There are several reasons to post Bloc Party after Franz Ferdinand.

One is because I was lucky enough to shot both of them 4 days apart.
One because they make a perfect a British indie-rock combo for liveon35mm.
One is because they could both be struggling in the near future, so it’s a now or nev… er, let’s say, not in a long time.

I will get there, but go back in times because another less known reason, and more interesting, is because the success of Bloc Party was due also thanks to Franz Ferdinand.

It was at a Franz Ferdinand early gig in 2003 that Kele Okereke, the Bloc Party singer, handed their first single She’s Hearing Voices both at Alex Kapranos and Steve Lamacq, BBC Radio one DJ who was there, got the copy, loved the track, aired the song and called them to play live.
Quite an intriguing indie start, John Peel style.

Analogy continues within their discographies. Bloc Party recorded three albums of which the first, Silent Alarm, is their masterpiece; the second, A Weekend in the City, is OK and the third, Intimacy, has been defined as “experimental” basically because it took the electronic direction needed to get out of the cage of guitar-rock before it was too late. I talked about this on my Franz Ferdinand article, you can see a similar trend in their discographies.

Parenthesis
I would, but I will not, start a long rant about the uselessness of the word “experimental” when used to describe something that has nothing to with experimenting and all to do with “different from what they used to be and with less ideas that needed to be hidden with the use of waves of laptop generated sounds and some noise”. I will not go further, I am waiting to have the opportunity to shoot Flaming Lips then I’ll come back to the the real significance of experimental when talking about their latest fatigue, Embryonic, which indeed fits with the definition of “experimental album”.
Parenthesis closed

I’ve met Bloc Party first time some years ago when they where third on the bill of the now legendary NME tour headlined by the Killers, Futurheads and closed by Kaiser Chiefs. One thing was immediately clear there, they were far better than Kaiser Chiefs. An easy one.

The thing that most impressed me at that gig was the power of Matt Tong’s drumming. Something I didn’t realized from the album. Together with Matt Helders of the Arctic Monkeys they are the two best drummer to have appeared in UK for a long time.
If your name is Matt and your dream is to become a rockstar, leave that guitar and get involved with a drum kit!

The other nice thing was to see a black guy fronting an indie-rock band.
Breaking the cliché of black meaning hip-hop, funk, R&B, soul, blues or reggae.
It also has the interesting consequence of bringing a lot of black guys into indie-rock.

While I wander among the fans waiting for the pit to open to photographers (five minutes before this time, every concert a new, funny rule appears), I notice that there is an unconventional multiracial audience. Pretty much non existent at indie-rock concerts in England, as for example at theFranz Ferdinand gig I saw just few days before.

I have a qustion with a bitter aftertaste. I wonder if black people go to Bloc Party gig because of Okereke or if they don’t go to other indie rock shows because there is not an Okereke. Bloc Party music is neither different nor more black oriented than any other brit indie-rock. Is it the presence of Kele in the band to attract them? an open question.

The sold out Cambridge concert spans through the entire career with a deeper attention to the most recent stuff, leaving only few (too few) gems from their debut in the setlist.
Fans are inundated by a wave of decibels supported by three huge additional speakers put on the pit floor. It is very loud.

Good to get people excited from the beginning, Halo, followed by Waiting for the 7.18 and then the single Mercury which people greets with a big cheer.

Kele in his baseball hat is in a good mood, showing off his muscles, playing is telecaster or walking over those speakers to touch the adoring fans.

The band goes now two step at a time, back in time. Talons follows Signs, both from Intimacy. Hunting For Witches, that causes another huge roaring precedes Songs for Clay from A Weekend in the City . Finally a Silent Alarm song touches the ear of the eager fans. The reaction to Banquet is what you can imagine.

The two guitars, provided by schooltime friends Kele Okereke and Russell Lissack, alternate riffs as a chat on a basketball field. The bouncing of one guitar to the other and back is one of the trademarks of Bloc Party music and Banquet is probably the song where it shows up at his best.

Still a short break. Where is Home, Ion Square and Two More Years follow.
I enter that feeling where, after a few songs, the music I am listening looses its appeal.
The lightshow tonight is more a disco than a rock gig. Strobo and pulsing white backlights made my cameras crazy and are now making my eyes too.

I stop following the beat and find myself focusing on the details, which is not good to appreciate a rock show.
I realize Matt Tong is not that rumbling drummer I remembered, probably when he recently open the gossips declaring “I wouldn’t mind trying something else for a while” He meant it.
The Prayer closes the main set but the band comes back for the encores.

Still centred on their more electronic stuff, Ares and Flux, finally introduce the song everyone is waiting.

When Helicopter’s scattered rhythm flies over the venue, the excitement flies higher and reaches the stars.

Bloc Party lyrics have always been quite misterious.
When they look simple as this one, thought to be against Bush and its Iraq war, Kele intervened to say it was not.

I still like to read it as it is.

“…Just like his Dad, just like his Dad (the same mistakes)
Some things will never be different
Hungry and dumb, hungry and dumb (so wait in line)
Queuing up for some more junk food
It’s not my fault, it’s not my fault (just this once)
They’re getting so much younger

Why can’t you be more European
Bastard child of guilt and shame
Bury your head in the sand
I’m thinking six, six, six
I’m thinking six,

Are you hoping for a miracle?”

Are we hoping for a miracle? I don’t believe in miracles.
With no record deal signed, music changing, a new decade arriving (I know I am repeating myself) it may be true that we are not going to have Bloc Party for a while. Rumours increase, Kele recently said:

“We don’t know what the future holds, It’s weird, we’re out of contract now so… we might take a year off, we might take three years off…. we might never make a record again or we might head straight back in and do a record. We’ll see how we feel come the end of this touring cycle.”

…and just few days later arrives even the news that Kele is working on a solo project.

Matt Tong statement had its rock-solid foundation.

Thinking at Oasis and Blur recent stories I can see a pure marketing strategy in this. In current times it is much more rewarding to split up when times get tough and, eventually, plan to comeback with an acclaimed reunion tour in 5 years. It pays better dividends than struggling to put together a couple of pale albums that sound out of fashion and being forgotten forever or relegated to a small cult following.

Libertines lead the way, times seem mature to paving the road and set up this strategy in the foreseeable future. If it works, be sure more bands will follow.
Bloc Party are strong candidate to be one of them, see you in 2015 guys.

In the meanwhile you can be in touch with Bloc Party here [website] [myspace] [spotify]

Photo tip

I am not in the best position to talk about focusing, because I am not an expert of autofocus at all. I exclusively manual focusing at gig, why?

First because I don’t have AF cameras, which you may see as being a good point.

Second because I am a control freak so the more things I control the happier I am. Not even particularly good on trusting people, can you imagine myself trusting an electronic device? Who tell it what I want to focus?

Manual focusing is not as difficult as it sounds once you are used to it. The main problem of modern DSLR is that they do not have a focusing glass with the stigmometer in it. That is the nice optical tool that in the centre of the frame splits the image you see in two parts when not in focus. Best DSLR can change the focusing screen, if you want to go manual, first thing to do is to replace your standard with this. It is useful.

A trick I often use at gigs is to memorize before the start the key distances from where I could be and where the band will be and then set them on the lens. It works well with wide angles and very well with ultra wide angles where depth of field is less of an issue.
You can then simply fix it and concentrate on composition.

It may look awkward and I may change my mind if I end up using an AF DSLR but so far, all my pictures are manually focused. There is a lot of waste, many out of focus images on average (often the good ones) but I am not sure there is much less coming out of a AF shot set, especially when tricky odd colours, strobo and back-lightning conditions are the norm, as this night. Let me know

It was 2004.
It was the Astoria.
I listened to Take me Out on a Radio, went to seetickets, and I bought a ticket for Franz Ferdinand straight away. Didn’t know anything about them. Not even that it was a band and not the name of a solo artist.
The album was out around those days and UK had something that had been missing for a while: a proper, good, cheerful art-rock band.

Five years later, Take me Out still stands out as one of the defining song of this decade. Franz Ferdinand, the debut album, is one of the defining album of this decade.
Franz Ferdinand, the band, came out of a Glasgow School of Art, brought Scotland back on track, gave an injection of positive energy to the depressing scene of the second half of the noughties.

This was happening, not accidentally, when the defining band of the first half of the noughties, The Libertines, was morphing into a soap opera. Pete Doherty (more than) Carl Barat decadent romanticism was filling more tabloid pages than concert venues.

Franz Ferdinand blossomed and looked destined to become the biggest band in UK. After the Beatles, Bowie, Roxy Music and Blur they were the heir of the art-rock with a pop, smiling twist.

Franz Ferdinand debut won everything an album can win. The Mercury Prize, some Brit Awards, NME awards and was praised by the critics and the ever growing fans everywhere.

During the following months they underwent the usual promotion stuff. Endless touring and a huge pressure from any direction to release a follow up that had to fulfill the expectations.
The band spent most of 2005 to record You Could Have It So Much Better.

I can still remember piles of CDs in FOPP (a UK record shop) on the Sunday before the release.
If not as refreshing as the debut, which is quite rare after such a successful album, it is still a good work with some great tunes. It has the positive-attitude-with-an-arty edge, courtesy of Rodchenko this time, to which everyone could keep dancing.

While Franz Ferdinand were recording the second album, a singularity was about to perturbing the path of the Scottish band. From Sheffield, with an unprecedented trajectory in the history of British music, the orbit of the Arctic Monkey was about to obscuring every other sun it met.

Arctic Monkeys sold out the Astoria, the venue where I saw Franz Ferdinand first time, even before being signed. When a label convinced Alex Turner to pick up a pen the name on the other half of the contract was Domino, the same label of Franz Ferdinand.

Whatever People Say I Am, That’s What I’m Not, Arctic Monkeys first album, is the fastest selling debut album in UK chart history.
Regardless of mp3, internet, the decline of record industry or any other interfering 21st century device, not the Beatles, not the Stones, not the Oasis managed to sell as many album as the Arctic Monkeys debut. It clocked over 360 thousand copies in the first week. It was early 2006 and brit-pop was changing once again.

Franz Ferdinand after a triumphant tour supporting You Could Have It So Much Better, including a record 4 nights in a row at Alexandra Palace (one of which I was present) had to have a break and understand where to go.

The following break was a long one. Third album announced for ages hasn’t been out until early this year. 2009.
It would be unfair to say that Tonight: Franz Ferdinand is as good as the previous two albums, it is not. It sound as a transition album that tries to glue together the first, happy guitars driven, life of the band, with the next, that still has to delineate but clearly moves towards electro-beats.
There are ideas but they are not mature.

A song stands out, the 7 minutes of Lucid Dreams act as the light at the end of the tunnel which suggests the direction.

I rush to the Brixton Academy on a friday night of October 2009, to see Franz Ferdinand for the third time at their most difficult times.

The hype isn’t there anymore, the decade is ending and the music scene is changing. Either towards electronics or noise-pop, the space for guitar infused brit-pop is narrow.
Six strings are not on fashion anymore, if you don’t adapt either split (Dirty Pretty Things, The Rakes) or announce a break(Bloc Party).
The few space left is for the biggest act which at the moment is the Arctic Monkeys however they sniffed the change too and asked the wizard Josh Homme to help for a new direction. They are not the guys to follow a path but to indicate another, if the attempt has been successful is debatable.

Franz Ferdinand know very well how to put on a concert, how to please the fans and most important how to have fun altogether.

They open with Do You Want To which, in two verses and 20 seconds, gets all the Brixton academy dancing. They won’t stop for the next 15 minutes.

Three album is the perfect number to put on a setlist that doesn’t need fillers.
No You Girls is one of the song David Bowie would write today if he was 25 and Tell Her Tonight from the debut album shows how that stuff is still sounding bloody good.

Can’t Stop Feeling is not one of their best moment and needs This Fire to get the audience back to the dance floor at the rhythm of “burn this city, burn this city”.

Same scheme, Live Alone, one of the future looking, synth infused tracks from Tonight:…, has the synth riff that looks forward, it sounds better live than on record.
The Dark Of The Matinée doesn’t need introduction, it is one of the tracks that will let Franz Ferdinand fill the Brixton Academy for life, whatever they record in the future. Brilliant.
Walk Away darkens the context a bit more but keep the excitement very high, no one will “walk away” but stay for Take Me Out and the apotheosis that follows. Played slightly differently than the original, it is never a good idea to reinterpret your classics if you are not Bob Dylan, still is a great song with that change of tempo and guitar bit that caught me more than five years ago.

Ulysses pays the price of a chorus that goes “La, lalla la la”, which is not my cup of tea but everyone seems to enjoy it, so it’s OK, it’s just me.

Michael has the staccato guitar borrowed from Gang of Four, a key band to Franz Ferdinand’s music, look, technique, everything.
Turn It On, What She Came For and Outsiders close the main set. On paper they don’t look the best of the closures but live deliver definitely a better effect than when I tried to replay the same sequence at home while writing this.

Back for the encore, the concert has arguably the best moment of the night.
Alex Kapranos arrives solo with his guitar to play Jacqueline’s intro while slowly the rest of the band took place. From the moment the songs burst till the curfew, almost half an hour later, the gig has been pure madness.

They covered All My Friends by LCD Soundsystem and than plunged in that long electronic suite which is Lucid Dreams.
If during the concert at some point I had the sensation that Franz Ferdinand may have made their time, not really because of their fault but because the changing music environment doesn’t suit them anymore, with this song I had to review my ideas. Hypnotic and relentless the four guys delighted the audience with a trip that seemed endless and never had a weak point. Five thousands people dancing to the synth trance lead by Nick McCarthy and followed by the others. Once at a time they stop playing and walk away (this time for real) to come back for the final ovation.

I am convinced the future will give us loads of electronica, I might have to accept synthesizers myself, though.
Clever bands as Franz Ferdinand are leaving telecasters at home, Rodchenko in Russia and opting for Bauhaus design and the Krautrock architectures. They have idea, just need to focus them.

The low key, dub experiment attempted with Blood: Franz Ferdinand, basically a remix album of Tonight: Franz Ferdinand (with the titles of the songs and the order changed) cannot be ignored.
We will see where they go, surely I will go to see them live again. An experience not to be missed.

Franz Ferdinand is online [website] [myspace] and you can listen to the entire discography on [spotify]

Photo tip

There is one thing I didn’t like of this gig, the position of the band on stage.
I don’t understand why bands at the Brixton Academy have to stand 4 meters away from the front.

To take pictures of a band so far from the camera, with monitors, cables and empty spaces in the way, is distressing. For fans it is disappointing. Getting there early to grab the front barrier and then realizing your heroes are standing quite away isn’t nice.

True, they move and come to the front (once every so often) to play a solo, but in three songs this happens a couple of times, and the area is very dark. The lights are on the back behind a remote microphone stand.

I don’t like telephoto shots but there was no option. The further I go with my gears is a 200mm prime lens, but i don’t like that lens. So most of the times I have with me my 135mm f/2.8. It is the furthest I go and rarely use it.
It has many pros. It’s light, is still usable at 1/125s with no blur, it is quite fast. If you are firm and the subject doesn’t move too much even at 1/60s gives usable photos.

Wide open (it’s rare to use it at a different aperture than f/2.8 at gigs) has a very short depth of field, be careful on focusing, but the increasing distance between you and the musician helps. Depth of field becomes longer with distance.

The reason I am talking about this lens is also because I am not a fan of zooms. People when thinks at telephoto today desire one of those 70-200mm f/2.8 which are big, heavy and quite expensive.
So, if you need a fast telephoto which will save some different conditions without overdrafting your account search for a 135mm f/2.8 on the market. You won’t be disappointed and the quality often is better than the big zoom. If you work with a cropped sensor it would be even longer.

In the middle age of photography the triad 28mm, 50mm and 135mm was the accepted standard and allowed loads of photographers to shoot most situations. It is still true.

There is no way to stop the time (not that I am aware of), however it can be refreshing and reassuring to forget the present and travel back to live again the old good days once more.

Let’s fix this before I move on, because I believe this is the only reason why bands reunite, any band. To cash on people’s nostalgia and eventually to have some more fun under the spotlights.

It is not a criticism, I just don’t like all the attempts of justifying a comeback claiming “artistic reasons”. I have never seen an artist with whatever successful career to gave it up and reunite a previous band for a comeback destined to fail. Go guess.

I saw Skunk Anansie live at the top of their success. They were selling gzillions, they were a young outburst of energy. Stoosh was just out, the nineties just turned their first half and the rock world was overwhelmed by naughty guitars, radical politics and fights for civil rights.

No frills and social consciousness was the rule, the obvious reaction to the glittery eighties.

Skunk Anansie were a strange entity. They had one foot in the alternative side of music and the other in the pop mainstream. Which is the reason why people either love or hate them. Typical.

A big commercial success doesn’t help gaining the “alternative army”. Charting triggers a veto on what you are allowed to listen to. It’s probably the most universally accepted rule about alternative music.
Signed to a Major? Pop-charts? Keep away, avoid.

A more rational reaction could be that Skunk Anansie music didn’t come out of the blue. It was, in fact, the perfect cocktail of some of the trendiest sounds that where happening those times. Cocktail to be drunk watching the catwalk at the London fashion week, circa 1996.

On one side they picked the blossoming crossover of funk with heavy guitars coming from the States.

It had started (guess) at CBGB with the likely of Living Colour which understood the feelings of a black community getting bored with Rap (now Hip-hop) altered course. Their mix of slap bass, hard drums, flamboyant guitar solos along deep lyrics took the Public Enemy lesson into rock arenas. With the help of “funk the preacher” hard rock for the first time wasn’t a matter of white people anymore.

Living Colour debut masterpiece, Vivid, opened the doors to a tornado that, among the others, hit LA and gave us Tom Morello. Electric guitar was plugged back straight into the ampli, radical politics were back in fashion. Rage Against the Machine were born, and Skunk Anansie got to know their album very well.

At home, London, music fans came out of the eighties split in two halves. One followed the rock decadence of Brit-pop. The hard partying, alcohol-fuelled, coke enhanced stories of the Gallaghers and friends was one.
The other half used to wait for weekends to swallow pills and raving relentlessly till late mornings afters the obsessive waves techno.

Bands like the Prodigy got the idea and put together the post-punk rebellion with the electronic music that those masses loved to dance giving them a Music for the Jilted Generation.

Skunk Anansie found themselves at the right moment in the right place. They combined these two aspects using the glue of fashion. Fronted by Skin.

Skin. A black, lesbian, feminist, skinny, bald woman. A political activist in the body of a model. A terrifying look (on stage), an irrepressible energy with a tender, sweet voice always on the brink to explode after a nervous breakdown. There was nothing similar around.

A well manufactured product. There is the idea, there is the image and let’s admit it, there were the songs too. Inevitably a pop-rock band destined to a big success.

It lasted three albums and about five years. The first two, Paranoid and Sunburnt and Stoosh still on the glorious One Little Indian label, than the signing to the major, Virgin, for their last effort Post Orgasmic Chill.
That closed Skunk Anansie intense career just when the 90s and their music were all going to end. Living Colour, Rage Against the Machine and Prodigy curves were all on a steep drop.

A new decade opened. A decade where heavy sounds and anything reminiscent of a funk groove was going to be banned. Time came for a lighter, jingle jangle garage rock played by bands in fashion design. Julian Casablanca and The Strokes, Jack & Meg and their (red and) White Stripes blew the grungy nineties away. It’s the noughties, the 00s.

That was 10 years ago. Today, October 2009, we are 2 months away from the end of even 00s decade. The Strokes and White Stripes, if they still exist, have been on hiatus for more than a while.
You can see the parallel I am getting at. As at the end of the 90s, bands defining these years will inexorably leave space to the next generation. There is no way to stop progress.

In this panorama, Skunk Anansie reformed. The environment is totally different. Rage, raves and funk are gone for now. Brooklyn still leads the scene, but its sound is more complex, multilayered, experimental, electronic beats pioneered by Grizzly Bear, Animal Collective, Yeasayer.

The image of the angry, lesbian, feminist is today embodied by Beth Ditto, the furthest image of woman you could choose to compare to Skin.
But Gossip, her band, are the mirror image of what Skunk Anansie where in the 90s, projected in the 00s.
Their music is crafted with the same philosophy. Putting together the most interesting trends and boosting it up with an explosive frontwoman.
Some coarse guitars, bits of garage rock, the contradictory concept of  punk attitude in fashion dresses.

Like Skunk Anansie, Gossip published the first albums on the independent Kill Rock Star label before moving to Columbia at the court of Rick Rubin who, when not dealing with immortal artists (Johnny Cash, Neil Diamond), is not that guru that the press depicts.

History repeats itself, but time doesn’t.

When I read that Skunk Anansie were going to reform, I imagined another market survey on nostalgia sitting on the desk of a managerial meeting.
Graphs, tables, indicators suggesting there is enough people in Europe wanting to listen Hedonism again (just because they feel good).

Skin, Cass, Ace and Mark are back.
Skunk Anansie played two gigs at Monto Water Rats in March. Same place where everything began in 1994. Than they have been recording, managing a Greatest Hits album (out in weeks), reharsing and, here we go, reunion tour.
Several sold out dates including Brixton academy suggest that survey wasn’t wrong.

London 7th of October, Electric Ballroom hosts the opening night. Thirteen years later I am waiting for the band to come on stage, again.

