The Underground Garage Festival, 20 Years On

The Underground Garage Festival, twenty years ago today.

I drove through the night from Charlotte, after a client forced me to work late. I got to Randalls Island around 10am, before they even had set up the media check-in. I shot the whole day, all 45 bands, on adrenalin and whatever soda I could get my hands on. 

That day is a blur, but I things I do remember. The impending hurricane. The rotating stage that broke, forcing most bands to only play two songs. Talking to Pete Best, and trying to hear his soft voice through the backstage noise. Having Bruce Springsteen cut in front of me to meet the Electric Prunes. Meeting Bo Diddley, Nancy Sinatra, Bob Greun. All of the bands like the Prunes, Pretty Things and Creation that I never thought I'd see.

The last three bands got to do full sets. The New York Dolls, in their only American reunion show at the time. They were amazing, and the photographers decided en masse to not leave the pit after the usual first two songs. We all sat down and enjoyed the show, without saying a word. The Strokes, who were having a bad Doors show moment with their mess of a lead singer. The Stooges. The freaking Stooges. Throughout the day, there had been a large movie camera positioned on the stage for a planned movie of the festival. Halfway through their set, Iggy Pop jumped on top of the camera and rig, and proceeded to hump and ride it for a few minutes. We all cheered. 

After the show, and before the hurricane landed in New York, I drove all the way to Delaware before I could find an affordable hotel. I got caught in a traffic jam around Washington, so I pulled off the interstate, found a camera store and processed much of my film. I photographed a Lucinda Williams show as I arrived back in Charlotte, and proceeded to spent the rest of the night scanning and editing pics.  

There are times I look back at my life, and I'm still amazed that I did that. I lived for years on a bull-headed idea that if I wanted to be there, then I should be there. There was a big world out there, and I didn't want to miss out. I often was in Charlotte long enough for work, and to buy film for my next shoot. Create, repeat. I'm proud of that kid that went out and did all of that, and that I still have the photos of all of those adventures. Work keeps me in NC more than it did twenty years ago, but that siren call is still there, never too far from earshot.

It's anniversaries like these that remind me to still get out on the road, and create something new. As Mr. Cash said in the liner notes to Unchained, "Sometimes, when the wind howls at night, I still wish I was crazy."

Amen. And play it loud, if it feels right. Given time, it may matter even more.

-Daniel 

August 14, 2024

Feature Article I Wrote For The August Issue Of Southpark Magazine

 https://southparkmagazine.com/the-sounds-of-life-at-charlotte-music-venues/

-Daniel

August 1, 2023

Thoughts On Wilco, 2002, And The YHF Boxset

I have been meaning for some time to write about my time with Wilco in 2002. It was quite a journey, from hopeful photographer, to having ten pages of photos in the recent Yankee Hotel Foxtrot boxset. These are some of the verbal pieces of the puzzle that go with the visual ones. 

I first saw and photographed Wilco in Charlotte, NC in the summer of 1998. They played halfway through a remarkable show dubbed The Newport Folk Festival tour. Alongside Lucinda Williams, Dar Williams, Mark Eitzel, Marc Cohn, Nanci Griffith and Lyle Lovett, this show had everything but ticket sales on this day. A few of my photos from this show later end up in the 2014 Wilco best-of What's Your 20? I then saw them in Raleigh, NC the following year, thinking that I would photograph them opening for REM. However, I found out upon arrival that my pass was only good for REM, so I had to watch their set that evening from the lawn area.

In 2002, I spent the year convincing myself that my "big break" was around the corner. I had been working on larger projects, and any spare moment that I wasn't working in Charlotte, I was on the road taking photos. I didn't know where I was going, but I felt I was going somewhere. Even after six-plus years of living out of my car, with only my camera and gas money with me, I was still very hungry. And there were still a lot of artists that I hadn't worked with yet.

In the summer of 2002, Wilco played a free outdoor show at Vanderbilt University. The release of Yankee Hotel Foxtrot the year before was still a big deal for myself and many of my friends. I drove seven hours to the show, and discovered that I had arrived during soundcheck. I snuck photos of soundcheck through the fences, and then made my way to the front after the doors finally opened. At one point, I decided that I had gotten everything that I could out front, walked outside the venue, and decided to see if anyone would yell at me if I got photos from behind the stage, again shooting through the fence. Get something different, something cool. There's a few photos from Nashville, including from behind the stage in this new boxset.

A few months later, I was at my computer on a Sunday night, and an email came in from a magazine that I had been contributing to in California. "We have the chance to photograph Wilco for the cover story. Who wants it?" The magazine later admitted to me that the email had only gone out of their photographers on the East Coast, figuring that someone in New York City or Philadelphia would take the gig. In short, I yelled first (via email), yelled the loudest, and kept yelling until I got the gig.

They originally offered me $80 for the gig, but they eventually offered me $125 for the longer drive. I should have spent that money on a hotel room, in retrospect. To this day, I'll spend money on everything but myself. I was tough (I thought), I was living the dream. I drove all night to Philadelphia, sleeping in rest stops along the way.

Sleep deprived, and having spent a few hours wandering through Philadelphia, I arrived at the Electric Factory for what was supposed to be a 3pm photo shoot after the band's soundcheck. I had asked my friend Nicole Atkins, who had already met the band at a previous show, to tag along. Quickly, 3pm and 4pm flew by. Soundcheck was taking forever. I began to feel my sleep-deprived nerves crashing hard. I wandered around, found a Coca-Cola that I downed as fast as I could, and kept waiting.

While we were waiting, Nicole noticed a box of vintage Christmas lights from the 1940s. I had bought them in West Virginia for a dollar on a recent trip. "Do you think that they'll want to play with these?" she said. I don't know, I replied. We wired the lights up, and left them on top of my bag.

Wilco finally came out for the photos around 5:30pm, still a bit tired from the soundcheck. We quickly said hello, and I began to nervously take photos. Within a minute or two, Jeff Tweedy walked over to my bag, and said, "Are we supposed to play with these?" Question answered, I thought. "Yes!" I exclaimed, and quickly threw the lights at them. It broke the tension of the moment, and the band quickly joined in with the idea. Page 2 and 3 of Wilco's Best Of comes from this moment. The band only held them for forty seconds to a minute before they got too hot to touch, and I quickly unplugged the lights. But I knew that I had something good.

