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Picture the scene. You like watching live music, and naturally you want to take some snaps as keepsakes; a reminder of good times had. Just like George, you make your way through a succession of digicams - a Panasonic whose lens had a premature case of erectile dysfunction, a Canon which was surprisingly good, and even now is useful, and another Panasonic for the wife, which even with minor use is showing early signs of its lens not wanting to unsheath itself: apparently a common digicam ailment.
In PC World of all places, a Nikon D40 and kit lens sets you on the hazardous road of DSLR ownership. Its image quality is second to nothing that has gone before: the sensor having a similar pixel pitch to the mighty Nikon full-frame cameras helps it deliver a crisp, luminous picture unlike anything youve used. The lens also punches above its weight; but somehow the amateur inside you clamours for more reach - the holy grail of capturing small birds in glorious resolution without leaving the comfort of your own French windows. Thusly is a Nikon 18-200 lens purchased, again from the unlikely source of PC World. The price is better than CameraPriceBuster, it would be a crime NOT to buy it! The D40+18-200 combo is by your side for every important event that summer: Glastonbury festival, a sailing trip, the English Riviera, never skipping a beat. Program mode is superb - why would anyone use anything else?
At a gig, you bump into a chap carrying a camera whose lens you recognise. Its the Nikon 18-200, surely? But the camera body looks large and unwieldy in comparison with your own neat, compact D40. It turns out its the mythical D90, and he gives you a go with it. You weigh it in your hands, have a look through the viewfinder, but are too polite to shoot off a frame or two. Its too heavy, but all those controls are tempting; they must be there for a reason, and that viewfinder is superbly large. On closer inspection, some of those Glastonbury shots seem a bit blurred around the edges: surely the light in that tent wasnt so dim? Perhaps a longer lens would help. As if by magic, you are sold a Nikkor 70-300 VR by a man in Whitley Bay. He looks in disdain at your D40; he swears by his D80: apparently the new D90 has its controls in the wrong place and isnt as good for photographing squirrels at a hundred paces.
Hallelujah! A musician friend you knew ages ago gets in touch on Facebook and invites you to photograph his bands debut performance at the Newcastle O2 Academy. By now, the scales have fallen from your eyes; f/5.6 lenses are no good for the dim envrions of the average music venue: only large-aperture primes will do. The 85mm f/1.8 lens is an obvious choice, but wont autofocus on the D40, so the D90 is an essential purchase; how else can you do your friends gig justice? You wouldnt want to let him down.
You cant get into the O2 with two cameras round your neck without being spotted by security (the D40 is there as a backup; plus it works well with the new 35mm f/1.8 which looked like such a bargain); after a few brusque words, the bouncer slaps a hastily-written photo-pass on your shoulder and sends you upstairs. Wow - your debut accreditation! Hopefully the first of many. The gig is such a blast, you shoot well into the hundreds of photos, with both bodies, and even dig out the ultra wide-angle you couldnt resist from Talk Photography. Surely theres something good in that lot? After hours sifting through the pics, you choose 56 photos to put up on Facebook; a lot less than you took but it should be enough to showcase your abilities with the new gear. And not a bit of camera shake amongst them.
It seems to run from there: a friends band from Manchester visits and you do their gig reasonable justice with the same gear. The D90 hangs so well from one shoulder with the 85mm, you wonder why anyone would need anything else. The need to travel train-light leads to the purchase of a Panasonic G1 and 20mm lens: its so much smaller and neater than the D90, plus the twistable screen helps to aim the camera above the crowd and get a viewpoint that none of the DSLR crowd seem to bother with. To your delight, a very reasonably-priced adaptor means you can use your Dads old Canon 50mm f/1.8 lens as a 100mm telephoto - no need to lug around the big D90 and lens. The 50mm looks pretty soft at f/1.8 though - needs stopping down to f/2.5 or so. And the ISO doesnt seem to work as well; it gets really grainy at anything above 800. You dont remember that with the D90.
Loads of gigs go by, the photos go up on the web, and the artists really like them. Life is good, gig photography is fun. Putting a few feelers out leads to a handful of reviewing gigs, where you dont even have to pay to get into the gigs! Even though the photography is what you really wanted to do, you have to write a review of the music as well: the editor is very clear on that. In fact, they only want one shot of the gig, and are very specific on their requirements: it has to show the whole band, sum up what the gig looked like, and be in colour rather than black and white. Whilst in the back of your mind you wonder why one photo is better than twelve, the challenge of summing up a gig with one shot is a new photographic challenge, and leads to a more thoughtful approach. You start to use wider lenses to get everything in: that 20mm on the G1 seems to do the trick.