What to expect? Would they try to adapt to present taste or pretend time has frozen and give the fans the same feeling of their twenties?

A look at the crowd is revealing. There aren’t many teenagers here but loads of thirty-something people chatting about their old memories.

Skin comes on stage hidden inside a sort of gigantic, metallic pom-pom, which reflects any possible lights, makes any camera go crazy. It is difficult to understand where she actually is. The “wow effect” mode is on.

Not really possible to photograph properly I get distracted by the song, inevitably, Selling Jesus. The first song of the first album. Marketing is someway predictable once you know its mechanism.

Thankfully the giant pom-pom goes and I Can’t Wait arrives.
With a greatest hits about to be published, a greatest hits set-list is what people expects and what people will have.

Skin doesn’t seem to have lost an inch of the energy I remembered despite she’s in her forties. Cass, who is almost in his fifties, doesn’t seem to have lost a single hair of his dreadlocks either.
Time does flow, but for rockstars it does slower. The rock’n'roll deal with the devil must have been revised and extended recently.

Song after song, the band becomes more confident. Ace’s guitar starts to play its angular riffs, Skin voice is tuned up and better balanced at the sound mixing desk. The concert becomes more intense. Because of You, a new single goes, then Charity generates the first big jubilation from the public.

100 Ways To Be a Good Girl follows, ironically, Skin behaves as a bad girl. She introduces the song as “this is a song from MY first album” which is a bit of a gaffe when you’re finally back with your band. Nevermind.
Charlie Big Potato is one of their last good songs. Skunk Anansie distinctive mix of heavy riff and Skin sensual voice. When you are able to make thousands of people dance, nothing else matter, it is working.

I Don’t Wanna Kill You is another new song that answers my question. No new exploratory direction, Skunk Anansie are back in the nineties. Time has stopped, lyrics are classic Skin lyrics:

“I don’t wanna see you,
I don’t wanna touch you,
I don’t wanna talk
‘cos I just wanna fuck you”

Ok fine, got that Deborah.

Weak has signs of ageing while Brazen eternal arpeggio, a must-be track on any “Best of the 90s” compilation, produces a mass sing-along once more.

“Why don’t you weep when I hurt you,
why don’t you weep when I cut you,
you don’t bleed and the anger builds up inside”

Twisted (Everyday Hurts), Cheap Honesty, On My Hotel T.V., Skank Head all comes one after the other. You know where you are, they know what to give. The concert finishes, ecstatic fans ask for more. Non fans simply are not here.

More they obviously get, and predictable is the encore.
Hedonism (just because you feel good) is what everyone have been waiting for. After Brazen, this is the other ballad where Skin’s sweeter side and Skunk Anansie mix of influences all build up to converge on the guitar solo. Tonight longer and openly acknowledging Tom Morello.

Listening to the words, I read a different meaning, the lyrics tonight seem written for the fans reunited

“I hope you’re feeling happy now
I see you feel no pain at all it seems
I wonder what you’re doin’ now
I wonder if you think of me at all
Do you still play the same moves now
Or are those special moods
For someone else
I hope you’re feeling happy now.

Just because you feel good
Doesn’t make you right (oh no)
Just because you feel good
Still want you here tonight”

and the audience seem to agree. Happy it tolerates another new song, Squander, before the closure with Little Baby Swastikkka, back from the debut.

Another reunion is on for fans (not anymore) orphan of their heroes.
Skunk Anansie are back for them, and they are excited about it.

They played exactly the concert fans wanted. They try to look as similar as possible to what they were. The songs, the energy, the music, the appeal even the age.
They won’t recruit new followers. They are not mythical and “alternative” enough to attract new youngsters (as Dinosaur Jr or Pavement, for example) but are still young enough to gather some fans wanting to get that dance floor feeling for few more times, if they manage to find a baby-sitter.

Skunk Anansie reunited on the web too: [website] [myspace] [spotify] [twitter]

Photo tip

What to do when you can’t do nothing?

When it is impossible to focus, frame, set the camera because at the same time is too dark, too unpredictable and too hectic.

With Skin wrapped into a shiny ball jumping here and there relentlessly during the first song, shooting was a matter of a surrealist approach to photography a century later.

One option is to enjoy the song and hope it’ll change.
Another is to attempt a slot of random shooting.
If you can’t really control the results, simply don’t control anything.
Failure is guaranteed but if you are lucky out of the bunch there may be some interesting stuff.

As long as there is enough light to impress your sensor (whichever it is) there will be an image.

Fix the focusing and the lens. My suggestion is to manual focus to a point of the stage that gives you some rough certainty that when the subject will be there it will be on focus.
Use a wider angle to avoid undesired cropping. You can always crop in postproduction, there is not shortage of pixels in modern DSLR.
Set a slightly faster shutter time, Let’s say for a 28mm shoot at least at 1/60s so to frozen the madness. Ignore your anti-shaking system, it is not you moving it’s your subject so it can’t help.

Most important stop trying to understand what is happening, let it go.
enjoy

Yeasayer album All Hour Cymbals entered the Pitchfork list of 200 albums of this ending decade which is, considering the number of albums released in ten years, quite an achievement. Expectedly the Pitchfork choice is based on the analogy they found to their passions, TV On the Radio, Animal Collective and the other Brooklyn bands who are experimenting one way or the other the mixture of traditions with electronics, eclecticism with pop melodies.

I haven’t removed All Hour Cymbals from my playlist since I discovered it, more than two years ago now. It is rare that an album, after so many listenings, is still capable to disclose something unexpected. It is an endless revelation. Playing the CD is like entering into a big castle helped by a laser beam. A beautiful room after another discloses with all their multicultural object.

The album is a strong experimental project retaining a delightful pop edge, spiced up by remote, unexpected influences. The success of their first single, 2080 defied the gravity laws showing that this mix is not only possible but works so beautifully to induce Talking Heads reminiscences in several listeners.

That the band is part the other Brooklyn projects I named above (Grizzly Bear could be another of their myspace friends) is obvious. I found surprising that their relationship with Akron/Family went missing.

Listen to Germs or Ah, Weir. They are the perfect examples of how the Akron/Family ability of inserting folky influences in a psichedelic infuse music, originating from the Buddhist philosophy of the Far East, has been adopted by Yeasayer to get to a different result.
If Akron/Family North American folk is permeated by obsessive mantras filtrated through John Lennon melodies; Yeasayer flower blossoms in Brooklyn with its roots dipped into the exotic scales and hectic rhythms of the Middle East.
They add sensual rhythms and sunset vibes to their electro-grooves. Where Akron/Family provides the soundtrack of your subway journey to get to your hour of Zen meditation, Yeasayer offer the ticket to get to your belly dancing class next door.

A sounds in Wait For The Summer are difficult to understand whether recorded in a market street in Beirut, a hi-tech studio in Manhattan or delivered straight from an outer planet through an unknown wireless protocol.

I wasn’t intending to do a track by track review of the album but I can’t resist to link some of their songs to share the amazing ability of these guys to cross the music planet from East to Western Waves and then ride them back to an Eastern Red Cave. Inside it is packed with voices that bring the listeners’ imagination closer to places we dream (or fear) without knowing.

Despite I know All Hour Cymbals by heart, it is only when the five guys come to the stage to support Bat For Lashes’ (!?) Autumn’s tour that I realize I have never visualized them.

Chris Keating is the singer. Both physically and for his stage presence he reminds me of the National singer Matt Berninger to the point that I double checked on Wikipedia they are not brothers! With such a Brooklyn invasion you never know. He also plays a keyboard responsible of the quirky synth effects.

On the back a bearded guy with a wool hat sit at the drums. His style is so relentless and he is so convincing that doesn’t look tired to bring the rhythm from the springs of river Euphrates to the Western Africa shores on a dromedary caravan through the Sahara desert. All in just 40 minutes.

Next to the drum kit a black guy is surrounded by a plethora of instruments on the back of the chaotic stage. He could fit on TV On The Radio line-up. Among his vast choice of sound-producing devices he goes for some keys and a digital drum machine. Layers of electronic percussions mixed up with the exotic drummer create the fertile soil for the Yeasayer flower to blossom.

The music is intoxicating. I am distracted by the amount of ideas, polyrhythms, unpredictable twists each song takes.
Nonstop, up and down the earth plus some intergalactic excursions with the sensation of being at the same time, everywhere. Dematerialized.

On the front line, to the right the bass player manages to add funky loops that almost touch on my few dub reminiscences. His pulse is the hearth of the music, and, like the music, it is an unpredictably beating heart. It switches from melody to dissonance, from love to anxiety. Bent over the four strings his soul vibrates with those sounds. The magic takes shape.

On the front left the other key element of Yeasayer. Visually he is the memorable one, Anand Wilder. Raven Black hair frame bright, intense eyes that reveal ancient, dominant genes warmed up by the Mediterranean sun. He is with a Rickenbacker and another keyboard. Dressed into a camouflage uniform place himself in war zone. The guitar replaces the rifle and the results, you know, is known since Woody Guthrie wrote on his machine.
Wilder notes are bullets for the ears. The sound of a souk with a revolutionary attitude. Comfortable inside his overall he whips the ingredients of a spiced music mayo that only under New York City sky can blend without breaking down.

A phenomenal concert.

A marginal observation. Marginal because during this 40 minutes’ journey along four continents and a couple of extraterrestrial explorations the set list is a detail so irrelevant not even the band had it anywhere on stage. I am pretty sure Yeasayer played some new stuff which sounded great and hopefuly will be part of the long waited new album due in 2010. If All Hour Cymbals made the Pitchfork top 200 list album of this decade (and top 50 of 2007) they deserve a much better position for the next. I am looking forward to it.

You can stay in touch with Yeasayer on their [website] [blog] [myspace] and [spotify]

Photo tip

There is a small object, much cheaper than any gear used at gigs that should be always mounted on your lenses.
It saves money, it saves pictures. A Lens Hood.

It seems a silly advice, follow me and I will give you enough reason to go out there and spend few coins on it.

A lens hood first aim is intended to protect lenses from side lights that, especially on zooms and lenses with many elements can give rise to a quite nasty lens flare. It looks something not that important until you realize it ruined your favourite photo.

At concerts most of the light come from the top and the side of the stage which are the worst to affect the results. On average a lens provided with the right hood delivers crispier, more saturated images minimizing the foggy effect caused by these lights.

One common belief must be clarified. Even a lens hood can do nothing if the source of lights came straight through your glass.
In that backlights situation the only option you have passes through your wallet. A very good lens with an excellent coating.
The other thing affecting lens flare is the number of glass-air interfaces the light need to pass to get to the sensor (or the film). Less lenses is better hence prime lenses are better than zooms.
Now you know one more reason why I am not giving up film photography. To keep using the wonderful performance of Carl Zeiss T* primes with backlights and generally difficult light conditions.

Second, more important then your photos is your gear. A lens hood is also there to protect your front lens from undesired hits, scratches, greasy hands, beer and water splashing around, flying objects not counting flying teenagers!
There is a long standing debate among photographers about what is better between a UV filter or a lens hood. In concert photography I don’t have doubt: lens hood. No need to add another glass a real need of preventing flare

The last bit of this tip for the pit (nice one, uh?) is which lens hood to opt for.

Rigid or soft?
If it is provided with the lens, there is no point, use that one unless you are really after something special. Usually they are rigid which mean a better protection of your front glass, a bit less comfortable when mounted no difference on preventing flare.
If you are buying one, the soft rubber ones are cheaper, don’t need to be mounted or unmounted to put camera in the bag but are less secure on protecting your lens. I use this but my lenses are rock solid, bullet proof.

Wide or Narrow?
This is important. To avoid the lens hood to enter the field of view of the lens and cause vignetting it needs to have the right shape and length. For telephotos it is not really an issue, being their viewing angle very small, with wide angles you need a special one, it is written on the box, so read it carefully and don’t use beyond the suggested lens focal length.

Last I have a question for you. I don’t know which is the advantage of the flower-shaped lens hood now supplied as standard with zooms. Do you?

OK, September has gone, summer has gone. Live on 35mm enters its third year and Brooklyn, again, offers me the occasion to talk about another emerging great band.

A strange night this one at the Lexington. The Antlers close a mini London tour of four gigs in three days opening a friday night with an early show.

I read wonders about Hospice, The Antlers debut album, for months. I must say, the first time I came across them was much before Pitchfork and the rest of the indie-how-cool-I-am bunch that followed. It was reading a friend review on the Italian indie-rock.it webzine.
It may sound surprising to you, but yes there are some residual signs of free expression in Italy.

Peter Silberman had started writing the album during two years he lived secluded in a New York city flat. He was there to mourn the loss of a loving one for cancer. I have definitely a personal sympathy with the author of the album which obviously contributes to get me quickly into the mood, but if you are strong enough to face sad stories, keep reading these lines and immerse into the depth of the lyrics.

Hospice is another concept album gravitating about a loss. It adds to Bon Iver For Emma, Forever Ago and the recent Noah and the Whale’s The First Days of Spring.
Despite a parallel that brought the music press to write a lot of comparisons to Bon Iver I am here to stress the differences more than the analogies.

Not only the situation is not comparable, whoever Bon Iver has lost, Emma, his band or the faith in the world, his (wonderful, let’s be clear) album is not about death, not hospital death by cancer and this is not a small detail.

Musically, a key difference is the geographical position.
To conceal oneself in a cabin during three months of the Wisconsin winter is not as locking the door of a New York city apartment.
No signs of human presence permeates Bon Iver album, he put his thoughts in nine songs written on the white canvas of Wisconsin snow. Hospice breathes the sound of a city still leaving beyond the walls of Peter Silberman’s room.

Hopefully I arrive at the Lexington relatively early, no one advised me that the Antlers where opening the night. I discovered it on the stage times sheet on the door: Antlers 8:30 PM. Almost missed!!
There are two more bands following that I have never heard of. I wonder why such oddity, the venue packs up at eight it is evident everyone is here for these Brooklyn guys (and everyone knows about the early set but me).

I enter the Lexington upstair room with a beer and the boring idea to start twittering while waiting. Instead I realize the Antlers are sound checking which was a much better way to fill the time. Three young and easygoing guys crafting some of their songs in front of a guy at the soundboard, in fact more interested to eat his sandwich than play with the mixer buttons, nevermind.
It was nice to see the smiling folks, drama is a matter of the past, the atmosphere is happy and dedicated.

Half an hour later the concert starts.
Peter Silberman stands on the left, a bit on the back, behind his guitar. His body language reveals some shyness.
Michael Lerner sits behind a drum kit borrowed from 12 Dirty Bullets one of the bands that will follow.
Darby Cicci on the right, shoeless. His keyboards are pushed to the white tape signalling the end of the stage. Half a inch more and they would collapse over the audience.

Live the concert doesn’t follow the album progression.
The opening is for Bear, a simple song highlighted by the melody on the keyboards, slightly helped by a delicate intervention of the drums in the chorus. Minimal.

It evolves straight into Thirteen as in the album. The keyboards become darker and the gig becomes interesting. The lyrics hide one of the dramatic cry of help, it could be sang by PJ Harvey’s falsetto.

“…
Dig me out…
Oh, dig me out…
Couldn’t you have kept all this from happening?
…”
[Thirteen - The Antlers]

First important point.
If Peter Silberman is the founder and the mind behind the concept, Darby Cicci tonight is a key element to create the sound that holds the entire building. Without his keyboards there would be a void.
Silberman as a counterpart has a brilliant voice which doesn’t come out so intense from the record. The way he interprets the songs has the credibility of the one who first lived a difficult reality and then has slowly sublimated it into beautiful songs.

Sylvia follows. It is dedicated to the subject of the album and it is my favourite track.
The guitar has its revenge, the song highlighted by another set of distraught lyrics takes advantage of some noise to describe the anxiety of the disease and the frustration of the ones who cannot do much more than seeing it spreading, powerless.

“Please, curtains in. Start us off…
You swing first. Sorry.
I don’t know what I said,
but you’re crying now again,
and that only makes it worse.

Sylvia, I only talk when you are sleeping.
That’s when I tell you everything,
And I imagine that somehow you’re going to hear me.”
[Sylvia - The Antlers]

Atrophy is a ten minutes anaesthesia where the piano adds notes around verses where the narrator’s desperation reaches the climax.

“Someone, oh anyone. Tell me how to stop this.
She’s screaming, expiring, and I’m her only witness.
I’m freezing, infected, and rigid in that room inside her.
No one’s gonna come as long as I lay still in bed beside her.”
[Atrophy - The Antlers]

Whoever experienced death, is going to be symphatetic with Shiva, the next song. I never heard a song going so straight to the point. You may not bear reading this, but if you do you can’t deny the poetics wrapped into telling a drama.

“Suddenly every machine stopped at once,
and the monitors beeped the last time.
Hundreds of thousands of hospital beds,
and all of them empty but mine.

You checked yourself out when you put me to bed,
and tore that old band off your wrist.
But you came back to see me for a minute or less,
and left me your ring in my fist.
My hair started growing, my face became yours,
my femur was breaking in half.
The sensation was scissors and too much to scream,
so instead, I just started to laugh.”
[Shiva - The Antlers]

To close the short set, the Antlers played their most famous song, Two. The chronology of the events is inverted.

Two tells about another hard moment that you can symphatize only if you have been so unfortunate to live it. The moment when the doctor comes and tells you that there are no more chances.
That moment the entire world crumbles to your feet. That moment for the first time you understand even tears are worthless.

“In the middle of the night I was sleeping sitting up,
when a doctor came to tell me, “Enough is enough.”
He brought me out into the hall (I could have sworn it was haunted),
and told me something that I didn’t know that I wanted to hear:
That there was nothing that I could do to save you,
the choir’s gonna sing, and this thing is gonna kill you.
Something in my throat made my next words shake,
and something in the wires made the lightbulbs break.
There was glass inside my feet and raining down from the ceiling,
it opened up the scars that had just finished healing.
It tore apart the canyon running down your femur,
(I thougth that it was beautiful, it made me a believer.)
And as it opened I could hear you howling from your room,
but I hid out in the hall until the hurricane blew.
When I reappered and tried to give you something for the pain,
you came to hating me again and just sang your refreain:

There’s two people living in one small room,
from your two half-families tearing at you,
two ways to tell the story (no one worries),
two silver rings on our fingers in a hurry,
two people talking inside your brain,
two people believing that I’m the one to blame,
two different voices coming out of your mouth,
while I’m too cold to care and too sick to shout.”
[Two - The Antlers]

A packed Lexington howl for an encore that will not come. “Death is not the end” used to sing Dylan first and Nick Cave then, no it is not that, two more bands are due to play. Few stay, the venue empties.

Good news is that French Kiss signed the Antlers and is going to give Hospice a proper distribution so I will be waiting for their next tour. You should be too.

Meet the Antlers on [myspace] and listen to Hospice on [spotify] if you are in one of those lucky countries who can access it.

Photo tip

It was refurbished recently and is quickly becoming one of the coolest London venues. In the last months I have been at The Lexington quite often. In addition to the Antlers, the photos of Arbouretum and Twilight Sad were shot there.

Sited in Islington, a short walk from Angel tube station (and a bit longer from Kings Cross) it is a gastropub with an upstair room to host concerts.

The Room is bigger than the standard pub backroom, it is the perfect size to feel cosy without feeling lonely.
About 150 people capacity, I’d say, on two areas separated by a step. Bar and some sofas are on the back. than a bigger room with the small stage. There is no pit but usually enough room to move around even when it is packed.

Photographywise apart from being difficult to move along the front in the absence of pit the main problem is the lightining. So far anytime I went it was very dark. Consider working on very high Iso and bring with you that fast prime lens.

On the nice side there hasn’t been (so far) a strict photography policy. I always shot there with an agreed photopass but there were many people from the crowd shooting freely.
There is also a nice space, with three steps on the right that allows you to shoot side of the stage at the same level of the band. Be sure to ask in advance if you are allowed to step there even if you have a press pass.

Considering their policy of hosting bands than you would expect playing in larger places, The Lexington is a perfect venue to get in touch with the difficult art of shooting live music covering someone that is bigger than your mates reharsing in the pub down the road.

If you are there only for the music, all I can tell is that I saw there three amazing shows out of three I attended.

Let’s close September menu with the tastier of desserts.
Gang of Four is arguably the only other English band with Joy Division which can be defined influential without any shade of doubt over the last 30 years.

Luckily all the members are alive and doing well so if their myth couldn’t spread as it happens when some rockstar dies the plus is that they can still delight our ears playing live which is a much better option than seeing useless bootlegs made official to earn easy money.

That said, the occasion this time wasn’t just a gig, but the unmissable gig. A secret show in a pub in Hoxton. A warm-up for the upcoming tour which touched London just few days ago.

The Macbeth main room is so small that I probably have never been so close to a band before. Not such a legendary band at least.

Everyone entering the place looks around in surprise. The expression in their face hides thoughts like “are they really playing here”?
I notice a stool standing empty next to the small mixer desk with a sticker on it saying Andy Gill. I though it was for some of the guitarist friends, instead I realized, two days later, it was for the other Andy Gill, my favourite Independent music journalist famous to have written the best criticism to a band I ever read: “Why I Hate Coldplay” should be taught in schools.

I promise myself to go back to say hello but it’s packed and I am loving shooting the entire set.
He may hate Chris Martin but clearly loves his homonymous guitarist and the band he’s been fronting for 30 years There is no need of a long critical essay to explain “why he loves Gang of four”.

