Gossip [&] the Devil

Photography is only recently coming into its own as an art form. But photography has cemented a place in the arts for some of the same reasons as painting: preservation. Two different sets of eyes using the same camera will capture different results. We are allowed a view from someone else’s perspective. Photographers freeze moments we’ll treasure forever; whether it’s that special magic during a show or your children running in the park, photography can grab a fistful of what the human eye must let go.

Rachael Barbash has been capturing the insanity at concerts for years, and many fans turn to her website to re-live the memories. While still a student at Columbia State Community College she’s logged countless experience and face time.

Rachael stubbornly pursues her dream despite making little to no money doing what she loves. The hundreds of photos she posts to her Flickr account are free for people to take and use. But, like musicians or painters she considers herself an important part of the humanities.

In the days when every 14-year-old in the world has a digital camera, what separates her from the masses who want photo passes and recognition on the scene? What separates those who do it for art vs. those who are hobbyists?  Rachael sheds some light on the subject below when I asked her a few questions about what makes photography an art form.

Years shooting: 7

Sign: Aries

Julie M. Tate: We’ll start easy. First band you ever shot?

R. E. Barbash: I was kind of late to come to the concert scene since I was a bit of a homebody in high school and lacked any serious form of transportation.  Once I left for college I started going to shows pretty regularly.  The first band I ever shot while performing was OKGo in 2001 with a little 35mm disposable camera.  Once I got a more professional camera, a 35mm Canon SLR, the first band I shot was Kill Hannah who was performing at an outdoor festival at Ohio State, where I was going to school at the time. I finally got my first digital SLR, a Canon Rebel, before the 2006 South by Southwest festival in Austin, TX. Thousands of band play there every year and is an amazing experience.

JMT: Who have been some of the easiest bands to shoot live? The hardest?

REB: By far the easiest band I’ve shot is Kill Hannah, partly because I’ve been to so many of their shows but also because their stage presence is probably the most engaging I’ve ever seen.  Recently I shot the Flaming Lips who were also amazing.

The hardest bands to photograph have definitely been on the recent Alternative Press tours (Mayday Parade, the Academy is…, Set Your Goals, You Me At Six and the Secret Handshake).  The guys never seem to take a pause and are just constantly running around the stage.  The kids at these shows are crazy though! Very fun.

JMT: What makes a band easy or difficult to photograph?

REB: It’s much easier to photograph a band if you know their music.  That way you can sort of guess what they’re going to do on stage and how a crowd might react to a song but you don’t always have that advantage.  I’ve shot some bands who just sound like noise (no matter how poppy they actually are) and I can’t guess their next move.  I’ll end up at the wrong side of the stage at the wrong time and miss amazing moments of their act.  Also, bands who look like they’re having fun and engage the audience area always the most enjoyable to shoot.

JMT: You’ve been capturing concerts for years. I’m sure music had an impact on your life outside of the lens as well. Do you consider yourself an artist? If so, how has music in particular shaped the artist you are today, and who are some of your favorite artists personally? If not, what does photography do for you?

REB: More than an artist, I think of myself as capturing what’s already there and trying to show the beauty of the world.  What I photograph most regularly is live shows so music has been a huge part of my life.  I love catching what happens on stage and the interaction between the performer and their fans.  I love so many bands but my favorite musicians are the Smashing Pumpkins, IAMX, Radiohead, Muse, Thursday, Interpol, Rasputina, Emilie Autumn, The Dresden Dolls, local guys Flotation Walls and, of course, the bands Kill Hannah and Shiny Toy Guns who pretty much taught me to use my camera by shooting them so often.  As far as visual art goes I love the work of Kyle Cassidy, a documentary and portrait photographer, Pete Souza, the White House photographer, and digital artist Natalie Shau.  As the photographers go, their work really inspires me because they capture real life but show it at a different angle.  Show ordinary things in a new light.

JMT: Favorite photographers?

REB: It’ll sound corny but my favorite photo ever by another artist is probably this photo of the Obamas:

Most of my favorite photos have a very big photo journalistic aspect to them and Pete Souza is one of the best documentary photographers out there.  Other favorites are Kyle Cassidy, Kristen Burns, Philip Warner and Akif Hakan Celebi. As well, there are very talented photographers who are also in my photo program at CSCC.  I can’t wait to see what they do in the future.

JMT: What tends to catch your eye in a natural setting?

REB: While I have done some studio photography, most of my photos not taken at shows have come from random moments throughout the day, which is why I try to always have a camera with me.  Usually the way lights hit an object or just the ambiance of a scene.

