What makes the image so powerful is what it doesn't show. There is no guitar. No leather jacket. No trademark tinted shades or medallion. The face is hidden. The gaze is averted. We are forced to look at the architecture of the man: the broad shoulders, the narrow waist, the quiet tension in his hands.
In the pantheon of rock iconography, the greatest hits album is often a contractual afterthought—a cash grab dressed in a lazy collage of tour photos or a garish gold font. But in late 2000, Lenny Kravitz did what he had always done: he ignored the rulebook.