Ya know when you really dig a band, then you go see them oh, say five years later and they sound nothing like they used to?

If you don't know this feeling, I feel either very fortunate for you or very sad that you've perhaps never been in love with a band enough to experience said emotion. Granted, some bands never go south, so it's possible that you are in the very lucky minority.

In lieu of naming the band, I'm just going keep playing their old tracks over and over on my ipod. I know that doesn't help you with the story behind the photo, but it helps me.

NOTE: Not the same feeling as having a follow-up album suck - that's a whole other, less tragic, barrel of monkeys.

Although success is a relative term, there is something about this city that just makes you want to be every inch alive as the very essence of the domain in which you live. I can't say for sure what it is, but the wealth of opportunity here is nothing short of empowering. On every corner, you meet someone with some kind of a dream, some kind of will to make their lives extraordinary. It takes some skill and a whole lotta luck, but New York is every bit as conquerable as you had imagined. So what if there are millions of other people with your dream. To you, it doesn't matter... or rather, it shouldn't matter, because your art is your own, your path is your own and when the time comes, you will be dealt a winning hand. You are always in the game and folding really isn't an option.

Man is prone to acting out of self-interest, and this city is one that both understands and respects that notion. That's not to say that it's devoid of compassion, in fact, it's quite the opposite. When self-interest thrives, passion is unavoidable. The price you do pay, however, is that you must expect to survive on your own, with dependence on nothing but your own blind faith in what you need to do to reach difficult, but 100% achievable goals. You will be vastly underrated, and occasionally overestimated. There will be many people who help along the way and you will help others along the way too, but you are your own reliability.

But the key to all this?

Always, always, always keep that heart open when kicking butt. Sometimes proportionately, sometimes not so much.

Even if your hands are shaking, and your faith is broken,
Even as the eyes are closing, do it with a heart wide open...

always, always, always...

go after what you want.

Brendan James at the Canal Room last week. Words to come tomorrow. However, my roommate just made me laugh, so I'm going to post the quote:

"I'm so confused... like you... when you're ordering a sandwich!"

When it comes to immediate culinary choices, I am one of the most indecisive people on the planet.

New York City and it's wealth of opportunity is just lovely. I think that's actually all I'm going to say about this for now... well that and the photo above is of Jason Reeves, a fellow vagabond and new-found friend in the music world.

Although our weather wasn't ideal and it was decided that "yinzerworks" truly do kick some butt, celebrating the 4th of July in NYC was fabulous. Committing to waking early to snag a good spot to watch Nathan's Famous Hot Dog Eating Contest, three of us made the trek down to Coney Island to witness the annual New York spectacle.

As if watching people shovel an incomprehensible amount of hot dogs into their traps at ridiculous speeds wasn't enough, little did we know we were about to witness history. Tied at 59 hot dogs in 10 minutes, contestants Joey Chestnut and Takeru Kobayashi were forced into a 5-dog-speed-eating competition - oh yes, thats right... sudden death! And craziness!

In the end, Chestnut was declared the winner, Luke took better shots than me, all of us rode the famous Wonder Wheel and I received a warm invitation to the Coney Island Polar Bear Club USA, Inc.

All that followed by fireworks from the rooftop of our Brooklyn abode - pretty wonderful.

Oh and I neglected to mention above that I ate a hot dog. Figuring that my usual "um... ick" to the American standard 1. wasn't going to hold any water with that crowd and 2. made absolutely no sense being that I digested an innumerable amount of odd things in Asia, I snarfed that sucker in a pathetic 5 minutes and 18 seconds.

"Look Ma! I'm on camera!"

Sorry Dude, but contrary to popular belief, a dancing hot dog is only funny for exactly 3 minutes and 34 seconds.

More notably though, I gave Luke 5 years to make enough connections to land the coveted "Doofus" (pictured right) job. We'll see if he's up to the challenge.

