Guess

who was stupid enough to forget to ask for a photo pass for the jazz festival until it was way too late... (So it seems that this will be the only concert I will photo)

Opening

I suppose at this point you would all expect a photo from the opening. And I must say that even I would expect that, but it is just unbelievable how wrong we can all be. I tell you, it is almost impossible to take photos at your own openings. You see, the place is crawling (in a good way) with friends, family, people you know, people you met at a concert or another exhibition, people you are still about to meet (of course they are all fashionably late, so they all miss your wonderful 25 minute speech that explains everything anybody needs to know about photography, music and life itself – but then I believe a good monologue should be conducted every now and then). And you want to speak to all of them. You want to dedicate so much attention and time to each one of them as if you are meeting them and only them for a drink. And guess what. Ce n’est pas possible. And then you realise your camera is sitting at the table, doing nothing. And you think ‘Oh well, another day, another time.’ And you get back to your friends and enjoy the evening.

But, once it all settled down a bit and the concert was coming to an end, I did take the camera out and take a dozen or so photos of the band (it is in the blood after all) so without further ado... (you know how it goes...)

Walkman

No, it is not my first (a huge red plastic Sanyo I think), nor is it one of my later Sonys or Aiwas (I actually still have two at home). It is a photo from yesterday's concert.

Only mad dogs

Englishmen and a pair of Vans go out in the mid day sun.
(After years of loyal service it seems that my pair of Vans have decided to leave me and explore the world, hoping to make it all the way around the globe)

Sitting on the dock of the bay

wasting time (with my friends and a beer).

Standing ovation

Not experienced often. But he got it. And he deserved it.

Multi-layers

First you get hit by the entire layout. Then you start peeling them off. Layer by layer. Curiously. Tenderly. Until you reach the end. The smallest particle. The smallest particle that still functions as an entity. Then you start building again. Slowly. Attentively. Carefully. Lovingly. And before you know it, it is all over.

Cheat sheets

for the backing vocals.

Going back in time

on a mid-week afternoon...

It is always fun

when musicians come and play amongst the public... and the day of music is the perfect day to do it.

Poetry is cool

donged the bell. Poetry brings me down it dinged the very next moment. Not being really fair here, as I already arrived there in a bit of a strange mood. On the way I thought: I am feeling a bit down, what music could pick me up on the way? Joy Division. And when that happens to you you know you have found yourself in a corner. A dark corner. Full of rusty nails scattered on the floor. Kneeling down. Lying face down. Given the time to contemplate. Waiting for the morning to come.

Jamie

knows that there is no picnic without a chef.

We are Woody Allen

and we have the glasses to prove it.

Easy.

The choice for today, I mean. I was flicking through the photos from yesterday, and when I came to this one it immediately struck me: This is it. This it the one for the blog. I don't know why, as some things could be better, but I think it is because it seemed such a non-concert like photo... It seems as if we were playing around with the camera and nobody else was there... and, come to think of it, the rough spots are what gives it away... it is the rough spots which reveal that we were not playing around and we did not have all the time in the world, and there were hundreds of people around and he was in the middle of his song... so maybe this combnination of the opposites is why I immediately thought this is the one for today...

From Russia...

... with love.

Walking away...

Leaving the world behind. Letting the world catch up on its sleep and stepping into the far too familiar loneliness. Walking slowly, unwillingly, towards the tossing and turning in the empty bed. There were nights (and sometimes days) when the tossing and turning in bed made sense. He would even describe it as fun. But that seems like a lifetime ago. Now the still darkness of the night is filled with the deep breaths that come from the weight on his chest. All that weight. All the world's worries on his mind. Trying to save the unsavable. Trying to save himself. Hoping he will see another day before he drowns. It was just a Wednesday morning. The same as any other Wednesday morning. The same as any other morning.

