Paul McCartney used his Pentax camera the same way he used his guitar: with total freedom. And in early 1964, the 21-year-old took his new camera on perhaps the most momentous musical journey of the 20th century: The Beatles’ invasion of America.

Hundreds of photographs from that trip were recently rediscovered in McCartney’s archive: “It was really nice,” he said, “because I thought they were lost.”

The images, collected in the new book, “1964: Eyes of the Storm,” will be on view later this month at the National Portrait Gallery in London. 

He offered a tour of the exhibit to correspondent Anthony Mason.  

McCartney explained his process: “Taking photographs, I’d be just looking for a shot. And so, I’d aim the camera and just sort of see where I liked it, you know, oh, that’s it.  And invariably, you pretty much take one picture.

“We were moving fast. So, you just learned to take pictures quickly.”

One picture was taken as the group arrived at the Deauville Hotel in Miami. Mason said, “I think your quote in the book was, ‘I can almost hear her scream.'”

“Yeah, you can!” McCartney laughed. “The cop is going to restrain her, you know?”

“I also love the cop in the foreground who just sort of looks puzzled by everything,” said Mason.

“I like the architecture of that hotel,” said McCartney. “But, you know, as we were saying before, that had to be taken really quickly, just to snap that.”

“But, you have to have an eye to take that.”

“It’s my left one!”

The Beatles had started their trip in Paris. “And it was in Paris that we got the telegram, ‘Congratulations, boys, number one in the U.S. charts.'”

“And you’d said you won’t go to America unless you have a number one?”

“I know. And that was pretty spunky to kind of think that. But I’d seen quite a few of our major stars go to the States, and we’re going, ‘Wow, he’s going to leave us now. He’ll be made famous over there.’ But then they’d come back and they weren’t famous. So I said, ‘Well, if we go over there, you know, I really don’t want to come back with our tail between our legs.'”

In America they played “The Ed Sullivan Show.” Seventy-three million people would tune in. It was, McCartney writes, “the moment all hell breaks loose.”

Mason said, “To look at those pictures, it’s kind of you looking at the world, looking at you. You seemed very comfortable with it.”

“Yeah. I mean, you know, you got to think about it: We’re kids from Liverpool. And we’re trying to get famous, and it’s not easy. And we were like stars in America, and people loved us. So, we loved it. And having that number one was really the secret – because, if the journalists, you know, New York journalists, ‘Hey, Beatle! Hey, Beatle! Why you are here?’ whatever. We say, ‘We’re number one in your country!’ Bingo!”

McCartney captured the commotion on the streets around New York’s Plaza Hotel, and the crowd that chased them when they snuck out the side door.

Mason said, “There was one reporter who said you were like prisoners with room service?”

“Yeah,” McCartney laughed. “That was kind of true. But we liked room service. You know, we’d never had it before!”

From New York, The Beatles travelled by train to Washington, D.C. McCartney’s camera took the ride, too.

So many of McCartney’s pictures were taken on the move, including shots from his car of a policeman in Miami who’d pulled up next to him: “And that was basically what I saw. And we’d never seen policemen with guns. We just didn’t have that in England.”

But in Miami, McCartney broke out the color film. “For us, it was like going on holiday,” he said.

The Fab Four even had a few days off.

Mason said, “There are some great shots of you with, like, it looked like terry-cloth jackets.”

“Yeah, the hotel supplied them,” McCartney said. “You normally, like, get a robe, but this place, because it was Miami, had these little cool, little short things – and hats! We lived in them for days. Even Brian [Epstein], our manager. We thought they were really cool items of clothing.”

He caught George relaxing with an anonymous admirer: “In that picture, yeah, I don’t think I was trying to protect her identity,” McCartney said. “I love her bathing costume. So great. And, you know, there is George, like I keep saying, living the life. He’s got a drink which is probably a scotch and Coke. He’s got a tan, the girl in the yellow bikini. For lads from Liverpool, that was exceptionally wonderful!”

The band went back home to England in late February. By early April, The Beatles had the top five songs on the U.S. charts. McCartney writes, “We spent the months and years after holding on for dear life.”

Mason asked, “Did you remember all these when you saw them?”

“Kind of,” McCartney replied. “It was a very memorable period, you know?”

“But there was so much going on, I’m amazed you could process it and keep it all.”

“Yeah, so am I!”

