A month or so ago, Black Cat Burlesque teamed up with Big Moves teamed up with a bunch of awesome solo performers to create an entire show around Beck’s “Midnight Vultures” album. It was one night only, and conveniently, I just happened to be in town.
“Oh man!” I said. “I’m going to bring my camera, and take pictures, all throughout the show without a single flash, because I’ve got that shit handled, now!”
We met up with some friends who’d grabbed a front table, and as the lights dimmed and I unpacked my gear, a familiar voice sung out from the speakers: thank you for coming to the show, and remember, absolutely, positively, no pictures. I pointed my lens toward the stage and took a test shot to check my levels. The stage manager came flying from the shadows. “Excuse me, but you can’t — oh, Lacy! Never mind. Hey, welcome back!”
It was then that I realized: I have, what we in documentary school call and covet, “access.”
And I also have, what we in documentary school call and abhor, “bias”: because I love these people with all my heart, have kissed some of them at parties, and these photos are meant to contain a message: this is beautiful, hilarious, important.
Full album: here.