More on Nathan's

Although Brooklyn offers an ecclectic array of photo opportunities, I've decided to take this first week to strictly observe, which means Baby has remained in the bag since I arrived.

In addendum to this camera T-O, I decided to dig up a photo from an Attack Theatre shoot I did last summer. The purpose behind the session was to come up with a promotional concept for their show Someplace, Not Here (pretty poignant title if you ask me) without really knowing much about the production.

So I had to come up with a photograph, purely by observation of their movements, that would embody that deceivingly simple phrase.

The treasure in this image is the idea of condensed cinema - one, or perhaps many stories in a single image.

All of my images have stories, but most of them are recorded truths, things that have actually occurred. It's not often that a project requires me to create a story, but I think it's incredibly cool to outline characters and then have the viewer color them in. There are no words, there is no diegetic or non-diegetic sound, just one frame and an infinite number of possibilities and perspectives.

I don't know the exact story behind these people, same as you. I don't know where they came from and I don't know where they are going. The truth of the matter is that the art in this photo is not that one storyline exists, but that many are possible. And as all great literature and cinema, the subjects are not as fictional as the word "character" may suggest.

Although I posted about "Give and Take" awhile back, I thought it was necessary to properly introduce you guys to Shea Mullen, multi-tasker extraordinaire, as last week was the last shoot in this series.

Not only does Shea work with multiple charities and design uber-comfy T-shirts, but she owns a cupcakery in Pittsburgh, well Shadyside really, called Coco's Cupcake Cafe. I don't even really like cupcakes, but there are soo many choices at Coco's it's hard to find one that doesn't suit your fancy - my favorite thus far being the biscotti, or no wait, the vegan red velvet, no no umm the chocolate chocolate with the Italian meringue buttercream? Eh well, I've never been known for my Blitzkrieg-like decisions.

I don't mean to talk about Coco's so much, but I'm hungry - or no, what I meant to say is that Shea is a living example of how the one-trick pony road to success is wrong in some cases and actually, is less secure than the multi-tasking-"crazy"-person model. And by the way, how are all of the multi-tasking crazies different than (y)our grandfathers who worked 3 jobs? Success is relative, my friends, whether it's found in supporting your family or in creating tons of different things.

The ironic part, at least in my case, is that I can't short-term multi-task. Have you ever seen me walking down the street, drinking a bottle of water and talking on the phone at the same time? If you think you have, that definitely wasn't me because you would have then proceeded to see me fall on my face. Yeah, yeah, gymnast, cheerleader, balance beam, schmalence beam. It all adds up to nothing.

Maybe this is the catch though. Maybe those who multi-task in the short-term can focus in the long-term and those who multi-task in the long-term can focus in the short-term. That's probably not true, but it would be funny if it was.

Ok, well, food for thought I guess and speaking of, NYC brunch is calling my name. Ladies and gentlemen, I'll be here all month and you know what that means? You're right! Nine more brunches!!

Heaven.

I don't know whose manager let elitism and extreme celebrity thrive, but if you ask me, it's among the worst things in music and actually, entertainment as a whole. Sure, idolization of an image is generally helpful in marketing, but it's the moment when the person behind the image embraces celebrity. That's where I get really, really lost. Musicians who have been fortunate enough to reach the peak of multimedia Everest owe that ascent, almost entirely, to the people who were and are willing to devote their lives to a sound, an image and a belief - be it manager, crew member, promoter, or fan.

And no one I've met in this elevated category (yet) understands this more than Mr. Kenny Chesney, the anti-celebrity. His status is impressive, which makes his humility not only astounding, but as it should be.

As I work for more and more of these tours, the selection of crew members and how said star treats the crew is quite indicative of the vibe and purpose of that artist's music. My hypothesis is still being tested, but something tells me it's fairly accurate as stands.

However, let's not forget that he still is an entertainer with a stage image and to some degree, must play it up. I mean, if you scroll down, you might mistake Petty for Jesus dressed in a purple velvet blazer with an electric guitar, but I assure you, it actually is Tom Petty and probably only stage Tom Petty.

