the artists typically want to talk during the rides, or are they usually pretty quiet?

JC: You know, it’s as individual as you and me with conversation. People always ask me about when I drove Bob Dylan and what he said to me. I’m not there for people to talk to, but I’m a retired clinical social worker. So if you want to talk to anybody, I might be a good person to have an exchange with. I would say probably 90% of people are up for conversation, and it’s rarely about them. It’s usually people asking about me and how I got into driving for the Newport Festivals. 

PG: Have any artists surprised you during conversations?

JC: Well, it speaks more to my ignorance than anything. I had heard a lot of things about Joan Baez. I hadn’t really listened to her music. I knew a little bit about her, but not a lot. I had heard that she might act a certain way, but my experience with her was much like what I just mentioned to you; she mostly asked about me. I told her I was a social worker who worked with abused and neglected kids. I told her a story about one of the kids I was working with at that time and, by the time we got to the airport at the end of the ride, she was crying. She got out and gave me a big hug and told me to keep doing what I was doing. It was a very moving and touching experience, and I’ve driven her a couple of times since. She was the first person to ask to use one of my prints in a book, which was very exciting. 

But, in another sense, artists have surprised me as a photographer as well. I experienced Samara Joy for the first time as I was photographing. When I heard her, she stopped me right in my freaking tracks. I saw her at the Harbor Stage as I was about to go take photos at the Quad stage. She just crushed me. Her voice is incredible. She’s like a young Sarah Vaughan. She has such great vocal skill and depth. She’s such a breath of fresh air. And it’s the same with Billy Strings. Billy Strings is just a beast, but he’s running hot. He’s on fire, and I hope that he doesn’t flame out.

Even some band names have thrown me over the years. For years, I dismissed Milk Carton Kids solely based on their name. Having worked with abused and neglected kids, I took the name from a whole other angle. But, then I ended up in front of them at Folk several years ago, and I found them so entertaining. Now I’m their biggest fan.

PG: Tying your experience in social work to photography, do you think that background gives you any special insight into capturing how people respond to one another?

JC: I think my background in social work has given me the ability to engage folks when they’re off the stage and to be sensitive to what’s going on with them. Not that they’re becoming my clients, but I have a way to gauge and read people.

I think the fact that I’m also a musician plays more into my eye for trying to catch the emotion of that moment. There are so many variables that are out of your control. That is true for anyone shooting. Sometimes you get things that you hadn’t even planned on. And then sometimes you don’t get things that you were planning on. 

I’m thinking back to Connick again. Jazz had booked Harry Connick, Jr. to perform outdoors on Friday night in 2004 at the [International Tennis Hall of Fame and] Casino. It just poured during his performance. I did my shots of his set and packed my stuff away. Just as I was about to leave, I looked to the stage and saw an incredible image of Connick in the rain and grabbed a couple of shots. They were not my best; just quick and dirty as I just wanted to get my stuff back in the bag. But since then, many people have said their favorite of mine is one of those shots in the rain. It’s a little bit fuzzy, but it tells the story.

PG: Do you primarily aim to tell a narrative through your photography, or are you mostly trying to simply capture musicians in their element?

JC: I’m only there to receive them. Many of my friends would tell me I should enjoy the show more. But how can you do that with the camera in your face? Don’t get me wrong, I’m listening with every fiber of my being, but primarily to get the emotional aspects of that motion, so when you later look at the photo, you feel something too. I’m just there to see what the artist puts down and try to catch it. I don’t go in with any agenda. The highest compliment I’ve gotten from my friends and others is that I made them feel like they were there. And that’s about as good as I can do, I think. About as good as anyone can do.

All Photos are the Property of Jack Casey. Copies of These Photos, and Many Others, are Available for Purchase on his Website.