I don't cry at weddings

Or post photos from them on my blog. So why make an exception now? Well...have you ever found yourself unexpectedly moved by something you might normally characterize as too sentimental? Tears welling up against your will? Anyone who knows me will tell you that I generally loathe romantic comedies (except 500 Days of Summer, which I saw at Sundance—and loved. It opens in July here in the U.S. Go see it). And the only way you'll get me within 10 feet of a Jane Austen novel is if you add zombies. So it came as a total surprise when the father of the bride got my tear ducts working overtime at a wedding I shot yesterday—and all to the theme song from Disney's Beauty and the Beast no less. I didn't even like that song (or movie, for that matter) back in 1991. And yet...

Maybe this is what happens when you have a four-year-old daughter and suddenly find yourself relating to the father who still remembers the bride as that little girl who loved nothing more than to dance around the living room with him to the Beauty and the Beast soundtrack. And so, saccharine lyrics notwithstanding, when the father took out an artificial rose (straight from the Disney store) and then danced with his daughter to that song one last time before ceding both daughter and rose to the groom for the second half of the dance, I was moved in spite of my inherent cynicism.

And because June is the month for weddings, I give all of you softies this image of love and romance. And for you cynics...trust me. You had to be there.

Two views of...

A music stand on the balcony of our room at Snowbird.

The simple graphic quality of the stand caught my eye because of this month's theme. What has thinking of music made you notice this month? Post it and share by linking back to the June Monthly Special.

A tutorial or two are coming before the end of the month...

Interview with Florian Fritsch of Hobokollektiv

This is the first time I have chosen a "Monthly Special" topic based on an interview I wanted to do. Florian Fritsch has been an active participant here at Take-out Photo, which led me to his site. When I was first looking through his hobokollektif posts, I was struck by the artful combination of text—in particular, lyrics—and image. Music permeates his photography, and each image seems to contain a secret soundtrack, a part of which he reveals with a quote. The following interview takes a look at his creative process and work.

NOTE: All photos in this post are copyright Florian Fritsch. Please respect the copyright of my guests.

What sparked your interest in photography?

Most notably, I've been interested in telling all kinds of stories since I was a kid. Twenty-five years ago I started to write poems. Looking back, writing poetry for me was a way of taking photos with your head and a pencil but without a camera. I got a head full of stories, music and pictures that needed to get out. For my fifteenth birthday, I got my first camera and rolls of film. Hence, I dropped the pencil and was out on the street immediately. I was wandering around the city with a friend of mine, taking pictures, and we were processing them all by ourselves in my little bathroom.

Photography for me is just another way of storytelling like writing books or composing songs. It gives me the opportunity to be right in the heart of things and to keep a distance at the same time.

I guess it all started with words. Spoken, sung, and written words evoke pictures in my head. And for me, it seemed inevitable to take this pictures one day.

How has your style developed or changed over time?

That is a pretty tough question, Marc, because I don't know how to describe my style.
I have studied the works of Robert Frank, Anthony Hernandez, and Saul Leiter for a long time now. There is something in their pictures that really touches me and that I can hardly describe, but I know that I wanted to take pictures like they did. Besides, I think my way of photographing is influenced by the music I listen to, the books I read, and the place I live.

Music and books have always been an inspiration to me because they let my imagination paint pictures to words. Since I stopped leaving home without a camera, I noticed that I look at things differently. I'm more interested in details, and I hope this leaves room for interpretation on the part of the viewer.

I live in Berlin and one of the things I really love about living in a big city is drawing attention to the things that we pass by every day but we often do not recognize— the anonymity and the city's rough edges. You can find beauty on a simple painted wall, an ashtray on a wet table, or in the middle of a deserted main street at midnight. David of the lowrevolution blog once wrote a comment saying that he likes the griminess of my images. And that's pretty close to what I think about my photos and how I wanted them to be looked at.

Tell me about the name of your photoblog.

I want to look at amateur photographers as the hobos of our time somehow, especially when I look at the works of Robert Frank (The Americans) and Anthony Hernandez (Waiting, Sitting, Fishing and some Automobiles) that I mentioned earlier. I'm interested in the stories behind these "songs about roving, rambling and plain hard luck," which actually is a subtitle of a song book. When I started my photoblog I thought about creating a place for like-minded people to share their love for photos, words and music. That's why I called it "Kollektiv": A collective of hobos that tell their own stories about migration, abandonment, isolation, loneliness and luck.
I'm always lucky when I get comments with quotations of films, books or songs paired with personal experiences. It’s all about the pictures and some words that need room to breathe and that want to be spread around this world.