I knew that Jeff was a big Captain Beefheart fan, so I asked him and the band about Beefheart, and other artsists that everyone was listening to. I knew that Jeff and the band didn't come naturally to posing for photos. Their tour schedule for the day had my photo shoot on the schedule, next to a sad smiley face. I later had everyone sign the schedule, just for a laugh. Interacting with them, talking with them, and being a person with a camera, instead of being an unemotional, unblinking eye, was what I wanted in the photos. Let them think less about the camera, and the people will emerge through your lens.

We quickly had to set up everything backstage when the doors were about to open, and the band helped me carry my gear away. The rest of the shoot was all done backstage, with me clicking away in the hallway, and their dressing room. Back then, I shot with two cameras. One with black & white film, and the other with color. I'd had this high-falutin' idea that we could combine both sets of photos in a cut-and-paste style, as much as Yankee Hotel Foxtrot utilized a collage aesthetic. The magazine agreed to this, and then quickly ditched the idea as soon as I sent them the photos. It's not a great loss, in retrospect, but it is interesting to view both sets of photos with this in mind.

While Jeff rested backstage with friends, I ended up talking to the other members of the band for some time. John Stirratt offered to take me drinking after the show, which I really wanted to do, but I convinced myself that I should drive back home after the show. I politely declined, but I still need to take you up on that sometime, John.

The magazine told me that they didn't need any live photos, and I already had burned much of my film on the posed pics. Despite that, I was eight hours away from home, and I wanted to get some new live shots of the band. All I had left was the majority of a color roll, and a color slide roll that was tucked deep into my camera bag. Much of what you see in the YHF boxset comes from those two rolls.

Again, I drove through the night, sleeping again at rest stops when I started to nod off. I got back home to Charlotte at 1pm, slept a few hours, and ran camera for a City Council meeting at 5pm. Then went home, slept, bought more film, and spent the following day in Athens, GA with Guided By Voices, sitting on the floor of a record store with Robert Pollard, trying to convince him to let me buy a rare Left Banke-related album. Pollard told me last year that he still has that album.

One of my favorite compliments of my work came from Wilco's publicist after she saw my photos. "They're smiling in their photos!" she said in an email. "They never smile in photos! How did you DO THAT?!?" In recent years, I've noticed that Wilco is often smiling in their press photos. Those were different times, but I like to think that I started a trend.

Several years ago, the band got back in touch with me about photos for their Best Of. By that point, I had let my organization lapse, and could only find a portion of the photos from that day. When the world shut down in 2020, I spent months getting my photo archives back together. I even found that slide roll of live shots, including prints I had made for myself at Eckerd's.

My work on the recent boxset didn't come through the band this time, but through another avenue. I had met producer extraordinaire Cheryl Pawelski in line for a show at SXSW in Austin, Texas in March of 2002. Within five minutes, we were talking about a mutual favorite of ours, the Left Banke. In 2021, when Cheryl and I were shepherding the release of post-1968 Left Banke recordings, she sent me an email with a question. "Didn't you work with Wilco? In 2002?"

I assumed that they would just want the unseen posed pics from the Philadelphia shoot, of which there is still a lot. Being a completist, and partially because I was so proud that I had found the slide roll, I made a separate folder for all the live shots. I even used the Eckerd's prints as a guide for balancing the colors. It wasn't until they sent me the boxset that I realized that they had only used the live shots. Unseen for twenty years, even to my eyes. But there they were, for all to see, another part of the adventure from those fleeting days.

Here it is, twenty years later. The intervening years were filled with blind faith, ups and downs, and more miles than money. I believed that I could create something good, and that I could make all of this happen from Charlotte, NC. I even kept believing even after I should have given up on such notions. I should have been rational, turned my back on it all, and moved on. But I couldn't, and I didn't want to. I did, and still believe that I could create something good. The circumstances can change, but the heart does not, if you're willing to keep going.

I'm really glad that the musicians that I photographed that day are doing well, and are still creating on their own terms. I don't know when or if I'll get to speak to them again, but as they plan their next tour, I look forward to seeing what happens next in this ongoing visual conversation. And that I, and my camera, are here to continue it.

Here's to the past, the ongoing boxset of life, and what comes next to turn your orbit around.

-Daniel Coston
January 23, 2023

The Thought For Today

 Warning: The following post contains moments of clarity, references (for some of you) to obscure comedians, and me being a collector geek.

Some days, you don't get everything you want. You miss out on that 1931 full-page ad featuring the Marx Brothers by 50 cents. But you then realize that you've already own a poster that your wife bought you a few months ago, and had gotten lost in the mountain of life that is your office. So you put that on your wall instead. You also made a screenshot of the Marx Brothers ad, anyway, so that can now reside on your desktop. For free.

Other days, you've been eyeing those autographs of Clark & McCullough for weeks. Is it worth the money? And then you realize that life is too short, and all can be chaos in he blink of an eye. So yeah, you buy it, and you watch the film of the duo rehearsing a show with George Gershwin in 1929. Heck yeah.

The lesson through all this? Rejoice for what you can do in this crazy world. Enjoy the good moments, and keep going through the unexpected. Dance to what you like, buy those things that matter to you, display that poster that represents more than just an image, and screenshot the rest.

On to the next adventure. See you there, and see you on the road.

-Daniel

January 27, 2022

Johnny Cash Review For Big Takeover Magazine, 2003

Thoughts About John Cohen

John Cohen passed away last September the same week as my mother-in-law, Jan Barley. I was too numb from her passing to really reflect on the loss of John. At the end of that same week, I opened my biggest exhibition to date, at the Earl Scruggs Center in Shelby, NC. It all seemed unreal. The state of North Carolina, the state I been living in for 36 years as a wayward New Yorker, was now sponsoring the show, and an all-day series of events celebrating myself and the work. No time to dwell on the good or bad, just enjoy it all while the moment was here. In my speech welcoming everyone to the show, I did not mention Jan, for fear of losing it in front of a rooom full of people. I did however, acknowledge John Cohen, and one moment with John that said it all, for me.