Some days

I feel like this. Lost. As if suspended in mid air. No, not in air. Suspended in the black nothingness of the universe. Suspended in the dark and black presence of the anti-matter. Standing. Waiting. Looking around. Waiting to hear the next Vogon poem as it rips through my brain. Dreading its drilling sound, repetitiveness and total and utter voidness of any meaning or form. Feeling the devestation it leaves behind. The burnt crops, the flattened buildings, the ruined lives, the crying children, the headless cattle, the hearts beating in the burnt wheat, the greedy politicians... and all this from a single poem. But then the day passes and most often a new one dawns. And there is a 50/50 chance it will be better... And one day I will live to see the 50% chance materialise...

I thought...

...you might fancy a change.

Basketball

Even when playing basketball they look like they are dancing...

It is all

in the movement. It is all in the moment. It is all in the movement in the moment. It is all in the momentous movement. So basically, if you are not there, you miss out.

Dance Festival

Still in the warm-up phase, but already fun. (And yes, no rest for the wicked)

Trapped

in a spider web. Trying to escape. Never going to make it.

So very late

Just going through the photos from the concert... and I am so late, it is unbelievable... and as it is late and I think I will go to sleep any moment now, I will post a photo even before I look at the entire album... I have no idea why I chose this one... maybe just because I am sleepy, maybe because it is good (even though I have a feeling I have seen some better ones at the beginning of the album and there might be some better ones still to come - who knows, you will just have to look at the entire album when I post it), maybe because (I am a Londoner...), or maybe, just maybe, because ...

Escaping

the rain and climbing up my garage door. Just one of the many trying to escape the great flood.

Somewhere under the rainbow

Skies are blue,
And the dreams that you dare to dream
Really do come true.
(From Wizard of Oz)

I will cross...

... this bridge when I come to it.

The twit that I am

I leave home, as one does, for Saturday lunch. Just lunch I say. Nothing special. I lock the door and set off. We have lunch and just as we are walking for coffee and ice-cream we see some demonstrations taking place. As we are not ones to miss out on demonstrations (if it is a good cause, of corse) we checked it out and saw that the demos are in support of the migrant worker's rights so we joined in and offered our support. So there I am. In the middle of a demo. It doesn't really take an Einstein to realise what the next step should be... Take out my camera and start taking photos... But, the twit that I am I didn't have my camera on me... so I had to rely on my camera phone... And it was funny, because all the photoghraphers were asking me: 'So now you think you can do it just with a phone, eh?' It seems like in the same way as I have got used to carrying my camera around for most of the time, other people have also got used to me with a lens sticking out where my nose should be...

Bands and rain

Not at the same time. First rain, then bands (and this was the first one I managed to catch (and I have no idea what they are called), and this is the first photo I did when I stepped into the small concert hall) and beer and chats and photos, and then.... yes, rain again.
Walking home through the nighttime summer rain in Ljubljana...
And yes, I would like to attach a romantic tale to this night walk in the summer rain, describing how you were on my mind as the raindrops kept slowly slipping through my hair, or even better, how we were returning from the concert, hand in hand, laughing in anticipation, but someone seemed to have sucked all the romance out of me... for the moment? A day? A fortnight? A year? A decade? A lifetime? Or forever?
Well, I guess, I will just have to wait and see...

500

Not the Indy 500... Not half a grand (which Mike knows doesn't come for free - even though I am wondering whether he changed his mind on that one). And not a Fiat 500 either. Nor the 500 miles the Proclaimers would walk (not the first 500 nor the second 500). And no, unlikely as it might sound, it is not 500 years of solitude either. Nor the 500 beats per minute my heart races everytime I think of you.
It is post No. 500 (Is there anybody out there who has has read them all? If yes, can he or she write a 500 word summary? :) ). Anyway, I was so excited about this I was in dire need of calming down and I guess the second - no make that the third - best thing to calm someone down is a pacifier. And as luck would have it (yup sometimes I strike it lucky) there was one just hanging around.

Dad

is coming to town... So guess who went to pick him up?