In the music world, artists like Kenny sometimes get snubbed for cliche chords and generic lyrics, and ok, no, this music isn't critically revolutionary, but is creating universally identifiable music something to be frowned upon? Ok, don't answer that, but if that's what you think, I suggest you go to the nearest Kinko's and for $24.95 "buy happiness" in a ridiculous book titled: Happy for No Reason. Quite a bargain if you ask me. Oh, and don't be ashamed, I buy my happiness in various wheels of cheese.

My actual point being is that I would bet my entire album collection that Kenny is more level-headed than most "stars" out there. I know I always talk about the fans, but Kenny's fans truly love Kenny and Kenny truly loves his fans.

Once again, this is where I get confused about the elitists. Why don't they understand that the connection to the fans, in the end, IS the only thing that truly matters? Yeah, everyone backing these artists is important too, but are they the ones buying tickets, merch and the experience? No, they are the ones creating it... for the fans... for these artists to be able to continue.

How do you think the Dixie Chicks, after their highly publicized, derogatory comment about President Bush, after being banned from country airwaves, took their newest album, "Taking the Long Way," to the top of the charts without the assistance of radio? And look at the demographic they play to!

I don't give a crap what any of you think you know about music or what you think about country, but if you don't respect that kind of artist/fan relationship, you might as well never listen to another record ever again... because you are part of that relationship.

Kenny Chesney is not Radiohead. Kenny Chesney is not the Rolling Stones. Kenny Chesney is not the Dixie Chicks. Kenny Chesney is Kenny Chesney and what he's doing is brilliant on many different levels. If I were to delve into the other business aspects of this dude, we'd be here all day and night for the next week, but right now I'm just talking about his notion that he is no better a person than anyone in his audience or anyone on his crew. I would have to totally disagree with him, but that's only because it takes a hell of a lot of guts and dedication to make it as far as he has and I just don't believe that most people have that in them. But I guess that's just my own quirky idolization of Kenny Chesney.

Despite that though, and almost to my surprise, Kenny and I get along wonderfully.

(Photo: back of KC crew shirt... which I tried to make look like a waving pirate flag... with um, very little success.)

Finally seeing Entrain live on 6/11 (wow, I'm late in posting... sorry guys) was quite the pleasure for this little music nerd. I started listening to these guys a lonnng time ago and for some reason, probably my remitting ADD, they unfortunately fell off of my audio radar for the past few years.

This should have never happened.

When one band can gather a group of hooligans from all walks of life and make them all dance by the end of the show, I must tip my hat and kick myself down the street for laying their records aside.

What I'm trying to say is: have a listen.

Oh hi!

This is probably way immature of me, but is the lead singer of Entrain giving me the bird??

Haha, jussst kidding Jeff.

There is absolutely no denying the fact that Tom Petty and his Heartbreakers are indeed rock stars. I've photographed many bands in my time, but these guys are part of the aging group of people who defined rock, which made shooting these guys last Tuesday particularly great. Does Petty walk around like a rock star? Um yes, but quite frankly, he deserves it. Not only has his music managed to keep fans from 30 years ago, but it's managed to reach an exceeding amount of younger generations. And all of these people, I'm telling you, every last one, would like to be nowhere else in the world. The incredible happiness, the crazy dancing and the bright eyes apparent throughout the crowd just makes you wish you could make people that happy on a consistent basis. Maybe it's the drugs, maybe it's the music, maybe it's the combination of the two, but whatever it is, it reminds you of what live music really is and always was. That this show, that live music in general, is a connective, sensory experience and not just 60 bucks down the drain when you could have been at home watching whatever it is that you watch in HD.

With all of the other ridiculous media outlets in society, at 57, Petty still sells out pretty much every amphitheater he plays. Whether it's a testament to his legend or the fact that his shows rock, I'm also not sure, but it doesn't really matter. I'm a pretty tough critic and I was thoroughly impressed, so if you get a chance and you can worm your way into a ticket when he comes to your town, head to the show and see what I mean.

