Posted by Everyone has a story about the moment a hobby becomes something more. Mine starts backstage, under the dim work lights of a sound check, long before the crowd filled the room.
Years ago, I worked as the Entertainment Manager for the Seneca Gaming Corporation. It was one of those rare jobs that puts you within arm’s reach of the people whose music you’ve spent years listening to. Over time I shook hands with countless musicians—some rising talents, some bona fide legends. Still, every once in a while, someone walked through the door who made the evening feel a little different.
That was the case when guitarist Robben Ford brought his band Renegade Creation to the Bears Den.
Ford had long been a respected figure in the blues world, a player whose tone and phrasing carry the kind of authority that can’t be manufactured. Naturally, I was excited to meet him. But it was during the pre-show routine—when the audience seats were still empty and the room echoed with cables and tuning notes—that another moment quietly changed the trajectory of my life.
While I was overseeing the sound check, guitarist Michael Landau walked in and began setting up. Landau, himself a revered player and one of the most recorded session guitarists in modern music, noticed me sitting nearby and offered a friendly hello. We exchanged pleasantries, chatted for a bit, and then the band headed off to their rooms to prepare for the show.
The performance that night was everything you’d expect from musicians of that caliber: effortless chemistry, searing guitar work, and the kind of musical conversation that reminds you why live music still matters.
After the show, we spoke again. I mentioned that the tour manager had given me the green light to take a few photos during the performance. If Landau was interested, I said, I’d be happy to email some to him.
A few weeks later, an email arrived.
Landau wrote to say he really liked one of the photos and thought it would work perfectly for a CD he was preparing. Naturally, my response was immediate: of course. Soon afterward, Mike Varney of Shrapnel Records reached out, and together we worked out the details.
Just like that, my first CD cover credit was born.
What started as a simple courtesy—sending along a few concert photos—unleashed something unexpected: a full-blown passion for concert photography. I had always loved photography in general, but this was different. Capturing musicians in the middle of creation—the sweat, the concentration, the fleeting expressions that last only a fraction of a second—was addictive.
Once that door opened, it was hard to close. I began bringing my camera with me to work on show nights. Most tour managers were accommodating, provided I respected the boundaries that came with my role as Entertainment Manager. The arrangement worked: I got to shoot, and they knew I wasn’t there to get in the way of the show.
Fast forward a few years, and the concert bug hasn’t gone anywhere. If anything, it’s grown stronger. Now based in the greater New York City market, I find myself surrounded by opportunities to see—and photograph—many of the musicians who shaped my listening life but somehow slipped past me over the years.
And I plan to keep sharing those moments.
It’s worth noting that the photos from that pivotal show were taken with a Canon EOS T1i and a 75–300mm lens. By today’s standards, it wasn’t the most advanced setup, and the images aren’t technically perfect.
But that’s part of the story.
Like the musicians onstage, I was still learning.
Truth be told, I still am. 📷🎸
Long Island Sounds 