McCartney’s not only looking back at photos of his past; he announced last week to the BBC that this fall he’ll be releasing what he says is “the last Beatles record” – a John Lennon demo tape that McCartney is re-mixing using the latest artificial intelligence technology. The music, like Paul McCartney’s pictures, all part of The Beatles’ enduring legacy.

McCartney said, “For me, it is like a little slice of American history. And it’s my history, is that it’s Beatles history. So, it was great to rediscover these pictures.”

       
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Story produced by Ed Forgotson. Editor: Joseph Frandino. 

Anthony Mason

Anthony Mason is senior culture and senior national correspondent for CBS News. He has been a frequent contributor to “CBS Sunday Morning,” and is the former co-host for “CBS This Morning: Saturday” and “CBS This Morning.”

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When you become a professional photographers, you can take one of two general paths: a specialist with a focused approach to a single genre and/or style, or a jack of all trades who can competently tackle a wide variety of jobs, if not quite at the level of a specialist in each area. So, which is right for you? This helpful video essay features an experienced commercial photographer discussing the pros and cons of both approaches to help you decide.

Coming to you from Scott Choucino with Tin House Studio, this great video essay discusses the pros and cons of being a specialist or generalist as a professional photographer. Of course, the appeal of being a generalist is that you will at least be considered for many more jobs, and if you are someone who gets bored easily, you get the benefit of switching up your work quite a bit. On the other hand, a specialist, by virtue of their approach, is more likely to distinguish themselves from their peers simply because their singular focus allows them to really hone and push their craft to a very high level. Furthermore, some creatives enjoy that pursuit of narrow perfection more than being very good at a lot of things. Check out the video above for the full rundown from Choucino. 

London, England

The secretary for levelling up, housing and communities, Michael Gove, speaks to the media outside Broadcasting House after appearing on BBC One’s Sunday with Laura Kuenssberg programme

Photograph: Lucy North/PA

New York-based street photographer Billy Dinh has amassed a large and loyal Instagram following thanks to his talents. His dramatic, moody images heavily rely on light and shadow, which coupled with his ability to capture unique moments, make them look pulled from a film. Through Dinh’s lens, we’re able to watch the world unfold and peek into the small moments of life.

Whether it’s a woman wiping tears from her eyes as her train is about to pull away, or a man staring out the window on an empty ferry, Dinh takes average moments and elevates them to high art. With formal training as an illustrator, Dinh clearly has developed an eye for putting together captivating stories that pull the viewer in.

We were lucky enough to chat with Dinh about his street photography and learn more about how his passion for photography developed. We also learn more about what he looks for when he’s out on the street, as well as his biggest concern with AI imaging. Read on for My Modern Met’s exclusive interview.

How did your love of photography begin?

Photography has always been in my life since as early as I can remember. From the days of my family’s analog camera to picking up disposable cameras for class field trips, to owning my own point-and-shoot digital cameras, to where we are now with mobile phone cameras, photography has always been a way for me to preserve my memories and experiences.

It wasn’t until I started traveling abroad within the last 10 years that photography started to become something more than that. At first, the photos were more personal and were captured on my mobile phone. However, as I visited more places, I slowly found myself wanting to take photos more creatively and outgrew the mobile phone. I’ve been obsessed with photography ever since I decided to take it seriously.

What specifically attracted you to street photography as a genre?

I started my early photography career capturing landscapes and cityscapes. But something always felt unfulfilling to me about that experience, and coming from an illustration background, I had always been interested in illustrating people. It wasn’t until my visits to countries like Guatemala, Jordan, Egypt, and Mexico that I started to naturally gravitate toward taking photos of people instead of places.

Initially, it was because of the appreciation of diversity. How different, interesting, and beautiful people looked in their own way from all around the world. But soon, I became more interested in how people lived and not just what they looked like. How they interacted with each other and their surroundings. I become more interested in their stories and their lives and the little everyday moments that make them who they are, no matter where they are or where they’re from.

How does your photography change the way you live and move through the city?

It’s for sure changed so much in the way I live. I find that I can’t go anywhere these days without having a camera around my neck or in my hands. It’s changed the way I see the world and has constantly allowed me to see my own home in NYC with fresh eyes. I find I would explore parts of places I never cared about before or even knew existed. I’ve gained a whole new appreciation for constantly observing and being present wherever I am. In some ways, it has slowed me down a bit and has allowed me to take my time in a city that’s so constantly fast-paced. I now take so much notice of details in things that would have never in a million years interest me before. I can say photography has given me a whole new appreciation of life.

