Great performances
Editorial
So after I sent in my last entry, the Minnesota nice kicked in hardcore and all I could think as I was lying in bed trying to force myself to sleep was "I just purged 5 years of growth and frustration and I hope to the gods in heaven I didn't ostracize some of the most important people in my life, who love and live for theater, by doing so. Oh god, what will they think?" Then my mom called me at 2am to tell me my sister was in labor and I was suddenly wide awake again with much different priorities on my mind.
Max William Metzger. 6lbs 3oz.
I burned him a mix CD immediately.
I'm sitting in a suburban house in a small town in Southern Iowa right now, and my new nephew is sleeping on the other side of the walls. Y'know they're right: family is the most important part of your life, whether it be the family you're given or your friends, the family you choose. With my camera always always near, I met Max at the hospital, watched him come through his front door for the first time, watched as their two dogs were introduced to their new brother, watched as they gave him his first bath at home. With my camera down, I held him as much as possible today.
I wish I could freeze these moments forever. And I do. I try to. That's why I write and take photos. To capture that fleeting moment of life, to hold on to that one amazing night. Sometimes my words and pictures are just for me, sometimes they are for my friends, sometimes an audience of perfect strangers.
The first time I saw Marah in their hometown of Philadelphia five years ago, I will never forget literally grabbing my gut at one point in the night and thinking "this is EXACTLY what my life is. This is perfect. This is everything." Then I went back to dancing and photographing and air high-fiving the people across the packed venue I had only just met in the bar beforehand. I would go on to experience many more shows with this group of twenty odd people. I always say we've experienced the very best and almost worst of each other. And even though I haven't seen many of them in about five years, they are all still my East Coast concert family.
When I was at The Suburbs Tribute to Bruce Allen show a couple months ago, I stood back with my camera and constantly scanned the sea of shining balding heads and graying hair. I couldn't help but think I was witnessing these people, who sold out First Ave, reliving the best times of their lives as they spun and waved and sang along with their beloved band. At the end of the show, I was in the photo pit and caught the drumstick as it bounced off the barrier. I looked up at this woman who was reaching out to me with grabby hands, who had been in the front row the entire night, and I saw the desperation. She wanted that keepsake and would appreciate it more than I could. I thought about how much I cherish my Social D & Roots drumsticks, recognized that look in her eyes, and handed it over. She mouthed thank you with tears in her eyes. I figured it would give me some good rock'n'roll karma for the future.
I knew that Suburbs concert would be an amazing night. This was a celebration of one of the greatest Minneapolis rock bands, and that's why I pitched it to my City Pages editor to photograph. I didn't know a single song before I walked in but I left and immediately texted my friend Heidi "I need Suburbs tunes STAT." Then I drove home in a daze of glee, heated up some samosas, and stayed up til 4am editing my photos, the only other gift I could give that community besides a drumstick.
And then there's Bruce Springsteen, which has colored the past ten years of my life so intensely, introduced me to so much. I have had hours long conversations with a couple people in bars about our Bruce lives, linked arms and danced with Spaniards on the beach of Barcelona as a cover band played Thunder Road, seen him 23 times in concert in the past eight years all across this country, met the most fantastic fans of all ages, cried and rocked out with them as our favorite tunes rang out over a sea of people, a community of crazies. Then, we hobble out of the venue, ravenous for street vendors or leftover tailgating goodies. The party doesn't end until you shut your eyes in the wee hours of the morning to dream of the next show. My greatest goal from the first concert I shot was to get the opportunity to photograph a Springsteen show. Until then, I'll work up my local and national ladder of musical loves, a few shots of whom I have included in this entry. When the Bruce opportunity happens, it's time for a new goal.
I have seen grown men cry, women scream, rooms pulsate with a rabid audience as they thrash back and forth for an hour or so, two people wail a soul tune in a banged up Honda, an arena full of tens of thousands sing the same song. I have laid alone, face down in my underwear on my living room floor at 2 am listening to side B of my favorite album, sorting out whatever issue was pressing at the time.
Remembering the power of theater too
I have seen and experienced much of that in theater as well. But it's so much rarer. And, for me, now it just seems smaller. When you have seen the enormous impact music can have on an audience, on a soul, a community, so much of life seems smaller. That is until your nephew opens his eyes for the first time and looks up at you, straining to keep his tiny lids open to take in the world. James William has a beautiful piece on this site about the power of theater on children, "Leaving a Mark," in which he writes "for so many, theater is, at best, entertainment for the masses, and, at worst, a diversion for the affluent. Yet I know it is more because I have lived it on many levels." I too have lived it on many levels. I have experienced the true magic of the theater. I was that shy child, who once bit my mother out of embarrassment when she tried to read a poem I had written over the phone, that child who found a home, a voice in the theater. I have seen a young, large black man, a student at the Royal Shakespeare Academy, do the greatest physicalization to transform into Richard III, sharp controlled movements that rang across the stage. That is still the most intense Shakespeare production I have ever seen and it was in a tiny theater with the actors and actresses in simple black clothes. At the National Theater Institute, I saw my peers transform into the specific characters of commedia dell'arte masks without ever seeing the front of the mask. If they were open and willing to give themselves up entirely, it would happen. When I put on my mask, I had the impulse to hunch over and walk slowly. My mask was a witch. After an African dance ritual, a girl sobbing told us she had just had a conversation with her dead father. This might all seem so fantastical but it's a part of my life I will never forget. It's all true, too. But, in spite of the fact that I have experienced so much with theater and I do believe in William's words, I have rarely seen the masses truly entertained by it. Sure, there's the hundreds of people that flock to Broadway, and I have many times, but any true theater artist would probably cringe at that comparison. I have seen that in music. Many times. At college, my directing professor, my second father, opened my eyes to how art could affect a person. In doing so, he helped me understand what I was experiencing with music, what I try to seize with my camera. Maybe my expectations for theater are too high, maybe they were distorted by my rock'n'roll fandom. I don't know yet. But I still believe that the two will intersect for me somehow. I know now is the time to to slow down for theater, to open my mind and body to it once again. If anything, theater has led me here...to this point in my life when I plan my summer around such photography/life highlights as the Lucero and Jason Isbell concert at the zoo, the Jayhawks Reunion shows at First Ave, and, uhhh, the Warped Tour down in Shakopee...quiet moments with my new nephew where I whisper the names of my favorite singers into his ear. I wonder how baby Max will find his voice?