When this gang of four guys jump on stage the excitement of the all-ages audience is at the stars. The same stars that Jon King tries to touch climbing the scaffolding with the spotlights clamped on.
Punk may be dead, but post-punk is alive and kicking.

Return the Gift is the perfect song to start a gig that indeed is a gift. The opening riff shows the emblematic stage presence of Andy Gill (the guitarist): standing still, staring his imaginary horizon, showing off his is dry, neat staccato a key part of the “influential” adjective that goes with the band. Where do you think Franz Ferdinand or Block Party guitar riff origin? Have a guess, or better a listen to Entertainment! their landmark debut.

I was expecting an Entertainment! Night since they will be touring the album in its entirety, instead we have been treated with a greatest hits set which in the end was even more tasteful.

We Leave As We Dream, Alone followed and emphasizes the other half of the band. Jon King incisive, sharp lyrics. You can’t fully appreciate Gang of Four without reading their lyrics. King put together Marxist theory mixed with cynical English humour. As influential as their music, bands as different as Rage Against The Machine and Fugazi have been spending quite some time reading them.

“The city is the place to be
With no money you go crazy
I need an occupation!
You have to pay for satisfaction
We live as we dream, alone
To crack the shell we mix with the others
Some flirt with fascism
Some lie in the arms of lovers”

Ether the opening of Entertainment! is another example of acute writing sang in an overlapping duet over the unmistakable sound.

This music has never sounded so actual

“Trapped in heaven life style (locked in Long Kesh)
New looking out for pleasure (H-block torture)
It’s at the end of the rainbow (White noise in)
The happy ever after (a white room)
Dirt behind the daydream
Dirt behind the daydream”

They are in wonderful form, supported by two young guys, who replaced the original rhythm session the energy springs.

A recent song, Second life introduces an oldie, Not Great Man that, after the unique guitar and the clever lyricism, emphasizes the third aspect of Gang of Four ground breaking music: the pulsing, funky bass that for the first time in UK came out of the speakers so prominent.

A use of the bass as this hasn’t just influenced a band but an entire music trend blossomed the other side of the world. Flea from Red Hot Chilli Peppers always repeat that his life has changed after listening to Entertainment! Living Colours, The same Rage Against The Machine and back to Waes with Future of The Left all have been inspired by Dave Allen bass. Funnily enough tonight he is replaced by a young, good looking, dreadlocked guy who could clearly come from those sunny shores.

“No weak men in the books at home
The strong men who have made the world
History lives on the books at home

It’s not made by great men


The past lives on in your front room
The poor still weak the rich still rule

History lives in the books at home”

The formula is working and needs nothing more than keep going to enrapture anyone present, but there is more. The moment that sign epochs, the icing on the cake arrives.

Andy Gill assault his guitar for the first couple of minutes of Anthrax inundating the Macbeth with waves of feedback. Breathtaking, one of my favourite songs of all times. A lesson on use of noise in music. It goes without saying the Kafkian inspired lyrics suit the sonic attack perfectly.

“And I feel like a beetle on its back

And there’s no way for me to get up
Love’ll get you like a case of anthrax
And that’s something I don’t want to catch”

Break needed. Break achieved, Gang of Four open a window on Solid Gold their second album playing the two opening songs Paralysed which indeed gives a sensation of paralysis. It slows down the mood just those three minutes to let us retouch the ground and the guitar/bass/drum attack of What We All Want takes no prisoners.

Love is revisited for one of their better known songs Damage Goods and Jon King speaks it out clear

“Your kiss so sweet

Your sweat so sour

Sometimes I’m thinking that I love you

But I know it’s only lust”

I learn that Hero is a new song, nice to know they keep composing, while To Hell With Poverty is another example of Andy Gill mastering the art of feedback. He didn’t know he pioneered something years in advance, retrospectively you can see how ahead of times he was.

We got to the fake end, people call for more. The four leave the stage to the upstairs of the pub to come back in few minutes. I Love A Man In Uniform is one of their easiest songs of the post Dave Allen period, when Sara Lee gave to the sound a very 80s edge. it could have been an easy hit if it wasn’t banned by the BBC. It came out during the Falkland War and Mrs Thatcher couldn’t tolerate someone singing

“The good life was so elusive
Handouts, they got me down
I had to regain my self-respect
So I got into camouflage
The girls they love to see you shoot
I love a man in a uniform”

Natural’s Not In It is my favourite Gang of Four song. The song where they manage to best balance all their facets.
Tonight Andy Gill is on fire, the riff goes on and on, change of rhythm overlap with Jon King syncopated singing. I think how someone else, Anthony Kiedis, built a career taking inspiration from this song. The first Red Hot Chilli Peppers song was written in 1979, it would still be their best but it is not in any of their recording.

At Home He’s A Tourist marks a key point of their career. Invited to Top of The Pop to sing it, the band walked away when asked to change the word “rubber” to “packet”. The song was then banned from BBC, EMI dropped them to sign an emerging band: Duran Duran took their place. How couldn’t I love this four guys? How couldn’t I despise EMI?

“Down on the disco floor
They make their profit

From the things they sell

To help you cob off

And the rubbers you hide
In your top left pocket”

Cheesburgers and I Found That Essence Rare close the concert with the opening verses that make me realize even Manic Street Preachers have been influenced by Jon King writing.

“Aim for the body rare, you’ll see it on TV
The worst thing in 1954 was the Bikini
See the girl on the TV dressed in a Bikini
She doesn’t think so but she’s dressed for the H-Bomb”

This has been, no doubts, one of the greatest concert of the last few years. For its vibe, groove, energy, showmansip. My only regret, 5.45 was missing. One of my favourite lyrics which I paste it here for you:

“How can I sit and eat my tea,
with all that blood flowing from the television.
At a quarter to six,
I watch the news,
Eating, eating all my food
As I sit watching the red spot
In the egg which looks like
All the blood you don’t see on the television.

Still body now, no movement yet
Five men lie die flat on their backs
Were they born to lie in state
Defend the ever stagnate great?

Down on the street assassinate
All of them look so desperate
Declared blood war on the bourgeois state

Watch new blood on the 18 inch screen
The corpse is a new personality
Ionic charge gives immortality
The corpse is a new personality

Guerilla war struggle is a new entertainment”

Follow Gang of Four on their [website] [myspace] and if you live in the right country listen to everything they recorded on [spotify], if you don’t have it buy Entertainment! and make your album collection richer.

Photo Tip

A strange lighting situation at this gig, as you can see in some pictures.
Andy Gill was constantly under a very bright spot while the rest of the band was pretty much in usual concert darkness.

Photography in this condition is tricky.
You can’t let the camera decide the right exposure risk of over or under estimating the lighting is very likely.
You have to decide for what to expose (fix your average grey, zone 5, as Ansel Adams teaches) and handle the rest of the frame in order to avoid useless over or underexposure.

Most camera (even point and shoot ones) nowadays have a spot meter, which means they measure the light on a very small part centre of the frame.

Using this, remember two very important things.

If your subject is not in the centre, point at him than (read how to) lock the exposure on your camera, otherwise as soon as you point away from it to reframe, you loose the right measuring for the light your spot hits.

The spotmeter is not too clever. It doesn’t do what you have in mind, it simply measures the light of your selected spot and fixes it as the average. This means that using it you have to point at a region that you want to be average exposed, not too bright not too dark.
If you point it at your focal point but it is not lit “average” (as Andy Gill for example) you have to balance the measuring with the exposure compensation button. (read the manual).

To give you an example, I took the light on Andy Gill face, very bright, then I underexposed that measure one or two stops (-1/-2) in order to consider it was lighter than average. Basically you tell your camera, that you want his face 1 or 2 stops brighter than average. This allow the rest of the frame to emerge.

It is not a rigid rule, measuring it without compensating gives it well exposed and the surrounding comes out deep black, which could be good.

As always, it is not about applying the theory, but mastering it in order to control your results.

I am on holidays, so the Mr Hyde of Live on 35mm has been let free to take possession of this site and contradict its founding B&W-on-35mm-film-only philosophy. Enjoy this moment, holidays won’t be long, you won’t see colours here for a while.

It looks every three bands I write one is from Brooklyn. A measure of the amount of music being made there.

And it is Brooklyn again this time, but with a difference. Oneida do not belong to the contemporary wave of NYC music. They have been around for quite a while.

Oneida are a strange beast in the music panorama. Probably not my favourite beast but I told you it is my Mr Hyde ruling while I’m away.

Oneida represent a perfect example of genre defining band which has been in the music underground for quite a long time, so it fits this month leit-motif of influential, although not famous, bands.

Born more then 10 years ago, this is a band that is worth listening, especially if you are in love with a very simple concept: repetition.

Repetition in music is risky, some people get bored, some people get irritated, some just walk away.
Oneida members clearly don’t belong to any of these categories because they made of repetition the core of their compositions. They master the art of loops and recursive circles. Mostly instrumental the vocal parts are the only break to endless looping.

If with the previous article, Roky Erickson put in music paranoia, Oneida set obsessions to music.

An Oneida song can last few seconds or be a 20 minutes suite but rarely the concept at the foundation changes.
I reckon the length is about how long they feel the repetition has to go on to make (to them) sense.
Which is “fair enough” for the average listener but can be “brilliant” if you are sympathetic and enter into a particular loop.

This is exactly what happens listening to one of their gig or, to be precise, what happened to me attending their recent Garage concert in London.
I found some passages quite hard to digest but during the set I discovered that there is a perverse beauty in being enraptured by their obsession. It must be my Mr Hyde again. Fact is my body was moving to the rhythm of an obsessive compulsive disorder redirected into a sound.

In over ten years, Oneida recorded ten albums. They have a lot of experience to learn how to master the formula quite well. I am not suggesting one, can tell that the two opening tracks of Teach One Each One, Sheet of Easter and Antibiotics, belong to those loops that get me moving.

The recipe is eclectic. Take a mixture of odd sounding keys coming from the Krautrock school, mix it up with slices of harsh guitar riffs, support everything with the pivotal role of a jazz-ish influenced rhythm session, spice up and everything with the colourful touch of echoes of psychedelia and beams of noise and transform it in a circle.

Psychedelia goes beyond the music when live. It embraces multimediality. A continuous video is projected on the background to amplify everyone’s experience.
Nothing very original, it fits with the cliché of psychedelic films seen in the past 5 decades. A beam of light displaying a colourful circle on the back of the drummer with a kaleidoscopic progression of white lights, optical designs and multicoloured shapes. This was also the only source of light present on stage.

Oneida play a live soundtrack of the world seen through one of those kaleidoscopes we use to play when kids.

The inescapable loops (shall I refer to them as repetitions?) go well with the film. Especially when I realize that even the colourful lights are going in a circle. It is called obsessive compulsion for a reason!

After approximately half an hour in, I do agree with my friend that being inside Mr Oneida mind must not be a comfortable experience.

I haven’t yet fully understood where the seducing aspect of repetition reside but I acknowledge they exist.
Repetition is helpful to get lost in deep thoughts. The music acts as a source of energy to keep yourself in that kind of steady state.
I guess drugs help to experience this as well. The no-smoking policy, now active at any indoor gig, must have pissed off many Oneida fans.

I don’t do drugs and in general I am attracted by the opposite approach. Music that takes unexpected turn and surprises me. Despite this distance, or because opposites attract each other, I enjoyed the concert and even listening to most of their albums at home.

From a strict reporter point of view, telling about which songs they played would be beyond my capacity, but my small camera snapped the setlist and if you are really interested let me know and I’ll post in the comment, I don’t want to stop the flow of images and it is not really that relevant.
I get out of the venue singing Up With People, this is for sure.

Oneida are touring their latest release, a mammoth 3 CD opera called Rated O and most of the set was picked from it.

If the album title is an open homage to Queens of The Stone Age’s Rated R or simply a clever move I don’t know.
When I read that a triple CD of new material was out I was surprised and their label, Jagjaguwar, must be praised for the courage.
It is nice to see that exists a record label which gives complete freedom to its artist to let them publish what they feel right even if it looks a suicidal move in the marketing perspective.

To the average music fan, even of radical music, Rated O would be best approached as three separate Oneida albums. Not because there is no consistency but because there is too much.
If you can listen to over 2 hours of Oneida loops in one go either you are Mr Oneida (hi, thanks for reading hope you liked the pics) or you may need to consult a good specialist!

There is not much good stuff on youtube but you considering what I wrote so far there is enough on their [myspace] good animation on the official [website].

If you really want more [spotify] (for the lucky who can access it) has pretty much their entire discography, I am just coming out of the fourteen minutes of Sheet Of Easter an it has been exhausting, the linked youtube live version is just 8′36″. Goodluck

I suggest you go to that vintage toy shop, buy a kaleidoscope and listen to the album with one eye closed and the other looking outside the window through your multimirrored cartoon tube. It will be a colourful experience.

Photo tip

Why Colour?
Oneida concert was lit only by the light beam coming from a projector showing this movie made of continuous optical, coloured shapes.
Repetition in every aspect of the show needed to be interpreted photographically. How?
This is one examples where making use of a bizarre situation helped to portray the obsessional approach to music I was experiencing. Well, my way of seeing it, of course.

With no light on the band, the outcome could only be silhouette over the circle of light on the back.
Darkness implies slow shutter times and impossibility to focus properly, so I opted to shoot the lights and leave the band dark. This would have left a constant theme on all the pictures (obsessive? checked) and represented the darkness I imagine in the minds of such musicians.

I worked on B&W too, but I always say that “I care of colours only when colours care” and this gig colours were important.
Usually concerts are randomly lightened, colours works live with a particular song but lose their meaning when translated on silent 2D images. That is why omitting lights, depriving the observer of information, let the imagination free and makes B&W photograph more catching.

Tonight B&W film couldn’t record the essence of such a lightshow since the colours (with the shapes) were the key aspect of it. Time to get out of the bag my stilish digital compact and give it a go.

A photographic representation of Oneida musical repetition.
Live (not) on 35mm, It won’t happen often, hope you have enjoyed it.

100

Sorry about that, a bit of pride. Live on 35mm’s journey trough the live music of the new millennium arrived at its 100th chapter.

100 is not just a number, well it is, but transformed into word, it took 150.000 to get here! Talking about photos, the WordPress counter clocks 1130! Which means you can browse over one thousand pictures in B&W film of 100 different bands and musicians from all over the world.
Plus 100 phototips to share with concert photographers the tricks of the wonderful art of shooting live music.

There is nothing like this on the web, not for free, not done by pure passion.

I needed a special one to celebrate, didn’t I?
Hopefully I shot the perfect one recently. I cannot thing to anyone more special than Roky Erickson.

He is not just a legend, as my friend AndyCandy stated: “He is the one who wrote You’re Gonna Miss Me. Full stop, next chapter.”

The founder of 13th Floor Elevator has also been a mystery, a myth and an alien throughout the 62 years of his life. Chased by fans, friends, family in his endless struggle with his mind. His story has got material for several books.
I’ll just touch on the most evocative facts. A celebration of the American Syd Barrett, with the difference that Roky keeps being involved with music.

Let me add that he wrote You’re Gonna Miss Me when he was a teenager.

Four chords and a scream that invented in one single go psychedelic sound, garage rock and changed music forever… and this time is for real.
The song opened Elevators‘ debut album, The Psychedelic Sound of the Thirteen Floor Elevators.

More interesting, the few lines contained it all, his desperate message was already there.

“You’re gonna wake up one morning
as the sun greets the dawn.
You’re gonna look around in your mind, girl,
you’re gonna find that I’m gone.
…
I gave you the warning,
But you never heeded it.
How can you say you miss my lovin,
When you never needed it?
…
You’re gonna wake up wonderin’,
Find yourself all alone,
But what’s gonna stop me, baby?
I’m not comin’ home.”
[13th Floor Elevators - You're Gonna Miss Me]

Those verses didn’t tell about a journey. Roky wasn’t running away from Austin or after another babe, he has been struggling to escape his mind. Widened by any sort of psychotropic drug, magic mushrooms, LSD, Marijuana, the trip brought him at the speed of light towards outer spaces which he has been convinced to inhabit for most of his life.

He was only 21 when started speaking nonsense. Few days later he was diagnosed paranoid schizophrenic, interned into a psychiatric ward and got his first unauthorized electroshock.

The year after he was caught with some joints and arrested. To avoid jail he pled he was mental insane. He did not ended up in a prison but in something that does not sound a welcoming place either: The Rusk State Hospital for the Criminally Insane. In the three years spent there he formed a band with inmates, wrote songs and poetry and became friend of a 13th Floor Elevators‘ fan who murdered his family while high on glue. This are the good news.

The bad was that Roky got more electroshocks and Thorazine. The 60s way to deal with mental illness was to switch the mind off. Simple and criminally insane, as the name of the place hosting him.

Post Rusk’s year, Roky’s body came back to freedom, playing music with a new band, The Aliens, about his passion for horror movies, zombies and weird after death creatures. His mind, though, still possessed by any sort of evil entity kept him away from lucidity. It was around 1982 when he released the famous statement “that a Martian had inhabited his body. He later reported to friends that aliens were coming to Earth to harm him, and asked a Notary Public to witness an official declaration that he was himself an alien, hoping that this would convince the aliens to leave him alone.” [thanks wiki]

Such a person left alone in the wonderful world of record industry has a simple fate: to become a victim of managers with no ethic. Roky was signed to unfair contracts that allowed labels to deliver much of his recorded music without any authorisation and, most important, without paying to Erickson any royalty.
Roky Erickson lived through the 80s with the 200$ a month of the social security and the usual bunch of aliens dwelling his mind.

Among his confused discography, plenty of useless recordings because of those contracts, there are a couple of albums worth signalling. The Evil One and Don’t Slander Me are his best solo work, far from psychedelic years of 13th Floor Elevator, they are raw, garage rock’n'roll which inspired many artists to come.

His day nightmares didn’t stop, continuously hearing those voices, Roky Erickson is reported to live with several radios and TVs switched on at the same time to silent them. I wonder why Oliver Sacks didn’t mention him in Musicophilia, a great book with touches on this and talks about the positive and negative effects of music on human’s brain.

More trouble to come. Roky Erickson was accused for stealing neighbours’ mail. A charge later dropped. The truth is that he had been collecting and delivering mail to the neighbours for some time and when the neighbours moved, he kept collecting it but, instead of delivering, he used to tape it on the wall of his house.

The first positive thing to happen to his most troubled years came in 1990 from some very important fans. A tribute album, Where The Pyramid Meets The Eye performed by Jesus and Mary Chain, Primal Scream, R.E.M., ZZ Top, Julian Cope, Butthole Surfers and several more brought him back to the attention of a new generation.

Five more years and in 1995 Roky came back to recorded music with the help of several Texas’ musicians for All That May Do My Rhyme.
Another six years and 2001 sees another landmark step. His sister Sumner, is granted legal custody of the brother and Roky finally got the chance to get appropriate mental cures, probably for the first time in his life.
His conditions improved visibly, to the point that the man could go back to play live. In 2005 Roky Erickson played his full concert in more than 20 years. His new band called The Explosives had the help of a very special friend in the line-up Billy GIbbons from the ZZ Top.

Since then, Roky Erickson has been performing some (not many) gigs every year. Mainly in USA and Northern Europe. Thanks to Jarvis Cocker (who curated Southbank Meltdown in London in 2007) Roky was invited to the Royal Festival Hall for his UK debut.

August 2009. When I and my friend enter the Forum, we really don’t know what to expect. I travelled to London for this gig despite a very rare Cambridge Dinosaur Jr happening few hundreds meters from home. It is not even for the music, rather to witness it. To see him.

9pm Roky materializes on stage, Hawaiian shirt, long hair and beard. He walks past his mic to somewhere he must like. The guitarist escort him back at his place.
He looks sweet, tender. A mix between a (teddy) bear and santa Klaus on a tropical holiday. It is unthinkable how a paranoid schizophrenic hides behind such a fatherly face. Compassion is the only feeling I have. It goes beyond the musician, to the man, the man’s struggle with his mind over half a century. Alone.

The riff of Two Headed Dog opens the gig. The Forum explode in a gasp of relief and sing-a-long with him. Seeing the man singing and playing live on a proper stage with a proper band in front is a treat.

What emerges during the set is Roky’s voice. It peaked for The Night of the Vampire and reached unexpected highs till the encore with I Walked With a Zombie.
He is not very interactive and his expression is fixed, lost somewhere but in a much nicer place than the past.
He limits his contact with the audience to a raised arm to say hello and a couple of thank you.
Guitar playing is a bit fuzzy, his guitarist had to take control of Roky’s pedal a couple of times, but when everything flows that big man on stage can still touch a couple of thousands hearts with a riff or an acid solo.

A classic band. Drums, bass and a guitar are solid and versatile. I don’t know who they are but they know who Erickson is very well. They understand when it is time to let him go or to fill up a break with a solo.
Roky often turns toward the drums, while the guitarist keeps constantly an eye on him. It looks he can understand anything from his body language.
A funny bassist, hat and suit that would fit in Maximo Park more than in a Texas band, is helpful.
On a night that most of the presents would have never thought to attend, anything that happens becomes pleasant.

About an hour of songs goes, the debate on the exact setlist played is still open on his official forum.

