When a rock legend like Robert Plant pens a foreword for a photography book, it’s more than just a celebrity endorsement—it’s a cultural statement. Black Country Type II, a new collection of photographs by Tom Hicks, has captured Plant’s attention, and for good reason. But what makes this collaboration particularly fascinating is how it intersects art, regional identity, and personal passion in a way that feels both intimate and universal.
The Black Country Through a Lens: More Than Just a Place
Tom Hicks’ work isn’t just about documenting the Black Country; it’s about revealing its soul. Personally, I think what Hicks does so brilliantly is humanize a region often overlooked or misunderstood. His photos, taken during freeform walks and cycle rides, aren’t staged or polished—they’re raw, vibrant, and alive. This approach resonates deeply with Plant, who describes the book as ‘a startling study of our fractured, crazy place.’
What many people don’t realize is that the Black Country, despite its industrial history, has a unique character that’s both gritty and poetic. Hicks’ lens captures this duality, and Plant’s foreword amplifies it. When Plant calls the region ‘our old mothership,’ he’s not just referencing geography—he’s speaking to a sense of belonging and shared history. This raises a deeper question: how do we preserve and celebrate the identity of places that are often dismissed as relics of the past?
The Led Zeppelin Connection: A Nod to Legacy
The book’s title, Black Country Type II, is a clever nod to Led Zeppelin II, and it’s a detail that I find especially interesting. It’s not just a marketing gimmick; it’s a way of connecting the region’s cultural legacy to one of its most famous exports. Plant’s involvement isn’t coincidental—it’s a continuation of his lifelong affinity for the area.
From my perspective, this connection highlights something broader: the way artists, whether musicians or photographers, become stewards of their roots. Plant’s support for Hicks’ work isn’t just about nostalgia; it’s about ensuring that the Black Country’s story is told authentically and with respect. What this really suggests is that art can be a bridge between generations, a way to keep the past alive while looking toward the future.
The Exhibition: A Quiet Celebration of Magnificence
The accompanying exhibition at the Black Country Living Museum is more than just a display of photographs—it’s a celebration of the region’s surreal madness and magnificence, as Plant puts it. What makes this particularly fascinating is how Hicks’ work is presented in the museum’s café, a space that’s both casual and communal. It’s as if the art is saying, ‘This is for everyone.’
One thing that immediately stands out is the longevity of the exhibition—expected to run for over a year. This isn’t a fleeting event; it’s a sustained invitation to engage with the Black Country’s story. If you take a step back and think about it, this kind of commitment is rare in today’s fast-paced cultural landscape. It speaks to the enduring power of place and the importance of slowing down to appreciate it.
Beyond the Photos: Shared Passions and Common Ground
Hicks and Plant’s collaboration goes beyond their mutual appreciation for the Black Country. Their shared love for Wolverhampton Wanderers adds a layer of personal connection that feels almost serendipitous. In my opinion, this kind of common ground is what makes creative partnerships so rich. It’s not just about the work—it’s about the people behind it.
What this really suggests is that art thrives when it’s rooted in genuine relationships. Hicks’ gratitude toward Plant—‘His support for the arts in the Black Country is passionate and unwavering’—is a testament to this. It’s a reminder that behind every great project are individuals who care deeply about what they’re doing.
Looking Ahead: The Future of Regional Storytelling
As I reflect on Black Country Type II and its broader implications, I can’t help but wonder: what does this mean for the future of regional storytelling? In an age where global narratives often overshadow local ones, projects like this feel like a rebellion of sorts. They insist that every place, no matter how small or seemingly insignificant, has a story worth telling.
Personally, I think this is where the real magic lies. Hicks’ photographs and Plant’s foreword aren’t just about the Black Country—they’re about the universal human experience of belonging. What many people don’t realize is that by celebrating one place, we’re celebrating all places. And in doing so, we’re reminded of the beauty in the ordinary, the magnificence in the mundane.
In the end, Black Country Type II isn’t just a book or an exhibition—it’s a love letter to a region and its people. And in a world that often feels fractured, that’s something worth holding onto.