When you are out shooting, what are you looking for when you decide what warrants a click of the shutter?

It’s a combination of things. I think if I can sum it up into four categories, it would be the following. First, the visual element. I look for interesting people, colors, textures, layers, lighting, shapes, and interesting ways people and/or objects are positioned in a scene. Things that are appealing to the eye.

The second category I look for is what’s happening with the subjects. I look for interesting and unique interactions between people and objects in their surroundings. I enjoy having a story element and hidden messages in my photos. I enjoy photographs that make you think and wonder.

The third is the overall feeling of what I see. Sometimes you can see a scene unfold before your eyes and have it strike a chord emotionally or make you feel nostalgic. There’s something personal when a photo can remind you of something from the past, whether it feels good or bad.

The last category I enjoy capturing is something that looks and feels from another place, time, or world. I love movies in the way they often take real-life scenes and make them feel like they’re not. I particularly gravitate to this when I am out shooting. While what I end up capturing will include one or more of these categories, it’s coming across all four at once that warrants a satisfying click of the shutter to me.

You’ve had a lot of success on social media. What have been the positives and negatives of that success?

I think the positive side of my social media presence is being able to have my photographs reach people it wouldn’t normally be able to. It’s also allowed me to meet some amazing people and provided me with some great opportunities. It’s a privilege to be able to have my work seen by people that could potentially inspire them to pick up a camera. It’s one of the greatest feelings.

On the other hand, though, there’s a lot of pressure with social media. Especially if you are a full-time artist and rely on social media as a way to promote your work and brand. It’s all tied to the numbers, and that, in turn, can affect the honesty in what you create. While I’ve been much better with this, it’s definitely a problem I see today.

AI is such a hot topic now. As a photographer, do you have concerns about AI—particularly if it continues to improve and blur the lines with photography?

It’s an interesting question. I’ve been pretty active following the growth of AI art since it became more mainstream recently, and as of right now, I have mixed feelings about it. A part of me sees the benefits in how it can help take existing digital art mediums to the next level and even excel as an art form on its own. I’ve seen some phenomenal “post-photograph” AI work that, while looking as realistic as photographs, depict things that just couldn’t happen in real life but look extremely real. I think this is where AI is excelling in my opinion.

The main concern I have with AI is not so much that it will blur the line with photography. I think it is inevitable that AI will look so real that you can’t tell, and it will happen very soon. However, a photograph documenting the world will always be a snapshot of something that exactly exists timestamped in history. AI can never achieve that.

My biggest concern with the whole thing is trying to pass off AI as actual photographs without mentioning it. This is where my concern is. At the moment, the average person probably couldn’t tell the difference between most AI work being passed as photos. I’ve been getting asked more and more frequently over the last few months if my photos are AI. They are not. If something doesn’t change, we may not be able to know what a real photograph is versus what’s AI in the near future, and that’s when we lose what actually existed and what is made up.

What’s next for you?

I have a few personal photography projects I am working on that I hope to share with the world one day, and a few I am in the process of starting soon. I’m not ready to share them at the moment, unfortunately, but anyone who’s been following along with my journey may have some ideas as to what they may be. I am also in the early stages of putting together ideas for my first book. I want to actually release something I’d be proud of, so I’m taking my time with it. I am also excited to just continue to grow as a photographer and share with everyone the world through my eyes.

Billy Dinh: Website | Instagram | Twitter

My Modern Met granted permission to feature photos by Billy Dinh.

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Peter, fully dressed, looks down at a boy in white trunks swimming a length of the pool below. Turquoise hills stretch away into sunlight behind them. David Hockney’s stunning diagram of LA heat and cool blue water, frozen in stylised ripples, appears perfectly lucid in its equipoise of figure, hue and geometry, yet also tense and mysterious. What is the relationship between the two men: the swimmer submerged and unaware, the sentinel watching unseen from above?

Portrait of an Artist (Pool with Two Figures) was painted in 1972. This monumental masterpiece has changed hands several times since, but never so conspicuously as in the winter of 2018, when it sold at Christie’s for $90m (£71m), breaking records for the most expensive work by a living artist.

The buyer was Pierre Chen, a Taiwanese multibillionaire in his late 60s, whose electronics company, Yageo, is a global leader in the passive components required for mobiles, laptops, desktops and cars. Chen founded the company in 1977, before he was even 21. In 1999 he also established the not-for-profit Yageo Foundation, which holds, or administers (or is it owns?), his massive art collection, a substantial tranche of which is now on display in Capturing the Moment at Tate Modern.