JMT: Is there a place in the arts for things like studio work or is that merely a means to an artistic end? (I.E. getting paid)

REB: I think if you think of yourself as an artist, then you’re an artist.  If you think of yourself as a corporate slave then that’s what you are.  Even photographers at Wal-Mart family portrait studios can have some artistic input to their shots.  Though most of my favorite photographers are actually more on the documentary side of things.  Beautiful things can be made out of ordinary every day scenes.  For example, just the other day, undeveloped negatives by street photographer Vivian Maier were just unveiled and I was captivated for hours looking at her photos of Chicago in the 1950s.  If this is your thing and you’re lucky, maybe you’ll get hired on by a magazine or newspaper.  But mostly photography is done for yourself.

JMT: To me, photography is akin to a poem in that it captures a point in time that you can never get back. Especially considering the way I write, a poem can be a little picture made of words and vice versa. There’s a beautiful marriage that happens when two art forms cross over. Considering books like the upcoming Flowers + Filth by photographer Lisa Johnson and lyricist wiL Francis, they can be put together to make a compelling and unique piece of art. Have you ever considered doing something of the sort

REB: That’s similar to Who Killed Amanda Palmer, the book. Photos and words can always work together.

JMT: Much like music testifies to a time or paintings reflect it’s surroundings, what is photography’s place in preserving our culture and why is it important?

REB: As far as preserving our culture, photography can not only capture events but it can show someone’s individual view of the world. Even though photography has been around for more than a hundred years it’s just beginning to be respected as an art form. Whether it’s a set up scene or documenting an event an exact scene happen again or be seen the same way by different eyes.  It’s important to freeze the moment so others can see what was there.

(For more information visit R. E. Barbash Photography. Rachael currently attends CSCC.)

A few months ago I was sitting in Joplin, Missouri at Waffle House with Seattle-based band Aiden. They had just played a show to less than a handful of people and now were militantly devouring food ordered 15 minutes prior. We received the full rock star treatment: As much grape jelly as we could ask for, luxurious smoking settings, cheese on our hash browns and grits made any way we liked them. At one point I looked at wiL sitting across from me and said:

“Welcome to the rock star life.”

It’s filthy glamor, tight schedules, endless itineraries and bruised egos. Your brain 10 miles ahead, already considering the next venue, per diem and hand-job in a  dark bar booth after the show. Aiden weren’t driving the 4 hours home like I was, they were headed somewhere toward the west coast, but all of us had jobs to attend, uniforms to look forward to: Khaki pants, pearl necklaces, eye liner, t-shirts, black polos, names on your sleeve. Worn tires, broken strings and hearts, the blank canvas of a hundred b-b-b boys and girls all saying the same thing: “Man you’re pretty cool.” The same look of expectation to deliver.

I’ve tried to find a way to mitigate the civilian and the “celebrity.” To embrace both the artistic and scientific .  To try and meet them in the middle. In an effort to achieve this [and in an attempt to keep my sanity] I’ve developed a jetsetting system fueled by mania and a desperate need to escape.

History lesson: I work for a bar that charges tax. Yes, tax on booze. So instead of your beer being $3.00, it’s $3.26. Because of this I usually end up with loads of change after my shift. I save said change in Crown Royal bags stacked against the wall and use it to fund last-minute jetsets and boutique hotel stays. This way nothing really comes out of pocket and I have challenges set before the plane even takes off. How much will I have to work with? How can I manage  round-trip airfare and a four-star hotel in Seattle for $300? It takes practice but I’m quite skilled.

There is also something entirely appealing about the idea of someone treating you like you’re “somebody” when you’ve literally counted pennies to afford their services. Whether you’re on the stage or in front of it, the lesson is simple: Work it.

My rules go something like this:

• * Pay for the jetset using only change, no cash out of pocket.
• * Hotel must be 3-star or better. [3-star in smaller cities, 4-star in large cities]
• * If possible, upgrade to first class, but economy is acceptable. [Any airline.]
• * The more amenities the better.
• * Bonus if room service/shopping is paid for with change as well.
• * The jetset can’t last longer than a couple of days. The idea of jetsetting is to get in and back out quickly. [Much like sex.]

Here I’ve outlined a couple notes from a few of these I’ve set sail on in the last year. Obviously Chicago is my favorite destination and as I’m still working around a murderous schedule full of slinging alcohol, conducting interviews, editing, submitting and publishing, my time, even for a few days, is limited. So as of late I’ve been trying to kill two birds with one stone by scheduling these at the same time friends are playing shows. [Defeats the purpose of a true "jetset" but I only have so much to work with.]

