Archives #5
December 2006
In my hunting through the kodachrome static of ancient hard drives I found this little gem. Back in the winter of '06 I was asked to join a pair of photoj's heading up to Vegas to shoot the NFR-- thats the National Finals Rodeo. The Super Bowl of the North American Rodeo circuit. Big time you dig. I couldn't say no. We piled all our gear into a battered two-door sports car. Camera bags, change of clothes, a PB&J sandwich wrapped in tin foil, 12er of Sierra Nevada lukewarm at best. With the setting sun at our backs we blazed our way north. 33 to the 101 to the 126 to the 5 south to the 14 north to the Pear Blossom Highway. Pear Blossom Highway? You gots to be kidding. Straight on across the unforgiving desert. Dark of night. Brutal. Fifty years ago we would be drowning. Under water. Floundering in the Lake of Los Angeles. A man made puddle that once covered these parts. All that is left now is the dust and billboards and a thousand broken dreams lying amidst another thousand broken beer bottles. Finally the 15 north. Cruise control set. Windows rolled down. Tunes blasting. We're on our way.
We arrived more or less in one piece. Did the whole Vegas thing. Hit up the casinos. Flirted with the ladies. Drank way too much. The whole Fear & Loathing thing you know. Okay, not really. Actually not at all. Early to bed, early to rise. Gotta work in the am, early. Real early. We hit the stadium, get our press credentials. Smile for the camera. Wait in line, sign a form, wait some more, sign more paperwork. Reams of it. Piles and piles of releases and all sorts of crap. Finally we are credentialed. Free. Turned loose, cameras at the ready. Fear and Loathing for real this time.
At the entrance to the stadium a stage is set up. A tiny little thing. A sideshow at best. A small crowd mills around. No one is really paying attention. Stop, listen. Move along. The big show is about to start. The NFR in all its glory just inside. Stop, listen. Move along. I snap of a few quick pics backstage. The singer is cute but way too young. Jail bait. Sounds good. Singer's really into it but I'm not. Not a fan of country. Or western. I snap a few more and move over to the audience side. Three frames, bang bang bang, four frames bang bang bang bang. I stop. Listen. Move along. Think nothing of it. The rest of the night was all dust and sawdust, bucking broncos and bullriding. Clowns and well yah clowns.
I never really thought much about the band playing outside the arena. Never crossed my mind in the years since then. I never paid much attention to the pics I made. Until tonight. Going through the archives. I stop. I look closer. Is that...? Naw. Can't be. No way. When the heck? How, but uhhh, for real? Taylor Swift. Before she was TAYLOR SWIFT. Friggin' Vegas. Always surprising you. I wish now I had stuck around.
December 2006
In my hunting through the kodachrome static of ancient hard drives I found this little gem. Back in the winter of '06 I was asked to join a pair of photoj's heading up to Vegas to shoot the NFR-- thats the National Finals Rodeo. The Super Bowl of the North American Rodeo circuit. Big time you dig. I couldn't say no. We piled all our gear into a battered two-door sports car. Camera bags, change of clothes, a PB&J sandwich wrapped in tin foil, 12er of Sierra Nevada lukewarm at best. With the setting sun at our backs we blazed our way north. 33 to the 101 to the 126 to the 5 south to the 14 north to the Pear Blossom Highway. Pear Blossom Highway? You gots to be kidding. Straight on across the unforgiving desert. Dark of night. Brutal. Fifty years ago we would be drowning. Under water. Floundering in the Lake of Los Angeles. A man made puddle that once covered these parts. All that is left now is the dust and billboards and a thousand broken dreams lying amidst another thousand broken beer bottles. Finally the 15 north. Cruise control set. Windows rolled down. Tunes blasting. We're on our way.
We arrived more or less in one piece. Did the whole Vegas thing. Hit up the casinos. Flirted with the ladies. Drank way too much. The whole Fear & Loathing thing you know. Okay, not really. Actually not at all. Early to bed, early to rise. Gotta work in the am, early. Real early. We hit the stadium, get our press credentials. Smile for the camera. Wait in line, sign a form, wait some more, sign more paperwork. Reams of it. Piles and piles of releases and all sorts of crap. Finally we are credentialed. Free. Turned loose, cameras at the ready. Fear and Loathing for real this time.
At the entrance to the stadium a stage is set up. A tiny little thing. A sideshow at best. A small crowd mills around. No one is really paying attention. Stop, listen. Move along. The big show is about to start. The NFR in all its glory just inside. Stop, listen. Move along. I snap of a few quick pics backstage. The singer is cute but way too young. Jail bait. Sounds good. Singer's really into it but I'm not. Not a fan of country. Or western. I snap a few more and move over to the audience side. Three frames, bang bang bang, four frames bang bang bang bang. I stop. Listen. Move along. Think nothing of it. The rest of the night was all dust and sawdust, bucking broncos and bullriding. Clowns and well yah clowns.
I never really thought much about the band playing outside the arena. Never crossed my mind in the years since then. I never paid much attention to the pics I made. Until tonight. Going through the archives. I stop. I look closer. Is that...? Naw. Can't be. No way. When the heck? How, but uhhh, for real? Taylor Swift. Before she was TAYLOR SWIFT. Friggin' Vegas. Always surprising you. I wish now I had stuck around.
Taylor and the Skeeters.
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