John Cohen was one of those whose work showed me a window that I’ve been trying to dive through ever since. A musician, historian, filmmaker, photographer, teacher. A member of The New Lost City Ramblers with Mike Seeger, John brought new life to the voices of the past. His films, his song catching trips, his photos. All of which captured an America that was changing rapidly in the 1950s and 1960s. He took some of the first photos of Bob Dylan, after Bob first arrived in New York. In 1965, Dylan exclaimed on the back of Highway 61 Revisited, “John Cohen, your rooftub has been demolished,” meaning that the person that Cohen had documented that day was now gone. Yet the only person that truly understood that line was Cohen himself, who could continue to quietly change the roofs under which created throughout his own life. To the day he left this place, John Cohen never stopped creating and documenting. No big pronouncements. He just kept going. 

The first time I met John, they were holding an exhibition of his work at UNC-Greensboro in 2003. The same magical summer that saw me photographing Johnny Cash, Les Paul, Arthur Lee, and so many others that changed my worldview. John arrived with Alice Gerrard, a famous North Carolina musician that I was thrilled to finally meet. Members of The New Lost City Ramblers and Hazel & Alice playing in an art gallery! This was also the first art opening where I noticed that I was the only one takiing photos. This has happened several times over the years. A famous photographer shows up to exhibit his work, and no one wants to document their arrival. This has at times perplexed me. I understand if people don’t want to take photos of the artwork, especially in our shoot-and-grab age. But for me, these were The Photographers. The people that created this work. They were my Rock Stars. And I wanted to photograph them, like any other Rock Star. 

The Moment came with John near the end of this night. I introduced myself, and told him that I was trying to do now what he had done during the 1960s. John looked at me and sighed, "Good luck, man.” That was all John said. It really was all had he to, to be honest. The highs and lows was docmenting what you love, and how little you can get in return. Forget the lack of money, the exhaustive and overwhelming feelings of ambivalence run many from this road within a couple of years. Or it turns others that stay on the path into embittered shells of the dreamers that started the journey. I understand the difficulty of the balancing act more with each passing year. John Cohen understood all of this. His answer was the most honest that I ever got from anyone that has been on this journey. Good luck, man. Amen, brother. 

I so wanted to have a friendship with John Cohen. I wanted to talk to him the way I had been trying to talk to his work for years. But I recognized that it was not possible. I was not in his regular orbit. I was not one of his students. I did not work the festivals that he frequented. All I could do when I saw him was say hello, wish him well, and occasionally send him a photo that I’d taken. No need to bug him, even though I could have tried. Do I wish that I could have talked to John the way that his work had spoke to me? That would have taken years. Years that will continue on, just as his work lives on. Sooner or later, that is all we can wish for. The roofs may change, but the work goes on, shining for whoever catches the light. No matter which window you see it through. 

-Daniel
March 20, 2020

Television, Marquee Moon Piece

In 2001, I drove 12 hours to Chicago, just to see Television perform. At the time, the band had reformed after a eight-year hiatus, and were only going to play one show in the US, the Noise Pop festival, after a brief European tour. The venue in Chicago was packed, and insanely humid, due to their air conditioner conking out. The emcee introduced the band to great fanfare, whereupon guitarist and singer Tom Verlaine walked on stage, and spent the next ten mintues setting up his effects pedals. The band, and the whole audience, just stood there quietly, waiting for him to finish and begin playing. It got so humid that one of my lenses warped and locked on one of my cameras, rendering the camera and lens useless for the rest of the show. It was not a perfect show, but seven songs into the set, the band played “See No Evil,” the opening song on Marquee Moon, and absolutely nailed it. At that moment, the trip to Chicago seemed totally justified.

Marquee Moon, Television’s debut album, demonstrates the differences in the New York City punk scene of the time, and the English punk scene that was also emerging at that same moment. The punk scene in England, as enjoyable as it sill is to hear much of that music, was based as much about a new look and attitude than it was the music. The scene in New York City grew out of a young group of musicians that wanted to create something different. Something that wasn’t on the radio, or the TV. Yet. In New York, Television, the Ramones, Patti Smith (who had dated Verlaine for some time), Blondie (who bassist Fred Smith had bolted from to join Television), Wayne County, Talking Heads, and many more were all “punk”. 

All of these artists were also looking for places to play, which is why they all gravitated to one place- CBGB’s- and made it their new home. Verlaine and original band bassist Richard Hell had been the first to walk into the club in 1974, and the new music scene soon folllowed. Television were not only influential musicians, they were also groundbreaking in the New York scene. Their first single, 1975’s “Little Johnny Jewel”, is now considered one of the first singles of the punk rock music that was soon to arrive.

Television were also punks that could really play, with a dexterity and ferocity that few other bands had. The intertwining guitars of Verlaine and Richard Lloyd run rings around melodies. The band was also one of the few “punk” bands that took their cues from jazz albums. The songs credits on Marquee Moon credit the solos that Verlaine and Lloyd play, including who played which solo, and in which order, an idea that the band got from looking at the liner notes of jazz records.

Marquee Moon was recorded in September of 1976, and released in May of the following year. The band signed to Elektra with the understanding that Verlaine would produce the record, despite having very little production experience. Verlaine ended up co-producing the album with engineer Andy Johns, who had worked with the Rolling Stones, and was able to get the guitar sounds that both Verlaine and Lloyd wanted. Many of the songs on the record was done in one take, which included the ten minute title track. 

The lyrics are an expression of everything, all at once. Youth falling into adulthood. Falling into the arms of Venus de Milo, wandering New York with dreams of its possibilities, both good and bad. Even Verlaine himself has said that he’s not sure what all the lyrics mean. The songs lend themselves to endless interpretation, and for new listeners to find their own hidden meanings.

