Photography, both mine and others’.

You want to feel something more than I could ever bring

Rewind back two, three years ago. I was underage, incapable (most of the time) of getting into gigs, let alone getting to shoot them. I’m not too sure of precisely where my desire to do so spawned from. I suspect it’s a combination of things. For starters, there are lots of photographic projects I’ve planned and plotted in my head – but I never end up undertaking them just because it requires preparation and planning – in other words, I would’ve had to think ahead. For someone as lazy and usually uninspired as me, thinking ahead for a photo seems a bit out of whack. Especially when I’m the sort of person who likes to take spontaneous photos, often in unexpected places, of unexpected subjects. There’s a magic essence in capturing a moment in time that just doesn’t exist in a constructed setting. Even when I have constructed settings in the past for a shoot, I usually end up picking the “accidental” shots, rather than the ones I had “intended”.

When I first shot on black and white film in a Nikon F3 almost 4 years ago, I was pleasantly surprised at how much enjoyment I got from rediscovering all the things that I had merely shot in passing, in the city of Wellington.  As I didn’t get the films developed until a few months later, I hardly remembered what I had photographed, especially all the little corner snippets that I had snapped away at, without a thought at all. My mother (the term “professional photographer” here sounds daunting, but she is) has always been supportive and encouraging in anything and everything I do; but for some reason, once upon a time she tried to dissuade me from attempting concert photography. It’s “much too difficult”, she’d said. And it sure as hell is. But that is exactly why I love it. The equation – so it appear so be – is: lack of necessary thought process/laziness + spontaneity + music freak + love a good challenge = concert photography.

Fast forward a couple of years, I had an amazing Friday night. Back when I was googling concert photographers and oggling at the amazing shows they get to shoot, I stumbled across a lady called Ami Barwell. Mostly lo-fi styled stuff, shot a lot of bands that I love – made me mega jealous. I think she used to be the photographer-in-tow for Black Rebel Motorcycle Club, so she has a lot of nice shots of them, and a couple of nights ago I got to have a crack at it myself.

Here are some of the shots that I liked best of BRMC and their opening band, The Checks. The problem is… I’m undecided as to whether I’m happy about them or not:

The Checks:
Can I just add – their drummer reminded me of why I used to have a thing for drummers and dated a couple. He also looks like one that I had crushed on for a long time. Shhhh. Good thing NO ONE knows who it was, ha!

I just dance the way i feel

I hate cooking. I avoid it like people avoid cleaning their toilets. In fact, I am the least domesticated person I know. Most of my friends – guys and girls – cook on a regular basis. We’ll be txting each other and then I’ll get a “hold up, I’m just cooking *blah blah* for dinner” sort of response, whereas I’ll more likely than not be indulging in some form of other pastime until my mother or sister kindly fills the table with scrumptious edibles.

But earlier this evening, I really really really don’t know what came over me, and I offered to cook dinner for myself, mum and her visiting friend from Christchurch. I don’t have any photographic evidence to prove this (dammit, I knew I forgot something!) but I miraculously whipped up steak with fried eggs, mushrooms topped with bacon and cheese, and a salad and steamed vegetables to go with it all. As if that wasn’t enough, some strange sensation came over me as if someone had cast  the Imperius Curse on me, and I declared that I was going to make cupcakes. And ice them too. We ran out of icing sugar so I only managed to ice about 3/4 of them, and the end results are below.

Has anybody else been suddenly inclined to do something that they usually hate?

I’m feeling as terribly weird yet very proud. I’m also very proud of having survived my day at university today. Lack of sleep all week has been catching up with me, but I somehow emerged lively as ever after 4 hours straight of bass playing. Of both assortments.

1/ I’m loving the rain. People keep complaining about it but I think it’s amazing.
2/ Very happy with having Thursdays off on my timetable. Going to bathe in the hot springs tomorrow to loosen up and hopefully feel better. This 3-week cold NEEDS TO LEAVE ME.
3/ I’m photographing the Black Rebel Motorcycle Club concert in Auckland on Friday.

New Rules: I’m learning to be laid back about certain things

I can’t stop listening to Kele Okereke’s new album, The Boxer. Being such an avid Bloc Party fan, I’d been very curious as to what Kele’s solo album would sound like. To me it’s like listening to Bloc Party, but with less guitar and grunt, more dancey beats, plus the same lyrical ingenuity that I will quote over and over (ref to title of blog!).

Guilty indulgences aside, the thing that I never feel guilt for splurging copious amounts of money on = books. I’m sure that women the world over will know exactly what I’m on about when I describe the slow, creeping guilt that emerges after a materialistic purchase. Clothing, shoes, magazines, even if it was chocolate, or just some other silly little thing that you weren’t quite completely in love with, and definitely didn’t need. But that feeling never occurs when I buy books. I once bought a $64 hardback adventure novel, just because I couldn’t wait for the library system to offer me the next installment penned by Matthew Reilly – especially after an excruciating cliff hanger! Luckily my special lady-friend works at the local bookstore and helps me out with her 30% staff discounts – which also came in handy yesterday when I decided to buy a $95 book on Jazz: A history of America’s Music. What also helps is that, when I buy books, often my parents will offer to pay for them, if they are present; as well as the fact that I simply don’t need to justify any book purchases – but can easily do so. I mean, surely it’s a given that since I’m spending my bachelor’s degree on learning jazz performance that surely I need to become thoroughly familiar with the ins-and-outs of its history and development through the ages. Not to mention, this semester I also have a compulsory jazz history paper anyway.