The final fan setlist states:

TWO HEADED DOG
CREATURE WITH THE ATOM BRAIN
THE WIND AND MORE
DON’T SHAKE ME LUCIFER
STARRY EYES
BLOODY HAMMER
THE FIRE DEMON
THE BEAST
NIGHT OF THE VAMPIRE
COLD NIGHT FOR ALLIGATORS
DON’T SLANDER ME
SPLASH 1
YOU’RE GONNA MISS ME
———————-
I WALKED WITH A ZOMBIE

the one stuck on the stage floor went:

I agree with the fans, And Now We Fly and Reverberation surely haven’t be played. The gig has been cut short towards the closure right when some 13th Floor Elevator delights were planned. If Don’t Slander Me was anticipated and Click Your Finger ignored I sincerely cannot remember and wouldn’t have changed the importance of the night.

What is important is that he is back, singing and playing. I witnessed him. He played You’re Gonna Miss Me right in front of me. Full stop, next chapter.

To get in touch with the man, the legend, the myth and the alien there are few nice places to start [website] [myspace] and [spotify] which contains most of his solo stuff including a deluxe edition of The Evil One with a second disc of radio material intervalled by amusing interviews with Roky talking about his love for demons. It is worth to sign up just for that.

13th Floor Elevator instead have a (likely unofficial) [myspace] a quite complete discography to listen on [spotify] and a very extensive [wikipedia] page which is a good place to start.

I want to leave you with another sweet treat, this is a youtube version of Roky Erickson singing recently on the Mogwai track from the Batcat(2008) EP: Devil Rise. Roky is back from outer space and is spending his time with us.

September has arrived. As promised, August brought to you some very new music, September wants you to meet long established artists which are known more for being influential than for their album sales.
I’ll start this journey from Chicago, Illinois, drumming the hell out of you: Tortoise.

I am Italian, you know.
What you probably don’t know, is that music in Italy is mostly linked to technicality, execution and loads of dinosaur seniors retiring under Italian sunny shores.
It is not coincidence Italy is considered the capital of prog-music and the saviour of elsewhere forgotten rock gods.

A country proud to declare that discovered and launched Genesis‘ career. A country still able to fill up arenas with Dream Theatre and stadiums with Jethro Tull , where else? A country still praising any note Robert Fripp plays in and out of King Crimson .

If you really want hardcore, last week the organisation of a festival in Milan, where the just split Oasis where due to headline following Kasabian and the Kooks (lined-up in this order, they don’t even read the charts), replaced the Gallaghers with Deep Purple.
Can you imagine Deep Purple following the Kooks in the place of Oasis in a UK or USA festival without generating a mass uprising?

Unashamed they did and be sure some people appreciated. Provincialism permeates Italian rock knowledge (and often not only rock). From national newspapers to rock magazines (not even mentioning TV which does not broadcast anything related to modern music) news arrive three albums late and people is convinced that things happening nowhere anymore do still have a meaning. If you are, erm, lucky, you may stumble upon Ozric Tentacles on tour.

When I was there, I was naturally caught into this bad trip. Because of rock radio, friends, wrong readings and pre-internet era, I spent lot of time listening to music which was (and still is) valued not for the emotions it can transfer, but for either the skills of single band members or the seducing charm of retired myths (if not both).
Drums solos, endless suites, speed guitar, acrobatic keyboards often performed by people in their sixties. Form always over substance, form becomes the substance.
It must be the price Italians pay to such a massive debt to classicism but I won’t go into such an essay!

The intro is to say that once I arrived in UK, where rock is perceived quite the reverse, as the response to artists emotions shared with their public in a sympathetic approach to music, I felt relieved.
I did not have to deal with analysis of the number of beats, length of solos, refined productions, comparison between bass players. I could immerse myself in what music to me simply is: passion.

If I came across Tortoise in Italy, I could be immediately pissed off by analysis of their music through an in-depth look at their technical skills.
Thankfully I came across very positive reviews of Tortoise new album, Beacons of Ancestorship, in UK. Prejudice did not stop me so that I immerse myself in the music of such a great band.

Tortoise is the most unclassifiable band ever. Name any facet of music you can think of, with the exception of hip-hop, and it could fit with them.

The top citation is post-rock, because they are mainly instrumental and post-rock is an open-ended genre. It can accomodate comfortably quite different approaches (and philosophies) to music. Nevertheless in Tortoise music there are also hints of free jazz, hardcore, alternative, electronica, space rock and even prog (I said it).

Recently I have been in love with anything Thrill Jockey publishes, so I decided to head off to the Garage to check one of their top bands live.

Some days before the gig, I receive an e-mail from Rhythm magazine. They asked if I could take some shots of the drummer.
Not a problem at all I replied. Beyond the difficulty that drummer usually sits on the back and are not easy to portray, I would have given it a go.

I am a curious guy, though. Why were they so keen on having Tortoise drummer photos? I didn’t have a precise idea of what was going to happen on stage and, call me distracted, listening to the albums I didn’t realize how much percussions are essential to their music.

When I arrive at The Garage, which after the refurbishment is quickly becoming one of the most tipped venues in London, I understand.

The drum kit is not in its usual place, centre of the stage towards the back.
Quite the contrary, tonight there are two drum kits, facing each other, straight in the front.
Added, a sort of digital-electronic vibraphone on the left and a more traditional one on the right.
Percussions dominate every inch of the front line, with bass, keyboards and guitars placed on the back.

Basically the instruments on stage are inverted compared to the standard setting. I see why Rhythm magazine wanted Tortoise drummer on one of their issue! It makes sense but the story hasn’t finished, yet.

Tortoise come on stage to open with Prepare Your Coffin’ which as the title suggests could not be the best song to start.
Few seconds in, they have to face the embarrassment of a guitar which does not want to sound properly, in a song where its peculiar sound is paramount. More than ten minutes are spent in few attempts to make that mixtures of pedal, cables, ampli and strings talk to each other. Most of band members are kneeled to help. A nice example of team work and friendship.

While they solve their problem, mine was to convince fans on the front row (no pit) that I was there in a triple mission for The Line OF Best Fit, Thrill Jockey and Rhythm magazine and then my bulky bag filled with cameras and lenses, needed to be with me there. I had to “shoot the drummer”.
The usefulness of chatting with fans, they taught me Tortoise drummers are three. Bingo!

For the next hour and half I am sliding in the front row from one percussion to the other. Three drummers interchange, swap, play solo or in twins, constantly delivering a solid percussive base to any of the songs. Sometime is amazing, sometime a bit showing-off, some other delightfully harmonized with the bass, guitars and keys which in heir own already build up quite an impressive wall of sound.

Seeing two drums and two basses at the same time was unprecedented on my long live experience. It brought me back to Ornette Coleman experiments with double quartets in the early sixties. The comparison is less hazardous than you can think. Their open minded approach and free schemes fit both the philosophy and the music.

With Tortoise very elaborate rhythms, which make it difficult even to tap your foot, it’s impossible for me to remember all the songs and there is not a setlist stuck on stage.

What hits me during their set is how they can manage to sound consistent even playing music spanning so different angles. From the almost hardcore guitar opening of Yinxianghechengqi, that naturally evolves into chinese synth (where the title comes from and the hydeograms projected on the back suggest), to the almost avant-gard electronica of Seneca which closes the show.

Songs can be very short or expand in long suites. Some are simple in structure some so complicate to end up in free tempos where the usual drum patterns really lead the entire spacecraft to outer spaces.

Videos, projected on three parallel screens on the back, complement and help the journey.
The ecstatic audience is trapped in a night that they brilliantly managed to recover from a starting disaster to an enthralling ending.
A pure example of technical skills, well above the average of rock bands, at the service of music.
Even such a relentless, devastating support of the drums is symbiotic with the rest.

A band which is almost twenty years old, which pioneered post-rock (and beyond) all through the nineties, hosted members of Slint and whose influences can be heard from Mogwai to Stereolab deserve your attention if you missed it till today.

Six landmark albums over fifteen years, remixes and collaborations including one with Bonnie ‘Prince’ Billy for a cover album, The Brave and The Bold that stands out for audacity. No one before ever attempted to cover a Springsteen song in such a deconstructing way. Their version of Thunder Road adds up to a CV that bands much more rumoured can only dream of.

To get in touch start here [website] [myspace] and check when their tour comes close to you.

Photo tip

I wrote about shooting drummers already.
But this was a special opportunity to insist with few more tips. So lets talk about shooting two drummers.

Having the twin drum kits on the front is clearly of help. Being so close opens up wide-angle opportunities that cannot be used when the drum is on the back unless you are allowed to walk on stage.

The main problem with drummers, if you can’t (or don’t want to) use flash, is the blur due to their motion.
They move a lot and their sticks are so fast you can’t freeze them.
With low lights conditions hence longer shutter speeds, the challenge is higher.

I don’t have problem with movement and blur in pictures, it’s clear from my shots that I love action and dynamic, but having a magazine interested at my photos, part of the professionalism is to be able to deliver a set of different images to suit any of their needs. That is way the shocking event of digital photos appearing on here. Remember, personal taste doesn’t always match the picture editors’ one.

Listening to the songs is always important, you follow the rhythm and there is always a moment when things calm down. That moment comes at least twice and that is when you have to open your shutter.

Surprisingly, some drummers keep still while drumming, which offers the opportunity of interesting shots with your man body and face sharp and his arms and sticks blurred.

Shooting both drummers at the same time requires a bit of intrusion and, if you are not with a “live view” camera, some luck.
Put on a wide angle, raise your camera over the shoulder of the guy, preset the focus on a sensitive distance and intuitively try to frame him and his partner on the other side without looking in the viewfinder.
Tricky but if the image works it will have a sense of presence to make the viewer feel sitting next to them.

With flash things are easier technically but to produce a good image is more difficult. Always bounce the flash and diffuse its light if it is mounted on your camera. Flash freezes the action and gives unnatural front lighthing, but guarantees crisp images. I don’t like it.

What I tend to do (and I tried for these shots) is to slow-synch the flash on the second curtain. Flash coupled with a slow shutter preserves at the same time the movement, the original lightings and gives intriguing half sharp half blurred shots.
Not to be overused, but give it a try, it is nice for a change to break even your own rules.

The Twilight Sad are mind-blowing.
You get out of their gig and you need 15 minutes to reconnect with the external world and 15 hours to realize it still has a sound, it’s just you cannot hear it for a while.

Earsplitting loud, intense as few bands in activity are. In a word an unmissable experience.

2009: the Law is ratified, now. “Scotland rules”. It’s for real.

Scotland rules beyond “mainstream indie”, not talking of The View or Glasvegas.

Three of the five bands I have in mind (I am sure there are more out there) are on Fat Cat records. A Brighton independent label which is spotting the best music from United Kingdom. Praise to them!

The difference among these bands is on the instruments they play and where the balance needle between deep singing and guitar feedback is set.

The bands not on Fat Cat, are more arranged and lyrical. My Latest Novel, which the faithful readers of Live on 35mm have already met here some weeks ago; and the luckiest may have enjoyed live.
The Phantom Band, younger, with an album containing a single Island which is one of my favourite song of the year.

The three bands on Fat Cat are Frightened Rabbit with one of the most acclaimed album of 2008, the newcomers, with a bizarre name and an incredible dense sound: We Were Promised Jetpack and them, The Twilight Sad.

The music formula is not new (and not new to Scotland too). A combination of beautiful, deep, intense songwriting of the best school (I am thinking at American Music Club there could be something more appropriate slipping off my mind), which gets painted over, covered, overwhelmed by layer of beautiful, deep, intense loud guitars and rowdy group jams. Call it shoegaze, Post-Rock, whatever you have in mind, it doesn’t matter. The result is outstanding and The Twilight Sad are, at the moment, the one best mastering this balance.

I am not in Glasgow, so I don’t know precisely how the scene there worked out, but likely while one was playing the others where drinking a pint in the same pub. Such a consistent trend linked to the same city hasn’t been seen in rock since Seattle late 80s.

We will see if Glasgow late 00s will have the same commercial success of “grunge”. With such a strong Scottish accent is difficult but if Glasvegas managed to export glaswegian to Las Vegas, it is not impossible that more genuine songs with more powerful arrangements could as well.

Not that important, not obsessed to spot the next big thing. As long as the “thing” is great today, I enjoy it. If it’s gonna be big in the future, well done to you guys.

The Twilight Sad have been around for a couple of years now. They have an outstanding album, Fourteen Autumns & Fifteen Winters, out in 2007. It followed an EP, The Twilight Sad , and was followed by another EP, Here, It Never Snowed. Afterwards It Did, in which they rework three songs and add two new ones.
To complete the discography, there is a limited edition CD mixing live, demo and rarities. It used to be sold at live gigs and has the best title of the bunch so far: Killed My Parents and Hit the Road.

Quite a lot of stuff for such a young band, isn’t it?
Part of it is for-fans-only material, a sign of a band very good on mastering the art of “cult following”. Go to one of their gig and see yourself what rock-devotion means. It is also a sign that the creativity peak hasn’t abandoned them in the past 3 years.

If you are not into The Twilight Sad (be sure you will be soon) start with the LP and will not be disappointed. Be quick.
In about a month, Forget the Night Ahead, their second full lenght album is out.
Beyond the title, few more things are known from interviews and rumours.

James Graham, the singer, expressed an interesting concept during recordings:

“… One thing that I can promise is that the lyrics are very dark, but you might have to look into them a bit to realise. They are mainly based around things that have happened to me over the past two years, revolving mainly around losing people and being none too proud or happy with myself about my antics and situations I’ve found myself in. So if you’re looking for a record with a lot of hope and happy songs then fuck off, ‘cause you wont find it here with us! Maybe on the third album when we all have coke and heroin addictions things will start to look a bit brighter!”

and again more recently on a Drowned in Sound in depth where he points out in a single sentence what I have been trying to say with the last 500 words:

“We wanted to try and create a balance between melody and aggression, which on the surface might seem contradictory but I think that’s what defines us as a band, certainly as far as playing live goes at any rate.”

My Latest Novel violinist Laura McFarlane plays on a couple of tracks, The Room and That Birthday Present.

A couple of other are on youtube:

Reflection of the Television is the opening song and has a brilliant bass line pulsing over a layer of noisy guitar, quite a tasty starter.

The second track and first single (out now on 7″) I Became a Prostitute works the other way around. Guitar is over everything else until the singing arrives to balance.

I don’t know how it sounds to English-speaking listeners, but to my Italian, James Graham Scottish accent has a sort of exotic added quality. This must be the first time “exotic” goes with “Scottish”.

If this is not enough, you are difficult to please. Fact.

I have one more, though. A friend, who is into the business enough to have listened to the entire new album told me that: “The Twilight Sad second album is the best album of the last five years, it will blow away the rest of the music scene as son as it is out!”

If The Twilight Sad recordings are good, their live reputation is already legendary.
They are one of those few live bands that make you not forget a concert.

A peculiar stage presence. At the same time cold and passionate, enthralling and intimidating. Not the kind of band you expect from the alternative-rock cliché.

What makes their performances acclaimed is clearly not the look, but the capability of expanding their sound. Don’t expect to listen to a live rendition of the record. Expect the songs to levitate into multi-dimensionality. At an ear-splitting, neighbour-complaining, police-calling volume.
If you plan to follow the entire tour, consider a pair of good earplugs. If you want to experience the real thing for once ignore them and threat yourself with a hurricane of decibels and a night of tinnitus. It’s worth.

The Twilight Sad for this gig are road testing the new stuff in preparation of a long USA tour throughout September and October.

On stage expect no cool indie-fashion, no smiles, no words, no eye catching with the audience. Deeply immersed into the music, the relationship with the fans is mediated only through the music with the essential contribution of the “noise”.

The singer, James Graham, is the focal point. Immersed into his world, turned towards his mates, he follows any accent coming out of his monitor. No concession to the public (cold) but very much there for it (passionate). Close into his thoughts, staring away (intimidating) with a voice telling warm stories (enthralling).

He made me focus two of my favourite things in singers.
A deep voice and not playing instruments. From Joy Division’s Ian Curtis to Matt Berninger of The National it fits my taste.

Andy MacFarlane is on guitar, if you doubt he is the name to remember, check the guitar amplifier and try to read the reminder taped on it. His style can shift from absolute lyricism to furious blasts in nanoseconds. He is the spine of the sound.

Result is not random but very harmonious. There must be long days and nights of studio rehearsal to get to such a perfect empathy.
Rehearsals which, they confess, happen at the same deafening volume. That is the reason behind it, it is the way their way to play.

Craig Orzel is on bass, you don’t see him a lot on these pictures because he was standing on the dark side of the stage. Mark Devine on Drums complete the rhythm section. He follows James Grahan throughout the show.

Everyone is following him. He is the conductor, the verses he sings (or whispers, or screams) lead the band.
I can’t see no setlist. Emotional, absorbed, sympathetic bands don’t need it.
I guess about half of tonight set was made of new songs. They smoothly mixed with the old hits and sound perfect wit the other giving rise to an uninterrupted flow of favourites without weak points.

Next to me two guys, who must have passed their teen-age for a couple of decades, are so much into the band that spent the night clinging to James’ monitor dancing to the waves of Andy’s guitar. Swaying and risking for a couple of times to collapse to the floor with half of the amplification. All this while singing any verse by heart. It’s like the lovers of instrumental post-rock beyond their favourite music finally found the words to identify.

It is rare to see such an emotional reaction to a band beyond teenagers’ hormonal infatuation for some Peter Doherty’s supposed sex-appeal.

Sadly it ends. Even more sadly there is no new album to buy yet, so we are all stuck to the old material for another month.
I resisted from buying the 7″ of I Became a Prostitute.

You can listen to everything they recorded on [spotify].
If you can’t access it, there is the old [myspace] and their [website] to get ready for this autumn tour either side of the Atlantic you are.

Photo tip

This was one of the toughest gig I ever photographed.
Basically a very dark room with only a bright spotlight over the head of the singer, from the ceiling, centre of the stage.

In such conditions high contrasted images are the unavoidable output, with the further problem of the light/shadow patterns having an unnatural angle.

One advantage of the night was that I could photograph the entire show. Instead of shooting more, I took some time to study the stage presence and understanding which were the best places to shot.

Without a pit I didn’t have a lot to move.

Further problem, in very dark conditions focusing is almost impossible. I couldn’t see enough through the viewfinder, not counting that the subject, of course, moves.
A useful tip I use in this situation is to memorize some key distances to fixed object and use them as a reference. A mic head, a sign on the floor a cable. Point them check on the lens the distance and use that setting when the subject is approximately there.

Don’t forget darkness also means wide aperture and very limited depth of field, a wide angle would help.

James Graham is the main subject tonight. He has a magnetic presence and the rest of the band is too dark to get something out of the shadows.

Since he doesn’t play any instrument, I focused on his face trying which translate in major use of a portrait lens and few wideangle to add some features of a peculiare body language. He is not static while he sings. He moves around, kneels down, bends, looks up. Very absorbed in the role, very convincing hence quite photogenic. In the end I believe the odd lighting suits him well.

A difficult set, another challenging experience, which is what I enjoy.

I wrote some months ago about an emerging Californian independent scene.
I also pointed out that in recent years duos have been springing as fresh water from the Rock mountains.

August 2009. Another chapter adds to this story.

Crocodiles got the attention of media because of No Age.
When the LA duo said somewhere that their favourite song was Neon Jesus by Crocodiles, the antennas of music freaks pointed to San Diego to discover more about this other duo.

No Age were right.
Neon Jesus is one of those song that comes out of a speaker and you ask “what’s this?”
Most important the entire Crocodiles album, Summer of Hate, which curiously does not contain Neon Jesus, is a fresh example of this Californian noise-pop. If the guys in the band ever read they “wanna kill me now” for writing this, see why.

Formed by Brandon Welchez and Charles Rowell, Crocodiles deconstruct all your ideas about San Diego and Californian lifestyle. Right as No Age did for LA about a year earlier.

They speak that out loud: “If you live there, then you slowly die… a lot of the nastiness in our music comes from reacting to the boring culture there, and the sunshine … The sunshine can be oppressive.”
Love it or hate it, this is a perfect picture of what I got spending three days visiting San Diego. They are from San Diego, though, which make things a bit more elaborated.

In a welcomed, but not so insightful, artistic statement “We’re really into blurring that line between violence and beauty” which is already transparent reading songs’ titles -Summer of Hate, I Wanna Kill, Refuse Angels, Young Drugs- there is most of the concepts you need to know about Crocodiles approach to music and California.

Thanks to internet, rumours spread fast and they were spotted and signed by the best record label south of Seattle: Fat Possum.

Fat Possum became famous years ago recording and letting the world know the almost recluse blues from the Hill Country, which differs from traditional Delta Blues for being rougher. A music that developed in a self confined area of Mississippi and didn’t have the chance (or didn’t care) to leave the bars to move north to Chicago.

Thanks to Fat Possum recordings, the music world got to know old bluesmen as Juniour Kimbrough, RL Burnside, T-Model Ford to name but few.
Fat Possum does not just follow the Lomax family mission of catching and recording the anthropological heritage of America’s native music, their mission goes beyond.