The cover shot was photographed by Robert Mapplethrope, who had also done the cover of Patti Smith’s debut album, Horses. The band took Mapplethorpe’s print of the photo, and had it reprinted to a photocopy store, which was then used on the album’s cover. The look of the photo also represents the tension that existed in the music, and in the personalities that made up the band. The band would only last for one more album, before splitting for the first time in 1978. The band has since reformed a few times since then, and are currently touring again, minus Richard Lloyd.

Marquee Moon, to me, represents one of those beautiful moments where the possibilities are endless, and something new emerges to influence all that arrive in its wake.  I have heard bands cover “See No Evil”, and listened as grown men shouted gutteral squeals of joy at hearing their favorite song played live. If anyone ever comes to my house while I’m playing Marquee Moon, that person will always stop and say, “Wow! This is great! What is this?” It literally happens every time. Marquee Moon is the sound of four people reaching out to create something diffferent, and better. And we’re still listening to that achievement.

Listen in, listen on and enjoy.

This case is closed. 
-Daniel Coston
November 5, 2015

Writing. It Arrives When It Arrives

Hello All-

With all of my recent photographic adventures, I really have not had much time for writing. Apart from a few poems (some I've posted here, some I will post soon), and some occasional PR blurbs for Fort Canoga Press, I have not had the chance to write at length. Some of this has been my schedule, but it also reflects how I tend to work as a writer.

Writing was one of the first things I ever did in my life that I enjoyed, and thought that I was good at. I often say that I fell into photography because I was looking for another way of writing, or communicating. And there's a lot of truth in that. Photography has been, and remains the creative outlet that I can do every day of my life, and feel good about that. Some days are better than others, but it's rarely a struggle to take photos. Writing, however, is much more finicky, and extreme.

I may not write for days, but when a good idea emerges, that becomes the only thing that occupies my mind. And in a short time, I can produce a lot of words. I sometimes get mad at myself for not being able to write as easily as I work with photography. Waiting for inspiration, or finding the time to be inspired can be a struggle. Like any person that dabbles in the arts, we would like to be in control of our muse than we sometimes are. But when the inspiration does arrive, it is akin to finding a thread, and following it down a rabbit hole until the end is found.

A recent example of this is a series of articles I did for a local history museum. Because I wanted to do it, and because I often have the inability to say no, I agreed to write a series of articles on Charlotte history. For this process, I decided to change the way I work, and test my thought process. I did research on all nine of the articles I agreed to write. Notes, information, and passing ideas on what I would say. I then emailed the rough notes to myself, and let the ideas simmer in my head for a week or two.

Some time passed, and I found myself with a day that I was mostly going to spend at home. At 1pm, I decided to work on one of the articles. By 2pm, I had that article done, and decided to work on another. When that article was finished, I knew that I found the momentum I had been looking for. I proceeded to write three more articles that afternoon, went off to photograph two events that evening, and came home to write two more articles after 11pm. The next day, I did a photo shoot in the morning, came home and wrote the remaining two articles. Nine articles, done in 26 hours.

Had I planned to do these pieces this way? No. Did I think that I might work quickly once I was in the right mindset for writing? Yes. There is an advantage sometimes to collecting a series of ideas about something over time, and then sitting down with them all when the time feels right. Will the next project I write arrive to same way? I have no idea. Much like life, you cannot overthink these things. You can only keep thinking, and hopefully be ready when the next good idea arrives.
-Daniel Coston
February 3, 2015

When The Show Moves On

The long-running Ohio band Guided by Voices recently ended their reunion even more unexpectedly than it had begun four years ago. The band had two months’ worth of bookings, including two shows they just announced the same day that the breakup notice was posted on their website. This is how a Indie Rock band reunion ends. Not with a bang, but with a lot of confusion, anger, and internet chatter amongst those that are, or used to be fans. 

For a long time, I was one of those fans. I first discovered them in 1994, as they began to get some notice in magazines, and even MTV. I interviewed the band via phone in 1996, shortly before the band’s original lineup imploded. I followed the band and leader Robert Pollard through several incarnations over the next eight years. Over that time, I photographed the band several times, and eventually got to do photos for one of their albums, and several other projects. When Pollard retied the band in 2004, I really believed that I would not see the band again.

When the band announced in 2010 that were reuniting with their original lineup in 2010, I was stunned and thrilled. Of all places, I was in the band’s home state of Ohio when the announcement was made. My phone rang all day. It all seemed like it was leading me back to the band. A few months later, I was photographing the band again, and it was fantastic. I arrived back home at 3:30pm, and immediately edited ten photos to send to the band at 5am. Within six days, the band had sent the photos to six newspapers, and would stay on their website until their recent break-up. It was like being reunited with long-lost friends. When the band was rumored to have a final show in 2011, I went to Raleigh, NC and shot the show for the band, and those photos were quickly used by the band, Mojo Magazine, Magnet, and a host of other outlets. The show was not the spot-on fantastic concert that it had been the previous year, but it was still fun. As it turned out, it was not the band’s last show, but it was the end of my time with the band. The problem was that I wasn’t aware of it. 

I got a photo pass from the band’s manager to photograph a stop on their 2012 tour. When the band’s usual road manager bowed out at the last minute, the band found someone who was willing to do it for free beer and good times on the road. The problem was, he had never road managed, and didn’t know how to handle his duties. When he saw a fax (and who receives a fax anymore?) that a venue in Florida would only point their cameras at the audience, the road manager thought that this applied to all members of the media, including those of us that were coming to shoot for the band. Unfortunately, this included me, who’d driven from Charlotte to Asheville throughout a whitewash rainstorm. It made the band look like petty, whiny has-beens to all media that covered that tour. By the time that management realized what was going on, the tour was nearly over, and many of us (myself included) had been denied the chance to shoot our favorite band for, as it turned out, the last time. Even though the venue was going by what the road manager had told them to do, I have yet to step foot again the venue, and have steered friends and fellow artists away from the place. And the road manager should know that there will always be a special circle of hell that I picture you rotting in, and hope you always do. 

