Dear concert goers,
I know that you stood outside for hours, possibly in inclement weather you weren't dressed for (thanks to an attempt at being fashionable), just to secure that spot on the barrier. Believe me, I understand, I've done it myself far too many times to count. I get it that being close enough to the lead singer to touch him/feel his breath/show him your tits is high on your bucket list, and I'm not trying to get in your way of that novel pursuit. However, I am here to do a job, my job, the job that I've wanted for years, as passionately perhaps as you have wanted to feel that band member's "package." And really, I don't need your crap.
Yes, part of my job is coming between you and that "indie sex god" you are drooling over up on stage. In fact, in order to do said job, I have to stand 6 inches from that guy and still try to make him look properly shaped, and if I'm lucky even in the right light and properly framed, thanks to some tricks performed by modern technology and a lot of expensive glass. It would really make it a hell of a lot easier if you weren't throwing beers at me, trying to pull my hair, asking me for my photo pass so you can get backstage and seduce someone, and yelling at me to get the fuck out of your view so you can take your own camera phone snaps.
The thing you guys are failing to get, possibly blitzed out of your mind on several shots you took to tame the horror of a crappy opening band, or just plain tired and with achy feet from standing there so bloody long, is that I will only be in your way for 3 songs. Three. Fucking. Songs. Around 10 minutes, that's all I get, to get in that tiny barrier where I'm falling all over the six other photographers, running to catch each member of the band who are oblivious to my need to get an image of them, trying to make the best of the insane effects the light guy is trying out, and not piss off the security guards so they kick me out before my 3 songs are even up. After those three songs, I'll be out of your way, probably never to see you again, and the show goes on like I was never there, and by the time you leave you'll be so thrilled with the two hours of music you just lived through (unless the band really sucked and let you down all around), you won't even remember hide nor hair of me.
I started out where you guys were once. I skipped a whole lot of great gigs to save up the money for my gear, and I went to a lot of lousy gigs I didn't want to in order to get the portfolio I needed to get a job taking pictures. Here's a hint... If having your own photo pass really means that much to you, you can do it too. But you should really start by chilling out. To work in the music industry requires eating a lot of humble pie, sucking up, and being nice to people no matter how little you can stand them. Going around with your nasty attitude towards the venue staff, security, the bartender, the band's crew, and yes even the journalists, is not the way to go. Unless, you know, being a groupie is all you aspire to in life, and you don't know that "you can catch more flies with honey than vinegar" might apply to those endeavours too...
Showing posts with label concerts. Show all posts
Showing posts with label concerts. Show all posts
5.9.13
I Am A Masochistic Music Fan, And You May Be Too...
Have you ever been hurt by a band? Answer truthfully. Were you ever insulted upon meeting your favorite artist? Scorned after a post-gig love affair? On less personal notes, offended by a band's continual skipping of your town/region/country on tours? Disgusted by their new mashup of musical genre (*coughbonjovicough*)? Anyone who has passionate affection for more than one musical artist can probably answer "yes" to at least one of those questions, if not more.
Now here's the hook... How often do you go back for more abuse?
I have seen the whole charade enough to know when my friends and myself are loving the pain. Sadly it has been all too often where I've had no choice but to sit back and watch friends turn into groupies, be dismissed the next day and shooed away, never again seen in the same light by their idols. Yet those girls are the ones who continue with their undying love and fail to realize their love wasn't returned during that bathroom encounter. Ick. On the other end of the spectrum, I have male friends who continually build up the same excitement every time their "one true love" band announces a new album, only to be disappointed when it's the same crap rehashed since the 90s, with a new duo done with an artist they loathe, and their town is yet again left off the tour. Does it matter to them that they are so irrelevant to the famous guys they've modeled their lives after, and that this scenario will play out until they're balding old men?
No. Masochistic band fans love the pain. It hurts so good, after all.
In a way one could see music fans as some of the most optimistic and hopeful souls on earth. We may listen to the most depressing lyrics, dress all in black, and lock ourselves away with just our tunes for days on end (or perhaps that was just me at 16) but every time we are let down we get back up again, with more strength than we ever show in real life. We handle the artificial disappointments doled out by our loves with dignity, easily recover, and are quick to forgive and forget.
I often wonder if it isn't an addiction, chasing that first high we got from our bands; yet just as the heroin addict can never repeat that feeling, nor can we. The first 5 times I heard Rebellion (Lies) by Arcade Fire, I had chills and goosebumps. When I saw them from the midst of O2 Arena in London, that feeling had long since passed, and I merely stood there in a sense of panic wondering what they'd done to my song to keep it from giving me that feeling. Ever since, I've loved at least a half dozen songs on each Arcade Fire album, but none have raised my arm hairs. I keep buying their CDs though, and in the back of my mind cannot kill that hope they will write something else that stirs me so deeply. The same goes for gigs - my first proper Franz Ferdinand gig literally changed my life. While that sounds incredibly corny, it was chasing that feeling again which turned me into a highfalutin, world traveling woman of the world who worked 4 disgustingly degrading jobs to pay my way across the Atlantic and back not once, but thrice. Those gigs were amazing, and a series of events pertaining to their aftermath led me to the very bed I lie in as I type this; however the rush I got at that first gig in Providence never came back. I had lost my sense of awe at their live shows, and my inhibitions went up and up the more I ran into the guys in the band. I no longer wanted to be a fan having a good time, because those people annoyed me - and I didn't want to annoy them. Going to gigs, sometime around gig 15 of 29, became a right effort. I know that effort will be massively multiplied come seeing them again in October, but that hasn't stopped me from buying tickets to 2 gigs so far. My inner masochist is looking forward to that pain.
