There’s something oddly poetic about a rock legend like Robert Plant lending his voice to a photo book about a region most people can’t even locate on a map. The Black Country—a name that sounds like a misheard lyric from a Zeppelin song—is now the subject of a new photo book, Black Country Type II, with Plant’s foreword acting as both a literary endorsement and a cultural seal of approval. But what does this say about the intersection of art, geography, and nostalgia? Let’s unpack it.
Plant’s involvement isn’t just a PR stunt. It’s a deliberate act of cultural preservation. When he calls the book a ‘startling study of our fractured, crazy place,’ he’s not just describing a collection of photos. He’s framing the Black Country as a microcosm of modern Britain—chaotic, resilient, and teetering on the edge of irrelevance. This raises a deeper question: Why would a global icon like Plant care so deeply about a region that’s more known for its industrial past than its present-day relevance? The answer, I suspect, lies in the unspoken bond between artists and the places that shaped them. Plant’s roots in Worcestershire are close enough to the Black Country to feel like a shared heritage, yet distant enough to make it a symbol of something forgotten.
Tom Hicks’ photographs, meanwhile, are a visual love letter to a place that’s often overlooked. His ‘freeform walks and cycle rides’ through the Black Country aren’t just about capturing images—they’re about resurrecting a sense of place. What makes this particularly fascinating is Hicks’ insistence on the ‘colour, character, and humour’ of the region. In an age where photography often leans into bleakness or hyper-stylization, Hicks’ approach feels refreshingly human. It’s not about documenting decay; it’s about finding beauty in the mundane, the awkward, the slightly surreal. This aligns with a broader trend in contemporary art: the rejection of grand narratives in favor of intimate, localized storytelling. But here’s the kicker: without Plant’s endorsement, would this project have reached the same audience? Or is this just another case of celebrity validation elevating grassroots art to the mainstream?
The synergy between Plant and Hicks also hints at a deeper cultural conversation. Both men share a love for Wolverhampton Wanderers, a football club that’s more than just a team—it’s a badge of regional pride. This overlap isn’t accidental. It underscores how identity often hinges on these small, seemingly trivial things: a local team, a dialect, a shared joke. What many people don’t realize is that Plant’s support for the arts in the Black Country isn’t just about charity. It’s about redefining what ‘cultural capital’ means in a post-industrial landscape. The Black Country, once a hub of coal and steel, now needs new symbols of identity. Hicks’ photos and Plant’s words are part of that rebranding, but with a twist: they’re not trying to sanitize the region. They’re celebrating its contradictions.
And then there’s the irony of the book’s title, Type II. A nod to Led Zeppelin II, yes, but also a subtle jab at the idea that this is just another iteration of something familiar. The Black Country has had many ‘types’—industrial, post-industrial, now perhaps ‘artistic.’ What this really suggests is that the region is in a state of perpetual reinvention, and Plant’s involvement is both a celebration of that and a plea to remember the past. The exhibition at the Black Country Living Museum, open for over a year, isn’t just about selling books. It’s about creating a space where locals and tourists alike can see themselves reflected in the images. But will that reflection be enough to spark a lasting cultural shift? Or is this just a fleeting moment of attention for a place that’s always been on the margins?
In the end, this collaboration feels like a quiet rebellion against the homogenization of culture. Plant and Hicks aren’t trying to make the Black Country ‘cool’ in a superficial way. They’re asking us to look closer, to find meaning in the cracks and the chaos. Whether this resonates beyond the museum walls remains to be seen. But one thing is certain: when a rock star and a photographer team up to document a region, they’re not just creating art. They’re challenging us to rethink what it means to belong to a place—and to remember that even the most unassuming landscapes can hold extraordinary stories.