"I AM A GOLDEN GOD!" -Almost Famous

a.k.a A visual representation of the sanctimony of rock stars.

"She said, I dig you baby, but I got to keep movin' ... on, keep movin' on"

Thanks lighting dudes!

I'll post a Petty/Winwood album to my myspace eventually.

Hide-and-Seek with the Nittany Lion, Peek-a-Boo with Tom Petty, what's next, musical chairs with Jack Nicholson?

Do you love Stevie Winwood?

Well, if you don't, that's fine because I do.

This guy is awesome and not only because I would get an occasional wistful smile from behind his keys. With that smile though, comes a history book of rock'n'roll from his start with the Spencer Davis Group to Traffic to Blind Faith to thirty-some years of collaborations and solo ventures.

For a kid that grew up with all that, it was wonderful to be standing two feet from a legend. The unusually fun part about all this too is that he was opening for Tom Petty. Petty certainly has a much larger and obviously younger following, but lacks in musically dynamic range when compared to Winwood.

Ah well, Petty's a legend too, but the difference is... he knows it. Stevie just kinda plays to play, his unforgettable voice cutting the bustle of the crowd, most of which probably clueless as to who they are talking over.

"Often lost and forgotten
The vagueness and the mud
I've been thinking I'm working too hard
But I got something to show"

"Empty Pages" lyrics from Traffic's 1970 album,"John Barleycorn Must Die"

After this show, "Higher Love" was stuck in my head for about 4 days.

I'm also pretty sure that he didn't even play it.

CHECK OUT THIS DUDE!

These pants (and matching vest) took him 30 years to make.

Talk about a slave to fashion! Wooo hooo!

I'd like to give a special thanks to Tom Petty for wrangling such characters into his shows. I think it's spectacular.

Headlining the Three Rivers Arts Festival, moe. made their annual return to Pittsburgh to kick off the city's biggest celebration of the arts last Friday.

I love photographing these guys because they just let me crawl wherever my little heart desires, provided I'm not too much in anyone's direct line of sight - stagehands and/or audience. They also are consistently a fun band to shoot because they are so mellow. One would think that might be a bad thing for photography, but it really just makes you re-evaluate what and how you are shooting. Yeah, sure, are you going to get more craziness shooting a band like KISS (shut up, it was the first band I could think of with insane theatrics)? Uh, yes... you would be an idiot if you weren't able to capture some form of insanity at a show like that, but to take something so relaxed and make it visually say, yes that was a moment, is a lot harder.

Photo: Al!

For whatever reason, every time I shoot moe., I am always prone to photographing Rob. It's not my usual "find the most animated," because really, moe. is too chill for that rule. It's more of... I just smile when I see this guy. Maybe it's his smile, maybe it's his presence, maybe it's his hands... I don't know. The draw to him never fails though.

PPG, a trademark building of Pittsburgh to the left of moe.'s stage Friday night.

I want to know who did the typography and graphic design for that sticker.

My 17-year-old fan club who happened to be strategically placed in front of Rob - unavoidable every time I would go to shoot the moe. bassist. It's fortunate I have an affinity for high-fives.

At least their rambunctious chants of "pho-tog-ra-pher" to the beats of numerous songs made the band smile and really, that's all I'm there to do.

Let's begin this story with Game 5, which, was nothing short of awesome. Down in the series, 3-1, the Penguins played a stellar game on Monday night against Detroit. At first, it wasn't looking so good, but then in the last minute of play, Maxim Talbot scored the tying goal to send the Pens into overtime.

Now at the time, I was waiting for a label rep and Greg Laswell to get into town from Philly. I was supposed to meet them for drinks at 11, which would have been enough time to finish the game and be on my merry way... but the Pens just went into overtime! Ugh.