Specifics aside, I’m sure many people can relate to the self-righteously intellectual feeling that comes with buying a book. It feels like it adds to me and the growth of my mind as a whole. Sure, you have to read it first, but buying a book generally guarantees that no matter how long I put it off for, eventually I will read it. The same can’t be said for books that I get out from the library: I have a tendency to get too greedy at the library (come on, it’s free), as well as judge a book by it’s cover. Also, the best and most popular books always seem to be unavailable at the library anyway, so unless I’d requested a book, it’s never what I’d really like to read.

Does anyone else do this? Or feel like this too?

I really need to go run some scales on the double bass now because semester two is starting on Monday (impending blisters in the week, I just know it). It’s sad that class hasn’t even started yet and already I am longing for the summer holidays in November already!

Four random photos that all somehow have one thing in common (guesses?):


David’s mini birthday I made him and took along to his farewell party.

The cake again, under a very erotic looking red light. The cool shade that goes with it wasn’t in sight. + Having lunch at the Sydney waterfront: view behind me reflected off the back of a Canon 50d.

The new lights I bought in Sydney and fiiiinally put up in my room. And my beloved poster.

Common thread amongst the photos: all taken by the family buddy, Mr Canon IXUS950IS.

Bradley you tick all of my boxes… Bradley come tick all of my boxes

This entry will probably turn into a stream of consciousness.

I’m currently sitting on the couch in a holey bathrobe, astounded at the fact that the Argentina – Korea game currently sits at 2-1 just after half time. Wow.

Yesterday was my sister’s 17th birthday. It’s so weird, my 18th last year seems like only yesterday, yet my 17th seems a lightyear away. I had some errands to run so didn’t end up going to the waterfalls with Liv, mum and a family friend – although I got home earlier than they did, and spent a whole hour decorating her cake. This is why I am not, and will never be domesticated.

1 hour + 3 different icings later = the following: (and the last photo is the amazing dinner mum conjured up, mmm)

Whilst mum was busy snapping away the obligatory smiley, flashy birthday-girl photos, I decided to get my lens out and do my usual moody-ness. The cake looks better in colour, but I just wanted her face and candles, not all the hair and clothes and pink and blue. This is the second pink and blue cake I’ve decorated this month. I must remember to post pics of the other one, I was rather proud of it too.

I’ve forgotten what I had wanted say with the blog title from when I was in the shower thinking about it earlier. The title is derived from a song that was stuck in my head (urghh) that I heard live last week. The originalname used was “Malcolm” but I’m reaaally not a fan of that name – it makes me think of “Malcolm in the Middle”, that awful tv show from back in the day, plus it just doesn’t make me think of an attractive man.

Actually… it’s like 1.20am, I’m watching the footy, I can’t form coherent sentences, I will write about whatever it was… later.

If my life is mine, what shouldn’t I do? Everybody just wants to fall in love, everybody just wants to play the lead.

During the last week of semester a conversation I had with a classmate went something like this:
R: Don’t get tooo stressed out, it will all be fine. I mean, heck, I love jazz school.
Me: Asides from the obvious, why do you?
R: Well for one, who the heck else can say “I go to jazz school in a castle”?!
And I guess he’s right.

These photos were taken on Friday night in town with Sinead on our walk back to my car. The photos in black and white were unintentionally nice angles that I found when I took a closer, chilled out look at the surroundings that I’ve had for the past semester. It’s funny how everything that I usually bustle past in a rush to and from classes actually appeared really photogenic to me, on a cold, winters night at 1-2am. Perhaps the combination of the cold night air and the lacking elements of people and time restraints was what made these usually mundane corners pop out to me that night. The first 3 photos are taken just a few metres from the Kenneth Myers Centre (the “castle” that jazz school is located in, photographed below). The second 3 photos are just around the corner where I would usually park my car if for some reason I had shorter classes and decided to drive instead of ferrying. The last 7 are all taken around the same block as well. The odd photo is of the view out of my car and through the rearview mirror; and the sky tower was shot off a reflection.

Isn’t it ironic that most people my age I know agree with me wholeheartedly that Auckland (and NZ in general) is such a beautiful place to live, and yet we cannot wait to leave the minute that we can – most likely when we’ve finished completely our degrees. I kept intending to take photos of the amazing view that I am treated to by my daily to and fro ferry rides, but I never remember to take a camera. Maybe next semester.

Being out 3, 4 nights in a row has really taken a toll on my sleeping habits and overall tiredness. And, although I have officially finished Semester 1 at jazz school, my final assessments didn’t go as well as I would’ve hoped. I know I can’t really blame anyone for anything, but one thing that was beyond my control was the failure of the drummer during a very important song that I had arranged, and had high hopes for. There’s only so much that I can do as a bass player when the drummer doesn’t play in double time as per rehearsed. I’m just upset that it is my mark that will suffer, and most especially when it was the first time that I had nailed an entire structure of a solo without getting completely lost of out this world – let alone the fact that it was without music! I have no idea how I managed to memorise ten tunes over the space of a couple of days, but I know my arse will be kicked into gear next semester, and I will start earlier. One more exam for my Computer Science paper on Tuesday, and then I will really really be on holiday. That is, if the lingering work that’s been prescribed in advance for next semester can qualify as a total holiday. It’s once again times like these that I envy those doing other degrees the true joy of having no work to haunt their minds over semester break.

These last photos are just… well, some shenanigans we got up to. I haven’t really looked at the band photos I took that night.

Surprisingly, I have a kind-of backlog of blog entries I never got around to posting. Maybe I will catch up.