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Meet Bob Gruen, the accidental legend.

Hailed as the pre-eminent photographer of iconic moments in the rock 'n' roll and punk music era, he sits back in his chair, in his jeans and leather jacket, his once-massive afro tamed by age, and tells stories one after the other like a man who has spent much of his time in bars.

Which he has.

"When you're good friends with [New York Dolls guitarist] Johnny Thunders and [Sex Pistols bassist] Sid Vicious, you're not drinking Perrier," he says with a laugh that produces a wheezy cough.

"Joe Strummer [lead singer of the Clash] and I spent many a night in many a bar," he continues in his own garrulous fashion.

"My wife and I used to say that when you go out to dinner with Joe Strummer, you have to bring your sunglasses because you're not coming back until well past dawn."

His success is as serendipitous as his best photographs, many of which are featured in an exhibition at Toronto's Liss Gallery.

"I was the black sheep of my family," he offers with a sly smile. "I'm thrilled to be the role model now."

Born in New York, one of four sons to parents who were both attorneys, he dropped out after a year at Southern Illinois University, where all he learned was how to drink, he offers.

"Tune in, turn on and drop out," he says, repeating the mantra of the rock 'n' roll era in a deep, singsongy voice. "I did it."

He continues: "In the sixties, my parents tried to get me to get a 9-to-5 job, but I found out pretty quickly that I couldn't do the 9 part. I was much better at the 5 to 9 part, so I found other people who could work at night."

He lived with a band who kept changing their name until they had their lucky break as the Glitterhouse when they signed with Bob Crewe and released several records in the late sixties. "Since I was living with them, I took pictures of the group. I kind of got into the music business because my Dad had a station wagon, and I could fit everything in. I was a roadie. They needed me," he explains with a shrug.

"I didn't set out with any concept of having a career. It was a matter of giving up security and giving up that need to have a plan, that need to have everything explained and basically to have the security to know you'd be okay in the future. I didn't know I'd be okay that day, but I always found a way to be okay, to make it work."

He found success as a rollin' stone, gathering people and contacts and photos like moss, as he frequented clubs in downtown New York.

"My whole life, one thing led to another," explains the author of several books on rock stars. He loved the scene and immersed himself in it, hanging out with bands no one had heard of.

"I didn't visit this lifestyle as a journalist. It was my lifestyle. ... I wasn't pursuing the Clash 'cause I knew they were going to be famous. You didn't know who was going to be famous. I liked all kinds of obscure groups, like the Miamis and the Steel Tips, and they don't all make it. I like to say that the Miamis made 78 No. 1 hit singles that were never recorded."

The creation of photographs that later were referred to as iconic was rarely planned. "I never had any idea that the one-sixteenth of a second that I captured would be the moment that people around the world were going to relate to." Among the famous images Mr. Gruen created are Chuck Berry kissing his guitar; members of Led Zeppelin standing beside their plane; Kiss dressed in business suits and wearing their trademark stage make-up; a strobe shot of Tina Turner; Sid Vicious with mustard and ketchup dripping from his mouth; Mick Jagger and Keith Richards on stage at Madison Square Garden, and several of John Lennon alone or with Yoko Ono.

"Nowadays, people try to recreate these things, and they have meetings and meetings. They art-direct everything, and they make storyboards and hire stylists. I prefer to go to the real moment and actually take it when it's happening and have a minimum of preparation."

But if Mr. Gruen was able to capture the perfect image, he also knew when not to take a photograph, even when tempted.

"I was at John and Yoko's house when Paul and Linda visited, but it was not a photographic opportunity. It was more of a private moment. One reason I have so many pictures of private moments is 'cause I knew when to put the camera down and not intrude, and when to pick it up and get a shot of something," he says.

"When you're sitting there looking at John and Paul chatting like old friends on a bed, and you don't pick up the camera, that's a conscious decision," he says, adding his signature barroom laugh. "You say to yourself, well, if I want to keep this relationship going I won't push it right now."

He was cautious in other ways, too. "I was paid to be at a party, but on the other hand I had to carry the 50 pounds of cameras at the party and not get so drunk that I broke them."

Did he suffer from ill effects?

"Oh, all of them," he roars. "I did everything," he continues in a rhapsodic tone of voice. "In the sixties, I tried acid. I smoked banana peels. I did whatever there was to do. I think I could have a doctorate in pharmacology. All self-taught. But I tried to keep my wits about me. I tried to do it in a responsible way."

He certainly doesn't look as lined and worn as Keith Richards.

"I didn't have as much money as Keith," the 62-year-old shoots back in joking repartee. "I couldn't do as much. Also, I like to eat well."

Does he do drugs now?

"No, I have had enough."

And booze?

"Not really. I've had plenty," he says with a note of affection in his voice for a time he doesn't need to relive.

"Journalists don't get laid, though," he adds without prompting in an effort at full disclosure about the rock 'n' roll lifestyle. "Let me tell the truth about that: The photographer didn't get the three groupies."