One of my colleagues recently reminded me of a piece I wrote in 2017 about LANY. The piece wasn’t really about a song. The piece wasn’t really about a band. The piece wasn’t even really about music at all. The piece was about a feeling and that feeling was togetherness. It was a feeling of being a little less alone and a little more found. The music was the conduit, but at the end of the day, the words are about the people, the feeling is about the people, the story is about the people.
I’ve spent the last few weeks pondering that story and those words. I write my best words when I feel a lot and right now, I feel very little—a rarity for me. My soul has been slugged into unfeeling by the year and I do my best to go about my days, but those deep feelings of excitement, joy, and pride are rarely found in the monotony. How to I write now? What do I write about? How do I find myself in the words when the only place I find myself is alone?
Recently I watched the livestream of the AMA’s and saw BTS put on a beautiful performance—to an empty stadium. And while they were flawless, it still felt like there was something missing. The darkened seats sparkled as fireworks ricocheted into the night, echoing in their emptiness. I recognized the absence.
It was the people. It was the fans. It was the friends who find each other through the songs. It was the friends who become chosen family. It was the people you wait beside in line until you exchange twitter handles and call each other friends at the end of the night. It was the friends you meet on Twitter and travel to a new city just to dance beside to your favourite songs. Some of my best words have been written about these relationships and it’s only because these feelings are some of the strongest and purest I know. They’re both vulnerability and togetherness, tied together with a song or a scene or a new city.
That’s what I miss the most in this pandemic:
the togetherness.
I miss the feeling of a collective experience. When you see something funny and catch the eye of the stranger to your left end he smirks knowingly, too. When you show up to a concert alone, but small talk with the girl next to you between bands and during the encore, you put your arms around each other’s shoulders, shouting the words and feeling home. It’s seeing a part of yourself reflected in a stranger’s stare, songs, story.
That’s what I miss most about concerts, too. Yes, it’s cool to see your favourite artists live, to experience their presence and their stage displays and their lighting and everything that goes with it, but at the end of the day, it’s about the feeling, isn’t it? It’s about the people. Don’t get me wrong, as soon as I have access to a vehicle concert, I’ll go even if I’m sitting in that car alone, but nothing replaces standing shoulder-to-shoulder with strangers, all feeling a little less alone together.
When I saw David Cook a decade ago, I remember going with my friend Kristen and wearing a gray H&M vest I got at the Mall of America (I felt so cool) and taking a photo together with a cardboard cutout on the sidewalk outside the venue. When I saw Owl City about 8 years ago, I remember sitting outside on a Chicago sidewalk in a blue dress with Amber and Bekah and Sam, giggling and dreaming. When I saw Paramore in a suburban arena, I remember driving with Darbi and wandering backstage with Tyler and laughing when those kids thought I was Hayley from afar. When I saw twenty one pilots in Minneapolis, I remember sitting on the cement ground in back of the arena with Kenzie and tipping our heads back as the sound tornado-ed around the room in a perfect spiral and thousands of phones sparkled overhead. I couldn’t even see the band or tell you what song was playing, but I could see my friend and I could feel this wave of sound and emotion and that’s what I remember. When I saw LANY in New York, I remember dancing in the back of the room with Marleen. I’d slept about 4 hours the night before—I’d flown from Chicago to NYC, after photographing Billie’s first Chicago show—and we could barely see the band from behind the sound booth, but we screamed the words and I’ll never forget that feeling. When I saw Julia Michaels, I remember the college girls behind me who offered me vodka when they found out I was alone and hugged me when I was sad. It’s collectively holding your breath then screaming as the pre-show playlist stops and the lights dim. It’s the kids huddled outside to keep warm, randomly singing chorus’s from their favourite songs. It’s the faces of the misfits, having found somewhere to belong—and I say this as one.
The music is why we’re there, but the people are why we stay.
The people are why we keep coming back. Call them fans, call them family, call it a mirage. It’s beautiful: you’re seeing the person on stage’s dream come true, but you’re also seeing 1500 little dreams come true beside you and that’s equally overwhelming in the best way. You’re sharing an experience with the artist, but you’re also sharing an experience with the boy next to you and the person over there and you may never know their names, but you’ll all carry that shared experience forever. Each traveling your own courses, you’ve all somehow ended up in the same place; you’ve inextricably intersected for a night and in those serendipitous 45 minutes, you feel seen: by the artist, by the crowd, by the words, by the feelings. It’s not just the music: it’s the people, it’s the emotion, it’s my own becoming in the middle of all of the becoming of everyone else. It’s camaraderie, it togetherness, it’s belonging. And it keeps me coming back. That’s why livestream and vehicle shows aren’t quite the same: we lose a bit of this togetherness, when we are separated by distance. But we do our best, still creating, still seeking connection, with the life we’ve been given this year.
