The scene is Hollywood. I’m halfway to dropping film off at The Icon on Wilshire. I have my Leica in my hand and I’m waiting for the bus. I’m finishing off a roll that has been in the camera for a couple weeks. I take a picture and the counter slides past thirty-six. I take another and the counter goes to thirty-seven. I get nervous. I fire off another and go past thirty-eight. Panicking, I click, wind, click, wind, click.

Oh no, not again.

Flashback, the first: Discovering that a roll of film didn’t load properly is a rush of desperate frustration. It’s like a sinking feeling in fast-forward. It’s a rapid plummet as the heart searches for some escape where there is none. It’s terror and pain. I just went through this!

Oh no, not again, indeed.

Flashback the second: A couple weeks ago I’m chatting with Bill, and I’m loading my Leica. An idea strikes me: If I load my camera inside the lightproof change bag, I can get perhaps two or three extra frames from the roll of film that would normally be exposed to light. I’m very proud of myself and I brag about my idea. Bill accedes to the possible wisdom of this, but seems wisely hesitant to laud it as groundbreaking.

Now, back to our story.

I get nervous. I fire off another and go past thirty-eight. Panicking, I click, wind, click, wind, click, and clang. The film stops winding. It stops winding! The film had loaded properly. Turns out I had a good three extra frames – that I just burned with random clicks in my wild fit of desperation.

Nice work, genius.

I once fell for a girl named Maxine
to her friends she’d always be Max
but, my love notes to her went unseen
she perished of postal anthrax!

Soon after, I courted sweet Lucy
boy, I fell for her – and how.
she liked her burgers so juicy
her last bite was tainted, mad cow!

Rebounding, I dallied with Nicolette
true love was finally in the stars
we eloped and flew off to Phuket
where she expired, a victim of SARS

I found comfort in the arms of Abigail
the girl with the loud cockatoo
louder, though, would I wail
when she left this world dead from bird flu

I wonder, these days, if it’s just bad luck
as I head off to dinner with Pam
famished, I’ll order the roast duck
and for the lady, how ‘bout a nice ham?

(Revised version of an old poem I wrote in ’05)

Ian Talty was a photographer. He was on Flickr, but I did not know him. He died on a photowalk when a thunderstorm washed him into the Mississippi river. Very sad. Judging by his stream, especially his last upload, we had some visual likes in common.

Rest in peace, Ian.

Office Supplies on Flickr – Photo Sharing!.

Consolations to Chaparral [Kendra] who was one of Ian’s contacts.

On 25 Apr 09, 8.04AM PDT Raven[ZydrateAddict] said:

Hey there, I’m an aspiring entertainment photographer, and i noticed that your concert pictures are incredible! I was wondering if you have any tips or tricks for someone like me!?

Hey there Raven,

Thanks for the kind words and for the message!

Well, I have three tips for you.

First: Watch the performer’s eyes and try to get them open and fierce. You can watch how they sing a chorus and you’ll see when they open their eyes. A lot of times they will sing the chorus the same way the second time so you can be ready.

Second: Pay attention to the microphone. The best shots are of the face and the microphone is not blocking it. A lot of times you can get the singer right after an intense part they will back away for just a second. That’s always a good time to get them. I often have a problem with my camera’s auto-focus focusing on the microphone, leaving the face out of focus slightly. So, that’s another reason to try to get away from that piece of equipment.

Third: Watch the background for distracting things. Look for angles that minimize those distractions. You can also use a wide aperture to make sure the background is blurred.

Good luck to you! I can’t wait to see your shots.

-Mick O

One day after six weeks, I pinged Harry Fleenor about my Rollei. Not ready, it needed another week to simmer. A week later, I refrained from checking again. I knew it would be ready when it was ready. A week after that I got the message: Come and get it. My excitement was split between getting the camera back, and for my mission to get a portrait of Harry Fleenor himself.

When I walked into his shop, there was a geezer there getting an opinion on some camera I couldn’t identify. He was lowballing Mr. Fleenor on the repair quote, to which Mr. Fleenor replied that he would cut no deals on repairs. The geezer was put out, and hemmed and hawed. Just great, I thought. Way to put my subject in a bad mood before I even got to him.

Eventually, it was my turn and I plunked down my pink copy of the work order. “You must be: Orlosky!” That’s me. He put the camera down, and I put the cash down, and then I immediately whipped out a roll of Tri-X and started to load the Rolleiflex. Nervously. Mr. Fleenor started writing up the final receipt. I was fumbling. “You ever shoot with a Rollei before?” he asks me. Yikes. “You going to take a picture?” I’d like to. “What speed film is that?” I was under attack! I whip out my meter. “What’s the exposure?” I’m pretty sure I didn’t even see the reading at that point. “You’re probably down to one-thirtieth. You better hold real still.” I was going to be lucky to even focus the thing. But, he posed skeptically. I focused. I flipped the lug open with an expert’s nonchalance to free the shutter. I drew in a breath and held it. I got the shot.

As we wrapped up the paperwork, he seemed genuinely pleased that I was so eager to shoot with his handiwork. I was glad.

Is when someone finds themselves in one of my photos. It just happened where the curious eyes in the photo above commented on Flickr. That’s so great, I get goosebumps.

Sunset Fans at Devendra Banhart @ Coachella 2009 on Flickr – Photo Sharing!.

Sitting there on the cool grass of a polo field, my ears ringing and my feet throbbing, I was waiting for The Cure to wrap up the third and final day of the Coachella music festival. My exhaustion spoke eloquently to me about a job well done, about having photographed thirty-three bands in three days, and how that was quite enough for anyone. Just sit, my fatigue said. Rest up, shoot The Cure and go back to the house and swim. And, I was fine with that.

