Friday, May 30, 2014

Call Me the Photographer

I finished my drink and then the Puritans took the stage, so I left the boys in possession of the table and went to take my pictures. The Puritans were everything I wanted them to be, onstage with their instruments, passionately singing along with French horn, drums, keyboards, and pulsating guitars. They were a very dynamic band, very different (and larger) from Matches, but their sound was also more majestic because of the availability of such an assortment of instruments. It became altogether more powerful, the rhythms more subtle, the build and falls, crescendos and decrescendos subtle and graceful. It was a sound that got into the body, moved the skin up and down from the inside, like a pitter-patter of fingers that was not content until it had explored every exposed piece of skin. It was music that demanded dancing.

I took several dozen more pictures, danced and swayed, and laughed in amusement asMeatloaf mumbled “I wish they’d stop playing tracks from this album, I hate this album.” They did play a good mix from their three albums and he appeared to be mollified by the end of the night. Before leaving I managed to procure a band T-shirt for the Boy, and Faust and I stepped out into the cooling evening to split a cab back toward uptown, where I was staying at the Bard’s.

“Excuse me,” said a long-dreaded 20-something smoking a cigarette. The first thing my mind thought of was feral hippy but he was not, in fact, a feral hippy, just a college kid with remarkably long dreads.


“I saw you taking pictures in there.”


“You have a nice camera.”

“I got sick of taking pictures on my phone.”

“Well, look, I’m from the radio station that was sponsoring the bands tonight, and I’m supposed to report on this for the college magazine, but our photographer didn’t show up and I don’t have a camera. Would you mind sending me some of your pictures? I couldn’t, you know, pay you or anything, but I’ll give you photo credit and you’re really be saving my ass.”



“Yeah, I don’t mind. I take the pictures for me. I don’t care if you need them. You don’t have to pay me.”

“Oh, that’s awesome. Uh, how do I get them?”

I was out of business cards, as was he, and neither of us had a pen.

“I’m fairly easy to find,” I said, “Just look for the saradevil.”


“Yes, sara, as in sara, and devil, as in “The Devil.”

“Saradevil. Got it.”

Faust smiled. “The Saradevil a magical and mythical creature.”

“That would be me.”

We moved into the night and disappeared in a cab until I made it to my home for the night.

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