Reading Is Fundamental: Ricardo Acevedo’s *Night: Foto Novella, Prose Essay, Photo Paintings*
Austin multihyphenate presents the blurred edge of twilight. Also: David Johansen needs our help.
Ricardo Acevedo has worn many hats—electro-punk musician, writer, nightlife documentarian—but what defines his work most is the way he captures the surreal essence of lived experience. His 2023 collection, Malo: Things You Can’t Ruin [65 pages, Incunabula, www.incunabulamedia.com], was a compact, striking distillation of his writing and photography. Now, with Night: Foto Novella, Prose Essay, Photo Paintings [120 pages, also Incunabula], he revisits and expands on a more dramatic 2013 work, pushing his signature style even further into abstraction, sensory overload, and the existential blur of the after-hours world.
Acevedo came up in Southern California’s initial punk rock tumult in the late ‘70s and early ‘80s, before relocating to Austin in the late ‘90s. By the early 2000s, he found himself documenting the city’s chaotic punk and metal scenes for Rank and Review, a street-level music and nightlife rag.
“[Publisher] Wendy Wwad was the gadfly of rock ‘n’ roll, man,” he recalls. His job was simple: “She would give us a shot of whiskey and an SD card, and we would go shoot all evening.” Those nocturnal expeditions—fueled by music, alcohol, and the relentless pulse of the city—shaped his aesthetic.
What Acevedo calls “photo paintings” aren’t just snapshots of debauchery; but kinetic visual echoes of the night itself. “All I've really done is crop, of course, and push the color and the contrast—that's all I've really done,” he says. But the results are more alchemical than mechanical: light streaks across the frame like spectral graffiti, bodies dissolve into motion, and neon burns against black like memory seared into film stock. Some shots are taken with a deliberate spiral motion, syncing the camera’s movement to the beat of the music. Others experiment with multiple exposures, layering moments into something fragmented, chaotic—yet strangely poetic.
The book’s structure mirrors this descent into the dreamlike. The early black-and-white images feel grounded, representing “clandestine romance, and the vagaries of it, and how it falls apart more often than not.” As the night progresses, things blur—literally and figuratively—culminating in a final section where “everything's totally in and out of focus… it's 1:30 at night, they’re about to do last call, and you’re so drunk and so high.”
If books had soundtracks, Night’s would be Iggy Pop’s “Nightclubbing” and Nick Cave’s “Red Right Hand,” played in an endless loop.
Acevedo isn’t just documenting nightlife with this brilliant book. He's reconstructing the way it feels in real time—the rush, the haze, the way everything is both electric and ephemeral. His publisher’s first reaction to Night was, “It made me uncomfortable.” Acevedo’s response? “Oh, I love you!”
It’s a fitting sentiment. If you’ve ever wandered the streets at 2 AM, seeing the world through the lens of exhaustion, intoxication, or something more intangible, you’ll find something familiar here. If not, Night offers a glimpse inside.
David Johansen has cancer and needs our help
David Johansen is his New York Dolls prime. (📸 Pic; Bob Gruen, courtesy of https://www.sweetrelief.org/davidjohansenfund.html)
One thing about our scene: We care. This is a community, this punk rock shit, and when one of ours is down, we step up. And boy, have we gotta step up now: David Johansen has cancer.
The news hit yesterday, like a sledgehammer to the solar plexus. And why wouldn’t it? Even the most cursory glance at this ‘Stack should tell anyone that I likely would not be doing what I do, and I mean any aspect of this life, without the New York Dolls. And while his compadre Mr. Thunders is my major hero in that outfit, there is no New York Dolls without David Johansen. Just think about that everything-Jagger-should-be-but-isn’t swagger (to match Johnny’s everything-Keef-should-be-but-isn’t whatsis), the arch bohemian mindset, the beautiful street poetry to match Johnny’s molotov Chuck Berry routine–you can’t have the Dolls without any of that.
For nearly a decade, Johansen has been privately battling stage 4 cancer, and in 2020, he was also diagnosed with a brain tumor. That alone would be enough to knock most people flat, but he kept going, kept working, kept being David Johansen—until things took a turn.
A recent fall left him with two broken vertebrae, and while surgery was successful, he’s now bedridden and in need of round-the-clock care. His family has been holding it down as best they can, but the reality is, they need help. The costs of full-time nursing, physical therapy, and daily expenses are staggering. They’ve reached the point where the Johansen family has to ask for support.
That’s where Sweet Relief Musicians Fund comes in. They’ve launched The David Johansen Fund to help cover these medical costs and get him the care he needs. Every penny goes toward his recovery.
His daughter, Leah Hennessey, put it bluntly: “As hilarious and wise as David continues to be, he is physically debilitated and his care exceeds what we are capable of providing without specialized professional help.”
So here’s the deal: If David Johansen ever meant something to you—if the New York Dolls blew your mind, if Buster Poindexter made you laugh, if you ever saw him live and thought, “That guy is rock ‘n’ roll incarnate”—now’s the time to give back.
Hit up sweetrelief.org/davidjohansenfund and throw in what you can. Even if you just buy the benefit t-shirt (which is all I can likely afford), every bit helps. Because if punk rock means anything, it means we take care of our own.
This is the kind of work I do here at The Tim ‘Napalm’ Stegall Substack—documenting the artists, the stories, the moments that matter.
Whether it’s diving into the blurred chaos of Ricardo Acevedo’s nightlife photography or rallying the scene to help David Johansen, this space exists to keep punk journalism alive and kicking.
If you appreciate what you’re reading, consider becoming a paid subscriber. Your support helps me keep this thing going—ad-free, independent, and beholden to nothing but the truth. No sponsored content, no clickbait, no algorithm-chasing. Just real rock ‘n’ roll journalism, the way Jah intended.
And hey, if a few of you sign up today, maybe I can even afford to order one of David’s benefit t-shirts. (No pressure. But seriously.)
And if you’re already a paid subscriber? Thank you. You’re the reason this ‘Stack keeps rolling.
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