Wonderful readers,
I don't know why it happens but as soon as certain Nick Cave songs start playing, I'm immediately fighting back tears. As if his experiences find resonance somewhere with mine. I'm not sure they even do. I hope they don't. At least not too much. The man has seen too much pain. Even if you know nothing about him, you can just... feel it. It's immediately audible in his voice.
I was at the Thursday evening concert in the Ziggo Dome. He played most of his new album Wild God, and then some. I don't usually take images during concerts. I rather live in the moment: music can't be photographed anyway. When my favorite song from the album started playing, though, I knew I wanted to remember that moment. The man in the flesh, in the same room, carrying that weighty energy with him and easily filling the up to 17.000 people-holding Ziggo Dome with it. Speaking of transcending could be blasphemous, but conversion of some sort definitely transpired. It was beautiful.
I'm in Paradiso, Amsterdam, arguably The Netherlands' most beautiful music venue of its size. Another concert. Charlotte and her family mainly spurred on yesterday's one; I got to learn about Nick Cave through them. Today is one by an artist I discovered and adopted his music into my life all by myself. It's difficult, some would argue impossible, to look at these artists side by side but they strike similar cords for me. Not a hybrid of post-rock, blues and gospel but hip-hop, rap and synth wave-ish R&B instead. Two completely different approaches to similar themes and the same emotional baggage from both. However I have to admit the latter resonates with me on a much clearer level, which makes sense considering the greater level of similarities I have with Ares than the ones I have with Mr. Cave.
Fans of each will probably display tribalism and point fingers at each other, claiming 'they are not similar at all' and 'how could you say that's real music, haven't you heard what we've been listening to?' but I try to stay clear from such futilities and simply appreciate them both for what they are and what they are doing: deeply connecting with my spirit.
It's Saturday morning by now, no wait; it's Saturday afternoon already, and my plans of continuing my Things I Have Seen project are starting to fall through. For a good walking session, I need both physical and mental fitness — it's very difficult to see, and I mean really see, my surroundings without. A long week's work and two intense evening programs have given me a lot to process and sleeping becomes a chore in such times. I usually solve this by staying in the bar way too long, going to bed way too late, and waking up way too late as well. It's not a solution at all; it's a diversion. A distraction, if you will. The evenings themselves are spent with people I care about but the mornings after there is no room for myself anymore. I could dwell on this and fault myself for my flaws, and usually I do, but today I won't allow it.
With the power of sheer will I carry myself to the streets, into the early-fall sun that still has surprising strength if it manages to find you. 'No ambitious workout-like plans today,' I tell myself. 'Just paint in the last bits of the map of an area that's been luring at you for weeks now. Just get those few couple of streets in, focus your attention while you can, and you'll be back in an hour or two. It's not much but it's better than not at all.'
So far, I've created thirteen short videos where I share progress on my Things I Have Seen photography project. It was episode number thirteen where I had the most trouble as well. Unlucky number thirteen, oh how you taunted me.
A phone call. 'We gotta meet up at half past four at Ed's place. It's an hour and fifteen-minute drive, and soundcheck is at five.' With that knowledge, I wait out the rain that caught me by surprise for a bit but then hurry back home to get ready. A quick shower and a bag filled with gear later, I meet the four friends at the corner of the street for our adventure of the evening.
I managed to shake off most of the early-morning dread as soon as the three guys hit the stage for sound-checking. I hang back on the side with the fourth, who's mainly our designated driver today, and prepare my cameras for the lighting in the venue. It's a difficult mix of bright blues and deep reds. Each of these is hard enough to balance properly on its own but almost impossible to manage when they rapidly interchange. We'll give it our best and see what happens. And my best I had to give it. Concert photography is something more part of my past than my present and the skills required to photograph static objects in the streets of my hometown don't necessarily translate to fast-paced situations like these.
The fun is always in the journey though, like a good song telling you a story through sounds and words. I don't know, I'm trying to find a way where I can draw a parallel between photography and the music that's been the common theme throughout this story but I'm out of words. It's around this time that I've officially been doing photography for ten years, and I want to dedicate some time to reflect on that. I'm not sure what those reflections are though. I'll revisit that next month, or maybe the month after. Hopefully that story will be on time and not a week late like this one.
Cheers besties,
Mitch