Your use of lyrics with photography inspired this month's theme. The words and images work so well together that I have to ask which comes first—do you shoot with words in mind or do you make the connection after you capture the photo?

Mostly I choose the words after capturing the photo. The processing of a photo is a very intimate and private moment for me. I always listen to music while I work on my photos. That means looking at my photos, choosing the right one to post on the hobokollektiv and the processing of a photo is always combined with heavy vinyl rotation. Sometimes it's easier to find the right lyrics because of the story of the picture. Some pictures got married to a lot of songs, got divorced and found new partners.

HILLBILLY

He’s a Hollywood hillbilly his stereo is blaring Willie / Johhny Cash, Hank and Lefty down to Sunset and Vine (Dale Watson)

The “hillbilly” photo was hard work to find the appropriate lyrics to. Because it features Jack Nicholson, I watched the film "The Shining" again for maybe using some quotation for the photo. But I wasn't satisfied with it. So I went back to my records and listened to a hundred songs to find the right one. Weeks later, I picked up a Dale Watson record and listened to the “Hollywood Hillbilly” song by chance. And there it was: Hollywood, Jack Nicholson, and the great four Willie, Johnny, Hank and Lefty.

POINT BLANK

But tomorrow’s fall in number, in number one by one / You wake up and you’re dying you don’t even know what from (Bruce Springsteen)

From time to time, it happens that I know the words the moment I look through the viewfinder and take the picture. An example for this case is my contribution to your monthly special about colour. Bruce Springsteen’s “The River” album is one of the most impressive pieces of music I have ever listened to. I knew while taking the picture that “Point Blank” was the song that best describes what I captured and that it could only be that song.

I got so used to the word and image combination that I nearly always have to quote some more or less known song when looking at other people’s photos. At least it’s like T. C. Boyle once said in an interview: “It all comes natural, man.”

What advice would you give to people who want to create more expressive (and even lyrical) images?

I am a self-taught photographer. For that reason I don’t know if it’s up to me to give some advice. But I would like to say what is important to me.

Taking pictures is finding your own point of view and looking for stories to tell. The world is full of great songs and lyrics. Songs and words are both there to be used. The pleasure comes when you let your imagination do the work. For example: There are many songs out there dealing with driving, cars and roads. But what is a road or what does it stand for? Is it just a way to get from here to there? Is it symbol for decisions we all have to make someday or the ways we all had to go? Does it tell us something about leaving and arrival, companionship or loneliness? Is it a symbol for freedom or are there people who walk on roads to escape from poverty and find work? So go ahead and listen to all kinds of music and read good books. The photos will follow.

I try to keep it simple and minimalistic. I never use a flash because this draws attention to the photographer who should never be on the center stage. And most important to me is that every picture needs time to be composed. Some of my pictures need weeks or months to be finished. That can be discouraging, but on the other hand it gives me time to listen to another song. And every picture sings a song.

I love hearing the story behind the photo. Could you share some of your own favorites?

Let’s look at “the glitter & the roar” photo:

THE GLITTER & THE ROAR

The desire to have much more, all the glitter and the roar / I know this is where the sidewalk ends (Tom Waits)

I was listening to Tom Waits extensively while I was working on a series about neon signs and street lights. The neon lights captured here belong to an old independent movie theatre which still shows movies, and I was attending a reading by T. C. Boyle there when I took the picture. Thinking about the death of these beautiful, old and independent cinemas through replacing them with huge modern movie complexes and listening to Tom Waits singing “Fannin Street” just brought together what always seems to belong together: An old song for some good old-time feeling.

PITCH BLACK NIGHT

And I’m driving in a stolen car on a pitch black night / And I’m telling myself I’m gonna be alright / But I ride by night and I travel in fear / That in this darkness I will disappear (Bruce Springsteen)

I like the “pitch black night” photo because of a simple story: I was thinking about some serious decisions I have to make. After meeting a dear friend to talk things over I went home through a pitch black winter night in Berlin. Seems like everybody had already gone to sleep while I was walking through a half empty city singing Springsteen's great “Stolen Car” to myself and feeling completely alone in the biggest German city. I looked down this street and took a photo. Every time I felt downhearted or kind of sad I used to look at this picture, listen to that song, and I started to feel better. Months later I showed this picture to a friend who went through some pretty sad times and his reaction was the same as mine.

