For one week, during July, I found myself employed by a doll of the New York variety. Sylvain Mizrahi, whose legend has never waned during an impressive forty-eight-year stint in music, had me taking pictures for his “There’s no Bones In Ice Cream” book tour.
The Nashville-based legend, born to Jewish parents in Cairo, has dyslexia, but this hasn’t stopped him from forging an impressive career within an industry that doesn’t always offer longevity to those who deserve such acclaim.
I had to continually remind myself how huge the opportunity I’d been presented with actually was because each night passed without any kind of drama, either on stage or in various photography pits, to make me feel in any way uncomfortable.
Each evening was solely about his music and the absorbing stories that never lost their shine no matter how many times any of us heard them.
I basically met a legend who didn’t disappoint.