I met Rainy Eyes at Jazz Fest in New Orleans. A few months later I was sleeping in a cabin with them in the Colorado mountains, which is a sentence I did not see coming.
None of it was planned. We met in the crowd, talked for a while, and went back to our regular lives. When their West Coast tour cut through Colorado, they asked if I wanted to come shoot a couple of stops. I said yes before I finished reading the text.
Denver, then up the hill
They played Denver first. Then we drove up into the mountains for Winter Park's High-Note Thursdays, a free summer concert series at the Rendezvous Event Center. Their set was July 9, six to eight in the evening. There is a big curved wooden roof over the stage and the mountains just sit behind it, showing off.
We stayed in a cabin together. I know how that sounds. But sharing a kitchen with people for a few days changes the pictures. The camera stops being a big deal. Nobody sucks in their stomach for it. It just hangs around while everyone argues about coffee and loses their phone chargers.
The part nobody photographs
Touring is mostly waiting. It is the drive, the parking lot, the long soft middle of the afternoon. We killed some of that time at the Grand Park rec center, swimming laps and sitting in the sauna, which is a very funny way to get ready to play rock and roll to a few hundred people in the mountains.
The rest of the time we just floated. Somebody tuned a guitar. Somebody wandered down to the creek behind the cabin. I shot the boring parts on purpose, because the boring parts are where people actually look like themselves.
Then it started raining
About an hour before the set, the sky opened. Rain came sideways across the Rendezvous Center and the crowd scattered. The seats emptied. Everything went gray and cold, and for a while it looked like the whole night was going to wash out.
So we did what you do on the road. We stood under the pavilion with the gear covered, watched the clouds, stepped over the dog, and hoped people would come back.
They came back
And they did. A few minutes before the band went on, people just walked back in. They grabbed the amphitheater chairs the venue puts out for free, and some of them were dancing by the second song. The empty rows filled up. The rain quit showing off. The band walked out and played like the storm had been on the setlist all along.
Kevin ran sound, I ran everything else
Kevin, their sound engineer, recorded the whole set clean. While he caught the audio, I shot it two ways at once. Stills, like always, and video on my new DJI Osmo Pocket 3, which I had barely touched before that night.
I did not expect a camera that small to mess with my head. But moving through a set with something that holds steady and follows the motion opened up coverage I have wanted for years. Stills freeze the loud moment. The Osmo caught the stuff between the loud moments. A crowd swaying. A guitarist leaning back into a solo. Light sliding across the stage.
After the last song
The show did not end when the music did. The band went straight to the merch table and stayed there. Signing prints, signing posters, handing over records, actually talking to the people who stood through the rain to see them. That part almost never gets photographed, and it is my favorite. It is where a concert turns back into a conversation.
What is coming
Kevin's audio and my video are going to become live recordings and synced YouTube performance videos. The set, sound locked to picture, the way it actually felt standing in that room. Those are on the way.
The photos hold the rest of it. Not the finished song. The weather, the waiting, the dog, the parking lot, the drive home. For a few days I was not the photographer who shows up, shoots, and leaves. I was just in the van with everybody else. I am still thinking about it.
See the full gallery from this tour stop: Rainy Eyes: Denver to Winter Park →
← Back to Journal
