Tammy Shine may be a stage name, but it’s apropos; the woman simply radiates. Whereas I chose my own AKA with the criteria that it sound sleazy and be easy to remember, one senses that Ms Shine was bestowed her nom de scène by Fate itself.
“I like happy things,” she smiles. “Positive things. Fun things.”
I couldn’t say with any certainty how long Ms. Shine [Dressy Bessy’s Tammy Ealom, when she’s at home] and I have known each other – ten years or more, I’d guess – but I don’t really know her at all; it’s more like we’ve been aware of one another through countless orbital crossings over time, weaving through the music scene. But here it is, we’re about to embark on our first notable conversation ever.
Seated on a gargantuan vintage sectional in the basement of the surprisingly-voluminous house she shares with her husband/Dressy Bessy bandmate John Hill (also of The Apples in Stereo), I sip iced-water and marvel at the endless collection of items from the 60’s & 70’s: Books. Radios. Clothing. Artwork. Electronics. More clothing. Toys, furniture, dishes. Bric-a-brac, signs, lamps, musical instruments, and records. It’s a museum of perfectly-blended pre-, post-, and mid-psychedelia with more mainstream themes of the age put in place to marry counter-culture with America’s Last Days of Innocence. It’s truly spectacular.
For the previous couple of weeks we’d been swapping text-messages, attempting to arrange a day and time that we were both free [the exchanges also reveal that we are longtime neighbors about half-a-mile apart], and I was relieved to see that she loves to punctuate SMSes with Emoji, just as I do. At some point, a question arose as to what exactly this interview might or might not include; what was expected from Lisa Cook, my whip-cracking and bloodthirsty Editor – prompting this exchange:
Sid Pink: Hey, we’re both celebrities… I say we do whatever the fuck we want.
Tammy Shine:You’re right!! Whatever we do will be awesome!
Thus, we were in accord. I knew this would be a doddle; easier than falling off a log.
Tammy Shine is nothing if not ebullient; boundless in passion, creative power, and limitless energy.
Tammy Shine:“I haven’t had a smoke in eight days,” she grins; a mixture of pride and duress, immediately pulling on an oversized electronic cigarette. “I’m trying this out.”
We traded tales of smoking-cessation, clucked about how “this neighborhood sure has changed”, rattled through a dozen names of mutual friends.
TS: I’m… I… I’m not very good at being interviewed; I don’t really have a filter.
SP: That’s okay; I’m not very good at interviewing; I’m too self-absorbed. Most things I write are rambling, quasi-fictional memoirs.
TS: [quick beat] Then it should work out just fine!
When she was but a precocious tween [before such a term existed], Ms Shine found herself poised and posed at an expertly-gauged distance from a consumer camera lens; the ten-second timer ticking down to the flash-pop that would register her latest of a years-long series of self-portraits created as gifts for her grandfather; images shot and processed in the Foto-Mat where her mother worked.
Direct and indirect tutelage from Mom – along with the standard experimentation/trial-and-error in which any Talented Young Mind finds itself mired – quickly blossomed into a bold and distinct understanding of lighting, composition, and technique. This formative immersion set the table for a lifetime of an ever-increasingly-astute and original photographic sensibility; one that Ms. Shine imparted [instructively and genetically] to her own daughter; a young woman who represents the third generation of women photographers/designers who’ve made a seamless transition from Subject/Model to Photographic Artist.
TS: I have so many pictures… Do you have kids?
SP: [sips] My DNA isn’t really in demand.
One cannot be within 50 feet of Tammy and not be ensnared by her magnificent, singular Style. It’s kaleidoscopic, whimsical, relentless, purposeful; a larger and brighter-than-life visual symphony so expertly executed that you forget how incredibly difficult and unlikely it is to find fashion success by blending arresting color, large patterns, different eras. She makes it look deceptively easy. Maybe I kinda hate her for it; the innate comprehension regarding the size and number of vermiculite accoutrements, the gift for cocktailing lines [both geometric and time-based] forbidden by conventional wisdom, the clairvoyance to confidently dye one’s hair a thirsty magenta, knowing it can be married to countless colors and clothing combinations that Mere Mortals would never dare to dream possible.
SP: What was the best year in human history for fashion?
TS: [knots brow] How could you say? There are so many great things.
SP: People love shit like that: authoritative blanket statements.
TS: But that’s not real.
SP: It’s a magazine article, reality isn’t involved. Besides – who could argue with *you*?
TS: [laughs] The Best Fashion Year was 1972. Double-knit polyester. Big fan.
By this point in the article, longtime Tammy fans will be noodle-scratching – perhaps to the point of vexation – as to how it’s possible we’ve scarcely touched on the subject of Music; the well-manicured Elephant in the Room.
‘What of Dressy Bessy?’, they cry, referencing the band and platform for which Ms Shine is likely best-known.
‘What of 40th Day?’ the Super-Fans flex their History Muscles.
‘What of C’est Tra La – the French cover band she’s launching?’ bleat the Current-Eventers.
For one thing, my draconian and brutal Editor, Lisa, made it pointedly clear not to rest on the Easy Run of telling people who already know all about Dressy Bessy and its many-hued engine the things they already know all about or might find out with a click or two on Ye Olde Innernets.
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