The band we came to see has turned the show into a practice, a private viewing of what it is like to make their music. He speaks to him as if they are in a room all to themselves and I take my camera out of the bag.
Candle on the table. Light in dark, a glowing glass, a dancing flame, graduated color of melted wax. This is love. Shot.
Check the shot. Check the ISO, change if needed. Check the shutter speed, change if needed. Feel the beat. Do my own little camera dance, what I like to call groovin' but what the youngsters may say is look at the old chic with the camera spazzing out over there. To which I would like to reply, It's okay. This is just practice.
Music is sexy this way.
And this is where I may need to clear something up. Sexy doesn't necessarily mean sex. Now that's just silly, isn't it? In the debate that is this blog where I debate myself I would say that no, sexy doesn't mean sex. Sexy means that you're doing your thing with passion. An orgasmic hobby, how nerds are born. It is intense and you wish nobody else were here so the people that are here you have to trust. When music and trust and camera and dark empty dive all get together it is insane.
Photography is sexy this way. Shot.
Got it, the candle. I turn toward the stage. There is a table, I sit near. Hands playing instruments, a slide on a finger on a guitar. Music. Shot. Check the shot. Lighting is different, adjust as needed. Shot. Again. The hand moved. Shot. Got it. Another just in case.
Drums. A beat my heart has already adjusted to. A face here but not. I recognize another place. Shot. Check. Damn. Adjust. Another. Several more. I hope I got it so I can bring it here to you.
Maybe next time.
Woodstomp now has a website.
I am grateful for practice, for music, for photography.
I am grateful for the ability to share what I love.