MORNING IN BERLIN

Blattlos die Bäume, deren Gerippe in den Tag ragten, als reckten sich knochige Finger in die feuchte Luft. (Beverungen)

The “Morning in Berlin” picture is actually from a series that I started after buying a new camera. I take a picture of this tree every morning at the same time. It became part of my morning routine after having breakfast, coffee, and a cigarette. It was inspired by the film “Smoke” where the main character Auggie Wren always takes one photo every morning at the same place without looking through the viewfinder. And I like the idea that I will look at hundreds of tree photos in some years, find things I never noticed before and build up a photography forest.

"Restless No More"

Well I’ve been throughout this land / North & east & back again / Roamin’ around in my old Volkswagen (SongDogs)

The “restless no more” photo was taken on a road to Orange in southern France. I have known this road for a very long time and I have been fascinated by straight roads like this ever since I saw a photo by Robert Frank of the interstate 285 in New Mexico. I knew then that my photo must be taken on that road which was originally built by the Romans. Last year I finally sat down in the middle of this road and made this picture that I've been planning to take for more than ten years and that I've been writing songs about ever since I picked up a guitar. This road and I have some kind of longtime relationship and I always call this road my road.

LANGHORNE SLIM

There's no road to follow / only stones left unturned / You must play with fire / in order to get burned (Langhorne Slim)

“Langhorne Slim”: This one is not yet published on the hobokollektiv. But since this monthly special is about photos and music, and I feel very honored to inspire this monthly special, I saved it for a special moment. This special moment is now, Marc. This man is a hell of a songwriter that constantly rocks my soul with his fine folk music. His lyrics are an inspiration to me most every day. The story behind it: No song that can't be sung, no photo that can't be taken. Thanks for letting me inspire this monthly special and having me on your blog.

Thank you, Fristch, for sharing your work and words.

The cellist in our home

Max practicing cello in our room at Snowbird

Two years ago, when my oldest son was ready to sign up for 7th grade courses, he informed us that he wanted to sign up for orchestra and play the cello. This sudden desire to be the next Yo-Yo Ma came out of nowhere. We had to quickly get him an instrument and an excellent private instructor who focused on good technique. I was so glad that he didn't want to play the violin—not that I have anything against it, just that I had played the violin for three years when I was little and am consequently well acquainted with the ear-bleed inducing squeaks of a beginner.

As I was thinking about music and photography this month, I realized that one way of being a supportive parent is to photograph and display your child practicing. It tells them that you value their dedication without any nagging.

A few years ago, a woman asked me to photograph her three daughters with their violins—this, because they were all about to quit. She wanted to memorialize their woefully short-lived musical experience. The resulting photo is one of my favorites, but I have never digitized it. Part of me wonders what the impact of the photo would have been if it had been taken before their interest waned. Perhaps none, but I still wonder...

Thinking about this has made me realize that I need to add a photo of our resident cellist to our family photo wall.

Three views of a piano

I've been at a lodge in Snowbird for the past three days, which gave me the time to look through Sam Abell's beautiful book, The Life of a Photograph. In his book, Abell often presents multiple views and alternative versions of images in order to suggest "the process of seeking a picture—a process with no absolute ending." Inspired by his work, I photographed some elements of the lodge from multiple views. Since the focus here this month is on music, I thought I would share three views of the piano in the lounge.

View 1: As a cleaning lady works on the second floor, the piano sits quietly on the first.

View 2: What she would see if she peered over the railing.

View 3: Still silent, the piano holds a guitarist's playlists.

These three photographs of a quiet piano make me pause to consider the instrument's longevity and its role as a witness to passing time. Quality musical instruments often outlive us. A piano passes from one generation to the next. A violin gains character and tone with age. Brass becomes warmer and more mellow. Even when not in use, a musical instrument gives its environment more character. I have seen beautiful pianos in homes without musicians to play them, possessions to be valued, like bottles of fine wine, for their heritage, their quality, and for their imagined use, for the potential for enjoyment that they represent.

