8-23-04

As a concert photographer, I have made it my mission to try and shoot all of my favorite bands. Thus far I have been successful, and while I can't shoot the dead ones, there are still many to be conquered. A close relative brought to my attention, that by including more genres, I could make my portfolio a little more rounded and complete. What was I missing? I had Country, Rock & Alternative covered. I refuse to put satanic shock rock on my film, but I knew I was missing something. I needed to get a Rap concert.

Now don't get me wrong, it's not that I don't enjoy Rap or Hip Hop, but I don't indulge myself in it very often. I do own a Ludacris CD. I actually like some of it, just in small doses. I found out that Ludacris and Chingy were coming my way and knew I had to try and get the gig. I made all the necessary calls and was granted a Photo Pass. Although I had no idea what to expect, I was determined to appear as if I had been to thousands of Rap concerts.

I arrived with Nirvana blaring from my jeep. Maybe my old caddy and JayZ would have been a better choice? Oh Well. The parking lot was a party zone with people rapping, yelling and thoroughly enjoying the pulsating BOOM coming from their cars. Ludacris's tour was called the Chicken N' Beer tour. I knew this only because one of the tour buses was parked by the backstage door and it had "Chicken and Beer" all over it. After meeting the Tour Manager, I was told to help myself to the food. I wasn't hungry at the moment and to be honest was a little shocked by the invitation to share Ludacris's food. This was a first, and quite frankly I wasn't sure if I should accept. I headed out for a smoke instead.

The attire worn by the female fans outside left little to the imagination. Lots of boobage overflow and strong emphasis on the "Junk-in-the-trunk" type pants or skirts. The guys all had on NBA, or NFL type jersey's and what looked to be their brother's pants who happened to be a full 4 sizes bigger than them. I proudly wore my T-shirt and cargo pants, but secretly wondered if I looked really, really out of place.

I eventually got the nerve to make my way back inside to check out the food. There was a huge container filled with fried chicken and a bathtub sized container filled with beer. It really was the Chicken and Beer Tour! I had never been this close to the spread given to the "stars". I felt pretty damn cool. As I was still in a state of shock, I smiled a lot to disguise my excitement. All the people backstage were actually very friendly and extremely welcoming. Very different from most of the gigs I have done. I was accustomed to the anal retentive losers running around yelling in their walkie-talkie's, while the other anal retentive losers were checking for my pass. Usually if I went 3 feet out of my designated area, people were freaking out. I was walking freely here, just chillin'.

The crowd was working itself into a frenzy of good times. No performers yet, just music. and they were bouncing like crazy. A huge gange cloud had started to form over the audience and myself. All I could think about was the non-drug user getting pulled over and smelling like a 5 ft 8 doobie. You can't get in trouble for just smelling like it can you? As I was stewing in my paranoia, I realized the lights had started to dim and it was time for me to make my way to the pit. The pit is the empty strip directly in front of the stage provided by a barricade and security staff. I was a little late getting there, and by the time I should have been inside the pit, I was only just entering it. It went pitch black and I couldn't see a thing. It was my cue to hurry my ass up. In doing so, I overlooked the barricade and plunged my knee full force into it. I mean hard, like it was never there. I convinced myself it would stop hurting in a couple of seconds and began shooting like the professional that I am. A surge of cheers and screams filled the air when another guy came on stage. I was confused, then realized that I had taken an entire foll of film of the wrong guy. I had to wonder if the rest of this night would be blooper free. I should have worn a T-shirt that said "Fish out of Water" all over it. Does Smith and Pooter sell any of those?

When I was told I could hang out onstage between sets, I was like" Are you kidding me?" Fricken awesome! After shooting David Banner I made my way to the stage, and feeling extra special and quite important, found myself a chair to chill in. Definitely a different perspective to watch from the side. I was really enjoying this. While waiting, I decided to take a look at what damage the barricade had done to my knee. An old man approached me and said, "That don't look right, you OK?" Extremely embarrassed, I assured him I was fine, although after seeing the jawbreaker sized bump on my kneecap, I wondered . I decided to use the time before Chingy came on, to focus, convincing myself of no more mix-ups. At the conclusion of my pep talk , I made my way to the pit again and stayed close to the opening. The lights went out and I carefully slithered in completely avoiding the vicious barricade. Again the crowd was going insane, and again I started to click away. After a brief pause and another roll of film, I learned Chingy had just entered the stage. Once again, I was taking pictures of the wrong guy. Unbelievable. Had I ever done this before?

Generally when shooting concerts, you get the first 3 songs and then you have to go. I knew this, respected it, and followed it religiously. I was not informed however, that rap songs tend to never actually end. They just finish one song and go right into the next one with no pause or break. It was quite clear to me it was still the second song, but apparently it was not. One of the guys on stage grabbed my arm and said "Hey, it's the 7th song, you have to go." When the hell did the second song end? How did I manage to get through 7 songs? Observe how truly professional I have been to this point. I don't recognize the rappers, I get lost in the venue, make a brutal collision with the barricade, and overstay my welcome by 4 songs. I left immediately, tail between my legs, and found my chair onstage. I sat there cussing myself out for yet again making a stupid mistake. Seems like I had no idea who anyone was or what I was even doing there.

I used the next 20 minutes or so to beg shamelessly to God. "Please help me get through this terrifically wondrous night. Please God, don't let me do anything stupid. I know I'm the only twit here, let's not make it any more obvious." It seems my prayer worked because I managed to relax, enjoy the music, and photograph Ludacris with no problems. This was unlike any other concert I had done. I watched the remainder of the concert onstage and found myself actually enjoying it.

After watching Ludacris being whisked away by his entourage of giants, I let out a sigh of relief. It was over. I had been completely out of my element, and blooper after blooper, I still made it. Everyone had been incredibly accommodating and friendly. No one seemed to notice all my blunders and if they did, they were either extremely forgiving or kind enough to ignore them. My grapefruit sized knee was not so forgiving and became a painful reminder of the obstacles I had been faced with. It was a visual representation of being the "Fish out of Water". I called my uncle to tell him I had shot a rap band and he was proud. An uncle's pride turned into a fit of laughter after I told him about my injury. Turns out I chipped the bone on my knee cap. That was fun explaining to the x-ray tech, who was flat out shocked to hear I was at a Ludacris concert. My father also laughed hysterically, but soothed my embarrassment by explaining that the Vikings are tough. Yes, I was. I now had Hip Hop to add to my credentials and I did it all with a busted knee. All for the love of music man, Fo Shizzle!

Jenn from the Block
Volunteer Writer