Rock history is messy. Honestly, if you look back at the late sixties, it wasn't all just peace, love, and flower power. It was often chaotic, poorly planned, and occasionally, flat-out illegal by today's standards. Nothing captures that specific brand of "what were they thinking?" quite like the story behind blind faith album covers.
When Eric Clapton, Steve Winwood, Ginger Baker, and Ric Grech formed the world's first true "supergroup" in 1969, expectations were astronomical. The music was great. The hype was deafening. But for many people, the first thing they think of isn't the opening riff of "Can't Find My Way Home." It's that image. You know the one. It features a young, topless girl holding a silver, hood-ornament-style airplane. It’s an image that got the record banned, tucked into brown paper bags, and eventually replaced entirely in the United States.
It was a PR disaster that almost overshadowed the music.
The Girl and the Airplane: What Really Happened
The photographer was Bob Seidemann. He was a friend of Clapton’s and a well-regarded artist in the San Francisco scene. He didn't just stumble into this concept; he had a whole philosophical framework for it. Seidemann saw the image as a metaphor for the transition of humanity. He wanted to juxtapose the "innocence" of a young girl with the "high technology" of a spacecraft. He called the image "Blind Faith," and the band liked the name so much they adopted it for themselves.
The girl in the photo was Mariora Goschen. She was only 11 years old.
Now, let's get the facts straight because the internet loves a good rumor. For years, people claimed she was Ginger Baker’s daughter. She wasn't. Others said she was a runaway Seidemann found on the street. Also false. Seidemann actually met her on the London Underground and asked her parents for permission to photograph her. They agreed. She was paid a small fee (some sources say about £40) and promised a horse, which she reportedly never actually got.
The image was shot in Seidemann’s flat. It’s a striking photo, technically. The lighting is soft. The silver plane—actually modeled after a hood ornament from a 1950s Cadillac—shines against the muted tones. But the nudity of a pre-teen girl was, even in the "anything goes" era of 1969, a massive bridge too far for retailers.
The Backlash and the Boring Alternative
It didn't take long for the hammer to fall. In the UK, the cover stayed, but in the United States, Atlantic Records freaked out. They knew Sears and other major department stores wouldn't touch it. They were right.
So, they pivoted. Fast.
The "alternative" among blind faith album covers is about as boring as a rock cover gets. It’s just a black-and-white promotional photograph of the four band members standing together. No art. No metaphor. Just four guys looking slightly awkward in a field. If you find a vintage copy of the album today with this "safe" cover, it’s still the same music, but it loses that weird, controversial piece of history that defines the record's legacy.
Interestingly, the band members themselves were somewhat divided on the whole thing. Eric Clapton was reportedly a fan of Seidemann’s artistic vision. He liked the provocative nature of it. Steve Winwood, on the other hand, was always a bit more reserved and seemed less enthusiastic about the controversy. It’s one of those classic "art vs. commerce" stalemates that usually ends with the record label winning because they’re the ones who have to ship the boxes.
Why the Controversy Refuses to Die
You’d think after fifty-plus years, we’d stop talking about it. We don't.
Part of the reason is that the image sits in a very uncomfortable gray area. Seidemann spent the rest of his life defending it as a pure artistic expression. He argued that there was nothing sexual about it. He saw it as a symbolic representation of the "spirit of the age."
But context matters.
In the 21st century, our collective tolerance for images of nude minors is zero. Rightfully so. When you look at blind faith album covers through a modern lens, it doesn't look like "high art." It looks like an oversight. It looks like a group of men in their twenties and thirties who were so insulated by fame and the "counter-culture" bubble that they forgot how the rest of the world perceives reality.
It’s also worth noting that the controversy actually helped sales. It’s the oldest trick in the book. Ban something, and everyone wants to see it. The "banned" cover became a collector's item almost instantly. Even today, if you’re digging through crates at a record store, a first-pressing UK copy with the original Seidemann photo fetches a much higher price than the US "band photo" version.
The Technical Artistry of Bob Seidemann
If we strip away the controversy for just a second—if that's even possible—we have to look at Seidemann’s work. He wasn't some hack. He was the guy who shot iconic photos of Janis Joplin and the Grateful Dead. He had a specific eye for the "Icons of the 60s."
For the Blind Faith shoot, he used a Hasselblad camera. He wanted the image to look timeless. That’s why there’s no background. No furniture. No 1960s wallpaper to date the image. It’s just the girl, the plane, and a sense of void. He actually had the silver plane custom-crafted by a jeweler. He was obsessed with the details.
He once said that the "blind faith" of the title referred to the way humanity was putting its trust in technology—specifically the space race—without knowing where it would lead. The girl was the "innocent" passenger on that journey.
Collecting and Identifying the Variations
If you are a vinyl enthusiast, navigating blind faith album covers can be a bit of a maze. There aren't just two versions; there are various pressings, reissues, and regional differences.
First, you have the original UK Polydor release. This is the "Holy Grail" for most. It features the gatefold sleeve with the girl on the front. Inside, there are photos of the band at Clapton's house, Hurtwood Edge.
Then, you have the US Atco version. Most of these have the band photo on the front. However, some early US copies were shipped with the original cover tucked inside a brown paper sleeve, or they had the original cover but were quickly pulled.
Later reissues complicate things further:
- The 1970s re-releases often stuck with the band photo to avoid hassle.
- The 1980s and 90s saw a "restoration" of the original artwork on CDs and special vinyl pressings as societal standards shifted toward preserving "original artistic intent."
- Deluxe editions usually include both pieces of art—one as the jacket and one as an insert.
If you're looking at a copy and trying to figure out what you have, check the catalog number. For the US Atco version, SD 33-306 is the standard. If it has the "girl" cover and that number, you've likely got an early pressing or a later "restored" version.
The Music vs. The Image
It’s a shame, really. The music on the Blind Faith album is incredible. "Presence of the Lord" is one of Clapton’s best compositions. Winwood’s vocals on "Sea of Joy" are haunting. But for many, the music is inseparable from the visual.
It reminds us that the 1960s weren't just about music. They were about pushing boundaries, sometimes until the boundaries broke. Sometimes they pushed into places they shouldn't have gone. The cover of this album represents that friction—the point where "artistic freedom" hits the wall of social responsibility.
The band itself didn't last long. One album. One tour. A massive Hyde Park concert. And then they were gone. Clapton moved on to Derek and the Dominos. Winwood went back to Traffic. But this single record, with its two very different faces, remains a permanent fixture in rock history.
Actionable Insights for Collectors and Fans
If you're interested in owning a piece of this history or just want to understand the impact of blind faith album covers better, here is how you should approach it:
- Check the Matrix Numbers: If you are buying an original "girl cover" copy, don't just look at the sleeve. Check the run-out groove of the vinyl. For the UK original, you're looking for the 583 059 Polydor stamp. This confirms the vinyl matches the era of the sleeve.
- Verify the Condition of the Gatefold: Many original UK copies have significant "ring wear" because the paper used was quite thin. A "Mint" condition original cover is extremely rare and will cost you a premium.
- Understand the Legalities: In some regions and on some digital platforms, the original artwork is still censored or replaced with the band photo. If you are buying online, always ask for a photo of the actual item, not a stock image.
- Listen Beyond the Hype: Don't let the controversy distract you from the technicality of the record. The drumming by Ginger Baker on "Do What You Like" is a masterclass in 5/4 time signatures in a rock context.
- Contextualize the Art: If you display the original cover, be prepared for a conversation. It remains one of the most polarizing images in music history. Knowing the names (Bob Seidemann, Mariora Goschen) and the intent (technological metaphor) helps explain why it exists in the first place.