Why I Shoot Those Who Make Music

I own a Washburn six-string guitar. I've taken a beginning guitar class. I know some chords. With some effort, I can pick a melody. Am I a musician? Just posing that question makes me laugh.

But my dabbling has deepened my appreciation of those who make music -- from the master musicians who represent the best of their art to the front-porch pickers who play for the sheer joy of it.

I enjoy listening to recorded music (and have plenty of it), but nothing beats hearing music (particularly acoustic forms) while seeing it played. The spontaneity, interactions and energy of live performance enhances the music, even if the tunes aren't quite played with studio perfection.

As a photographer, I'm fascinated by how individual musicians interact with their instruments and how they express the music through their movements and expressions while performing.

I still can picture the first time I saw the David Grisman Quintet on stage. Mando master "Dawg" Grisman swayed to and fro as he vigorously picked and strummed, his long, black hair waving wildly. Next to him, guitar great Tony Rice stood rock steady, his long fingers flying across the strings. When mandolin maestro Jethro Burns joined the DGQ for the finale, he laughingly attempted to copy the Dawg's style.

I've also observed how the flow of energy makes an ensemble greater than the sum of its parts. As a photographer, I look for how musician interact, how they feed off of each other's energy.

Years ago, I often went to small, local bluegrass festivals where front-porch pickers came out to play before audiences. I particularly enjoyed one annual festival, held on a remote, rural churchyard. The stage was the back of an old flat-bed truck. Off to the side, musicians signed up for a time slot on stage.

Elsewhere on the grounds, musicians congregated for jam sessions. Several had clustered in a circle under a large oak tree. Right next to the tree, an old weathered farmer (at least he looked like an old farmer) thumped a well-worn doghouse bass.

When the old guy nodded toward another player in the circle, that was the signal to take a solo. Then, with a sly smile, the old guy began slapping the bass furiously, challenging the soloist to show what chops he or she had. And each one seemed eager to please.

I wished I'd had a camera to capture those moments. Now that I do, I seize opportunities to photograph musicians while playing. I've shot several Midwest Gypsy Swing Festivals and a few other gigs. A side benefit has been getting to know some of the amazing musicians playing around here. And some even use my photos on their websites or link to them.

Most recently, I photographed musicians busking along Madison's State Street for the Literacy Network (one of my personal causes). The variety of performers plying the street corners was incredible, and they were a joy to photograph. (My only regret was being unable to stop and listen more.)

Now with summer just around the corner, I'm just itching for the opportunities to put performers in pictures.