Now there’s a new question I begin to ask myself:
how do we find this togetherness now?
Where am I going with all of this besides in a sad circle of reminiscence over what we’ve lost? I’m not a scientist. I can’t make a vaccine and I can’t solve most—or really, any—of the most pressing problems of the year. I can’t singlehandedly bring concerts back (I wish). But my hope and my dream and my plan is that, even in a small way, I can help create that feeling again: that feeling of being less alone; that feeling of being seen; that feeling of excitement; that feeling of togetherness; that feeling of belonging.
I've seen numerous takes on "what are the artists doing in quarantine," but I've yet to see one that asks "what are the fans doing?"
That’s what I’d like to see, to know, to create.
Here is my idea: I want to photograph you like I would photograph your favourite artist.
I want to document your year at home and your relationship to music this year: what you’ve felt, lost, gained, and who you’ve become.
I’m open to photographing men, women, non-binary humans, young, old, and in-between… I’m not limiting this to a particular “type” of person. Most musicians aren’t models and I truly think they still look beautiful in our photos (and in person) and I think the same thing about you. My goal is for you to have fun and feel valued and to walk away with some beautiful images. My goal for myself is to create some beautiful art and to create even a small dose of that feeling of being less alone for both of us.
I’d like to photograph you in your favourite band’s merch or in the concert outfit you didn’t get to wear in 2020 (please someone who has made the Harry Styles/J.W. Anderson cardigan—reach out!) and in your own space/home or in front of your favourite music venue. Maybe there’s a song you always listened to on your walks this summer or a spot in the middle of nowhere you drove just to be alone. Maybe there’s a parking lot you’ve danced in. I want to see how you’ve been engaging with or enjoying music this year. If you’re not sure what to wear, I can help you (via zoom or FaceTime) source the outfit from your own closet or find select individual pieces (preferably secondhand because it’s a pandemic and we are on a budget and also want to be sustainable).
I’ll photograph you with the same effort and intentionality that I would with that artist you love. If you love the aforementioned Harry Styles, I’d plan a shoot with the same care as if I’m photographing him. You’re worth it, even if you don’t have a British accent and a history with 1D. I don't belief in half-ass-ing the quality of my work simply because someone isn’t “famous.”
I’d wear a mask and ask that you do during the times we aren’t shooting—or we can plan a zoom/Facetime shoot. Remember, part of the goal is that you feel valued and if I’m breathing germs all over your face (or vice versa), that’s not helping our goal.
The last part of this idea is this: I’d like to talk to you about that artist and how their music has affected your life.
I’d love to hear about what drew you to the artist, how and if you’ve found community or friends in the fandom, what social media interactions are like, how the artist or the music has affected your life (for better or for worse), and what your favourite music-related memory is. Has an artist been the soundtrack of falling in love or of a breakup? What is the song you shout in the car with your best friends? What are the memories you associate with the melodies? (I will forever associate Future Nostalgia with the miles I walked alone this year during quarantine.) Maybe you have a favourite concert or a friend you met on Twitter because of your favourite band. Maybe you didn’t fit in in your hometown, but you found belonging in a song. I want to hear about those feelings: the belonging, the excitement, and even the loss you’re feeling this year, as pieces of those connections are taken away. Or maybe you’ve found them in other ways (can we say the Tik Tok music community?). What has 2020 looked like for you as a person and as a music fan? Your story can be serious, goofy, sassy, sweet, fun—I just ask that it be honest. And you’re always allowed to say you aren’t comfortable with a particular question. The thing I love about music communities is that they often feel like a safe space and I want to give that to you, if only for an hour.
I’ll write up a story about our time shooting together and our conversation and I’ll feature it on my blog, alongside your photos. You’ll get the images to keep and use on social media. Even if you don’t want to be a part of my project, please share it so it can find folks who will feel beautiful, valued, and less alone through it. We’re in this together and I hope in this—in this project—we can feel a bit of the togetherness we’ve lost this year. Your story matters, your songs matter, your feelings matter, and being a little more alone this year doesn’t make your life or your feelings any less extraordinary or worthy of being documented or remembered.
I need a catchy title for this project, so if you have any name ideas, let me know!
*The goal of this project isn’t to make a bunch of money. Yes, I have bills to pay, but so does everyone else and we are all struggle bussing this year. The shoots themselves will be 100% complimentary and you’ll get to pick a free photo to post, share, etc. Then you can purchase rights to additional images for a small amount per image (you can spend some of that money you’ve been saving by staying home from concerts this year!). The cost of the additional images covers my time and gear costs. The shoot can potentially be free, if you don’t purchase any extra images, so even if you’re broke, you don’t have to miss out. I want this to be fun, life-giving, and exciting—not stressful or financially taxing.
Email me at estorie@outlook.com if you’re interested or message/email me with any questions.