March 16, 2008

Connecting semi-random dots

A little meandering brain action...on music, photos, friends.

Last Thursday night some friends talked me into driving up to the 'Burgh to see Chris Knight, a singer songwriter from Kentucky with a dedicated fan base but not a lot of national exposure. It was kind of a tough sell, after a long work day and to see someone I've never really listened to beyond a once-through his myspace tunes. On the other hand, in the last few years I've grown to appreciate "Americana" - a term I don't really like, by the way - a lot more than I ever expected I would. I mean, I have fond memories of traveling around South America with a friend in the early 90s, listening to Uncle Tupelo, but for me Americana (or one of the numerous other things this genre gets called) has always been one of those "I like the idea of it but listening to it, eh, not so much" things.

Chris Knight hit me firmly in the "meh" zone. He's a wonderful lyricist and storyteller, but with the singer/songwriter, one guy on the stage with his guitar setup, the songs kind of sounded all the same. And this is all my problem, but his voice sounds like Mellencamp, and there is only so much of that I can take. The guy who talked me into going was in heaven, which was good. And it was fun to hang out, and watch people drinking beers and having fun (watching, given that I am a lightweight and one will put me to sleep).

Another of the members of our group brought his fancy Nikon and was taking lots of photos. It was a great setup for getting close shots, a tiny "club" in a Pittsburgh neighborhood. Club is a loose term, because a friend who lives a few blocks away expressed wonderment that we had gone to a show there, since everyone int he neighborhood knows it as an "old man bar," aka the kind where the local retirees are snockered by 2pm. The point being, the place probably held about 100 people, max, on its best day, an the stage was a short platform with no barrier between the music and the crowd. My friend with the camera got to be up close, and get some nice "nose hair perspective" (you know, crouching under the singer looking up) photos. I'm not sure what camera he had, but he had the most brutal flash I've ever experienced. It was like those new car headlamps that are surely great for the person driving the car, but blind the oncoming traffic. It hurt even with my eyes closed. We were all ready to kill him by the end of the night, and he was shooting from behind us. I can't imagine what it was like to take that full in the face.

I have another friend who I consider a "real" photographer. She has worked mostly in daily print journalism, from entertainment to covering school board meetings, but also does quite a bit of freelancing, mostly for music magazines. We'll call her Slash, because works as a writer slash photographer. Slash is great at both, and has that skill of being able to very quickly compose and capture shots and be invisible at the same time. Unlike Flash Boy. As good as she is, especially at rock portraits (including some amazing shots of Patti Smith that I'm not sure her employer at the time ever ran in print), Slash is enthusiastic and nonjudgmental in her encouragement of others. She has aided and abetted my amateur aspirations. We've gone on a couple of photographic expeditions, and loosely worked our combined efforts into something that might be exhibitable.

And this friend was also responsible for letting me be her assistant on a couple of concert shoots. This meant that I got to tag along and hang with her, and get to use her much better gear. And a couple of times, she took a set or two off to let me be the one in the pit, especially when the Flaming Lips were onstage. It happened at Coachella, when Wayne Coyne debuted his giant hamster ball, which had a standard three song pit policy. It also happened at Allgood, which had no three and out, so I got to take lots and lots and lots (and lots and lots) of photos.

See, I have this thing about the FLips. My co-blogger sees it as a sickness, but I call it "enjoying a show."

All of this was a very roundabout way of getting to what started this post in the first place. Some amazing concert photos, of the only other band I have seen live as often (and it's getting to be more than) and whose music I love as much as the Flaming Lips. It happens to be a set of photos from a band my co-blogger introduced me to, and about which we now both have the "sickness." This band is the Drive By Truckers. We both have written about DBT before, and there also seems to be some kind of Appalachian IR love thing going on with the band that suggests it's not just us. I can't write enough good things about this band, and about their live shows, and I can't write anything about them without descending into total fan geekdom, so I'll restrain myself for your sake. As I've said before, however, you should go see them. Now. Get there early and stand right in front of Patterson Hood and he might share his Jack Daniels with you. We are talking about The Rock Show here, after all.

Anyway, here are the amazing shots of DBT on Leap Day (Via Alabama Ass Whuppin' and Pointy Pointy). The photographer has a great eye, excellent placement and some really fucking nice equipment. I've had my amateur ass close to the stage a bunch, but in the crowd, with not-so-nice gear, and bouncing around like a happy dork. Take the chance to go check out Todd Owyoung's photos because he clearly suffers from none of those deficits.

Let there be rock (and photography)!

Posted by binky at March 16, 2008 10:22 PM | TrackBack | Posted to Music


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