Open Mic

Prepping for the Shoot 

It’s around 5 in the afternoon. I made sure I had all my batteries charged and packed in my camera bag. Everything looks good. 

I get in the car and head on my way. I don’t have any music playing—just listening to the whirl of the wind and my tires on the road as I make my way to the destination. 

I have an open mic to shoot and now have permission to capture the entire event. This is one of my first larger photo shoots. I’ve done smaller, one-set shoots for an artist, but not an entire evening of different people. This is going to be a new experience—and it’s going to kick ass. 

Get the Show on the Road 

About 30 minutes later—up many hills, winding roads, and through small towns—I arrive at the destination: The Blind Squirrel in Oneida, NY. 

I’ve been here twice before with E-Pox to shoot open mic sets. Those were the shorter sets I mentioned earlier. 

I had contacted Rocky, the organizer of the open mic, and asked if he’d be into a full-on shoot. He promptly replied yes—and mentioned it was Al’s last night bartending. This was perfect. Couldn’t have asked for a better night to shoot. 

This was definitely a special moment, and I wanted to blow Rocky’s mind with a professional photo shoot. 

Showtime Begins 

I walk in and see Rocky setting up, chatting with a few local musicians who’d already arrived. We talk for a bit about our music pasts, then I walk over to the bar, sit down, and get my bag out to set up my camera. 

At this point I’m wearing a hoodie and a net trucker hat. As I’m setting the shutter speed and ISO, I notice I’m sweating my ass off.

Holy fuck!

Thinking about it now—yeah, I was nervous. I don’t recall feeling nervous, but this definitely qualifies as “sweating bullets.” 

Reset and Recenter 

I head outside to get some outdoor shots and drop my hat and hoodie in the car. I close the car door and get lost for a moment in a cherry blossom tree. 

Then I hear the mic and some bass—it’s go time. 

I go back inside. Rocky’s first up. 

Time to find my favorite spots and start shooting. 

That Familiar Flow 

At this point, something odd happens. Not in a bad way—just familiar. 

This same feeling comes over me when I paint and draw. My mind clears. I hear nothing, see nothing but the musician.  

Everyone and everything else disappear. 

I’m scooting around on the floor like a two-year-old, weaving between people’s feet towering above me. But I don’t care. 

I felt like a two-year-old—and it was one of the best feelings I’ve had in a long time. 

Real Joy 

There was another symptom of the night: I was legit smiling. I couldn’t help it. I was feeding off the energy of everyone in the room. 

It was Al’s last night. The place was booked for four hours of music. Everyone was giving it their all. 

It was a whirlwind of harmony—a rare thing to find. 

So much of what we see today is AstroTurfed—manufactured to feel like something, instead of simply being something real. 
But this? This was organic. It was authentic. 

This was a special moment. For me, for Rocky, for Al, and for everyone who performed. 

This shoot will always mean something to me. 

Wrapping Up 

It’s 10:45 at night. I’m chatting with someone at the bar about Bob Ross and his cocaine pinky nail.  

Did you know he had that? I didn’t. I think a little differently about Bob Ross now. 

It’s getting late, so I pack up my gear and get ready to head out. I remind Rocky we need a picture of him and Al together. One last magical click. 

I say my goodbyes and head to my car. 

The night feels calm.  

I head home, ready to reflect.