I also became aware on that tour that the people in the band, and around the band, had changed. Something was different, and something seemed wrong. There is that moment when you realize that the people you’ve known are no longer those people. They’ve become someone else, and they’re not coming back, no matter how much your want them to. This is sometimes the danger of seeing, or being around your favorite artists. The people they are in person, or have become, can overwhelm the artists that you knew, or wanted to know. The recent internet ramblings and subsequent discussion of Mark Kozelek are another recent example of this. Incidents that started his recent tirades may not have been out of his control, but he sure elevated and denigrated what came afterwards all by himself. For those of us that have followed Mark’s work over the last twenty-plus years, his recent statements are completely at odds with the beautiful music that he was created. Not a total surprise, if you’ve ever met the man, and I’m quite sure that he would argue with me (and anyone else) about this. But it comes down to this. If an artist’s actions blind people to the work that they have created, then the whole reason of why they became an artist in the first place- to create something that speaks beyond their own voice, and in turn taken in by others as something that also reflects their spirit and emotion- becomes lost in the shuffle. And sometimes, never re-appears. 

Despite all of that, I really had hoped to see the band one more time. I happened to be visiting Toledo two weeks ago the same weekend that Guided by Voices were playing a free festival downtown. However, I had a family celebration to attend that night, and I could not go to the concert. I was disappointed, but I figured, “Well, I’ll catch them somewhere in the next two months. But once again, it was not to be. It was one last distant frustration in two years of unfulfilled frustrations. As I said before, perhaps I was not meant to see the band again. I was supposed to leave those fun shows in the front of my mind, instead of the anger and confusion that has come since. I don’t know if that is true, but it is all I have now, and just have to accept it. 

After the band’s recent split, I found a video on Youtube of the band playing a club in 1996. The band is relaxed, and having a great time. As I watched the video, I realized how differently the band seemed from the one that made the reunion circuit. When an artist, be they a writer, musician, painter or whatever, is in the moment, there is a spirit that carries them through what they do. Take those people away from that moment, and put them back in that space some time later, and the perspective is different. As great as that 2010 show was for me and many others, I know realize that no reunion could have fully recreated that original spirit, and that to walk away from it as that spirit became further deluded is, quite frankly, for the best.

Any reunion, be it a creative or personal one, is based on the idea that you can put the same people (or most of the same people) in a room again after however time away, and expect it to be the same as it was before. And that is almost entirely impossible. The moment has changed, the people have changed. And we, the listeners have changed. And sometimes, that moment cannot ever be replicated again. What’s the difference betweens some band reunions, and some high school reunions? People spend money to watch the awkwardness, instead of paying to be a part of it. That’s not a knock on band reunions, that’s just life. It happens, and one has to at some point move on. 

I’ve also come to feel that distance from the artists that we admire is not always a bad thing. That’s quite something for a photographer like myself to come to. However, in this era where one hears everything about everyone’s mistakes via social media, it’s harder to separate the work of anyone from their public persona. Sooner or later, though, it’s the work that matters, and what we leave behind. I’m well aware that many of my social and artistic heroes were difficult people to be around for extended lengths of time. But I did not know them personally, I only know their work. And if we able to separate the noise that comes out of our phones and computers every day from one’s work, than perhaps we will see the work, or ourselves, a little bit clearer.

With all of that I’ve said, I look forward to whatever the members of Guided by Voices create from here on. When they release a new album, it is more likely to be viewed on its own merits, instead of being constantly compared to the work that they did all those years ago. And ultimately, that’s what I want for them, whether or not I ever take their photograph again. I also look forward to the distance from the frustration of that last two years, and to able to enjoy the music again as a listener. And in so doing, continue my own circle of experience. The cycle of being a fan, that becomes a friend, that becomes a photographer, that becomes a distant fan, and becomes a fan of the music, again. And I look forward to that happening.

-Daniel Coston
October 16, 2014

A Passing Thought

The passing of our friend Chris Peigler has reminded us again how quickly we can lose someone that is dear to us. Loss is never easy, but is made harder when it comes so suddenly. In a moment, our plans and perception with someone are seemingly dashed. What we thought was one reality is quickly ended, leaving us heartbroken, and empty.

But what if reality is not a straight line, but instead a series of circles repeating upon themselves, slowly advancing towards another circle? This is the possibility of our life experiences, and our memories. While an event today can change our relationship with someone, it does not affect the experiences we have already had with that person. Those stay firmly with us, in our minds and our hearts. We can still smile, and know that the good times that we had with that person will stay with us. Grow with us, and hopefully continue to make us a better person. Which is all we can ask for, in the long run. Yes, we may always miss that person, but in continuing to hold on to our own experiences, that person has never completely left us. 

Life is a complicated journey. It is often unpredictable, and overwhelming. But the possibilities of the future, mixed with our experiences of our past, have so much to offer. Our friends and loved ones may pass to another place, but their impact will stay with us. We will hold on to the good times, and occasional lessons. We will smile at the mention of their name, and the memory of our times together. And in so doing, we may just strengthen our own lives, and create something stronger out of the time that we all spend together. Now, and in our time to come.

To our friends, our loved ones, and ourselves. And to life, in all of its lines and circles. 

-Daniel

January 8, 2014

Was It All A Dream?

Hello All-

This summer brings some remarkable milestones to my mind. July 5th will mark ten years since I photographed Johnny Cash's final public performance. That show, and the June Carter tribute show that he had performed on June 21st, 2003 were two of the most amazing days in my life. I look back on that summer, and can't believe what I was able to document. Mr. Cash, two days in Nashville photographing Les Paul, Arthur Lee & Love playing "Forever Changes" (apart from the emotional pull of the Cash shows, Love was the best show of the year, in my book), Jayhawks and Thorns in Nashville, TN, two days before the last Cash show. So many shows, and experiences. It was a fun, confusing, emotional, complicated and amazing time. I wanted to stay on the road full-time, and almost didn't come back home. I'm not sure that I could live that way again, but sometimes, I still think I'd like to try.