Fortunately (sorry guys), my lovelies got stuck in freakishly late traffic, coincidentally plopping them in Pittsburgh right as Petr Sykora shot the winning sudden-death goal in 3OT for the Pens! Talk about timing!

Because I took the guys to Dish, we were just in time to hear all the fans in the South Side bars come out and celebrate the greatest Pens game of the year. I love when I can show visitors a funny, yet big part of Pittsburgh, particularly when that kind of victory doesn't happen everyday.

Photo: A collection of Pens' fans outside Mellon Arena watching Game 6 on the outdoor jumbotron. Check out the Channel 11 sportscaster in the background, who is definitely my favorite part of this shot.

By far, my favorite boys to photograph.

Just a few more of my favorite Penguins fans.

Good thought dude.

Even better thought to the gentlemen in the upper right-hand corner. Reminds me of my PSU days when I'd run into that silly Kyoto penguin on the bus en route to the stadium on rainy afternoons...

Those of us that were not fortunate enough to wiggle our way into the arena last Wednesday evening, were certainly fortunate enough to be in the company of a wondrous sea of Pittsburghers for Game 6 of the Stanley Cup Finals. If you've ever been to a post-season game in this city (minus the Pirates), you know what I mean by wondrous - i.e. the final line spoken in a phone convo by the lady behind us: "It's the m'f'n playoffs! Of course I'm emotional you SOB! They're f'n blowin the thing! FINE! You don't f'n care?! Don't expect me to come home tonight! Actually! I WILL f'n come home and MAKE you f'n care!" This line could have been spoken to a friend, a relative, a husband, oh, you know, a child...

Pittsburgh, always in such fine form... and we love you so.

For those unaware, the Penguins were kind enough to erect a temporary 12x16 LED screen for the unlucky souls unable to acquire tickets. It's actually pretty cool that thousands of fans have consistently shown up outside Gate 3, rain or shine, throughout the playoffs.

For photography's sake, this naturally turned out to be a great lil shoot.

So I've found myself saying "this is the best week ever!" about 48 times this past year and if you ask me, 48/52 ain't too shabby. This week obviously deserved that statement, but I mean, if last week was the best week ever, but this week is even better than that, there's never too much to be bummed about!

This time, that exclamation is owed to a good friend of mine, Jen "makin' dreams come true" Bilec. First of all, she's one of the best humans I've ever met. Strange, but I really just don't know how else to describe it. How did I first meet this kid, you ask? Well, we went to elementary school together, but my first contact with her was at a 4th/5th grade softball game - where, this bored 4th-grade outfielder (accidentally) caught a fly ball hit by said superstar 5th-grade athlete. I was thrilled about it, probably until 7th grade.

It wasn't until later in college that we ran into each other again and started talking about/swapping music, which is truly where our friendship began.

The cool part about this is that we are now starting to get into positions where we can help the other out in the music world. I'm generally on the small show side, whereas Bilec sticks to the big shows annd guess who came through town last week....

I know I don't really write about DMB, but based on the title of my blog, I think it's safe to assume that there's always been something about their music for me. Not only has "Best of What's Around" been a life motto since the song was released in '94 - yes, little nine-year-old Alli's life philosophy- but it holds the coveted spot of all-time favorite song, mainly for that reason. Dave Matthews somehow also managed to write the musical sound of happiness at it's 3:00 mark, and how one does that I just don't know. I suppose that's just the kind of dude he is.

And it was never so much about Dave and the rest of the guys themselves (I can hear some of you saying, "liar"), but the ability that they have to create music. Songs that are original, songs that both lyrically and musically kick you in the butt and say hey, look at this from another perspective. To all those that equate them to Jack Johnson's mentality to write the same song 900 times, listen closer and you will inevitably discover a line or a track that you've never heard.

Anyway, there are many things that I would love to share, but am afraid that 1) this entry will never end and 2) it's disrespectful to the tour to blog about it. I will say, however, that watching DMB plus Tim Reynolds (who is such a rock star) on electric play to a completely empty, 24,000 capacity outdoor amphitheater on day two of rehearsals, standing backstage, directly behind Carter's set, so close, the stellar lighting design grazed my face, was nothing short of beautiful. If any of you can come up with a place I would have rather been, in any dimension, in any time period, I will give you a bazillion dollars.