Fat Possum blues changed rock in this millennium, and it is not another of my hyperbole. Members of U2 and Rolling Stones travelled to Oxford, Mississippi, to listen to these guys playing.
Jon Spencer brought there his entire Blues Explosion to record an album with RL Burnside (A Ass pocket of Whiskey) which put the basis to the horrible definition of a key music trend: punk-blues. The Black Keys recorded on Fat Possum their best albums and homaged Juniour Kimbrough with a covers’ EP.
On the top of that The White Stripes found the mainstream formula, managed to export this music out of the Mississippi Hill Country to Detroit and from there to the whole world.

Crocodiles’ Summer of Hate is not a blues album but retains the lo-fi glamour of the Fat Possum blues records. Raw, jagged, unrefined, goes direct to the heart of the listener with no frills.

The philosophy is close to No Age noise-pop but the music is different. Brandon Welch has programming duties beyond singing, Charles Rowell took a synth to a San Diego recording studio. The result is a sound that is more complex than straight drum’n'guitar garage and more various. Not always a strength.

Crocodiles have a high melodic taste designed by a great amount of atmospheric keys and a more danceable beat. Most rhythms are programmed and it’s when the guitar enters to break the dreamy synth-pop patterns that the contrast emerges and transforms the unrefined thing into something which isn’t sugar.

Recipe is well proved. The merging of this two opposite approaches to music, melodic-pop taste and guitar-noise passion has been explored since Velvet Underground and Nico.

Which songs to like is a matter of personal taste, either the obsessive loop over the seven minutes of Young Drugs (no one dared to put it on youtube) or the catchy pop song that is Neon Jesus.

To my personal taste the most interesting stuff comes when a balance is reached. I Wanna Kill is a pristine song hidden behind a strident, noisy guitar with vocals reminding Jesus and Mary Chain.
Summer of Hate uses the same formula, the same sensitivity with a better melody. Sang through an effect, it reminds me of the Stones when they were trying to get psychedelic.

The rest of the album goes with highs and lows but contains enough variety of seeds for a band to blossom, it’ll be nice to see which they decide to sow.

It is nice to see from California, south California, LA and San Diego (San Francisco scene has always been an anomaly and the desert have been offering sandy, abrasive music for over a decade) some guys able to challenge the clichés and deliver songs that goes beyond the FM Radio-friendly unsustainable stadium rock.

When I read Crocodiles were coming to London to play an acoustic gig at Rough Trade East on a Sunday afternoon, I decided to go. Why unplugged gigs played by electric bands have this irresistible appeal? It must be Nirvana’s fault.

Meeting them was nice. Two easy going guys in skinny jeans. They’ll hate me twice, but they are Californian-style from a European perspective.
Despite the claim to detest and be bored to dead of it, I could still feel the upbeat mood that comes from living all year in the sun. Meet Kevin Shield for a change and you will understand what I mean.

If Brandon Welchez attempts a sunglasses look that reminded me how Noel Gallagher looked like a decade ago, Charles Rowell didn’t hide behind dark lenses and reminded me the young Bob Dylan. The acoustic guitar helped the association, not counting the presence of a mysterious “Mr Tambourine”.

The half-hour set had the prompt effect to make me desire to see their electric show. Not because it wasn’t good, they confessed this was the very first time they where playing acoustic, but because cleaning the songs from the noise didn’t do them a good service.

Some of their best stuff couldn’t be played because it simply wouldn’t have worked without a synth, a laptop and a jack. Other songs were left only to the melodic core without all the noisy trimmings.

It was like having a Sunday Roast without the stuffing.

I think it was the real Bob Dylan (correct me if I am wrong) saying that a good song still sounds good when played solely on vocal and guitar. I disagree. It may work to test his stuff, but arrangements to today’s music are as key as the chords progression.

You can’t sing I Wanna Kill and Summer of Hate with acoustic guitars and it’s not because they are not good song. Is that they immediately transforms into “I Wanna Peace” and “Summer of Love”. Kind of the hippie stuff they hate, ain’t it?

Despite the nice setting of an in-store free gig, next time I want to see Crocodiles very loud.
Hate must come out at 130dB from the amplifier. I want to taste the real thing, with all the stuffing, the gravy and even the chips.

To get ready you can listen to Crocodiles on [myspace]

Photo Tip

I am not sure Rough Trade East is the “the UK’s largest record shop” as their press release states, but I am pretty sure it is the best, which their press release shouldn’t be shy to declare.

Few years ago it joined the original Rough Trade shop in Notting Hill and soon became a reference for rock music lovers.

I am personally attached to it, not only because it displays the best music you can find outside Amazon (it is more expensive than the online sites, so it works nice if you are set in a rush-mode more than in an economy-mode), I am fond of it because it reminds me of a similar shop in Rome which I used to browse for endless hours during my University years.

That shop was called Disfunzioni Musicali and looked very much as a working class version of Rough Trade East.

Instead of classy 24″ iMacs (not with free internet anymore), there were old computers with greasy keyboards that allowed to browse a huge catalogue of records through a MS-Dos software.
Xerox-copied CD covers replaced the real CDs on display.

Orders went through a very analogic system. You brought to a guy at the counter the xerox-covers of the album you want, he wrote on a post-it your list and sent it down to a misterious basement through a LP-size cubic lift. While you waited for the gnome lift to come back up, you could browse through millions of classifieds on the walls. Anything from an obscure punk concert to a “prog-bass player wanted” kind of thing was there.
There wasn’t a cafe’ inside nor posh Brick Lane eateries outside, just a hard-discount supermarket next door and the best pizzerias in town round the corner.

In a similar “Rough Trade fashion”, it used to have short reviews on records, the music was grouped in endless obscure sub-genres, there were loads of empty vinyls sleeves which you could ask to listen to. Walls were full of poster, fliers, graffiti but not fine-art photography though. The staff was so competent they could have written the Wikipedia music section themselves.

Better than Rough Trade, Disfunzioni Musicali had a huge second hand branch which allowed me (and millions of guys) to discover music with the few money students have. Even more, bands could bring in their demos (still on tape) and the shop sold them on band’s behalf.
The small section of bootleg on tape of the live scene in Rome was a cult. You went to a great concert and want a recording? If someone had managed to sneak a walkman and taped it, it was there. Expect terrible audio, home made covers and perhaps a wrong song list.

Disfunzioni Musicali, which was basically created on the same underground philosophy of Rough Trade East twenty years in advance, shut down few years ago. As a counterpart, Rough Trade East is one of the few successful record shops (probably) in the world. Fate.

What Disfunzioni didn’t have, was a small stage to play live music.

A few wheeled shelves filled with CDs are moved to make enough space to the few Crocodiles followers.
I don’t understand why fans are shy to get close to the stage when there is a small attendance but are ready to spend hours squeezed on the barriers if they are thousands.

Good for me, I was free to crawl undisturbed in front of the stage.

There are pro and cons of in-store gigs.

Advantages is that it is a shop. The lights are much stronger than at a dark club, stage is very low and you are very close, there is no 3 songs rule and, sometimes, you don’t even need a photopass. At Rough Trade you also have the opportunity to shoot from the side of the stage.

Disadvantages is that it is a shop! The surroundings are not dark and neat as a black curtain. All sort of shop items go into the pictures which could look quite messy. Acoustic is far from perfect and lengths are shorter.

To isolate the subject you need to be creative. Find original angles, use selective focusing and always keep an eye on the background to see if you can turn some disturbing elements into something useful. Paradoxically even if you are close, telephoto short depth of field is useful.

It is challenging and different which also means it is a great place to start and get used to the “art” of concert photography or take unusual shots. With the plus of having the opportunity to chat to the bands, pass on to them your visit card and, if you’re a fan, have your CD autographed.

The Pains of Being Pure at Heart don’t have a long career but with one album, few singles and an upcoming EP gathered such a vast following that is pushing hard to surface from the underground.

How many of you were caught by the name? I was, definitely. Let’s start from here, then.
Thankfully in 2009 to get the answer there’s no need to search for an issue of a xerox-copied fanzine at the door of your local record shop. Actually, it is likely the local record shop is a mobile-phones franchise now.

Sad I know, bonus being that from asking the question to having the answer it took me 0.24 sec. Is it just me or you too belong to the group of people that doesn’t care how long Google takes to do a search? I mean, is it relevant to anyone if it is 0.12 or 0.35 sec?

Scrolling the list of hits I got, I realize I am not the only curious. I read any sort of comment from “they are just as sweet as their name” to “fucking emo name”.
The answer by the way, is on Wikipedia:
The Pains of Being Pure At Heart comes “…from an unpublished children’s story that Charles Augustus Steen III, a friend of singer Kip Berman, wrote of the same title”.
I am satisfied, even curious to read the story. Let’s move one.

Cover art. Lovely ain’t it? I like the black and white. They mean it. It is just black and white. No tones of grey. Very effective.
Photoshop and a simple photo and it is straightforward to transform a picture in some “cult” design.

The cover depicts very well what’s inside, with a surprise. If you buy the vinyl, you will be pleased to see it is as white as milk. Beautiful.

These guys know how indie-marketing works, don’t they? It goes without saying that singles have same logo in white+different colors and the T-shirts are on the brightest colours still with the same design. Seducing.

So what about the music?
First. They are not “fucking emo”, otherwise I wouldn’t be shooting them, films are quite expensive nowadays.
If you scroll the press online (you can start from their myspace, they put together an exhaustive list) reviewers find any possible reference belonging to the noisy darkness of late-eighties which was spreading in the underground clubs both sides of the Atlantic.

I would extend it. (There are links to youtube click for a multimedia experience)

The Tenure Itch singing reminds me of Nico circa 1967 when she was supported by a band called the Velvet Underground. They are not such a band (no one is) and Kip (the singer) is not as enchanting as Nico. Still the song keeps its fascination.

Young Adult Friction, their second single, has a bass line that goes straight to The Cure eighties albums, with a positive feel. The advantage of not having Robert Smith in a band goes beyond the interest of lipstick producers.

The Side B of the single, Ramona, is worth a listening, not only because it is not on their album, but because it would fit on Jesus and Mary Chain’s Darklands. It’s a quite a flattering remark for a B-side, isn’t it?
I get this chance to discredit a music myth: being unoriginal doesn’t mean you can’t still write a great song.

A Teenager in Love put things back to the future. It has the classic opening, drums intro – bass riff – open guitar chord, everyone has been expecting from The Strokes but getting from everywhere else. “Someday” maybe. (the adverb and the song, just compare them)!
The difference is that is possible to replicate a sound, impossible to imitate Casablanca. Kip Berman voice is not Nico and not even Julian’s. That’s nature not skills, not his fault.

All said (and listened), The Pains of Being Pure at Heart self titled album is noise-pop at its perfection. The magic of hanging around Brooklyn these days.
Things are happening right there, right now. It is unbelievable how effervescent the NYC scene is. Countless number of bands spanning a variety of offer that few years ago needed a 5 continents journey to put together. Today everyone is in the Big Apple and everything happens here.

From Brooklyn, The Pains of Being Pure at Heart came to play in a small venue in Cambridge, UK a couple of months ago.
These pictures are from there, I didn’t have the space to publish them but the occasion comes perfect now to celebrate their headline gig at the London Garage.

It also fits with my plan to use August on liveon35mm as a place to suggest some “new” music. To see which are the trends that will indicate the directions to enter the next decade.

Despite the 45 minutes set, limited to the one album (covers, chats and solos are not in fashion in the indie scene), and the acoustic of the place, just limited, the concert was very good.

Live TPOBPAH (uff!) sound more genuine and solid. The several influences mix into one fresh sound. One ghost (appropriate) is still evident, It made me travel back in time.

I was in Rome. An early June night of 1989. The Cure materialized on the stage of Rome sport arena to play one of the most exciting concerts I ever attended.
At the peak of their career, touring what is now considered their masterpiece, Disintegration, Robert Smith and friends blew the place away with a 3 hours+ set. Three endless encores to close with a version of A Forest that still has that bouncing bass pulsing into my stomach.

For some reason, twenty years and 4 days later, The Pains of Being Pure at Heart revived in me those memories with their sound, the same sheer passion (and the crap acoustic).

Peggy Wang keyboards cleverly decorate the songs with a more up-to-date vibe to fit today electro-pop trend.
The bass lines even if not as powerful as Simon Gallup recall those 80s and The Cure of those 80s where one of top five bands.
Stay Alive is one of their signature track and it wouldn’t have existed without Disintegration.

Kip Berman guitars adds the biggest contribution to Robert Smith heritage, those bouncing strings bring back to life the attitude of composing simple, few notes melodies.
To spice up the experience the other guitarist put on layers of noise borrowed tonight more from Kevin Shield than from the Reid brothers.

That I am not a fan of Kip Berman timbre may have already become obvious. His voice is not very deep and a bit too nasal for these tunes. Just an opinion.

Photographing a gig is not always ideal for listening to it. Sitting, kneeling, standing on a leg, moving among the squeezed guys on the front row to take pictures, the only voice I could hear was his.
Only when I stepped back after few songs to enjoy the rest of the show I could hear that Peggy was singing as well. Her vocal parts are quite interesting and her voice is lovely. She should have more singing space.

About 50 minutes and pretty much the entire album later, the gig ends.
The sensation that it was too short has to be seen in a positive way: “I enjoyed it and wanted more”.
I am pleased to know that an EP, Higher Than The Stars, containing four brand new songs is going to be out in September.
It would give them enough original material to play for over a hour, it’ll give us a taste of where their music is heading with the second albums. Judging from the title, the guys show ambitions. Let’s hope Peggy Wang managed to get some lead vocals. A female vocalist is trendy at present times.

In the meanwhile know more about The Pains of Being Pure At Heart on their [myspace] and [website].

Unfortunately the album is not on Spotify, but you could make an effort and buy a copy of it, to keep music alive and to enrich your collection with a gorgeous white vinyl.

Photo tip

Easy ain’t it?

No, this photo tip is not for photographers but against photographers, for a change.

This is a reply from the band’s management.
He praised and showed interest to my pictures. After a quick e-mail exchange, I received this short message:

“Hi Valerio,

They’re really nice but we won’t be using them for anything, i was joking about the box set. we have plenty of photos we can use for free. thanks for sharing them with us though.”

A very small word in it makes it very sad: free.

No, I am not accusing the band manager. His job is to achieve the best within the budget, his work is to save money whenever possible.

When record companies try to grab photographers rights asking to sign ridiculous contracts, you will always find me front row standing against them, but if they are offered photos for free, by photographers, it’s not their fault. It’s our!

I am pointing my finger to all those photographers that give “plenty of photos to use for free” to bands, labels, whoever in the business.

I know you exist. I know you read me but I am not sure you know this is not helping but killing even your concert photography career. It’s a suicidal approach.

Everyone of us have given some pictures for free at some point. I do this too. Many different reasons: to get some visibility, credits, build up a CV and a portfolio. It is reciprocal self promotion.

There must be a no trespass zone, though. Mine is to limit this only to the ones that are not making a profit out of my work. Simple.

Giving free rights to use your pictures to someone who is going to get money out of them is a totally different issue and it is a multi-damage process. See why.

It devaluates your job. You are basically telling your client you are worth nothing. Remember, if they chose your photos they have a value. Give it away for free, you cancel that value. Forever.

It guarantees you will never ever be paid for an image in the future. Why someone should start paying you at a certain point? What has to happen to change the conditions? They will always refer to the free pictures to ask for more free pictures.

It damages the work of any other serious photographer that is likely to receive an answer like this, so please read it again:

If I haven’t convinced you, see if Harlan Ellison does in this brilliant video, many thanks to James for posting it to the comments.

Do think twice, it’s not alright!!!

Back to the bearded people that give me a nice sense of home. Don’t know if it is because of Santa Klaus childhood memories or because I have a beard myself. Let’s believe the second, it’s August after all even if the British summer looks so much like Christmas that pubs have started taking booking for Christmas lunch!

The fact that I was close to miss Arbouretum, which play the genre of music I love in the small venues live music I best appreciate, it is another sign of how much good stuff is coming from the USA alt.folk (or avant.folk, or alt.country or whatever!!!) scene.

Luckily Andrea, an Italian friend, pointed them to me not much ago. Since I listened to them it was love at first sight.
Soon after it comes the beauty of living close to London which, for a music lover, is like for a child living in a candy’s shop.

From the moment I discover a band, spotify (?!) it and google it is likely that within 2 or 3 weeks they’ll be playing somewhere I can reach.

It happened in the past and happened again with Arbouretum. 26th of July, I caught my train to Kings Cross, walked up Pentonville Rd and entered The (lovely) Lexington for their headline show.

It was an “Uncut Club” night, so I had the plus of having a three bands line-up and a free copy of the magazine (brand new August 09 issue including a bonus Blues CD) to read during the breaks and on my train back. There is a beautiful Roky Erickson interview among other things.

Also a way to avoid twittering. Don’t you find being at a gig alone and twittering from there to share emotions with virtual people elsewhere (who can’t share anything since they aren’t with you) is pretty sad?
It looks the coolest thing at present, but seen in perspective? A couple of years back it was very cool commenting on Myspace, wasn’t it? Social networking is an unstable ever-evolving loneliness-filling movement. What’ll be next?

My self-centred attitude makes me think that, since I didn’t know Arbouretum, most of you may not as well. The experienced fans can now skip the text for a bit and look at the photos, the novices follow me through this quick “Arbouretum for Beginners” guide, it won’t take long and allow me to fill in more photos (for the experienced).

Who are they?
Arbouretum is a band formed by four (bearded) guys from Baltimore, USA.

The founding member and the heart of the band is David Heumann. On voice and guitar on stage, on many more instruments on records. Not counting collaborations with Mr William Oldham alias Bonnie “Prince” Billy and many others.
He is the only member on all the recorded stuff. Line-ups have changed a lot since the band formed in 2002.

The quartet on stage tonight, the same in the latest album, completes with other singer-guitarist Steve Strohmeier, Corey Allender on bass and drummer Daniel Franz, seen also collaborating with Bella Union’s Beach House.

So far a classic line-up, with the icing on the cake of having a band lacking a keyboard in the late noughties synth revival.

What’s the discography?
Quite long, actually. Arbouretum published three albums before I discovered them.

The first, 2004 Long Live The Well-Doer, CD is out of stock. Not their best, still a bit unripe, but worth a free listen to get in touch if you can access Spotify where it is streamed in its entirity.

The big leap forward happened when Thrill Jockey signed them.
Rites of Uncovering saw the light in 2007 and uncovers the band potential.
Guitars are prominent, voices are melancholic and songs are beautiful.
Line up changes from song to song but consistency doesn’t. You can listen to the album on streaming on Thrill Jockey website. Try the wonderful Pale Rider Blues if you want one to start.

2009 sees the arrive of Song of the Pearl. The title can be easily inverted into pearl of songs, since what they did is to add eight new pearls to the songbook. Difficult to tell where to start here, stream it all and arrive to the essence of a sweet voice over a simply distorted guitar of Tomorrow is a long time, the closing track.

Worth mentioning an LP-only issue called Kale. Split between Arbouretum and Pontiak (both Thrill Jockey bands) has new songs and John Cale covers from both bands. Arbouretum rendition of John Cale’s Buffalo Ballet is here.

What do they sound like?
The name of Bonnie “Prince” Billy is important but considering his eclecticism it is also the worst to give an idea of their music.
Their reccent supporting slot at Band Of Horses American tour could be of help. There are clearly some points in common with Seattle SubPop colleagues, in a positive way.

They both wrote beautiful songs, vocals are melodic and electric guitars between arpeggios and slides are beautifully played.
Then the music erupts in sonic journeys that makes them special.

In fact, what drew me to their gig was reading on Thrill Jockey website this statement: “Arbouretum plans to tour heavily in support of this release, but warns that live versions of the songs may bear only a passing resemblance to the recordings. They exist so as to be forever interpreted anew…ideally, at least.” Indeed.

How was the concert then?
The statement is very true. Live Arbouretum songs levitate, mount into something grander, special.

The sweetness of the singing goes enchanting the crowd until it is abruptly interrupted by crying guitars, collective improvisations, change of tempos to amaze anyone present.
They remind anything between the rustier Crazy Horses or Akron/Family adventurous post-rock digressions.

Stoner rock would be another reference if the desert had moved to Maryland or if they decide to head south-west and recording next album in the middle of Joshua Tree park.

The gig goes on for just over an hour. The setlist is in their mind, written nowhere.
I am not very good on remembering song titles even when they are faithful to recordings, so I can’t tell you which was played and which not.
What I can tell is that the set was mostly centred on the latest album, Songs of Pearl. It is the first where a consistent line-up plays all the songs.

When, towards the end, David Heumann “A” string broke under the vigour of one of his solos he got a bit frustrated.
It’s not nice when the gig is at its apex. He looked at the mixer and asked “how long do we have yet?” when someone from the crowd replied “put on the string mate, you’ve got two hours!”.

Thankfully he decided to give its guitar another try. This created a nice laid back interlude. If Steve Strohmeier failed to amuse the audience telling american jokes he delighted everyone playing a pretty nice solo song about cocaine.
Meanwhile the string was changed and Arbouretum thrilled with 15 more minutes of music delight.
This delay made me miss the last fast train so I had plenty of time to congratulate the band while they were doing the merchandise set, selling CDs.

I found 12£ for the albums and 15£ for the T-shirt a bit too expensive considering the albums are about 8£ on Amazon (even less in USA) but we all know, bands are getting most of their income from touring and a signed CD bought from the hands of your star is a different thing to a fan.