I think back on those shows, and those experiences, and I sometimes think, "Was it all a dream?" I know that it wasn't, and thank goodness that I took so many photos. In time, much of our life's experiences seem distant, far away in the back of our minds. But the experiences are still there, still shaping who we are today, and in the future. Life is to be experienced, and enjoyed. I've tried to live with as few "What If's" as possible, and continue to. I may not ever re-live that summer of ten years ago, but I still dream of something new, and that is always a good dream to hold onto.
-Daniel
July 3, 2013

THAT photo, part three

Hello All-

I've been meaning to give you all a final update on what happened with my photos of a certain Charlotte author. I finally got an answer back from Getty, and the Observer about their selling of my photos. The Observer/Getty can sell any photos of mine that they publish or distribute, and they keep the royalties. However, I still retain the rights to the photos, which allows me to sell the photos to other outlets.

So, here's how to score it. If you saw my photo of that author and it was credited to me/Observer/Getty/MCI, or just Getty/MCI, they got the money for that. If the outlet, like People, NY Daily News, or others bought it from me directly, I did receive money for that usage. Sure, I'd like to make money on when my photos are published, but it is a better deal than if I had a full-time deal with the Observer. In that case, the paper/corporation owns all rights to the work. Photography has been great to me, but sometimes, in all businesses, you must pick your poisons.

So, I didn't get rich from all this, and that's okay. That was never the goal. The attention was nice for a few days, and I made some new contacts, and learned a lot about how that business works these days.
The one outlet I missed in all of this was that someone from CBS emailed me via Facebook about the photo the weekend that the story, but for some reason the email went into the Other section, and I didn't see it for two months. Argh. But you can't win 'em all, even though we still try to.

I saw the author at an event recently. Sadly, it will probably be a while before she says hello. I don't think I'd know what to say, anyway, but I hope that she's doing well.
-Daniel
March 6, 2013

The Creative Process (or lack thereof)

Hello All-

As you may know, my head has been in finishing another book in recent weeks. That book, on the NC Rock & Roll scene of the 1960s, is now in layout, and we've put together a website for it at-

therewasatime.blogspot.com

Myself and Jake Berger have been working on this book, with various starts and stops, for nearly three years. Last year, when my photo book on NC musicians was picked up by McFarland Publications, I thought that I could work on both at the same time. That thought didn't last long. I can work on many photo projects at the same time, but writing at length takes one's complete attention. I ended devoting much of last summer to writing, re-writing, and editing that book. And even after that book was done, I wasn't ready to start on the NC 60s book.

Over the last year, I have been reminded of how fickle the creative process of writing is. I would love to write lots of wordage at will, and actually live up to some of the lofty deadlines I set up for myself. But it's still somewhat of a mystery to me. I was a writer when I was four years old, and still consider myself one. I think it was partly the frustration of saying something different with my writing that drew me to photography.

The point that I have to come back to is, it comes when it wants to. Some days, you're distracted by the world, and nothing gets written. The next day, 6,000 words get written. This happened a few times with the NC Musicians photo/text book. It's also the editing and honing that wears you down. With a longform book, it all has to hold up as a complete story. Yet emotionally, you're already passed it. You've written it, and sometimes you want to move on.

After a long period of "I'll get to it," the NC 60s book came at amazing speed. One day around Christmas, I sat down with a notebook, and by the following day had written all of my parts for the book. When I came home, I finally had some momentum behind me. I transcribed nine tapes of interviews in three days. Three days after that, I had the first rough draft of the entire book. The last few weeks has been constant editing, adding new interviews, and making the entire thing work as a complete 163-page book. Less than six weeks after writing my introductions, the book is now in layout.

Because of that speed, I've tunneled out the world on this project more than I usually do. Put other important projects off, not noticed when times for shoots got changed (sorry about that one, guys), and let it dominate my thoughts. But, as I said before, you don't question such things. In a world that we increasingly feel like we have less control over, the hardest thing can be to gain acceptance over our own processes, and let things happen when they will happen. But in the long run, it's more about the destination, than the length of the journey. It doesn't matter how long it takes to get there, as long as you get there.
-Daniel
February 21, 2013

To My Niece Milah, Who Was Just Born

Hello Milah-

Thirty five years ago, I was spending Thanksgiving at my grandparents' house when my dad came in, and told me that I had a sister. Now, with a few days past Thanksgiving, my sister has given birth to you. Welcome home. As your uncle, it has been remarkable to watch your mom become more than just my sister. She is now your mother, and so much more. One of the miracles of living is that we can live long enough to watch the next generations of our family come in, and carry on this line that began way before you, or me.

As you are new to the world, there are a lot of things to tell you about. The planet we live on is a strange place. Always has been, always will be. Millions of people got lost in the little things of everyday life, while bigger issues pass right by them. There is, and was no exact thing as "the good old days." That is just each person's perspective on their own lives, and how they look back on their past. Someday, you might even look back on the next several years of your life as "the good old days." As I said, the world is a strange place, but it has it's possibilities. Make the most of them, and enjoy every day that you can.

What can I tell you about your mother? She is a good person, and is really happy to have you here. When she tells you about our days as kids, she might tell you that we had a lot of good times together. This is true. She might also tell you that I was not the ideal older brother. This is where our memories sometimes differ. Again, there is no concrete thing as the truth, just one's view of it. I might feel the same way if you asked me if your mother was the perfect younger sibling. The truth is, our memories meet somewhere in the middle. But your mom has always had her heart in the right place, and I'd like to think that I did, as well.

Obviously, I have not known your father as long as I've known your mother, but I believe that he shares my sister's hopes and aspirations for you. By the time that I finally meet you, you may have already met my parents, who are now your grandparents. We all did a lot of growing up together. From the home that we shared in upstate New York, living on the banks of Cayuga Lake, to that first home we lived in here in North Carolina. It was a long journey from there to here, yet rewarding. Now, my parents are ready to take care of you the same way that they raised myself and your mother. Give them your attention, when time allows. They've been waiting for you for a long time, and they will be good to you.

As I think about you, I remember all of your relatives that you did not get the chance to meet. Great-grandparents, great-great-grandparents, great uncles, aunts and more. You are descended from hard workers, mailmen, engineers, priests, travelers and characters such as myself. Someday, I want to tell you about them all. This includes your grandmother's parents, who also took time to raise me when I was young. I did, and still love them as much as I love you. And that's a lot. They may not be here to welcome you, but they are glad to have you here, just the same.