Well she ran up into the light, surprised
Her arms are open, her mind's eye is
Seeing things from a better side than most can dream,
On a clearer road I feel, oh you could say she's safe
Whatever tears at her, whatever holds her down
And if nothing can be done,

She'll make the best of what's around...


(Photo: the back of my DMB crew shirt - lit with a simple 60 watt incandescent)

So I was going to post more from KT Tunstall's show last Friday, but I've been insanely side-tracked this past week. There are priorities and then there are priorities and it doesn't take a network of NASA engineers to figure it out.

Needless to say, I will give KT some props. For such a tiny chica, she can really belt a tune. The most important props, however, go out to my lovely, wonderful Melissa at WYEP who hooked me up with 2 tickets to take my little sister and my brother. I'll write a whole story about Miss Franko when I get the right picture, because this chick and her stories are worth a novel.

Also, I think that's a first for a sibling outing... and on the job, no less. I don't think I've ever taken anyone with me, but please correct me if I'm wrong.

Since KT Tunstall has a three-song shooting policy and I can't sit still at auditorium shows to save my life, I decided to step out to the lobby for a few songs. Not surprisingly, Melissa had already beaten me to it and a few moments later, we ran into KT's opener, Dublin-born singer-songwriter, Paddy Casey.

I don't really remember this conversation aside from Paddy randomly beginning the following:

"Are you French?"
"Hm, nope."
"Really? Anyone in your family?"
"Nope."
"You look very French... French-Canadian, maybe?"
"Ehhhh, nope."

I've been called a lot of things in my day, but that was a first.

That was a stupid story. Sorry. The Pens are getting creamed by Detroit, so I'm having a very difficult time focusing and/or writing anything worth reading.

Off-topic, but worth mentioning, Paddy did try a Primanti's sandwich later that night and was a little confused/borderline disgusted.

Now THIS is what I call photography and actually, the only reason I'm posting it is because this is the first time I've wanted to frame anything since I got a comp copy of the 1,000th issue of Rolling Stone in 2006.

Not that anyone cares, but two of my closest friends were in the Burgh this weekend (the goon in green and the lady in the upper left corner in white) and I haven't been more excited since I came home from Asia. Jim is from Pittsburgh too, so it's always nice if we can cross paths in our hometown. The surrounding gaggle of awesomeness is a collection of Hyland cousins plus the kid Jeff's pointing to. We don't know who that is.

Question of the day: Have you ever been approached by a less-than-sober kid and proceeded to take on an absurd identity to a) get rid of her/him b) see how far you can run with it?

Hey kids, the email/website listed on my lil business card is having some server issues, so please use the address linked in my blog profile: alharv@gmail.com. I appreciate the heads-up from those of you whom I haven't responded to due to my general ignorance about the internet.

Much love, many thanks and my sincerest apologies!

There's a big difference between moments when you know you've got a shot and moments where you know that this could be your money shot. The above photo is one of a series that could have been that shot. I love the rock grit of the picture, but more importantly, I loved the moment and how it happened.

Mr. Small's (my favorite venue since forever) has a tiny, wonderfully dirty little pit which separates the audience from the stage. It generally holds extra equipment, some trash, unknown sticky substances and occasionally an ambitious, young photographer.

So, I'm sitting in this pit, on Luther's side of the stage, just waiting for a mid-song rock out when he comes to the edge of the stage, directly above me, to play to the crowd.

And my general rule of thumb? photog contortion+great subject = magic

Lying on my back, my hair against the filth, one leg out-stretched, the other bent under my butt, I'm determined to get that shot. Luther eventually looks down at me and just starts cracking up at the ridiculousness he sees below. Consequently, I start cracking up too and um, stop shooting?