Faithful to the statement Arbouretum songs exist to be reinterpreted, which is what I’d always like to see live.
Their music renders better live and for the one not as lucky as me to gravitate around London I would suggest Thrill Jockey to think about a live recording.

I know, quite a mad move in a period where live music booms and recorded downfalls. Live album are almost disappearing but one of the few examples, My Morning Jacket’s Okonokos, still is an absolute amazing record and ranks high as one of the best album of this closing decade.

While waiting for my dream to happen, this is as far as you can go to get in touch with them online. I told you about [Thrill Jockey] for streaming of the albums, then [myspace] for more listening and tour info, [youtube] for seeing a couple of great videos.

Photo Tip

The beautiful thing about seeing a show in a small venue, is not only for the quality of the music but, if you are photographing, is for the quality of the pictures.

Before the gig I am told I can shoot as long as I wish if I don’t use flash.
It happens often in these places and the opportunity is a wonderful occasion to experiment with your style and your gear.
Without the pressure of delivering a set of photos in 10 minutes, there is load of time to try something different.

Understanding the stage presence of the band is useful to decide which direction to go with your pics.
Arbouretum are a pretty static band, so I concentrated on focusing my cameras very selectively at some details.

I will now concentrate my tip on selective focusing, wide apertures and, in the end, use of the Depth of Field (DOF).

Jumping the theory of photography that tells how depth of field works, wikipedia is much more exhaustive than I could possibly be, what follows is what I find useful and you may find useful to know to get the best out of your photos.

Fast lenses.
f/2.8 or less is ideal because DOF is related to aperture and shorten at wider apertures.
A normal to a short telephoto prime is ideal (prime lenses are faster than zooms).
On the DSLR “cropped” world, a 50mm f1.something is perfect. It gives the right aperture, the right focal length, high quality all at a reasonable price. It’s called universal lens for a reason, anyone shooting gigs should have one in the bag.

Longer telephotos (>100mm) have very short DOF but the problems with vibration and shaking can become big with low lights. To achieve the maximum effect you need perfect, sharp pictures in a very small area of the frame.

Wide angles have longer DOF so unless you have an f/1.4 or f/2.0 on a 35mm or so, the area of focus could be too long and not as effective.

I went for the 85mm using apertures around f/1.4-f/2.0 and tried to shoot at least at 1/125s.
Shaking is much more evident in close-ups.

I focus manually. This is what I prefer doing normally but I think it is even more important when selective focus. The subject and the AF could mismatch the right part of the picture you want in focus, especially if it is not central.

Choosing a subject that doesn’t move too much is unavoidable, catching a jumping singer at F2.0 it’s almost impossible, but also wait for the moment the motion is to a minimum.

Important! Don’t forget the blurred background, it sounds weird but the best results are achieved when the bokeh is harmonic.
It’s not the sharpness of the focus to make the image, but the balance of sharpness and blur, so in the viewfinder, have a look at what’s on the back of your frame.

Composition follows rules that need to be known before attempiting to distort.
There is not one single example in the history of any revolutionary artistic movement that wasn’t aware of the past. You need to handle it to change it.

Expect a big amount of useless shots and don’t get too frustrated.
Rome wasn’t built in a day.

There are gigs born under a bad star even if played by a real star.
Bad luck.

I wanted to photograph Bat For Lashes for a long time. Not only because I like her music. I have been attracted by the atmospheres she creates out of her imaginative world and curious to see how the interaction of the music and the landscape makes the often misused word “musicscape” perfect for once.

With her first album, Fur and Gold, she surprised the music world disclosing the finding of the crossroad where Kate Bush and Bjork met. It is in the middle of a forest. Someone must have appeared to her in a dream or she read it in an old, dusty fairytales book.
She went there, drank the miraculous water of the fountain, got the magic powers and came back to Brighton with eleven songs convincing everyone it’s all for real.
The twelfth song is a wonderful cover of Bruce Springsteen’s I’m On Fire.
She also convinced the Mercury Prize jury and got nominated in 2007.

Two Suns, her second album, moves a step ahead. Here she writes the fairytale.
The album is a concept revolving around her alter-ego, Pearl, a blonde femme fatal.
With the help of Scott Walker, the music risks to get overcomplicated but her voice does such a superb job to dominate the entire work.
What she achieves in the opening track, Glass, is inimitable.
Two Suns, has just been nominated for the Mercury Prize as well.
I am not a fan of statistics, I ignore how many acts have got such an achievement, for sure not many.

Photopasses are strange objects that come in different forms: laminates, stickers, wristbands, stamps on your backhand.
I failed to get into Bat For Lashes concert at the Cambridge Junction recently. No way to get a pass for a venue where I never had problems.
Few months later, I asked again, without much hope, for this Somerset House show and, with surprise, I am not only in with a photopass but I also have press tickets to stay for the gig with a +1.

What I forgot, in the excitement of rushing to the concert, is that I am in UK. Here summer is not a seasonal concept.
During what looked like a wonderful evening, listening to a mediocre support act, the guy had the brilliant idea of looking at the sky uttering: “I don’t think it’s going to rain”.

Time his set finishes the first drops starts falling. In 10 minutes Somerset House regal courtyard is flooded.

My press wristband tonight gives access to the backstage bar, which is good.
The garden umbrella used to protect tables from the sun everywhere else in the world, in England are used for sheltering from summer storms.

The bad thing is to be at that bar surrounded by all those Londoners working in the music business at their worst moment of showing off. At this point the gig is not important, what is important is to be there (or not to be there) and to conform to the behaviour of your own role.

In an “unwritten” code (very well written in Empire of Dirt: The Aesthetics and Rituals of British Indie Music Music Culture) the important things to show off are:

Passes. A laminate AAA (All Access Area) pass it’s the top. It’s always made very visible and who wears it looks cool, is detached, as if something is always about to happen, and it’s something clearly more important than the person in front of him. It’s clear you have one of these to everyone, your body language speaks, security doesn’t even ask. All the other passes follows, kept a bit more hidden so when the security ask for the ticket the pass pops out and everyone sees it. The humblest is my photographer wristband, they multiple check it and check even the camera bag. “What’s in there?”… “Erm, my cameras I am a photograprer”… “Right can I check?”… “Of course, please”, opening the bag annoyed… “They are professional cameras!”… For fuck sake, every night the same scene!

Smart Phones. The gadget to have is clearly the new i-phone. If you have a new i-phone, you must put it on the table well in sight and find a way to tell it’s the new. The guys at Apple made a capital error, 3Gs is identical to the old 3G! Better if you look busy using it. Best touchpadding (?!), scrolling your Facebook profile than calling. I feel bad, I have had one for 2 weeks.
Blackberries are ok but not as cool, they look too corporate, “economy” more than “art”, e-mail more than Twitter.
Coolness in UK music (and music biz) is more important than water in the desert. Fact.

Cameras (this is for photographers only).
Evidences in order of priority: the number of them, the size of the lenses, their aperture and the number of funny accessories.
Aspect: they must not look brand new. Good if they are the latest models but worn out gear is a sign of a high use, experience, a working hard mature photographer. Old stickers on long lenses are cool.

I am in an improbable position. Two manual film cameras looking centuries old. They are indeed worn out but out of any model comparison. The prime lenses have wide apertures the modern zooms can dream of but in the end I still look like a Venusian. Italian accent doesn’t help. Some seem to have mercy on me some admire the heroism.
When I started Live on 35mm I thought being in a niche on my own could be a profitable idea. No one shooting live music on film, I am the only who can offer proper B&W prints. This was the original idea. Two years later I learnt that being in a niche on my own just means being alone.

If you are approached by a photographer before a gig be sure you have to go through a one single question: “Who are you shooting for?”.
The one asking the question feels confident enough to be in a hierarchical higher position then yours.
No one can check your answer so if you want awe, envy and respect you can go like “I have been commissioned and flew here by Rolling Stone USA” even if you are a photography student putting together a portfolio.

Why am I wasting Bat For Lashes post with this stuff?
It is still raining at Somerset House and the time of the gig has arrived.
English photographers know and are better organized, they all wear trendy raincoats.
I wear an old fashion photographer multipocket cotton jacket full of heavy lenses.
I look like an explorer who has lost his rainforest and is just left with the rain.

A person of the organization arrives to escort (not in the Berlusconi’s way) us to the pit. It is obvious where the stage is, but this is needed to give to the person, the security and the photographers a sense of authority. Power is nothing without control, is it?

Once there I am in front of a stage too high and very deep. Centrally is protected from the rain but if you step back it’s very wet. Impossible to avoid the monitors unless you are a NBA player.

You may have noticed I hate telephoto pics, the longest lens I have with me tonight is a 135mm not long enough. My 50mm works as a ultra-wide angle considered the distance. I opt for these. No time no space and too much water to change them in due course. These are clearly the most difficult conditions I have ever shot a concert.

A lot of people comes on stage. Strings, keyboards, strange instruments and a full band. I tell you because they were so “up there” I couldn’t snap.
Bat For Lashes tonight looks like the twin sister of Lily Allen who was adopted by a family living in some undefined, remote, wild country. She ended up singing about a fairy-like place instead of celebrity-like London, which is more interesting.

She was born in Pakistan, after all, exoticism must have permeated her.
If she puts on record the soundtrack of her dreams, on stage she recreates their settings.
Her fantasies, populated by birds, wolves, tigers materialize. You perceive trees, rivers and people dressed in feather and leather. Wooden houses with colourful carpets were they live. The moon shines bright and countless stars appear in the darkness. (Clearly not London).

Her artistic inclination originates from a degree in visual arts and experience in sound installations and performance. Despite the many comparisons I read, this is the only point in common I see between her and PJ Harvey.

The music is atmospheric, the atmosphere is wet. The rain fits with the howling wolf, the full moon, the crow, the forest and the rest of the animals decorating the stage. Unfortunately it doesn’t fit with my clothes, my cameras and the shoes I have. I move back to the entrance to listen to half dozen of more songs, all sang beautifully. The gig sounds great, the sea of umbrella makes impossible to see anything. Soaked I leave before the end, my fault not her fault.

I will go back to a date of the upcoming Autumn tour, so while you wait for more pics, listen to her music here on [myspace] on the [website] or if you have access to the best idea since music was created on [spotify] you can stream both albums in their entirity.

Photo Tip

Do you really want it? Here it is:
If you are shooting an open air concert in UK bring a raincoat for you and a cover for your gear. Whatever the season and the forecasts for the day.

Back from Italy to UK. There couldn’t supposedly exist a better band to help the transition of readapting to Albion after a week full of sun and crap political debates.

Politically, Left in Italy is facing its biggest identity crisis since the second world war. It doesn’t know what to be and doesn’t have a single person who seems interesting enough to not make anyone yawn as soon as he (of course, they are all males) opens his mouth.

So future of the left is a big question overthere.
But Future of the Left is also a big band here.
A band that luckily, beyond its name, doesn’t have anything to do with Italian politics.
It just sounds perfect to open a debate which I will skip for the sake of Future of Live on 35mm!

Thanks to the best name I have come across since Bono Must Die split, I have been monitoring FOTL for quite a while.

Their first album, Curses, was released a couple of years ago following a couple of brilliant singles.
It stands out as one of the few different things to have broken through the “Great Wall” of folk stuff that hit the British shores in the last 2 years.

A breath of fresh air for anyone got annoyed by complicate vocal harmonies, acoustic guitars and improvised record studios built inside cabin sheds in the chill of North America winters.

Future of the Left music is somewhere else. Energetic, screamy, full of (positive) anger and (constructive) rebelliousness.
They have those songs that let out any constrain, free testosterone fuelled emotions, angry feelings and put your mood back in track.
After a full listening of their album you feel ready to face your boss without punching him in the face… or strong enough to do so, which may be an even better outcome.

Listen to adeadenemyalwayssmellsgood (such a good band name such a unspeakable song title, and is not even Welsh). I am probably going a bit too far but I haven’t listened to a track so powerful since Rage Against The Machine.

It might be because of the slow start that burst in the electric shock happening around minute 0.36″, or the use of verses, repeated constantly in a unstoppable escalation, or the solid bass/drum rhythm who sustains the whole, whatever you choose this is rock played at full steam.

“Wow! Who are these trains?” it’s my improbable translation from a Roman expression depicting at the same time technical skills and power. I got it from, Prince Faster, the most famous Italian Rock DJs when I introduced FOTL to him.

I’ll answer here.
Not new to the music scene, Future of the Left are a Welsh trio born from the ashes of McLusky, another Welsh post-punk trio that split in 2005.

Andy “Falco” Falkous the singer guitarist and Jack Egglestone the drummer were together part of McLusky line-up.

Admitting I haven’t been into McLusky a lot during their career, the differentiation between the bands comes from two facets.
One is the use of more synth that gives Future of the Left sound a freshness to suit current times and the other, more relevant, the addition of bassist/singer Kelson Mathias which brings additional horse power to the engine.

Curses‘ success needed to be matched. A couple of years and Travels with Myself and Another is out on 4AD.
Actually, usual story, the album leaked two months before the official release making Falco understandably very angry: “I’m not angry (in fact I don’t blame you, unless you leaked it, in which case I WILL KILL YOU)…”.

If Curses was a promising transition containing a bunch of great singles, Travels with Myself and Another discloses the band potential in a more solid cohesion.
The 12 songs are concentrated in less than 40 minutes and Future of the Left post-hardcore erupts in all its rowdy intensity and visceral brawniness.

Titles get more understandable here and some are brilliant. I love You Need Satan More Than He Needs You, Lapsed Catholics and Arming Eritrea.
The band clearly has a political inclination that emerges since the titles but the verses are enigmatic enough (to me at least) to avoid them being caught in the unproductive net of bands filed under: revolutionary and radical politic. Which is good especially if you are targeting the USA market.

Musically I can ear influences that diagonally cross America from North East, Fugazi and their Washington, to south West, Rage Against the Machine, System of a Down, Faith No More and their California battles.

But music history doesn’t follow a straight line. It squeezes and relaxes as an accordion.
If Fugazi and RATM developed two opposite music styles, they yet have a point in common in Yorkshire: Gang Of Four.
Future of the Left are the best synthesis I can think of these influences, a mixture of post-hardcore/punk which retains an exquisite songwriting as well showing a political inclination without becoming a political reference.

Until this intimate gig upstair at the Relentless Garage in London, I never saw them live, which is bizarre considering the amount of touring. This date is a warm up night before a long USA tour.
It is nice to see a Welsh bands managing to go where the unlucky Manic Street Preachers failed. Their irreverent sound has everything to energize the American public.

On the small cosy stage of the Garage the trio fits everything they need, drums, bass, guitars two mics and, main differentiator from the past, a keyboard. Both Falco and Kelson Mathias will spend some time on it.

The set is tight, overwhelming, relentless as the name of the place they chose for the gig. There is no space for trifles. A couple of rants against Michael Jackson which are a safe play in front of their faithful fans.
The couple of hundreds people packing the room are spread over different age groups and hair length but united by the need of riotous lively show.

Thank to my pocket digital camera and my Moleskine, I can translate a setlist which I would otherwise never be able to remember.
As you can imagine the set jumps up and down over their albums without weak points.

The concert opens as Travel with Myself and Another.
Arming Eritrea and Chin Music is a perfect pair that would wake up the dead so they easily get the attention of the last few guys left queuing for another pint.
A step back to Curses with Wrigley Scott, Small Bones Small Bodies and Finger become Thumbs to please early fans standing on the front row. The sound board man sets all the volumes to 11+.
Land of my Formers from last album introduces the synth interlude.
Falco is the first to leave the guitar and step on the synth. Manchasm’s four minutes, twice the average of a standard FOTL song, is surprisingly good even with an insistent chorus and to the ones whose level of toleration for electronic keys is very low: i.e. myself.

Another line-up change, Kelson leaves the bass to gain the synth. I don’t know which effects he turns on but the sound is completely different, the drums much more prominent. My favourite title You Need Satan More Than He Needs You becomes one of my favourite songs too.

Stand By Your Manatee is back to all guitars business and travels back in time to introduce The Lord Hates A Coward, the first single.

The final trio is opened by the guitar riff of My Gymnastic Past which culminates his persistent “Wave wave wave, I don’t wanna wave wave” chorus into the opening “roll on” of their anthemic Adeadenemyalwayssmellsgood. The crowd at this point goes totally nuts. If this song doesn’t make you move is because you are deaf. There are no exceptions.

I was expecting the last single, the System of a Down influenced The Hope That House Built as a closure track. Instead I got Cloack the Dagger which I didn’t know. Thanks to St. Spotify.com I realized first they have a live album out, Last Night I Saved Her From Vampires, second the song closes that too.
After a set of 3-minutes songs, this goes on forever and is crafted to instrumental improvisations with give Andy Falkous the occasion of assaulting pitilessly his guitar, pulling and beating the six strings with a drum stick until they are all gone. Stick included. Theatrical nevertheless effective.

Check Future of the Left on their [website] or [myspace]

Photo tip

I love music photography but even more I love music.
I go to gigs, shoot the first 3 songs than stay to listen to the entire show. So far nothing special.

Repeat this more then once a week, add the closeness of my ears to the speakers and you would wonder if I wear earplugs.
Well, not really, not always, actually almost never.

I must admit. I hate the sound of music with those irritating spongy yellow things in my ears.
Any doctor would tell me I am crazy and destined to deafness, which I couldn’t argue, could I?

I refused the statement for decades but I admit my granddad was right, getting older make you wiser.
Some weeks ago I stumbled upon one of the brilliant posts of Todd Owyoung (which beyond being a great photographer is plenty of good advices for concert photographers) and I followed his suggestion for a better pair of earplugs. A quick Amazon search and at the cost of a crap 80s hits collection on sale I got the advise and bought a pair of ER-20.

Worthless saying I forgot to use them and needed some attriction to be convinced but I have never been as happy as when, after the first FOTL deafening song, I found the plugs in my camera bag.
Future of the Left gig was the loudest gig I have been since Dinosaur Jr and yes, wearing the earplugs throughout the entire show, made it into a different experience.

I could stand the entire concert close to the speakers, with a sound good enough to enjoy the show and feel no ringing once in bed.

I can see me now being the smoking parent who tell his kids not to smoke but trust me, unless you are going to covering acoustic folk, bring a pair of decent earplugs always with you. You are not forced to put them on, but if the volume goes beyond your ears tolerance they are more important than your camera battery.

TODAY

It hasn’t been easy, I must confess.
Going back to the very same place on the very same day exactly ten years after, was a touching experience.
First impression. That place today looks smaller, so that I could realize how close I was to Mark Sandman in 1999.
It’s a basketball field, with a couple of concrete terraces where I sat ten years ago, waiting to know more. Could still see myself there.

I arrive early. It’s raining. Someone at the bar tells me it is the first time in twenty years of “Nel Nome del Rock” festival that rains. It is not just a shower, it is an Italian summer thunderstorm lasting a couple of hours and threatening the entire show.

I feel impatient, standing under a tent, looking at the sky and talking to some American guys who I have already met in London. They are shooting a documentary about Mark’s life.

The band is somewhere in town, nowhere close. Dana Colley and family, Jerome Deupree (the first Morphine drummer) and Jeremy Lyons whom, in few hours, is going to have the role of the musician replacing Mark Sandman. He will be playing Mark’s songs in Mark’s band, on the stage where Mark died. I reckon you need a total dedication to music and very strong nerves.

Bill Conway the second Morphine drummer couldn’t come. He was the one drumming that night in Palestrina in 1999. Dana Colley tonight is the only who was on stage ten years ago.
I finally manage to introduce myself to him while eating a very Italian pasta in the backstage. He, as always, is in a positive mood. I have never been a fan(atic) but greeting Dana and realizing he knows who I am is fulfilling.

Rain stops, Members of Morphine with Jeremy Lyons are definitely going to walk the stage.

Morphine new recorded music stopped with The Night, Morphine CDs didn’t.

The following years saw some interesting releases.
Bootleg Detroit, is a live album. Basically an official bootleg registered on tape by a fan at a gig in Detroit.
It sounds as lo-fi as possible, but it preserves the intimacy of one of their live shows.
I wouldn’t suggest it to get in touch with the band but would definitely if you love this demo-tape approach to music.

What is a key collection for anyone wanting to get to know Morphine without wanting to buy 5 albums, is their Best of. It comes with a couple of unpublished tracks but truly contains the very best of the band. An album that was always on my CD pouch when travelling with my portable CD player in the pre-iPod era.
Important suggestion, get the European edition which is complete and includes tracks from any of their five albums.
The American version, instead, called Best of 1992-1995, stops at Yes.
This is because of a Label conflict. in USA Dreamwork issued their last two albums, while on EU they are all distributed by Rykodisc.

To complete Morphine discography there is an album B-Sides and Otherwise released in 1997. The kind of product aimed to fans wanting everything. It contains every other thing the band has been recording which is not on the albums.

There have been rumours of a Morphine box for a long time, I guess the Dreamwork-Rykodisc dispute as well as the recent Rykodisc merge into something else has slowed down the release.

Having my press pass is my bit of pride of the night. Ten years and I am finally beyond the barrier.

When Members of Morphine come on stage it is very emotional. All the memories came back to surface, as it was yesterday.
The same plastic sunflowers decorate the stage as in the past.