How is this related to poetry you ask? It keeps me arguably more sane than my medication does and I’ve written at least one decent poem on each of them. Everyone in the world needs to become more road-tested. It’s such a bonus to living. I’m helping you realize why.

Chicago, December 24th-26th, 2007

Hotel: The W Lakeshore

Budget after initial costs: $89

Other attractions: Kill Hannah at Subterranean, Kill Hannah at The Vic Theatre, hosted party at Smart Bar [FYI: if you haven't been to a party hosted by Paul in Chicago you haven't fucking partied in Chicago], loft party at address unknown because I was way too loaded to remember

By far my favorite hotel in Chicago so far. The W Lakeshore is now the proud setting of many of my recurring fantasies. One day I will have a dangerous and delicious tryst on one of their feather-top mattresses. I have poems written on their stationary tacked to my wall. The rooms are equipped with a privacy divider between the open bathroom and beds, as well as lemon-sage Bliss shampoo, conditioner, body wash and lotion. Their spa is hands down one of the best I’ve experienced. On-site everything: pool, jacuzzi, store etc. My only two small complaints about the W Lakeshore is that their location makes travel a bit difficult and their room service meals aren’t the greatest, however the view alone is worth the cost of admission:

Their concierge service–perfect. Twice cut blow and a Russian housewife with blonde hair, one blue eye and one green? Done. A double cheeseburger from McDonald’s and a $72 bottle of Earthquake Cabernet at 4am? Done. They could do anything. Like Jesus, only you paid with cash, not blood. Early check-in’s/late check-out’s were not a problem.

The Kill Hannah shows were refreshing, as at the time they were in the process of a very messy yet satisfying divorce from Atlantic Records. The show at Sub-T was a nice lovemaking compared to the orgy that was the Vic. The afterparties at Debonair and Sonotheque were a typical blur, the after-after parties even more so. The next night at Smart Bar was off to a slow start until about midnight when I forget most of what happened. There was dancing. There were many, many shots. There was a loft owned by a con-artist and a wonderful rooftop view of the city. We had a white christmas.

Chicago, December 3rd-4th, 2008

Hotel: The Hyatt Regency: Chicago

Budget after initial cost: $200

Other attractions: Amanda Palmer at the Metro, attempted party at Debonair Social Club, copious amounts of room service

As far as chains go, the Hyatt Chicago is one of the nicest ones. I’ve found that when I book with chain hotels the feel tends to get a bit sterile no matter the city. But they were accommodating enough and their grilled cheese from the late night menu was the BEST I’ve ever had. No lie. In fact the entire room service menu was stellar. I also had a wonderful italian dish with tofu chicken that was splendid. I felt awful that I’d taken two Vicodin just prior to eating and fell asleep shortly after the food arrived. I remember I was violently ill for most of this trip but the staff was friendly and let me stand next to the door and smoke to avoid the freezing rain. Amenities included an orange-ginger line of shampoos and soaps [can't remember the brand] and 52-inch flat-panel TV’s. The downtown view was pretty killer as well:

The Metro were pretty fierce about enforcing their curfew, as they always are, but the hotel was located close enough that it didn’t become an issue. The security guard working that night outed me, telling Amanda she’d watched me cry from the balcony the entire evening. Amanda kissed me. All was well with the world. She was touring with the Danger Ensamble at the time and every song had an exclamation point behind it. Lots of smiles, energy and solidarity.

I wasn’t ready for the show, honestly. Not physically, not emotionally. I knew the sort of strength it would take to go, to prepare for that catharsis. I’d been struggling with a re-emerging back injury for a few months  that left me immobile for awhile. This gave way to infections and lethargy. I’d wound up in the ER just prior to flying out and my emotions were a bit scattered and dark. I flew to Chicago in a very delicate state but, as the children of the Zodiac are wont to do, I went ahead anyway.

The show hit you physically, full on. The opening lines of “Astronaut” nearly knocked me over. The acoustics of the Metro are amazing. The performance outlined the sacrifices one must make to get to the next city, because deep down you know someone has been waiting their whole life for their moment with you, the songs and the stage–that in those things, in that time, you can change their life, remind them they can feel, TEACH them how to feel, inspire them to keep searching for that peace.

Returned to my room, ordered an $11 pint of cherry-vanilla Häagen-Dazs and a $15 glass of Merlot and fell asleep with the windows wide open. Late-check out was no problem.