Stupid girl... That big smile of his looking down was the money shot!

A big booo to me.

Later Luther says, "You know, I was trying to ignore you, but I just couldn't anymore and had to laugh."

Well, I guess I just had to laugh too which is sometimes more important than the shot.

Photo: Luther Dickinson of the North Mississippi Allstars

Oh Mr. Small's, how I adore thee...

Ryan, NMA's tour manager, also works wonders with lighting, so I can't take all the credit for this shot. Actually, I didn't even bother re-balancing, because I really liked the golden glow. Fitting for a renovated church, I think.

Plus, the lighting balcony is always the best seat in the house, aside from the foot of the stage, of course.

Not only does Cody rock out on drums, but he's the sickest electric washboard player I have ever seen. The fact that he's the ONLY electric washboard player I've ever seen doesn't take away from his skill, but just makes him even cooler.

I mean, this boy can totally shred a washboard.

NMA bass player, Chris Chew.

Unfortunately, Chris and I didn't get much of a chance to chat, which is actually quite regrettable. He sings one of my favorite songs called "I'd Love to be a Hippy" from the boys' newest album, Hernando.

Luther Dickinson, (stellar) guitar and vocals for the North Mississippi Allstars.

This boy's hands remind me of Clapton's... they sound fast, but look slow, which is nothing short of awesome.

I've been crazy busy with my balancing acts as of late, so there certainly will be more text and images to come from this glorious day of music. If I could prioritize the way I wanted to, there probably would have been a novel from these shows (May 20th).

Even though the Damnwells aren't currently touring the great US of A, the guys need some blog love. Alex (above) has posted some new(er) tunes on their myspace page, so go have a lil listen and catch them the next time they're in your neck of the woods.

If LA did one thing for me, it certainly kicked my butt back into the 3-4 (5-6 if money, time and solid artists permit) times/week show regimen. I guess, you could say that I had a big "you idiot" epiphany with all the shows I went to out there and as Shakespeare wrote in the first lines of "Twelfth Night": If music be the food of love, play on, give me excess of it.

Bob Schneider (for the myspace junkies) was first on my "to do" list and I happen to have a wonderful friend who works for his label, so this was a great way to welcome my long-lost lifestyle back.

Now, Bob has many talents, but it's never quite clear to whom he's trying to appeal. His heavy fan base is crazy about both the soft melodies filled with incendiary lyrics about life as well as the frequently inappropriate hits such as "Ass Knockin," "Fist City," and my personal favorite, "Fuck All You Mother-fuckers"... and for whatever reason, it works! His self-described "Steven Seagall" portion of the show oddly works as the yin to the "Tony Bennett" portion's yang. Hooray for paradoxical unity!

As Ayappa said, "Bob's relationship with an audience always surprises me. There are songs he writes that move me, inspire me, and make me tingle. And then he can have a roomful of women singing the most ribald words imaginable." Annnd you know what I have to say?

That. Rocks.

However I would like to raise a final point. I misquoted Bob the other day in a line from "Captain Kirk" as "wanna be like Mr. Spock, I wanna kick out the jams and rock the block"... which I thought was awesome until I realized he said, "don't wanna"... and I was annoyed. I get it, Spock can be an overly-logical, emotion-purging stick-in-the-mud, but I mean he's a Vulcan, that's what they do! BUT ... you get him off the Enterprise and he is one crazy humanoid when he skips meditation. I guess I can't fault Bob for not being in the know, but Spock was by far the most rockin' dude until Worf in "The Next Generation," so I think he deserves a little respect.

P.S. - Star Trek (the original series) is now remastered and available in HD.

I really like how the stage lights hit the off-white canvas of Bob's Converse sneakers.

Just for the record, I'll explain my obsession with photographing limbs. I've always held that one can judge (honest, not critical) a person based on how they move their hands, but the imagery side of this really began when I first photographed professional ballroom dancers. The amount of energy flowing through their appendages was so utterly visual that my eyes couldn't help but focus on single parts of motion. If you, as the subject, have the ability to convey your persona, or performing persona, through a few fingers and the photographer has the eye to capture that with one flick of your wrist, I'd say you're both in good company.