There is so much for you to learn, and experience. That it is okay to dream, whether you are an adult or child. That some dreams are worth fighting for, while others will change and adapt with you. That it is possible to grow up, and not completely grow old. That it is okay to care about what you do, and the people around you.  And to not be afraid to be yourself. As I said before, the world is a strange place. It is not always hostile to the things I just mentioned, but it can be indifferent. And that can sometimes be the toughest thing of all. But always remember you who are, and who you came from. Your dreams will always be worth fighting for, as we fought for our own.

That being said, there is time to discover these things. You will get there. Until then, enjoy your time in this new place. Look around, and smile at it. And sleep as much as you can. You will appreciate that more as you get older, as will your parents. There is so much to share with you, and I look forward to doing that soon. Until then, rest well, and welcome home.

Sincerely, your uncle,
-Daniel Coston
December 5, 2012

Baseball

Some of my older friends will remember that in my youth, I was a raging baseball fan. Growing up in upstate New York, we got New York Yankees games on the NBC affiliate out of Syracuse, most often on the weekends. My mom’s parents lived in Phelps, New York, and their TV could pick up WPIX, which was the Yankees’ main affiliate at the time. Soon, I could spout the names, dates and figures of all the great Yankee teams, as well as others. 

From the start, I was as interested in baseball of the past, as I was in the present. There was something more interesting to me about that time. Some of it probably came from my grandfather’s stories of playing semi-pro ball in the 1930s. I have this fantastic pic of my grandfather’s high school baseball team, and my grandfather has three buttons undone on his jersey, his cap sideways, and a grin that looks like he loves what he’s doing.

I played sandlot ball for years, but I only played Little League baseball for two years, and that was in New York. The team that I was with, sponsored by the local Manhill Vending company, were 10-2 the first year I played with them, and were probably the best sports team I ever played with. We lost in the semi-finals of the regional tournament, to an all-star Rotary team from Geneva. I got a walk in the final inning, when our team needed a baseruner (I'm still proud of that), but we lost 6-5. And I still want a rematch. 

When my parents and I moved to North Carolina in October of 1983, I soon discovered that there was a fledgling scene for baseball card collecting in Charlotte. For the next few years, I started going to card shows, and began to meet some of the older players that were doing signings on the circuit.

I met and hung out with Bob Feller at least twice. He was a bit ornery occasionally, but generally nice to me. He reminded me of my grandparents’ friends, so I was used to it. Just about everyone I met was very nice. Gaylord Perry, Enos Slaughter, Mickey Mantle (somewhere I have a Polaroid of me with Mantle that my mom took), and many others. This was in my mostly BC (Before Camera) days, and I wish I had some photos of these people. 

Back then, you could also write to baseball players, and ask for their autograph. Somehow, I got a copy of a book with many players’ addresses, and I wrote away. Several did write back, including Bill Terry (last national leaguer to hit .400), Phil Rizzuto, Earl Averill and a few others. At the same time, I was also collecting baseball cards from 1920s to 1970s. Why did I want a Dwight Gooden card? I could get a Ty Cobb tobacco card for $20. This was all before the big boom (and bust) of card collecting, and it was a lot of fun.

I’ve been to a few ballparks. My parents took me to opening day of the Atlanta Braves season in 1985, where I met Steve Garvey, Tony Gwynn (who were playing for the San Diego Padres, at the time), and others, and got them to sign my program. I also was interviewed for local TV, and I got to see it air that night in our hotel room. I also went to Yankee Stadium in 1998, sitting way up in the bleachers. I also saw the then-World Champion Baltimore Orioles play against, and lose to the Charlotte O’s in the old Crockett Park (a minor league stadium I really miss) in 1984. Somewhere, I do have photos of that game. I also visited Wrigley Field in 2001, but did not get to go in. 

I still have my baseball card and autograph collection. I’ve toyed with selling it a few times, but it’s hard to sell something that is so close to one’s heart, and childhood. I still follow the major leagues, and still follow the Yankees. I even forgave them (sort of) for tearing down Yankee Stadium. There have not been a lot of constants in my life, but the seasons, and baseball have always been there, waiting for me to re-discover it all again.

-Daniel Coston

October 27, 2011

A momentary credo after a good shoot

I have done everything I could have done, and did the best that I could.

I have done the best job that was possible, and I stand behind it. What comes from here on, I accept with open arms. If it is accepted by others, than that is good. If not, it is their loss, not mine.

No regrets, no matter the outcome.

No fear, no mean-ness, no bitterness.

I open my hands, and lift up my head.

Move forward, and walk on.

-Daniel Coston
October 10, 2011

Double Door Inn book

In going through my notes to find old and new interviews to put on this site, I found my original notes for my own quotes for the Double Door Inn book. Some of these made the book, some didn't. Enjoy, and check out the book (Home Of The Blues: 35 Years of the Double Door Inn) on Amazon, or email me for a copy.

Double Door stories

-I first went to the Double Door in 1994, to one of the Sunday night open mic shows. I seem to recall that I was there as part of a local video group’s night out. I hadn’t been to too many bars at that point, so the whole experience was quite something. To this day, I think it’s the only time that I sat down and watched a show, apart from when I was sitting on the floor taking pictures of the musicians.

I finally started going to the bar on a regular basis in 1996, as I started writing and taking photos for the now-defunct Tangents Magazine. The more I went, the more I got to know the doormen, the bar people, and all of the various regulars. Sooner or later, whether you recognize it or not, you become a regular there. Just another piece of the funky fabric that makes up the place on any given night. 

-I was only threatened to be thrown out once, but I’ll leave that for another book. 

-It’s really when you start traveling elsewhere that you realize how rare a place like the Double Door is. Long-standing just don’t exist in every town anymore, let alone provide music under the same ownership for 35 years. More often than that, these places are spots that people reminise about, telling tired stories of the place that used to be, before the lot was bought up and turned into a shopping mall. The Double Door is the real thing, and it’s still here.

