When I shot my first gig around somewhere around ’04 or ’05, I was psyched. Psyched about getting a shooting gig, taking a camera to the bar, shooting a real artist, just psyched, even though I knew I wouldn’t get a dime for it. And it’s not like I thought I’d get paid for the first gigs, I was painfully aware that it’d take two, three, four years longer before I’d get any real money from shooting. Back then I used to wonder why I got some odd faces from older photographers, and eventually I understood the reason. Probably the first ten gigs I should’ve only been watching the older guys who were shooting the gig as their job assignment, watching their techniques, gear and shooting style. I think I never saw them use a flash.

For a beginner it’s tough to get an assignment – it can be hard after 5, 6, 7 years of shooting too. It’s spring again and people are applying for schools, photography schools also. And a few too many photog friends have been talking about the newcomers who ask for advice – and that’s cool, I got nothing against that. But when the advice should be an grand idea for the shot, a schematic for lighting, pretty much instructions about aperture and shutter speeds and compositing, whose photograph is it going to be? The second best advice for photography I ever got is “Shoot. Shoot a lot and then shoot more.” And the best advice I ever got is “Think before you shoot.”

The shots from my first gigs haven’t been published – they’ll probably never be published anywhere. I asked for permission to shoot for personal use, and that permit doesn’t let me publish those photos for commercial use (where things have ended up). Those gigs were lessons, long and sweaty lessons in the middle of the crowd, that pushed my subconcious knowledge a bit further. I’ve always tried to treat older photographers with respect. If they want to stand in the same spot as I do, I give them space. If I realize I’m in their frame, I move away or at least try to blend in. I had to do those first ten, twenty, thirty gigs to learn, but at those gigs I had to stay out of the way so that the working guys got their set done.

For me the most important thing on a gig shoot is trying to be invisible. The crowd isn’t there to stand in your way, the artist or band isn’t there to be photographed – they’re there for each other. It’s the photographer who’s the third wheel in the picture here, and the crowd or the artist couldn’t and shouldn’t give a rat’s ass about the camera. Of course every now and then you get a quick pose from the singer or guitarist, but that’s a great extra – an extra, nothing more than an exception. When the audience notices you, you’re being too obtrusive, visible and you’re molding into their musical experience. “I went to this gig and there was a photographer.” There probably was a bartender and a blocker picking up empty glasses from the tables, and a bouncer at the door too. But someone from the crowd remembers a photographer?

Being noticed isn’t the worst thing. It happens, you reach out your arm holding that camera the size of a six-pack and somebody sees that. Not too hard. But when you end up pissing off someone in the crowd or even the majority of the crowd, that’s the moment when you should already be out of there. Or even worse, you squeeze through, keep banging that full power flash and act big so that the crowd gets so pissed that they start pushing the other photographer around and yelling at him, you probably never should’ve been there. That’s not much of a respect, is it?

I haven’t got far financially from the days I started. I’ve probably gained more philosophy than skills, but that doesn’t bother me at all. Growth has been slow in the bank but steady on the ethics, I’ve made more friends than enemies and haven’t received any hate mail during the years. That’s a good place to start – every day.