Feet don't interest me as much as hands, but I'm easily distracted by bright colors.

The "ARRGGH" sing-along portion of the show, as mentioned below.

This is another one of those photos that I post from time to time, where it's not so much about photography, but just about pure content. It's also yet another example of a "to post or not to post," for lack of picture perfection/professionalism, but when you've got a dude from the opening band wearing a bear hat and mimicking the munchkin dance (with intermittent arabesques... on both sides, no less) after a leaping bound onto a 4-foot elevated stage to round out the headliner's show while the front man leads the crowd in pirate noises (mainly, "ARRRGGH"), you can't help but want to share that precious moment with friends and peers. A more appropriate forum would have been to whip out my cellphone, snap a shot, write a quick "Wish you were here," pix message and send it on its merry way to all my concert-going friends who would share equal, single-teared moments of appreciation, but 1) the pix gig isn't my thing and 2) I felt the moment was deserving of a larger audience.

I do understand, however, that this type of "theatric"(??), is certainly not for every band and would appreciate it if most bands didn't follow suit. I mean, do I want to see this at a Deathcab show? Probably not, or wait, yes I do and actually it might BE the thing that sells me on that band, but the point being is that it just fits with a Bob Schneider show... in fact, I'd say it's pretty darned expected. Distractions and oddities are quite welcome as we found out when Hippie McDrunk, an alleged super-fan, climbed the stairs behind the stage to hang all over Mr. Schneider and take over the mic, mid-set. Quite classic too, but she wasn't wearing a Bernstein Bear on her noggin, so it was only half the photo opp.

Good times, good times.

I believe Mick Jagger was quoted as saying that "Wild Horses," was written about this burrito.

Forgetting the laughable, light-hearted entry below about life decisions; let's get down to the serious stuff. This Los Angeles burrito is in an epic battle, perhaps even war, with the falafel of New York City for my heart.

Priorities, people, priorities.

I have been extraordinarily occupied the past week and a half, so I'm just now wrapping up my most recent venture to the infamous Los Angeles, California. We have a love/hate relationship in the worst way, but it's ok, because in a strange "is that all you've got?" sense, I can really enjoy it. In fact, as I once told Bilec, the decision to go to LA over New York, for me at least, is like sleeping with someone not quite up to par, just because you are afraid you may truly, deeply love someone else. You know you love that other person, but you don't want him/her to eventually disappoint you, or vice versa... so what do you do? Find the hooker that is LA and get at it, baby!

All kidding aside, I will say this: denial is a dangerous thing. However, in denying truth, you strangely learn a lot quicker about an infinite number of things than you may have otherwise. I know that seems backwards, but it has to do with totally stepping outside the bounds of your comfort zone and hmm... ummm no, LA at the time was not even remotely close to being on the radar of something mimicking comfort. That city beat me in the worst way and I will not let it win again. Actually, even better! I'm gonna befriend the son of a bitch!

The irony in all of this is that I really did gain a completely new world by getting the crap beat out of me. I paid a pretty penny for it, but what I lost, I found could not amount to that which I gained, simply because it wanted to lose me. I'm not shy to admit that I've had foolish moments where I wished I had never been there at all or that I made attempts many times, in desperate frustration, to prove that I was still me. Then... I realized how heart-breaking it was that I even had to think those thoughts... and that, my friends, was a piggy bank of pretty pennies shattered on a polished Calacatta floor - and boy do those suckers roll.

You don't actually have to tell me, but how many of you would trade the world for the price of those pennies?



Shot: lead vocalist of a SoCal metal band in rehearsal, whom I actually took an honest liking to. For whatever reason, I really felt this shot lent itself to a Rolling-Stone-circa-1971-reader-submission vibe, so I ran with it.