-Gregg McGraw’s Americana series was just fantastic. I saw so many people that I still listen to through that Tuesday night showcase, many of whom I would not have seen otherwise. Alejandro Escovedo’s performance in April of 1998 is still one of the best shows I have ever seen in my life. Two guitars, a cello and a violin sounding like an orchestra, playing the soundtrack to my life at the time. As a photographer, you know that you’re on to something when you only intend to shoot one roll of film, and proceed to shoot all the film in your bag. Al’s show was definitely one of those shows.

Six String Drag, Freakwater, Steve Wynn with the Continental Drifters, Drive-By Truckers, Deke Dickerson (a photo of which later became the cover of his best-of CD), Mercury Dime, Dave Alvin, Rank Outsiders, David Childers, band after great band, week after week. Their photos still fill up a box or three in my office today. 

-One of the best times I ever had at the Double was when Hubert Sumlin came to play in 2006. Hubert was the guitarist for Howlin’ Wolf for 24 years, and re-defined what a guitar player could do with both blues and rock music.  Hubert is also one of the oldest children I have ever met in my life, in that he lives life with this child-like wonder. I wish more people in this world had that sense of excitement.

Hubert’s band for the evening included Bob Margolin, and Willie Smith. Both had played with Muddy Waters at different times, as had Sumlin. As the show began, former Muddy Waters harmonica player Carey Bell walked in and sat down next to the stage. Carey was living at that time with local musician extraordinare Mookie Brill, who accompanied Carey to the gig.

From the start, everyone wanted to get Carey up on stage to join the band. Everyone except Carey, who sat there and shook his head anytime somebody asked. Mookie got up on stage and played, and Carey didn’t move. Hubert even introduced Carey onstage at one point, and Carey just waved Hubert off.

This went on to two sets, albeit two killer sets of music. Somewhere around 1:30am, as the band got ready to play their final numbers, Bob Margolin looks down at Carey and says,”Are you playing, man?” Carey shook his head no. Bob said, “Okay,” and starts to turn away, at which point Carey held up his index finger, indicating that he would do one song. Carey had ben waiting all night to kep people guessing, and waiting to become the focus of attention. As Bob Margolin began to introduce Carey, Hubert stood onstage and began yelling, “Yeah! Yeah!” like an excited Little Leaguer. Carey proceeded to play three Muddy Waters songs with the band, four Muddy vets onstage together tearing it up. I still cherish those photos.  

-Levon Helm and the Barn Burners played in early 2000. At the time, Levon was battling throat cancer, and could not sing. (His daughter Amy did much of the singing that night.) I came late to the show from another gig, and feeling stunned to think that I was sitting alongside the stage, next to the drummer and vocalist of the Band. He turned and smiled at me when I took my first picture of him. I just froze in place. 

-Pinetop Perkins is another legend that I put up there with Hubert Sumlin. I remember arriving early for his show in 2004, only to find him sitting up against the wall, chatting occasionally with fans. Pinetop is so used to fans coming up and wanting to have their photos taken with him, that he couldn’t figure out why I was just taking photos of him, and not of Pinetop with other folks around the bar.  

The Pinetop show was also the first time that I saw the legendary Nappy Brown. He came onstage during the middle of the show, and proceeded to roll all over the stage, begin to undress while sitting on a woman’s lap, and generally took over the building for his 20-minute slot. 

-Leon Russell, I can’t say too much about. His stage set-up drawfed both the stage, and himself.  I was given the industry standard first three songs to photograph him, and quickly realized that this was nearly impossible, due to the huge amount of hair that he used to hide himself from the audience. 

-Link Wray was such a cool guy, and really nice to his fans. Link came to the Double Door twice over five months in 1998. When he came back the second time, I made my way upstairs and gave him my photos from his first Double Door show. Link profusely thanked me for the photos, and told me how great a photographer I was. It really shook my system to have him be so complimentary. 

-Buddy Miles was a very nice man, and I consider myself very lucky to have met him. Peter Tork really doesn’t like to talk about the Monkees, but he knows the histories of blues musicians up and down, which impressed me. Brian Auger put on a great show in 2005. His son was as good a drummer and his dad was a keyboard player, and that is high praise. Brian was very nice, and told me the whole story about playing on the Yardbirds classic “For Your Love.” Ronnie Dawson played a killer show at the Double Door in 1998, and I came ever so close to getting one of those pics in his next album. I still get bummed out when thinking about that near miss.

-Don Dixon puts on a great show, whether you saw him thirty years ago, or last week.

-In 2002, David Childers asked a band he had just met, the Avett Brothers to open for him at the Double Door. It was the first time that many people in Charlotte had seen or heard of them. Even then, their shows had a lot of energy, and you could just tell that they had something different. A lot of people came to see David that night, but they left talking about the Avetts. 

-I know that some of the older regulars don’t always like it when the younger, non-blues based bands come to play, but I think that there’s room for all in the Double Door. 

It has contstantly been the new kids that push the Double Door into the next generation, where they find hopefully find their Spongetones, their Belmont Playboys and Lou Ford. The Double Door has meant so much to so many people, over such a long period of time. It means something different to every group, but eventually it leads them all back through those front door.

-Lou Ford was, for me, Rock Band 101 for my photography. They were equal parts Gram Parsons and Big Star, and were the buzz band in Charlotte in the mid to late ‘90s. They were also one of the first bands that hired me to take photos. Their shows were always packed, and generally inspired a lot of drinking, both onstage and off. Their drummer, Shawn Lynch, told me a great story about having to run home in-between soundcheck and showtime, and having to park numerous blocks away from the Double Door, because parking space for the show was virtually non-existent.

-A Belmont Playboys show was a full-on event for a lot of people. Their crowd was predominently filled with rockabilly fans, who would drink at the front of the stage, and dance behind the soundboard. To this day, some of the best photos I have ever taken of dancers were at Belmont Playboys shows. 

-The Spongetones were, and, to a lot of people, still are massively huge. They were one of the first local bands that made their Double Door shows an event. And 28 years and 11 albums on, their shows are still something to see. They, along with Hope Nicholls, Antiseen and others, really changed the landscape for local music in the early 1980s, and redefined what Charlotte musicians could do on a national (or international) scale.