The first thing to say about this questionable enterprise is that Chen/Yageo owns some tremendous works of modern and contemporary art. He has the zeal and wealth of the titanic collector; and the advice, for more than 20 years, of a former Christie’s executive.

He owns an upside-down Georg Baselitz, several Picasso portraits and one of Francis Bacon’s screaming popes. He owns a quartet of Andy Warhol self-portraits in fading primary colours, and an eerie Warhol Double Marlon [Brando], silkscreened in sinister black on taupe.

He collects the enormous photographs of the German artist Thomas Struth: crowds overwhelmed by Géricault’s Raft of the Medusa in the Louvre, or simply flitting past like ephemeral ghosts before the deathless magnificence of Titian’s Assumption of the Virgin in Venice. These are all on show at Tate Modern, along with paintings by Gerhard Richter, Marlene Dumas, John Currin and Peter Doig.

The last, not incidentally, is one of Doig’s earliest and most valuable canoe paintings: in arsenical greens, the blond on board drifting an unsuspecting hand through ominous waters, based directly on a still from the horror film Friday the 13th.

So the promised connection between photography and painting is there in one fundamental sense. Namely that Chen buys both. It is also true that some of what he collects is painting based on photography (Warhol, Dumas, Doig), or photography that looks at painting (Struth, self-evidently). And in addition, he has some extraordinary works that unseat the imagery of both camera and brush by Richter.

Two landscapes by the German painter question the supposed truth of the original photographs to such an extent that one wonders whether these scenes – a Bavarian hillside, the motionless Venetian lagoon – contain hidden secrets. Richter’s transcriptions are neither sharp of focus nor rendering, his sporadic sfumato blurs implying that the world beyond the painted surface really is entirely lost to us.

A third painting shows the face of a long-dead woman: Richter’s Aunt Marianne, forever young and blond as she props baby Gerhard on a pillow in the 1930s. The silver-grey paint unites the two figures in hazy horizontal brushstrokes; something like distortion, or a memory one cannot bring into focus, or a presence that cannot be summoned from a photograph. Marianne was later sterilised and then murdered by the Nazis.

It is possible that visitors might make a connection back to another historic image four galleries earlier: Dorothea Lange’s immortal photograph of a destitute mother in a US pea-croppers’ camp in 1936, but I doubt it. This show is far too rambling and chaotic. To bolster Chen’s collection, Tate Modern includes ill-assorted works from its own, including strident new acquisitions by Christina Quarles and Laura Owens, and venerable portraits by Lucian Freud – including a deeply moving image of his mother painted by her deathbed – and Alice Neel, at least part of whose electrifying gifts as a painter come from living proximity to her New York subjects.

So the premise feels like nonsense. But worse still is the alignment of images. Did Lange take that heroic photograph – which resulted in emergency government aid – just to be hung in the same room as Bacon and Picasso as part of some vague talk about emotion and expression in 20th-century art? What has Neel got to do with Freud? Why are Hiroshi Sugimoto’s photographs of seas, touching on light, dark and the nature of infinity, related to abstract paintings?

The wall texts are almost comically simplistic. “While photographers grapple with the mechanics of the camera, painters work with the surface of the canvas and the texture of paint.” There is no thesis, no catalogue, no developed argument, barely a single striking idea on the subject of either painting or photography, let alone their relationship, even though this is art history 101.

It would have cost nothing to have shown the Hockney in a room of its own with the photos from which it derives (first serendipitously, and then by fascinating design) to open minds and eyes to the kind of visual knowledge the artist himself so much prizes. But all or any of this was too much trouble, unaccountably, for an exhibition running all the way through to the end of next January.

Why are the walls of one of our foremost public art museums being given to a private collector in this way? You may argue that this is a rare chance to see such great works here – though some are remarkably familiar from other loan shows – before they end up in someone else’s collection. For Pierre Chen follows the blue-chip market, after all.

Capturing the Moment is not a serious exhibition. To draw connections of any sort between the works feels ultimately specious. Some stuff we borrowed (I hope for free, given the burnishing effect of display in Tate Modern, though tickets are £20 a head) and some stuff we already owned. A more complacent exhibition cannot be imagined.

• Capturing the Moment: A Journey Through Painting and Photography is at Tate Modern, London, until 28 January 2024