Dana Colley stands on the left, on what was Mark’s spot. Jeremy Lyons stands on the right and Jerome Deupree has his drum kit behind a big hand painted sunflower. It is titled The Morphine Family and contains a lot of writings from the band’s friends. It goes without saying the deepest is:

“Sono triste di lasciare Palestrina ma il mio cuore rimarrà sempre con voi”
Da Mark e Sabine

which translate something as:

“I am sad to leave Palestrina, but my heart will always be with you”
From Mark and Sabine (which was Mark’s girlfriend).

The shock following Mark’s death didn’t stop the other guys being involved with music.
For about a year they toured the music of Morphine with a big band called, Orchestra Morphine. Among the musicians there was a girl, Laurie Sargent.

Orchestra Morphine project naturally merged into Twinemen.
Dana Colley and Bill Conway brought Laurie Sargent into this band.
Coincidentally I was in Boston in summer 2002. Browsing record shops in search of Morphine rarities, I stumbled upon the Twinemen self titled first album, just issued.
It has a Mark Sandman drawing on the cover.

The music, mixes reminiscence of Morphine jazz-ish songs with some more atmospheric lounge sound. It’s different and, I must admit, not as good.
This didn’t prevent me, now a UK resident, to buy a ticket for their gig at the Camden Underworld in London few years ago.
Once there all I found was a sign on the door saying “Tonight’s concert has been cancelled”. I will discover not enough tickets were sold.

Twinemen released another couple of albums on Hi-N-Dry. The record label founded by Mark Sandman, today managed by the three Twinemen themselves.

The concert opens with Have a Lucky Day, which I couldn’t take only as a good wish. I knew I should expect something like this, but it is not easy, is it?

Claire follows and I have to stop taking pictures to listen. I realize how much I love and I miss this music.
Scratch, Sheila… the magic music of Morphine is permeating Palestrina’s humid air, again.
The atmosphere is relaxed, there is no three songs rule for photographers and I stay there to finish my films with no rush. I choose my favourite angles with the eyes, while the ears are pleased by Dana baritone’s sax.

Jeremy Lyons plays a 2 string slide bass, it is not Mark’s bass but manages to get a sound which is quite close. The voice is not, obviously, but when he uses that retro mic Mark used gives goosebumps.

In the middle of the show, just after Thursday (or was it before?), Dana makes a speech to the crowd.
First in English, then in Italian.
He thanks the people of Palestrina for being friend and always being close to them.
He says how happy it was to come back here with his family.
He thanks Mark Sandman and states that place is almost sacred to them.
It’s touching, Dana is almost moved to tears, with bright eyes he takes back is big sax and plays out loud. The big trees vibrate, silent witnesses.

At this point Hi-N-Dry seems to be the key activity to Dana and Bill, but they never stopped playing music. Last year, surfing the ever revealing waves of internet, I discovered another project.

A.K.A.C.O.D., clearly not the best name you want to call a band, (it stands for “As Known As Colley, Ortiz and Dersch”) is Dana Colley playing with Monique Ortiz on bass and Larry Dersch on drums.
Another Morphine-like line-up. Ortiz occasionally plays slide bass and when it happens music gets as close as it has ever been to Morphine since 1999.
The Happiness album is good. A low-rock feel a dark atmosphere someway reminescent of Nick Cave but the desire to sound like Morphine reveals its impossibility without Mark Sandman songwriting.

In the middle of the gig there is a break with few songs that the three wrote recently. Jeremy Lyons moves to guitar. It’s not Morphine for a while, nostalgia leaves space to something different which pleases the part of the audience unaware of the bands legacy and leave the fans in wait of more hits. We are all here for a celebration.

All Wrong, Buena, Honey White arrive towards the end, and retain the magic. Dana doesn’t play neither other saxes nor two saxes at the same time but his groove is still there, as catchy as always.
Jerome has a different drumming than Bill Conway. He seems more comfortable with the songs he recorded on the first 2 albums than with Bill material. I guess very few people would even notice the difference.

So what has happened during these 10 years on Mark Sandman name?

Quite a few things.
He got a square to his name in Boston.
His apartment became the Hi-N-Dry recording studio and, I have been told in a comment, his bass is proudly hanging on one of the walls.

A Memorial Fund has been created after his death. Mark Sandman Music Education Fund is a no-profit organization that aims to help children in the Boston area to learn how to play music.
If you have money to give or want to get involved, monitor the Hi-N-Dry website and join their newsletter.

Music wise, Hi-n-Dry has released a beautiful package. 2CDs and 1DVD of Mark Sandman related projects. It’s called Sandbox. There is not Morphine music in it (usual copyrights stuff, I guess) but this wonderful box, must not be read as a fans-only item.
It shows how good Mark Sandman was as songwriter with Threat Her Right and some solo things. There are terrific tunes in there, tunes for which much bigger artists would sell the soul to the devil to write.

The Palestrina encore is with the unmissable Cure for Pain. French Fries With Pepper has the addition of a trio of women on back vocals.

Concerts ends in a party mood. Dana Colley is touched by people response, his entire family is here. He calls his children on stage more then once, it looks he needs them to give him strength.

It is a celebration of Music, no space left for sadness.
I am very happy to have flown back here from UK. Now my memories will not be linked only to a dramatic moment but to a great show that existed because of it.

There is always a way out of darkness, Morphine music is one, and Members of Morphine lesson is another.
I don’t know if I ever listen to Morphine music live again, but driving back home I couldn’t avoid to play that Best of Morphine CD. It’s on my i-Pod now.

<<< PART1

Photo Tip

I didn’t want to put a photo tip on this 2-parts special issue on Morphine, but after what happened I feel I have to.

As I wrote previously, a big poster with my picture of Mark was to be on stage. You haven’t seen it, because It was not. A sad but well precedented concert photographer’s situation.

Few months ago I sent to the organizers my photos of Morphine last gig, they loved them so much that they started to use their favourite to paint a big panel (did they?) and proposed me to do an exhibition at the festival.

When I was told, at the condition the use was related only to the promotion of the festival which is a no-profit charity institution, I agreed to give the rights for free in change of just credits.
I didn’t want to exploit neither the low budget I know they have nor, most important, Mark Sandman’s night.

They got so happy with the result to came back to me saying they were going to print T-Shirts and limited edition posters with the drawing derived from my image. I was very happy too, of course.
But at that point, being the merchandise sold for a profit, I asked for a percentage.
Being the one who supplied the image for the artwork I think it is fair enough to be acknowledged.

I got no answer. I insisted and received a reply which was at the same time arrogant, defensive and devaluating.
They wrote that being the image a drawing inspired from my picture, it wasn’t my image anymore and I shouldn’t have any right on it.
I said I wasn’t sure that it was such a case and asked to see the artwork to verify.
It is here below, next to my original photo.

Crystal clear isn’t it? This is not an artwork inspired by whatever. This is my image transformed in B&W with a 30 seconds photoshop intervention and a writing added to the bottom. I stood for my request, I got no answer since.

Once in Palestrina, I understand neither posters nor T-shirts have been printed with my picture.
Most interesting there was not even the big poster decorating the backstage.
The only pictures of Morphine last gig, that everyone wanted there because “Mark would have loved them” simply haven’t been used.

The organizer didn’t even manage to approach me, “it’s very busy”. When I insisted to meet him he went like “Oh hello, you are Valerio” and walked away.

The official reason I was given, by someone else who I asked, is that they didn’t have time to print the material. Which is not very believable.

This is what we, as music photographers, pass through regularly.
Either we give pictures for free or we don’t have pictures used or published.

I will always stand against it, not because I want to make money out of live music photography, which is an illusion, but to protect the dignity of photographers that instead of people working for the sake of music are seen as some sort of virtual sources of images, with no rights.
Unfortunately for one that resists there are 10 out there to give away photographs.

In this unique occasion, being the only one having pictures of Morphine last gig, there was no one else so no Morphine related merchandise at the Morphine celebration gig.
The fans couldn’t get their Mark Sandman T-Shirt, the organizers didn’t make easy money selling them and I haven’t got a big poster on the backstage. It is an all-lose situation. Silly isn’t it?

10 YEARS AGO

MARK SANDMAN (1952-1999)

When I started Live on 35mm, almost 2 years and 100 bands ago, I didn’t have a clue where I was going with this site, but I knew that if it lasted until the 3rd of July 2009 I had one band to publish. That day has come.

That band is Morphine.
This article is dedicated to the memory of their leader: Mark Sandman.

This is a unique post on several levels and very personal.
It contains the only pictures available (as far as I am aware) of the Morphine last concert, taken literally minutes before Mark Sandman collapsed on stage, dying of a heart attack.
Sandman life and the career of one of my favourite bands abruptly terminated exactly 10 years ago, in front of me on the stage of a small Italian festival.

These are my memories of that night.
Yes, I was there and I had my beloved camera with me.
Not yet a music photographer, after that night I decided I would try to be.
Already a live music lover, after that night I promised to myself I wouldn’t stop going to concerts.
There are defining moments in everyone’s story. This was clearly one of mine.

I drove from Rome for the short journey to Palestrina well in advance. I was in an iper-excited mood. A free small festival on a summer night and Morphine, that I have been looking forward to seeing live for at least the previous three years, were headlining.
(Not counting that a newly formed band, born from the ashes of Kyuss and bizarrely named Queens of the Stone Age, was playing the day after!).

Morphine are the most peculiar and underrated band to have ever appeared in the music scene. Fact. Take the word “music” in the widest sense.

During the eighties Mark Sandman and his tritar (a sort of three strings guitar), was leading the Boston outfit Treat Her Rights with Dave Champagne on (a proper) guitar, Jim Fitting on harmonica and Bill Conway (later with Morphine too) on drums.

Unfortunately Treat Her Right blues-rock project never managed to break beyond the Boston scene. After the third brilliant album, What’s Good For You, the band dismantled.
Many lo-fi blues bands still owe a lot to them. The sound of Detroit contemporary blues rotating around Jack White, just to name one, with bands as Soledad Brothers, Cut in The Hill Gang are deeply rooted into Treat Her Right music.

In 1989 Mark Sandman recruited saxophonist Dana Colley from another Boston band, Three Colors, and drummer Jeromee Dupree.
Morphine were just born.

Dana Colley saxes replace Jim Fitting harmonica complementing the low sound of Morphine with a dark, jazzy edge. The union of Sandman bass and Colley sax works so well that nothing will match since.

Sandman is almost permanently on a 2 strings slide bass, Colley privileges the baritone among his saxophones collection (he often plays two at the same time). The clever drumming of Dupree thickens the mix.
The band naturally has a deep sound that fits Sandman voice, often filtered through his retro-sounding microphones.
If low-rock is a genre, Morphine are the ones who invented it. No other band depicts the smoky club atmosphere as Morphine did.

A trio formed by a bass player, a drummer and a sax is an oddity that should generate the curiosity of music lovers.
The only other band I know on such a line-up is John Zorn grindcore jazz trio Painkiller. Zorn sax is joined on bass by dub master Bill Laswell and Napalm Death’s Mick Harris on drums. Both bands formed at the beginning of the 90s but they position themselves at the very extremes of the audible music spectrum.

When I arrived to Palestrina there was quite a big crowd. Morphine, thanks to Radio Rock, were quite known in Rome. I had to fight a bit to get to the front but nothing would stop me at that time. I wanted to be there, see their eyes, feel the breath, enjoy the music. I wanted to photograph them.

The concert started. They played few songs, don’t know how many. I sincerely cannot recall how long the concert lasted. I’d love to know, but I really can’t. I was shocked.

Sandman at a first impression reminded me of Lou Reed. Dana had his long hair cut. Bill is on drums at the back surrounded by flowers. Everything looks perfect.

I started to take pictures as soon as they came on stage, a security guy stopped me once. I wasn’t an official photographer.
I timidly restarted taking some pictures after a while, you expect Italian rules are loose. Not that night, he came back threatening to take my camera. I told myself, OK wait few minutes, he will calm down I’ll snap towards the end.
There will not be an end, I regret having listened to him since.

There was another photographer there. An official photographer. He was in the pit, beyond the barrier. My usual place nowadays, not at that time. I envied him.
I have never seen those pictures anywhere, though. I wonder what happened.

Morphine first record, Good, was released in 1991 on a local label and attracted the attention of Rykodisk who signed them and re-released the album the following year.
Despite it won’t go much beyond the Boston Area, it is a brilliant album that contains some of the defining Morphine songs. Have a Lucky Day, You Look Like Rain and The Saddest Song are in it.

Cure For Pain, apart from the fact of being the greatest title you can give to an album if you play in a band called Morphine, is a masterpiece.
It’s 1993. The sounds of the debut matures, the original drummer Jeremee Dupree still records most of tracks but can’t continue for some personal problems. Bill Conway, from Treat her Rights, will replace him on drums from now on.
The songs get a more defined structure, the album is more accessible. I really find difficult to choose the best tracks out of those thirteen pearls. I am listening to it now after 15 years and they retain all their fascination. Buena, Thursday, All Wrong, Cure For Pain, Sheila and the instrumental tribute Miles Davis Funeral won’t be left out in my personal “Best of” compilation.

The peak is yet to come. Yes follows a couple of years later and is another masterpiece!
I mean, you don’t become the most underrated band ever with just 2 singles, do you? These three albums are awesome.
On Yes, Morphine are on top form and on a variable mood, in a positive sense.
The album is assorted, multi flavour. From the opening Honey White with its saxophone catchy riff to the most beautiful sad song ever written, Gone For Good, which closes it, Yes doesn’t fail throughout its length.
In addition to the two above Whisper, Yes and Supersex are Morphine at their peak. The world starts noticing.

I will never forget that moment.
Mark Sandman said hello to the people of Palestrina, announced Supersex and just started sliding his two strings. A couple of notes into, music stopped, he was on the ground.

I firstly thought of a staged act, a sort of fake drama that would fit his humour. I had not seen Morphine live. It’s 1999 internet was very young and Youtube wasn’t even born. I didn’t really know what to expect from them live beyond the music.

I understand that something went wrong moments after. Dana Colley got rid of his sax literally throwing it to the ground and jumped on Mark’s body. That was an impulsive act of terror and desperation.
Dana knew what Mark used to do on stage and that wasn’t expected. Bill followed and in few seconds all their crew was around Mark body.
Thinking at the silence of the crowd, the silence of the stage, still makes me shiver.
That feeling you get when you perceive something wrong happened, something very serious but you don’t want to believe and start magic thinking.

Audience thought it was a temporary accident and asked when the concert was going to restart. I had a bad feeling.
Minutes passed before someone made clear that the concert was not going to restart. Mark went with an ambulance.
No one knew what happened. I had a bad feeling.
I am not good at “living without knowing”. I sat on some concrete terraces on the side of the field, waiting to know.

Like Swimming was the latest album Morphine issued when they were touring. It came out in 1997 on Dreamwork, a new label.
After three masterpieces this had to be the one to send Morphine into orbit. The one to give them success beyond the circle of devotees.
Unfortunately it failed to deliver, despite it is not a bad album and contains at least a couple of beautiful song as French Fries With Pepper and Early To Bed, it is less accessible without being intriguing.
I never managed to get into it completely, some songs sound classic Morphine tunes, other go somewhere without really knowing where.
It sits in the middle between an exhausted past and a future lacking a clear direction.

Following what just happened in front of me, I thought that was their last album. Hopefully it was not.
Morphine had just finished recording The Night before coming to Italy. It will come out posthumous at the beginning of 2000.
It is a much more convincing piece of work than Like Swimming and, most important, this time it gives a taste of where Morphine were about to going. It is not yet fully mature but is sophisticate and sign of a transition in progress are evident. Their instruments palette is expanded, several musicians joined the recording sessions. Strings, organ, guitars hot up the arrangements. The Night, the title track opening the album, is one of my favourite Morphine tracks and one of the most sensual songs I have ever heard.

After a long time, much longer than the concert, I found the strength to approach the people dismantling the stage and ask.
No one was willing to answer. I insisted until a guy made a gesture with his hands. His body language was indisputable. Mark was dead.
It felt so unbelievable I didn’t have tears to cry. Years waiting to see Morphine live I ended up seeing Morphine’s death. It was unfair.

I sat down on the concrete floor. I saw Mark’s bass being put back into its case. Someone put one of the flowers on stage into it. It closed in front of me, as a coffin’.
I felt tears coming down. I wonder where that bass is today.

In the next couple of hours I drove back home, walked straight in the darkroom, rewind the unfinished film, developed the negatives and printed the photos.
A scene that reminds of Antonioni’s Blowup. I desperately needed to see that I got something. I wanted to see Mark playing again. I needed to have something physical to handle.

I printed two copies of those pictures that same night. One for me, I posted the other to the band. Then I couldn’t cope with them for years, I didn’t want to earn money out of them, I haven’t even looked at them.

Now they are here, for you.
If even just one of the readers discovers how great Morphine are, I reached my goal.

I have never been to Palestrina since. Emotionally distraught I couldn’t cope.
I missed the Queens of The Stone Age the day after and all the other “Nel Nome Del Rock” festival editions in the following years.

I am flying back to Palestrina this year, though. It is the 20th festival and on the midnight of the 2nd of July Dana Colley, Bill Conway and Jeromee Dupree will walk back to that stage joined by Jeremy Lyons to play a special gig to celebrate the 10th anniversary of Mark’s dead with Morphine’s music.

My picture of Mark on top here has been printed in a giant poster and decorates the back of the stage.
You’ll get a full reportage of this event next on Live on 35mm and you will discover how Mark Sandman legacy is being kept alive.

Part 2 >>>

I’ll repeat myself. Risking to look repetitive, banal and even snooty. The Dead Weather debut in front of a real crowd in London (they played a warm up show in a tiny ballroom the day before) it was another of those not-to-be-missed night of this exciting summer.

If I can’t use once again the excuse that I struggled to get through this photopass until literally few minutes before the start, I can witness that there are photographers tonight who postponed the Glastonbury departure to cover this show.

Nevermind. Most important is to point out, for the few who missed it, that the hype around The Dead Weather is due to the fact that they are another Jack White creature.
They materialized (virtually) few months ago on any music website as soon as the news spread, then (physically) on the Forum stage tonight.

I missed the early White Stripes. I was living in Italy at that time, a country where new music is at least three albums old. What I did not miss is John Peel’s famous quote: “White Stripes, Most exciting thing since Jimi Hendrix”.

Now, if you are into “Italian classicism paranoia” you know that the dogma is that something historical cannot be compared to contemporary. So speak to any Italian journalist, music lover and they will discard such a quote as Peel’s first sign of dementia.
Then I moved to UK, got to listen and read more about the man and experience a different approach to modern music. It becomes easy to know what the man meant and to agree that he was damn right.

You have to listen the White Stripes live to understand John Peel. He was not comparing music forty years apart, which would be indeed silly, he was comparing an attitude to music and he was spot on.
When Jack White plays he is totally transported by an unconditional passion for his guitar, an attitude which actually hasn’t been that common since, erm… Jimi Hendrix. History tells John Peel was right.

On the contrary, I was in UK and inside the Astoria for the first Raconteurs gig. Jack White first side project and half-super group with Brendan Benson created huge expectations.

The idea of Jack White playing guitar supported by a full band got me quite excited. Anyone who knew what he can achieve on his own in the White Stripes fantasized about what could do with a full band.
History tells that despite the Raconteurs were great and their shows got much better with time, they haven’t really moved rock history towards any new direction.

This long intro to say that I am standing in front of the Forum, with neither ticket nor photopass confirmation, too curious to see this third project of Jack White.

He put together Alison Mosshart, the Kills vocalist, Dean Fertita the Queens of the Stone Age (and Raconteurs) Keyboardists and Jack Lawrence, the Raconteurs bassist.
This is indeed a supergroup, with a surprise. Jack White is on drums.

The music press insists in calling it side-side project. In fact Jack White doesn’t care. He does what he loves, plays the music he likes, when he likes, together with whom he likes.

He is the rock icon of this closing first decade of the Millennium. Find me another one if you can, but please don’t quote Pete Doherty if you don’t want me to ban you!

Before the concert the roadies check cables and tuning instruments as usual. Difference is that they are dressed in dark suits, ties and Borsalino hats. Instead of the usual chubby guy with black tape coming out of a multipocket army shorts and an old, worn festival T-Shirts, they seem to come out straight out of a Vogue photoset.

When the Dead Weather enter the stage, the aura of coolness that permeates the Forum reaches its climax.
Dressed in black from tip to toe, with glossy white vintage instruments and a huge curtain lowered down from the ceiling, it is image design perfection. After all he is a White Stripe, isn’t he?
Very coooool, but this can also be a diverting trick. Let’s see.

To dispel all doubts is Dean Fertita. He opens the set introducing a bluesy guitar riff that repeats throughout the verses of 60 feet tall. A regular, obsessive, relentless, magnetic riff. Jack White to get warm limit himself to beat the 4/4 with his other Jack friend.
Alison Mosshart takes 30 seconds to seduce the entire audience with his murky voice and sensual moves.
The Dead Weather lo-fi blues evolve into a noisy solo where Fertita can show off his guitar skills.

Treat Me Like Your Mother follows. The blues is left a bit aside, Fertita takes the keys and let more noise in. White starts showing off his talent on drums.

He clearly doesn’t have the same skills he has on guitar. His drumming is simpler nevertheless it is potent, big, serves the songs and retains his trademark unexpected, flamboyant attitude.
He follows and fulfill the music. All of a sudden his drumming can become a machine gun that burst into steady fire or get a muffled twist with timpani mallets.