Of course, as a music lover, the silent piano in the photos above gives me a sense of melancholy. But then, melancholy has a beauty of its own.

Do you have musical instruments in your home? What role(s) do they play? How could you represent those roles through photography? Are musical instruments part of your family? Are they a friend to you? Maybe they merit a portrait...

American Idol, Air Force Style

Everybody sing: Yvan Eht Nioj...Yvan Eht Nioj....
OK, technically, that should be: Ecrof Ria Eht Nioj...

Sorry, but I couldn't resist that Simpsons reference.

I was driving by a park not far from a homeless shelter in Salt Lake City, my camera riding shotgun, when suddenly, I heard music. I immediately pulled over, walked to the other end of the park, and saw this:

and this:
Oh yeah, and a fighter jet, a rock climbing wall, a tricked-out motorcycle that is definitely not standard issue, a lot of people you wouldn't want to make angry, and a tent concealing a mystery exhibit that purportedly "takes only 5 minutes." Yeah, right! I thought. Five minutes to get you suited up for your tour of duty in Iraq!

Actually, I am a huge fan of anyone in the military. Their posture alone has me in awe:
Seriously, that photo could be a twenty minute video and it would look the same but for the wind-blown grass. That guy did not budge...Not even when Master Sergeant "Sweets" (and I'm not making this up) belted out No Doubt's "Don't Speak"—probably the first track on the torture resistance training mix tape.

The whole thing was such an unexpected sight. Why were they there? And who chose that location? Not that the homeless people didn't enjoy the show. Just look at the self-proclaimed "Rubber Band Man" demonstrating his appreciation with a few moves :
I doubt anyone would deny that the spectacle was surreal. I am just not used to seeing people in uniform rocking out—at least not since 1980. But even though my equally cynical colleagues would accuse me of being brainwashed for saying so, the Air Force Band rocks. Really. Max Impact is definitely not your father's Air Force band. I stayed and listened to song after song and wondered why these people weren't performing on American Idol—I mean, if you're looking for a large-venue PR campaign...

Having spent a year as a performer for a pretty cheesy group myself, I am in no position to point fingers at things that look like propaganda. Mainly, I felt sorry the band didn't have a better audience. Look at the woman in the folding chair:
You're really going to have to work to win over her heart and mind, I thought. But guess what? A couple of songs later, that woman was out of her chair and dancing up a storm. They were that good. If I were younger and had stayed in that park 30 minutes longer, I might just have gone into the mystery tent and signed up.

June Monthly Special: Music + Photo

One of the music shots from my "Nawlins at Night" post

Unlike many countries, America integrates sports and music into its schools—or at least it used to. As budgets tighten, guess which programs are the first to get cut? Football? Basketball? Not likely.

At the base of Bourbon Street in New Orleans, some talented students from a local high school earn money by performing nightly for delighted tourists and locals alike. As I look at the photo I took there in April, I remember the powerful energy of the brass, the uninhibited dancing, and the flashes of tourists' cameras. Look at the crowd in the background and you will see four people who, like myself, wanted to seize the moment with their cameras.

Now, I don't want to pit music against sports—not just because it wouldn't be a fair fight, but because for most of us it does not have to be an "either/or" choice. I will probably even devote a future Monthly Special to sports photography. But this month is all about music...

Photos inspired by music, photos of musicians, photos of instruments—anything that somehow combines music and photography.

The photo below (from a Paris flea market) makes me think about changing musical styles and the capricious consumer. Johnny Halladay's song "Rien à personne" ("Nothing to no one")—an anthem to the self-made man (i.e. who doesn't owe anything to anyone)—reads like a rocker's lament about his lost relevance (the fear of meaning nothing to anyone) as it sits in the discard pile.

Perhaps one of the challenges of "music" photography—as opposed to, say, "sports" photography (there I go again pitting the one against the other)—is that we do not automatically think of music as a visual phenomenon. Music has its spectacular side, of course, but sight is not the primary sense we associate with it.

I mentioned in my last post that this month's theme was inspired by Fritsch's site. His pairing of lyric and image seems effortless and natural, but I have never attempted it myself and am fairly certain that it will be a real challenge for me. I will be interviewing Fritsch later this month.

What is your own take on the relation between music and photography? How does music affect your imagination? What does "music photography" mean to you? Think about it this month, try something new, post your results, and share them here by adding a link below.