In the brief, electric window when music videos became art, Tim Pope was among the few directors who treated them as such — not as promotional tools, but as acts of defiant collaboration between filmmaker and icon. From a chip shop in Enfield to Concorde flights with Iggy Pop, Pope's career traces the arc of a self-made auteur who shaped the visual language of a generation, only to be broken by Hollywood's machinery before finding his way back. His memoir arrives not as nostalgia but as reckoning — with an industry, with a predator, and with the strange grace of having made something that endu