Birmingham, Alabama, March 24th-25th, 2009

Hotel: The Sheraton Birmingham

Budget after initial cost: $300

Other attractions: Amanda Palmer at Workplay, sauna, jacuzzi

The Sheraton was the nicest hotel I could find in Birmingham and the staff were extremely rude and unhelpful. Their pricey on-site spa, Je Spa, never responded even though I called ahead. [I would have linked to them, though I found their site to be extremely unhelpful, but their site has been mysteriously taken down.] I asked the concierge to find me a decent spa within a reasonable distance from the hotel. Even after checking “the Google” she informed me she couldn’t “fill my request.” So much of the building was under construction I was walking through concrete dust every 10 feet. There were basically two wings: the shitty-under-construction wing [Atrium] and the executive you’re-staying-here-for-a-week-and-paying-$1000-a-night wing [Tower].

On the plus side their room service menu was decent, with a nice wine selection and some of the best red velvet cake I’ve ever had. The breakfast was also amazing. Their standard amenities were mediocre and I opted to use my own products instead. The pool and jacuzzi were quiet for my entire stay and the sauna was perfect for doing extreme yoga in the morning.

Workplay was a mediocre venue though thank god you could still smoke inside. Their bartender was a dick. He informed me that because I was a “Yankee” I automatically received shittier treatment. I thought he was joking until he actually, you know, served me. What the hell? I still tipped even though he kept a shotgun on the wall next to a picture of his sister and smelled like home fries. Fuck you.

I managed to meet a few nice people but mostly I could have done without–which is odd for an Amanda Palmer/Dresden Dolls crowd, I usually find them very inviting.

The show itself seemed a bit forced–Amanda was still in the middle of an extreme emotional roller coaster between her personal life, professional career and record label. She was alone on stage, no longer surrounded by the literal orchestra from December, radiance rapidly diminishing.  She spent a good portion of the show on her Blackberry twittering and checking text messages. [Which would have been fine if it'd served as a better distraction to me personally, but really just irritated me.] When she did perform she gave everything she had, as she always does. She was angry and it dripped from the stage; sure as her hair was dirty and her voice was shot. The set list was a repeat from December. Yet in stark contrast to the bright white of the Chicago was the bleak grey of this–each song covered in desperation and thinness. I raised my arms in the hope that should she fall, I might be able to catch her.

Between the emotional drain of the show and my terrible health, by the time I returned to my room I was dizzy. I fell asleep sitting up watching Judge Judy re-runs. Early check-in and a late check-out wasn’t a problem. I’ve found that in this terrible economy these things tend to be easier since there’s no one there to fill up the rooms anyway.

Chicago, May 29th-31st, 2009

Hotel: The Hotel Monaco

Budget after initial costs: $600

Other attractions: Kill Hannah/Nine Inch Nails afterparty at the Double Door, Dark Wave Disco at Crobar, shopping on Michigan Avenue [H & M, Coach and Water Tower Place], shopping on Belmont [The Alley], new tattoo at Windy City Ink, the Pick-Me-Up cafe, self-reflection on the Ferris Wheel, fireworks over Navy Pier

I was excited about the Hotel Monaco. I really was. The boutique-y style was endearing, the amenities seemed nice and they offered a complimentary goldfish [!!!] upon request to your room:

I remained excited even as I opened the door to my room, finding leopard print bathrobes [again, !!!] and a feather bed to die for. The bathroom seemed a little small and quite mediocre for such a nice hotel. I passed out being beat the fuck up from a 6 a.m. flight and two days worth of sleepless nights.

I scanned the room service menu upon waking and found it not only to be extremely limited in what they offered but also the hours they offered it. They were rude [and, frankly, ignorant] when I called and ask if they could accommodate my dietary needs. [I'm a vegetarian who avoids fried foods and refined carbs and sugars.] They had an on-site restaurant in conjunction to the room service kitchen and neither one seemed to understand the concept of putting butter, bread and cheese on a grill after I’d exhausted my other options. They did have a grilled vegetable panini which sounded entirely unappetizing but I’m quite sure they failed to understand how this could be possible. I spent most of my time either not eating, having pizza or hitting the 7-11 across the street at 4 a.m.

The turn-down service was nice and they had huge fizzy bath balls to put in your bathwater, which I took advantage of even at $7 a hit. The aromatherapy was relaxing.