It isn't just the live gigs. I do it with the albums, too, and I know I'm not alone. My friend and I have been debating all week, ever since the new Franz album came out, whether or not we like it. At first, we didn't - hell I even hated the mere IDEA of it. But now, it's growing on me. Am I liking it because it's them? Did I ever *not* like it, or was I just resistant to the change? Have I forgiven them for skipping my entire half the country five times in a row, doling out drama galore to do with this album, and taking 4 years to produce something that probably should be better for that time frame? I'm not one to forgive and forget, so that can't be it. I think the masochist in me is coming out. When it no longer hurts to like them, the masochistic band fan must find a way to drag that knife. As my friend and I debated this album online, another friend of hers chimed in, "Why wouldn't you like it? You love Franz." Neither of us really had a good answer, but we tried. That's the thing, after all. We're all just too big of masochists to enjoy the good parts, and when loving our loves stops hurting, we have to find a way to get our fix.
How about you? Do you like your music with a side of heartache, or are you more subdued than that? Do you know the warning signs of band masochism in case you or your friends need an intervention?
Now here's the hook... How often do you go back for more abuse?
I have seen the whole charade enough to know when my friends and myself are loving the pain. Sadly it has been all too often where I've had no choice but to sit back and watch friends turn into groupies, be dismissed the next day and shooed away, never again seen in the same light by their idols. Yet those girls are the ones who continue with their undying love and fail to realize their love wasn't returned during that bathroom encounter. Ick. On the other end of the spectrum, I have male friends who continually build up the same excitement every time their "one true love" band announces a new album, only to be disappointed when it's the same crap rehashed since the 90s, with a new duo done with an artist they loathe, and their town is yet again left off the tour. Does it matter to them that they are so irrelevant to the famous guys they've modeled their lives after, and that this scenario will play out until they're balding old men?
No. Masochistic band fans love the pain. It hurts so good, after all.
In a way one could see music fans as some of the most optimistic and hopeful souls on earth. We may listen to the most depressing lyrics, dress all in black, and lock ourselves away with just our tunes for days on end (or perhaps that was just me at 16) but every time we are let down we get back up again, with more strength than we ever show in real life. We handle the artificial disappointments doled out by our loves with dignity, easily recover, and are quick to forgive and forget.
I often wonder if it isn't an addiction, chasing that first high we got from our bands; yet just as the heroin addict can never repeat that feeling, nor can we. The first 5 times I heard Rebellion (Lies) by Arcade Fire, I had chills and goosebumps. When I saw them from the midst of O2 Arena in London, that feeling had long since passed, and I merely stood there in a sense of panic wondering what they'd done to my song to keep it from giving me that feeling. Ever since, I've loved at least a half dozen songs on each Arcade Fire album, but none have raised my arm hairs. I keep buying their CDs though, and in the back of my mind cannot kill that hope they will write something else that stirs me so deeply. The same goes for gigs - my first proper Franz Ferdinand gig literally changed my life. While that sounds incredibly corny, it was chasing that feeling again which turned me into a highfalutin, world traveling woman of the world who worked 4 disgustingly degrading jobs to pay my way across the Atlantic and back not once, but thrice. Those gigs were amazing, and a series of events pertaining to their aftermath led me to the very bed I lie in as I type this; however the rush I got at that first gig in Providence never came back. I had lost my sense of awe at their live shows, and my inhibitions went up and up the more I ran into the guys in the band. I no longer wanted to be a fan having a good time, because those people annoyed me - and I didn't want to annoy them. Going to gigs, sometime around gig 15 of 29, became a right effort. I know that effort will be massively multiplied come seeing them again in October, but that hasn't stopped me from buying tickets to 2 gigs so far. My inner masochist is looking forward to that pain.
It isn't just the live gigs. I do it with the albums, too, and I know I'm not alone. My friend and I have been debating all week, ever since the new Franz album came out, whether or not we like it. At first, we didn't - hell I even hated the mere IDEA of it. But now, it's growing on me. Am I liking it because it's them? Did I ever *not* like it, or was I just resistant to the change? Have I forgiven them for skipping my entire half the country five times in a row, doling out drama galore to do with this album, and taking 4 years to produce something that probably should be better for that time frame? I'm not one to forgive and forget, so that can't be it. I think the masochist in me is coming out. When it no longer hurts to like them, the masochistic band fan must find a way to drag that knife. As my friend and I debated this album online, another friend of hers chimed in, "Why wouldn't you like it? You love Franz." Neither of us really had a good answer, but we tried. That's the thing, after all. We're all just too big of masochists to enjoy the good parts, and when loving our loves stops hurting, we have to find a way to get our fix.
How about you? Do you like your music with a side of heartache, or are you more subdued than that? Do you know the warning signs of band masochism in case you or your friends need an intervention?
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