So what do they sound like? It sounds banal but the obvious one is the right answer.
Their sound meets exactly at the crossroads between White Stripes’ reinterpretation of the blues of the hills, The Kills vision of lo-fi noise rock plus some killer interventions offered by Queens of The Stone Age circa Rated R era.
If you can think at something saucier, I cannot.

What doesn’t fit into this mix is the Raconteurs classic rock.
The approach is more experimental, Jack Lawrence doesn’t seem appalled at all.

So if Jack is the humble superstar, Alison the hypnotic beauty, the other Jack the cool image (and the bass groove), Dean is the big surprise.

I wouldn’t have predicted that he is the sound and the hearth, the mind and the noise of the Dead Weather. He is the one that cut a blues riff and then moves into a sonic intervention at the keys before returning to the guitar for a shoegaze break. He is the spine spine on which all the rest holds on.

Alison Mosshart has quickly found her place without James Hince on her side… or because of it.
She offers one of her wild, sweating, energetic performances that infuse sex at any move. In the shadow, in a trance-hypnotic state, her eyes staring at the void.
The ones faraway could think at a forced theatrical setting but looking at her from 30cm it is clear she’s not playing a part. She is body and mind into it. Isn’t it, Juliette Lewis?

If she had a more solid voice she would be one of the greatest female rockstar around, so far PJ Harvey throne is still in place. The three help her on back vocal, Jack White takes lead duties at times with his mic plugged to a strong effect.

What seemed clever with the Raconteurs, to provide Jack White with a full backing band, turned out to be not so effective. The winning move of The Dead Weather is to put White on drums. An intuition that caught the world by surprise, I wonder what Meg thinks.

Shifting a guitar hero on drums balanced the supergroup music and image. adding up his modesty and a desire to challenge himself constantly, gave sense to the whole idea.

Just think at the same band with Jack White on guitar. His explosive personality, his fiery style would act as a locomotive running on its track and pulling three passive carriages.
It be difficult to see such a thing as a real band and not a solo project.

My impression becomes visible when he leaves his drum kit and puts on is loved electric axe.
Will There Be Enough Water starts as a sexy ballad which see him duetting with Alison Mosshart. It’s not long before the love for the guitar takes over the attraction for the girl.
That is the time Jack gets possessed and plays a stellar guitar solo that reminds anyone why he is the rock icon of the decade.

Musically it’s one of the peaks of the night, palpably everything else is dimmed. Fertita supports the lack of bass with a simple organ loop, Lawrence on drums follow quietly and Alison is left alone dancing with her microphone stand.
An entire concert like this would have been a guitar show off. Credit to Jack White to step back for the sake of the band.

As soon as they leave the stage the crowd goes mad. A guy next to me says “they’re stomping them out”. Indeed. The Forum shakes to the clapping and the quartet can’t let them wait more and quickly comes back.

The heavy riff of Forever My Queen by the american heavy metal pioneers, Pentagram, shakes the theatre and fades into their debut singles, Hang You From The Heavens.
The closure is for Bob Dylan’s New Pony which is different enough from the original that I recognisse it because I read it was played at previous shows.

If it is true Jack White is quick enough to form a group, record an album and organize a world tour in the time Kevin Shield wakes up and thinks what to have for breakfast, even more true is that he gathered first class musicians for this project. He is well tuned with Lawrence and Fertita thanks to the Raconteurs extensive touring, Mosshart seems to be at ease as long as a cool guy dating a supermodel is next to her.

There are still a few things to set up, from Alison singing to Jack’s own drumming but impression is very positive.
Some songs leave a slightly sharp aftertaste but that is just to remind anyone that the fruit needs some time to ripe to perfecion.

Apparently the Dead Weather don’t have a myspace official page so I leave you with the official [website] and the very unofficial [youtube] of this very concert. The frantic photographer appearing on 60 feet tall is actually me. Enjoy (the songs not me).

Photo tip

A quick one to get this occasion and give you some ideas to photograph a supergroup.
Namely a band made of superstars.

Before the show you have a likely problem.
TO fight to get in, million of photographers applying. You may also have to sign a contract which I suggest you read carefully.

In the pit it is likely to find a lot of people and you have to follow the politically correct policy.

Image-wise the main problem is to have all the stars in the same frame, which is quite impossible unless they play on a very tiny stage, which wasn’t the Forum’s case.

The easy options is to shoot one by one but you loose the key point. Catching the magic of them appearing together.

The other option is to couple them in pair.
ONe next to the other, one in the front the other in the back, as long as they are recognizable it’s fine.

Priority one should go to the most famous with the second most famous and so on.
Theoretically it sounds logic. When your superstar is sitting on drum until the last song, and photographers have been kicked out from the pit a long time since, you don’t have the priority one available and you have to opt for different solutions.

While shooting keep an eye at what happens on stage, look for the right angles where you can include to spots and, most important, put attention at what is in the back.
The success of the image is not on the main subject but in the combination of the artist you have in the front with the one (or more) you compose carefully in the back.
It’s another step more difficult, have I ever said it is an easy profession?

You don’t want me to review Katy Perry gig, do you?

A real music critic with the Observer authority, Alice Fisher, went to this same gig and wrote a very positive review of this show (despite the online version uses a photo from another date, ah).
It is not the world going mad for a pop girl, it’s just me being the usual arty-depressed-literate indie-kid (yes for indie, once upon a time for kid) that can’t get fun out of pop music magic. I never did, I fear I never will, whatever. For normal human beings Katy show is fun.

I think it is better for you to enjoy the pictures (where else can you get Katy Perry live shot on B&W film?) while reading one of my aspiring* essays in poor English trying to rationalize the irrational. Come on, I see you are looking forward to this.

(*meaningless)

Katy Perry came to a worldwide success with the catchiest song since Rihanna’s Umbrella. Difference is that I Kissed a Girl is a better song and she is a better singer.
Katy is not a plastic baby doll but a real baby doll and her lyrics are so cleverly written to instantly appeal to a worldwide audience that spans from very young girls to (im)mature boys.

Most important, the lyrics are perfectly written to make anyone angry from gay communities to radical feminists, from conservative religious group to her favourite target: dull, self-centred boyfriends.

“This was never the way I planned, not my intention
I got so brave, drink in hand, lost my discretion
It’s not what I’m used to, just wanna try you on
I’m curious for you caught my attention

I kissed a girl and I liked it
The taste of her cherry chapstick
I kissed a girl just to try it
I hope my boyfriend don’t mind it

It felt so wrong, it felt so right
Don’t mean I’m in love tonight
I kissed a girl and I liked it

…

Us girls we are so magical
Soft skin, red lips, so kissable
Hard to resist, so touchable
Too good to deny it
It ain’t no big deal, it’s innocent”
[I Kissed a Girl - Katy Perry]

Axiom is simple: boyfriends are selfish, mindless creatures. Katy remembers this to “her girls” every 3 songs. I look around and I am almost convinced she has a point. They not only paid a ticket to get 90 minutes of insults, but have also to look very happy standing next to their euphoric girlfriends. Then I think again.

Self-harm? Not at all. Just teenager love on springtime hormonal peak.
They know the after show is worth a thousands slurs. When sex occupies 95% of your mind(less) space there’s nothing cheaper to get a dose of insolence then having your girlfriend on a cheery mood on the way back home.

Manic Street Preachers hit If You Tolerate This Your Children Will (May!) Be Next has quite an interesting, unexpected, alternative meaning here.

Boyfriends tonight jump and dance, simulate fun to a single Ur So Gay, written to offend. Is the song that infuriated the biggest crowd.

It’s a gem. Not only because it starts with the best affront since Jagged Little Pill and ends with the most forbidden word to put in a girl’s mouth.
These verses contains some pearls, I haven’t read anything so amusing in years.

“I hope you hang yourself with your H&M scarf
While jacking off listening to mozart
You bitch and moan about LA
Wishing you were in the rain reading Hemingway
You don’t eat meat
And drive electrical cars
You’re so indie rock it’s almost an art
You need SPF 45 just to stay alive

…

You’re so sad maybe you should buy a happy meal
You’re so skinny you should really Super Size the deal
Secretly you’re so amused
That nobody understands you
I’m so mean cause I cannot get you outta your head
I’m so angry cause you’d rather MySpace instead
I can’t believe I fell in love with someone that wears more makeup than

…

You’re so gay and you don’t even like boys
No you don’t even like
No you don’t even like
No you don’t even like… penis”
[Ur So Gay - Katy Perry]

Now, achieving the result of making legions of people angry about something as innocent as a very well written pop song is marvellous. She has my esteem despite I belong to the “you’re so indie-rock” bunch.

It brought enough media coverage to start collecting records (not albums, awards). Accordingly I Kiss a Girl is USA 1000th number one hit since Billboard and Bill Haley.

No, I won’t start a rant about the decline of USA empire, don’t worry!
Reading about her interesting past has been much more interesting and very instructive.

In a “previous” pious life, Katy Perry was a gospel singer, daughter of two protestant pastors who even recorded a Christian album as Katy Hudson.

Her parents once banned rock music at home. Her lovely daughter became a massive worldwide popstar.
If nothing else, this is useful evidence that the best way to aspire people emancipation is to grew them up in a strong religious set of “moral values”.
A lesson worth a thousand “how to raise your kid” manuals.

There is more. The same parents, as far as google goes, now seem to approve the daughter pop career, proving how an angelical baby turning into a material girl, as long as earn millions, gets lubricated enough to slip through the very immaterial gate of heaven.

The reaction of an “Evangelical Christian community” (Planetwisdom.com) is a wonderful icing on the cake: “What a sad picture of a lost child who has been swept away by the carnal pleasures of the world. We need to be lifting this gal up in prayer. While we’re at it, let’s toss up a prayer for her parents, too. Not to mention the countless young girls who will buy into this lesbian chic message.”

Finished praying? Good.

Now, in addition to highlight the negative meaning given to a positive adjective “pleasure”, isn’t it wonderful how this “communities” denigrate their own members?
They are convinced that a few lyrics are enough to hijack their young girls’ souls. What opinion of them do they have?
The scary bit is that the same mechanism (and the same opinion) is what drives them to try to “buy into” their bigot boring message the very same young girls. There is not even carnal pleasure in this alternative package.

It’s a weird world with a sure aftermath: more popstars to come.

Katy Perry music contains nothing even remotely dangerous in the satanic sense that evangelicals see even in jam jars. Her pop recipe is a cleverly balanced mix of light feminism, rants about boyfriends, female sympathy versus male dumbness, lipstick flavours, fat cats and corporate merchandise.

On the first row I cannot count a single girl without a kind of cat tattooed on her hand, whiskers painted both sides of her nose, fake cat ears on their head and a cherry lipstick ready in hands.

A cat mask is for sale at the merchandising stall for the outrageous sum of 15£.

Along with the mask a variety of items that ridicule Accessorize.
Starting from 5£ (cherry lipstick, stickers, posters) 20£ (I counted at least 7 different T-shirts) 35£ (double sided “hot and cold” T-shirt) to 50£ (fifty pounds for a hoody!) you’ll definitely get your pink thing to think pink.

My social(ist) attitude is annoyed by the combination of Katy Perry items sold to kids at such ridiculously inflated prices and her attack on stage to the tube strikers for having hold up the fans on the journey to the gig.
People fighting for their job versus a popstar worring for the comfort of her fans.

Isn’t this a worse propaganda of wrong values than singing pretty innocent verses, my dear evangelic communities?

Despite the 3 hours I needed to get to Shepherds Bush and 3 more to get back home, I will always be sympathetic with strikes.

The gig. In opposition to the Observer critic, I found that with just one album out, the gig suffered lack of hits. Midway through the set I realize that it wasn’t just me yawning.
It is not Miss Perry’s fault. She did well. She has at least three catchy pop songs out of just one album, which is well above today’s average. She prepared half a dozen of sagacious chats to entertain in between songs, she steps down to joke with the first row overjoyed fans which makes her look more pop less star.

A giant inflatable lipstick and a lovely fat cat join the pink flamingos on stage for the big final.

At the end of the day, considering that Britney Spears‘ Circus is live tonight at the O2 Arena (even accessible via the Jubilee line which is working!), my admiration goes to all the girls who were “bought into this lesbian chic message”, painted their own posters, challenged the strike, ignored the Spears and convinced their insipid boyfriends to change their mind and join them.

Katy Perry, in contrast to her rival, has the voice to sing her songs, live.
On stage men, despite silly pink suits, play real instruments and are not used as fake slaves to simulate sex domination.

“You change your mind like a girl changes clothes
Yeah, you change your mind like a girl I would know
And you always think, always speak cryptically
I should know that you’re no good for me”
[Hot 'N' Cold - Katy Perry]

If you are curious enough know more about Katy Perry. Her official places [myspace] and [website] are a click away.

Photo Tip

You may have noticed I don’t shoot many pop acts.
Photography-wise one of the reason is that they are usually staged in big arenas where tenths of photographers are relegated miles away from the stage forced to use huge telephotos from the soundboard. Distance doesn’t work for me, I need to be close.

The Shepherds Bush Empire allows us on the pit, which is why I decided to go.
Apparently not just me. A dozen of photographers plus three security guys stand in the narrow line between the barrier and the stage waiting for the start!
There is not space to move. Fact.

What to do when there are many of us in a small place?

Get there early, find a good spot and don’t leave it. It is a bit as when there is no-pit.
My favourite place is central but slightly on a side. Which side is up to your intuition.
Do the homework, check online photos to know how the stage looks like to know what to expect.

Be polite with other photographers, because in such a packed situation you can easily put yourself between the artist and someone else lens. We already have the bloody microphone in the middle, let’s not complicate things!

Be patient. Artists move on stage but in this conditions you can’t follow them. When they are far, simply wait. Running after them will only let you lose your place to get annoyed when realizing they just stop 20 seconds later where you were an instant before.

Kneel down, change lens, look at details for some unusual angles.
Photographing photographers (with the artist) is usually a winner since deliver quite different images. Well a baby doll helps, I give you that!

The endless number of e-mail and phone calls I had to go through to sort out the photo pass is just a significative evidence. That The Horrors gig was one of the picks of London June’s scene had been clear from the speed it sold out.

Since I arrive to the Electric Ballroom, to the moment I am actully in it, many minutes pass to help the girl at the guestlists-box to find my Italian weird name in an endless list of VIP and press.

The London that count, the people who check the state of the music business were all present for the arrive of The Horrors‘ tour in the capital. A cult band that, as any cult band, doesn’t sell many albums but it is always on the news. The only band who managed a NME cover before issuing the debut.

Unsurprisingly the merchandising stall has the classic items you expect for a cult following. Not only T-Shirts but many more paraphernalia: limited edition posters, football-fan-like scarf, pins series to collect, obscure singles remix on 10” vinyls and even a Moleskine notepad personalized with “The Horrors” on the cover.

I don’t buy anything instead I decide to start the crossing of the sea of people that divide me from the pit well in advance. An intense and interesting social journey among black eyeliner, weird haircuts, girls in awe and skinny boys in dark clothes. In the pit more photographers of most of the gig I ever been at the Electric Ballroom.

Three songs later I am discussing with the security guy who wanted to kick me out of the venue. I have to convince him that the pink wristband isn’t from a Katy Perry past gig but someone put it on to let me stay in for the rest of the show.
Victorious, I spot some oxygen molecules still vibrating free next to the Bar and decide to spend the rest of the gig there, sharing that air with Bobby Gillespie.
The presence of either Bobby Gillespie or Kate Moss (both would be the apex) at a gig is the final proof that I am at “The Concert”. The place to be.

Gillespie, narcisistic as any real rockstar must be, spends the night with an eye on the stage and the other looking around to check if people recognises him. He tries to look uninterested to anyone sharing his hands, but in depth is desiring everyone comes forward to praise him.
While he is busy chatting about something (the music?) with other guys clearly part of the showbiz, I opt to listen to the concert.

The Horrors with Primary Colours, their second album managed the impossible.
They distracted all the sceptics and got out of the narrow alley where they were trapped since Strange House, the debut. An alley that, literally, lead them to a graveyard. you know, one of those churchyards with Celts graves on the grass.

Their artistic journey has been on the verge to end up in a Gothic BBQ in fancy dress, with guitars strumming among the tombs, crows singing under a full moon.
Something in the middle of a parody of Rocky Horror Picture Show and a pantomime of the Birthday Party.

How did The Horrors get from there to one of the most anticipated and hottest ticket in town? Soon explained in a simple three parts recipe.

First you need good ingredients: the songs.
Primary Colours is not a single plus some fillers but it is a complete album, strong from the start to the end.

Then you need a master chef: Geoff Barrow.
A Portishead with quite an experience in production (including Primal Scream, if you needed a hint) who took possession of the sound board in the studio and materialize the revolution.
Barrow wiped up the cobwebs, removed the zombies’ masks and let the good stuff emerge from under a thickening layer of dust.

Third, the fresh dish needs a good presentation: the musicians.
Indie music rejects solos and technique and as a consequence rarely the critics attention is on single musicians. Which is a common error, because even when they do not play solos, musicians’ personality influence the bands’ sound.

This intro to say that inverting the bassist (Tom Furse) with the keyboardist (Spider Webb, just!) the Horrors changed dramatically their sound.

The concert is obviously focused on the new album and, as the album, opens with Mirror’s Image and closes with the beautiful suite Sea Within a Sea.
In the middle the music is solid and clean. Feedback, electronic, melody and distorsion find the perfect balance in the quintessential example of Brit music that in the 80s would have been called New Wave.

One of the chef secret was to move the melody on to Faris Badwan voice. He gives up his primal screams and now sings, and he does surprisingly well.
When he doesn’t sing he lets himself go in a sort of shamanic dance in the darkness of the backstage which is full of character and pleases the tenths of teens squeezed to the front row barrier.

Keyboards borrow 80s riff to make it cool, but what comes out clearly is the impetous of guitarist (Joshua Tird). Emancipated from any tying duty, he is free to play around with his effects and produce crackling sounds reminding me of My Bloody Valentine.

Drum and bass pay their eternal debt that these genre will ever owe to Joy Division.
A band (Joy Division) that is second only to Velvet Underground for number of inspirers over the number of albums issued.

The other barrier The Horrors knocked down, in the album and live tonight, is the 3 minutes lenght of a song.
Fifty years ago it was bound to the maximum duration of a 78 rpm vinyl, today to the desire to be broadcasted.
Being highly umprobable that someone will ever press a Horrors 78 rpm and even less likely that a Radio will air their entire album, the boys enjoed themselves with several tracks of double length.
Live these songs become even longer avoiding the frustration that transpire when too many ideas (and they appear to have loads) have to be contained in a three minutes timeframe.

Not only Sea Within a Sea but even Mirror’s Image and Scarlet’s Field breathe outside an oppressive scheme. The music expands, becomes airy, vibrant.

To lose the prize for best gig of the year, in June, it comes the encore.
Funnily enough a negative note is the definitive proof that the Horrors have a bright future ahead.

Bass and keyboard go back to their original owners materializing the band that I saw few times a couple of years ago and always managed to be boring despite their notoriously very short gigs.
Faris Badwan is back screaming and forgets singing. To emulate Nick Cave circa 1980 without having around him neither the same Camden Town, nor the same amount of drugs nor, most important, a music genius as Mick Harvey is pointless.

Count in Five, Sheena is a Parasite and Gloves, three of the hit singles from the Horrors debut album, Strange house, don’t get enough of the revamp of the new direction and result to me pale compared to the music I just experienced.
I understand they are indebted with early fans which, must be said, appreciated much more than me this slice of the gig, but the maneuver to get out of the “Strange House’s garage” its all in Primary Colours music.

A triumphant concert that will give all the VIPs present a lot to chat about.
This guys now rank high on the chance to deliver a third album that could easily become a classic. There is a desperate need of such a thing.

PS: Apparently I have been cancelled from The Horrors myspace friends and blocked as a user by them. That must be for some sort of negative review I must have written in the past, I can’t remember. If so The Horrors concept of freedom of expression would fit them well in a Berlusconi Villa party in Sardinia, be sure to bring along your female teenager fans, guys, the host would appreciate and give you free distribution in Italy!

By the way, you can listen to them on [myspace] and [website]

Photo tip

It’s a while I wanted to talk about something linked to photographer’s creativity. The photographer’s interpretation of a subject.

Something that arises from the combination of our personal sensitivity, the setting in front of us and the emotion that this combination generates.

Some bands are better than other on this.
The Horrors from their name to their dark look invite to shoot pictures that emphasize an atmosphere made of deep shadows and strong lights.
They brought me to highly contrasted, (clearly) black and white images, blurred as their last cover, with a small focus that drives all the attention out of an undefined composition.
Some of you may go for the strong white backlights and someone else could challenge the cliché and go for colourful images. It’s personal.

Tonight spotlights selectively (not sure how much purposely) focused on particulars of the band, leaving all the rest in an unidentified shadow. There was a nice spotlight used by the singer throughout the show to light the audience, that let me with the best picture ever stamped on my mind. It happened beyond the bloody third song.

A bit of emphasis on contrast does the rest. Easy, a couple of clicks away with photoshop a couple of filter grade up in the darkroom.

Never forget that the nice bit of photography is its versatility. A subject may be the same but the pictures will never be, follow your instinct, don’t shoot all bands the same way, interpret them.