Without warning, it looks like you might be on for getting a three-day photo pass to the Sage Gatesheads Americana festival! You know photographers who would give a kidney for such an honour - surely the site you write for isnt as important as that! Suddenly, existential doubt sets in - your gear isnt good enough; you dont know what youre doing; you will fail. Despite all that, theres a sense of impending excitement - this really is the big time now. The three-day event passes in a blur. Photographing, making notes, typing up the previous days 500-word review before heading out for another ten hours of work. Is the moment you get up from your chair and head up to the lip of the Sages Hall One stage to take your three-songs-worth of snaps of Raul Malo the highlight of your photographic career? You bet! One after another, the great and the good of the Americana establishment parade before your sensor - Paul Burch, John Grant, Abigail Washburn, Sarah Jarosz. Some schmoozing, cards handed out, take a breath, job done. By the time youre reprimanded for venturing further than the sound desk for Lyle Lovett on Sunday evening, its time to take a break. The lens hood is dented, you havent spoken more than a handful of words to your wife for three days: this feels more like work than you thought it would.
One thing leads to another, and a quick email gets you on the indie circuit. Free gigs, interviews with the artists, photo accreditation guaranteed rather than hoped for. Even driving 300 miles in a night to meet, photograph and review artists that were previously just names on record sleeves. At your first visit to Leeds Brudenell Social Club, you notice your nemesis: massive camera, massive lens, and using flash all the time. All the gear, and no idea, not seeming to notice the excessive weight, unwieldyness, and frankly over-the-top nature of his gear at some poxy ex-working-mens club in West Yorkshire. Ignore him. But you have cause to visit the Brudenell some weeks later, and the same chap is there, with his fashionably battered trainers and ripped jeans. After some searching on Flickr, it turns out hes using a Nikon D3s, 24-70 f/2.8, and SB-900. More to the point, his photos are all taken at close range, and look superb, the crappy red lighting of the venue overcome by judiciously-bounced flash. Almost simultaneously, your shots look, red, noisy, soft, and frankly nothing to write home about.
Remember that existential doubt? Its back with a vengeance. There are some deadlines rapidly approaching - a festival with press accreditation, a couple of club gigs and an arena show, all with photo passes. Is a D90 enough? Do I know what Im doing anymore? How can I show my face there with that setup?
Having always prided myself on using simple, middle-of-the-road gear, fast, long primes, and travelling light, Ive just taken delivery of a Nikon D700 and 24-70 f/2.8. Wish me luck.
In PC World of all places, a Nikon D40 and kit lens sets you on the hazardous road of DSLR ownership. Its image quality is second to nothing that has gone before: the sensor having a similar pixel pitch to the mighty Nikon full-frame cameras helps it deliver a crisp, luminous picture unlike anything youve used. The lens also punches above its weight; but somehow the amateur inside you clamours for more reach - the holy grail of capturing small birds in glorious resolution without leaving the comfort of your own French windows. Thusly is a Nikon 18-200 lens purchased, again from the unlikely source of PC World. The price is better than CameraPriceBuster, it would be a crime NOT to buy it! The D40+18-200 combo is by your side for every important event that summer: Glastonbury festival, a sailing trip, the English Riviera, never skipping a beat. Program mode is superb - why would anyone use anything else?
At a gig, you bump into a chap carrying a camera whose lens you recognise. Its the Nikon 18-200, surely? But the camera body looks large and unwieldy in comparison with your own neat, compact D40. It turns out its the mythical D90, and he gives you a go with it. You weigh it in your hands, have a look through the viewfinder, but are too polite to shoot off a frame or two. Its too heavy, but all those controls are tempting; they must be there for a reason, and that viewfinder is superbly large. On closer inspection, some of those Glastonbury shots seem a bit blurred around the edges: surely the light in that tent wasnt so dim? Perhaps a longer lens would help. As if by magic, you are sold a Nikkor 70-300 VR by a man in Whitley Bay. He looks in disdain at your D40; he swears by his D80: apparently the new D90 has its controls in the wrong place and isnt as good for photographing squirrels at a hundred paces.
Hallelujah! A musician friend you knew ages ago gets in touch on Facebook and invites you to photograph his bands debut performance at the Newcastle O2 Academy. By now, the scales have fallen from your eyes; f/5.6 lenses are no good for the dim envrions of the average music venue: only large-aperture primes will do. The 85mm f/1.8 lens is an obvious choice, but wont autofocus on the D40, so the D90 is an essential purchase; how else can you do your friends gig justice? You wouldnt want to let him down.