The view, however, was not. I had a spectacular shot of an enclosed rooftop and piegon shit. The hotel’s location was perfect, just one block off Michigan Avenue and their after hours front desk/door staff were super nice and helpful. Their concierge however, was not. He was a short, squat man who spent most of his time sitting in a velvet chair and not helping me when I called to ask where there was a nearby tobacco shop that sold Nat Sherman Ultra cigarettes. It took him 3 seconds to tell me “he didn’t know” but, thanks to the door man downstairs, I found one a few blocks down.

There was a hosted wine reception before the after party which looked more elegant than I expected. After, the Double Door was, well, the Double Door and Kill Hannah debuted some new material from their upcoming, as-yet-untitled album due in August. They were obviously studio-weary yet eager to beta test some of their work on a live audience. The crowd was typical: the same people backstage, in front of the stage and side stage, with Jonny being a noteable exception. This was a very, very last minute trip and there were a lot of familiar faces. Some of the new mixes sounded good, courtsey of John Bourke of Trash Yourself! out of Oklahoma City.

After that was a short, not-so-sweet swing by Crobar for the after-after what-the-fuck-ever with Dark Wave Disco before back to Monaco to pass out in a pint of coffee flavored Häagen-Dazs. [Literally.] The rest of the weekend was a blur of train riding, shopping and tattooing [courtesy of Gary Parisi of Windy City Ink - stellar people, stellar work].

Early check-in’s and late check-out’s were not a problem, neither was holding my bags from 12 p.m. – 5 p.m. But by far my biggest complaint about this hotel was their epic fuck up in withholding nearly quadruple the amont of deposit they were supposed to for incidentals. Even though I told them twice I’d already paid for the room they held my room cost plus the deposit, then after I’d angrily pointed out their mistake, informed me that since it was a weekend I likely wouldn’t get my money back until at least the following Wednesday, therefore stamping a “royally fucked” over my large shopping plans.

Next up? Seattle and possibly St. Louis. This long ass update brought to you by: coffee, cigarettes and bitterness.

[In short: I'M FUCKING HUMAN, I HAVE TO LIVE!]

Quick update on a cause that’s as important as any other I can think of.

“Glass Slipper Pt. II”  was the first poem I’d ever published in a “credible” journal [Papyrus, via Oklahoma State University Press]. Hell, it was the first poem I’d taken to a true, balls-to-the-wall creative writing class that had blown my instructors, published poets in their own right, away. It’s title has help from my favorite Dresden Dolls song to date, “Glass Slipper,” and in the byline of the title I thank Amanda Palmer. I look up to her in nearly every way, including, but not limited to, her lyrical ability, honesty and talent. I feel like I “relate” to very few women, but Ms. Palmer is one of the extreme exceptions to the rule.

I won’t go into the entire nitty gritty, but her recent blog posts [a couple explaining the reBELLYon are found here and here.] have stated that her label, Roadrunner Records, have taken umbrage with her bare, “fat” belly in her latest video for “Leeds United.” [From her solo album, Who Killed Amanda Palmer, released in September of last year. The label refuses to promote it, but I'll be damned if I'll let it die.] They asked her to change certain scenes. She refused.

As Ms. Palmer has stated before, no matter how “ripped” the rest of her body becomes [she's an avid practitioner of yoga] her belly just has a bit of rounded “softness” to it that she’s at peace with, and in fact embraces. This apparently is not a-ok with the label, who have told her “they are men, they know what men want.” A member of The Shadowbox [the Dresden Dolls/Amanda Palmer/Brian Viglione messageboard] protested and posted an “innocent” belly picture, and in a few short weeks it had morphed into more than ninty-five pages of belly love and self-acceptance, with a few well-placed middle fingers to the aforementioned label.

The “ReBELLYon,” as it’s been so aptly named, now has its own fansite, and book in the works, to showcase all the beautiful bellies the movement has recieved in protest to Roadrunners percieved mistreatment of the “Leeds United” video, and the mistreatment of Amanda as an artist. On the ReBELLYon site you can view the belly galleries of Shadowbox members, non-members and street art promoting self-love. There are Paypal and Chip In widgets if you’d like to donate to site upkeep or to buy a copy of the the ReBELLYon book.

I’ve contributed to both in appriceation, as well as submitted my own “belly love” picture for inclusion in the upcoming book. While I’m still not entirely at peace with the way I look [the artistic "scene" I'm steeped in barely allows room for any self-love at all], I feel this is an important cause for an artist that indirectly helped start my publishing career.

Click the cut to see my bare belly.

(more…)