Dime a dozen in a technical sense. And the fact he wasted thousands of sheets of film machine-gunning away trying to pin down a few good shots speaks volumes on its own. And if what Alex quoted is true, it couldn't have been said better - it was a "fictional West".. "the John Wayne West". Might thoughts exactly. He was composing a fiction for sake of a particular urban audience. In that sense, I agree that he did it quite well, and that it deserves its place in recognition. It is, overall, quite an interesting work, especially from that particular season. It is him - brash and NYC nervous, even obnoxious, if someone finds that kind of signature characteristic somehow meritorious.
But I still decry the general lack of authenticity or even real empathy. He was collecting specimens for his museum, and never at heart did leave New York City with its shallow myopic stereotypes about the West. Probably why he needed such big glasses just to make any sense of it at all. I'm speaking facetiously, of course, and recognize his influence, but just don't find it my own cup of tea, or, er, cowboy coffee, that is.
There's a lot more "soul" in Soulsbyville, although I'm starting to find that area itself a little too crowded these days. I'll keep my favorite back roads to myself. Printed one of those shots the other day.