London’s Soho. A place synonymous with indulgence, mischief, spirit and style. Where money has been made, lost and spent. Bodies have been bought, sold and worshipped. Lives have been built and ruined. Soho is central London’s last village, where the spirit of the city is crammed into one square mile. Every type, from the rockers, rudeboys, and skinheads to novelists, poets and painters, has frequented this Georgian grid seeking the same thing: entertainment, conversation, and oblivion.
We all know London is changing: every area evolves and so do the people that populate it. I always believed Soho would be safe, but the neighbourhood, so neatly defined by its borders—Shaftesbury Avenue, Charing Cross Road, Oxford and Regent Street—isn’t immune to the upheavals of the Crossrail development or the demands for boutique hotels and luxury living. The trucks, scaffolding and roadworks that jam each corner will soon leave an unfamiliar place, replacing Georgian edifices with cheap brickwork and plastic shop fronts. With the physical change comes a human one, too: Going, going are the original residents, local pubs, late licences and Winchester Geese; in comes the law and sterile streets—a pedestrian, homogenised British high street.
This area has been documented through photography for years, but it will never look or feel as different as it is about to. I’ve been fascinated by the neighbourhood since my first job on Old Compton Street at the age of 16 sweeping the floor at a barbers. It was important to me that this period in Soho’s life cycle be recorded, so last winter I started photographing the people that make the place feel timeless and haven’t stopped.
I’m interested in people with a story. I spend time watching people, then approach them for a chat in the hope they won’t tell me to fuck off, which has happened. Other times, like with the lovely Soho Duchess, Dorothea Phillips, we arrange a day to shoot and spend hours drinking gin and tonics and I get a nostalgic for a time when I wasn’t even born. It is a joy to spend a full day of drinking and socialising and learning in order to get the portrait as opposed to just a snap. I shoot them in a place dear to them; where they are part of the fabric that makes the place what it is and I hope my portraits help preserve some of the neighbourhood’s original DNA