For me, music is a gut reaction. Hearing something for the first time, I know almost instantly if I like it or not. It speaks to me, or it doesn’t. It’s a revelation, or it’s not.
Foxy Shazam was like an electric shock. The first notes of the first song (an illegally ripped version of their ‘Self-Titled’ album instead called ‘Au Contraire’) woke up every sense in me. I first saw them opening for The Young Veins, and that was it, I was hooked. They’re certainly a band I’ve mentioned and featured before, but Foxy Shazam is always worth mentioning.
The feeling I walked away with after their infamously kinetic live show was a high I would continue to chase, and these first shows would set the tone for the beginning of my 2010s. It took me to a dimly lit warehouse venue in central Pennsylvania, and then it drove me to do something I was not typically partial to doing at the time: take a chance.
I sent an email, asking for a press pass to see the band open for Hole, knowing the venue was too big to let me just walk in with my camera. To my complete shock, it was approved. I now drove to New Jersey, found myself with a pass stickered to my shirt, sick with nerves. Courtney Love, at that time, was the most famous person I had been so close to. Somehow, that was an afterthought. All I knew was that I didn’t really know what I was doing.
It went fairly well, considering. I did the best with what I had learned in my self-administered photography lessons, and there were (mostly) failures. In a strange way, though, the failures got me hooked on something else. Now I was hooked on capturing the perfect moment.