You cant get into the O2 with two cameras round your neck without being spotted by security (the D40 is there as a backup; plus it works well with the new 35mm f/1.8 which looked like such a bargain); after a few brusque words, the bouncer slaps a hastily-written photo-pass on your shoulder and sends you upstairs. Wow - your debut accreditation! Hopefully the first of many. The gig is such a blast, you shoot well into the hundreds of photos, with both bodies, and even dig out the ultra wide-angle you couldnt resist from Talk Photography. Surely theres something good in that lot? After hours sifting through the pics, you choose 56 photos to put up on Facebook; a lot less than you took but it should be enough to showcase your abilities with the new gear. And not a bit of camera shake amongst them.
It seems to run from there: a friends band from Manchester visits and you do their gig reasonable justice with the same gear. The D90 hangs so well from one shoulder with the 85mm, you wonder why anyone would need anything else. The need to travel train-light leads to the purchase of a Panasonic G1 and 20mm lens: its so much smaller and neater than the D90, plus the twistable screen helps to aim the camera above the crowd and get a viewpoint that none of the DSLR crowd seem to bother with. To your delight, a very reasonably-priced adaptor means you can use your Dads old Canon 50mm f/1.8 lens as a 100mm telephoto - no need to lug around the big D90 and lens. The 50mm looks pretty soft at f/1.8 though - needs stopping down to f/2.5 or so. And the ISO doesnt seem to work as well; it gets really grainy at anything above 800. You dont remember that with the D90.
Loads of gigs go by, the photos go up on the web, and the artists really like them. Life is good, gig photography is fun. Putting a few feelers out leads to a handful of reviewing gigs, where you dont even have to pay to get into the gigs! Even though the photography is what you really wanted to do, you have to write a review of the music as well: the editor is very clear on that. In fact, they only want one shot of the gig, and are very specific on their requirements: it has to show the whole band, sum up what the gig looked like, and be in colour rather than black and white. Whilst in the back of your mind you wonder why one photo is better than twelve, the challenge of summing up a gig with one shot is a new photographic challenge, and leads to a more thoughtful approach. You start to use wider lenses to get everything in: that 20mm on the G1 seems to do the trick.
Without warning, it looks like you might be on for getting a three-day photo pass to the Sage Gatesheads Americana festival! You know photographers who would give a kidney for such an honour - surely the site you write for isnt as important as that! Suddenly, existential doubt sets in - your gear isnt good enough; you dont know what youre doing; you will fail. Despite all that, theres a sense of impending excitement - this really is the big time now. The three-day event passes in a blur. Photographing, making notes, typing up the previous days 500-word review before heading out for another ten hours of work. Is the moment you get up from your chair and head up to the lip of the Sages Hall One stage to take your three-songs-worth of snaps of Raul Malo the highlight of your photographic career? You bet! One after another, the great and the good of the Americana establishment parade before your sensor - Paul Burch, John Grant, Abigail Washburn, Sarah Jarosz. Some schmoozing, cards handed out, take a breath, job done. By the time youre reprimanded for venturing further than the sound desk for Lyle Lovett on Sunday evening, its time to take a break. The lens hood is dented, you havent spoken more than a handful of words to your wife for three days: this feels more like work than you thought it would.
One thing leads to another, and a quick email gets you on the indie circuit. Free gigs, interviews with the artists, photo accreditation guaranteed rather than hoped for. Even driving 300 miles in a night to meet, photograph and review artists that were previously just names on record sleeves. At your first visit to Leeds Brudenell Social Club, you notice your nemesis: massive camera, massive lens, and using flash all the time. All the gear, and no idea, not seeming to notice the excessive weight, unwieldyness, and frankly over-the-top nature of his gear at some poxy ex-working-mens club in West Yorkshire. Ignore him. But you have cause to visit the Brudenell some weeks later, and the same chap is there, with his fashionably battered trainers and ripped jeans. After some searching on Flickr, it turns out hes using a Nikon D3s, 24-70 f/2.8, and SB-900. More to the point, his photos are all taken at close range, and look superb, the crappy red lighting of the venue overcome by judiciously-bounced flash. Almost simultaneously, your shots look, red, noisy, soft, and frankly nothing to write home about.
Remember that existential doubt? Its back with a vengeance. There are some deadlines rapidly approaching - a festival with press accreditation, a couple of club gigs and an arena show, all with photo passes. Is a D90 enough? Do I know what Im doing anymore? How can I show my face there with that setup?
Having always prided myself on using simple, middle-of-the-road gear, fast, long primes, and travelling light, Ive just taken delivery of a Nikon D700 and 24-70 f/2.8. Wish me luck.