Except, I didn’t want it to end. As grumpy as I’d been at times, and as much as I struggled in spots over the weekend, I had a moment of purity. I let in the good vibes of fifty thousand music fans flowing through the air over my head, got up off the ground with a gleam in my eye, and I strode through the night towards the distant Mojave tent to take pictures of those sexy kids in The Kills.

Another strange year at Coachella. I photographed it for Yahoo! Music and the lovely and talented Lyndsey Parker – rock writer par excellence. I spent quality time chatting up strangers this time: Fernando traveled from Mexico City to cover the event, only his publication got him a photo wristband, but failed to request an actual ticket, which he had to buy. The security contingent came from a nearby military base. One staffer confided to me that they were “voluntold” to be there until two A.M. and had PT at five the next day. I met fans in the front for Paul McCartney who inexplicably got there at eight-thirty in the morning. I met a girl whose most amazing festival highlight was Peter Bjorn and John, a band with only memorable song in their repertoire. She wanted to know how “deep” she could get in our musical conversation. Clearly she was on a higher plane.

As much as I saw and heard this weekend — Karen Oh as Christmas decoration, My Bloody Valentine’s tsunami of distortion, crazy denizens from all species — I know I missed so much more. Coachella adds more visual stimulation every year. Even on my way out for the final time, I was seeing all sorts of artsy things I didn’t even know was there. The spectacle can be oppressive in its immensity. You capture what you can, and remember a fraction of the rest. I could go and not shoot a single band and still get lost in the photographic opportunities in that magical place. (article continues beneath photo)

But, musical artists were there and it was my job to get them with their eyes open, without microphones obscuring their face, and standing in or near dramatic lighting. I did that to varying degrees of success. Of the thirty-three hundred images I captured over three days, these here are my favorite photos.

This was also a year of operational SNAFU and hindrances. Certain performers restricted photographers from their sets, an annoying practice getting more common over the years, though I was surprised it had spread to include random nobodies at three in the afternoon in side tents. Before the festival I got notes from talented photographers telling me how difficult it was to get credentials this year. Apparently the publicity agency MSO held back most of their photographer and press wristbands to hand them out to the army of seventeen-year-old girls in minidresses, oversized sunglasses, and flipflops that were wearing the credentials and clogging the photo pit. Wielding Nikon Coolpix point-and-shoots or Blackberries, these pros spent half the time calling their friends to give them tips on how to sneak in as well. In previous years on the first day of the festival, the photo pit would be clogged with VIP and backstage wristbands as well as credentialed photographers and press. This would inevitably lead to complaints, and the next day security would start checking for photo wristbands specifically and keeping the VIPs backstage where they belong. This year, the rich and wish-they-were-famous were onto the game because they all had press and photo bands. Maybe it was intentional on the part of MSO to ensure a lot of coverage on teen girls Myspace pages.

Even getting in was an adventure. On the first day, I was personally escorted past the throngs to the front gates no less than three times only to be told that press actually couldn’t enter at that particular point, but not to worry, they would personally escort me to another entry to repeat the scenario. I should have been wearing my minidress and big sunglasses.

Still, it’s all in good fun. You can’t have an event like this without long lists of WTF moments. I never saw anything too terrible. The biggest problem is that after coming to this festival for so many years, I finally faced a real hardship. I lost a lens cap here for the first time ever. I’ll be checking the lost & found photos that Coachella will put up in the next few days. Maybe I’ll get lucky, yet again.

When I saw the invite for a film only Flickr meetup near me in Runyon Canyon set for last Saturday, I was psyched. I figured my Rolleiflex would be back and itching for some action. It didn’t turn out that way, as Mr. Harry Fleenor has let me know six weeks was not enough to repair my “well-loved” camera. So I went with the Mamiya 645e and the cool Ricoh 35 ZF I got from Bill. The 645 takes me about thirty seconds to focus, and the ZF takes zero seconds: ZF stands for “zone focus.” I loaded the Mamiya with some color film, and some TMax black and white in the ZF so I’d have something to develop fast. The ZF took on the role of documentary snapper.

What a day! I met some really friendly shooters and had a lot of fun. There were approximately seventeen times more dogs on the trails than usual. For what reason, I don’t know: maybe dogs of L.A. were out hunting Easter wabbits. Snapped some pics of dogs, but probably not in focus.

Halfway through the roll, I was snapping a self-portrait and the rest of the group hilariously pointed out that the back of the camera was flopping open. Oops! Bright sunlight bathed the film in the blinding glory of God, and obliterated a swath of film. I sealed ‘er up again and wound on, hoping not all was lost.

Developed the film that night, and saw good news. Only about four frames were lost to the Holiest of the Holies. I scanned the roll, the whole thing hoping for something vaguely interesting near the edges of the crater. And, there was! Barely visible on the negative but pretty clear in the scan was a friendly face. A great pug in focus and with a beaming expression shone through the damaged film.

I rescanned with sprocket holes, which look scanned out of focus but really are just mixed in with the light. See the text in the margins is in focus. The sprocket echos are likely from the layer of film that was on top of this frame and took the brunt of the blast of light. It’s my favorite image from the meet by far — at least until I get the color negatives back from the Icon one of these weeks.

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From the desk of Mick Orlosky
9 April 2009

To: All The Grumpy People April 2 through April 9,

Dear Grumpy People,

You saw me point my camera at you and you looked momentarily shocked and then pissed off because I thought you had an interesting face. You’re probably thinking I thought you looked funny or weird, but really I loved how you looked. I didn’t pity you or look down on you. I just wanted to remember you because I thought in your own way you were beautiful. If I could have it my way, I’d take photos of you and you’d never even notice me. But, usually you do notice and you’re pissed, you’re brainwashed about our society’s twisted notion of beauty, or you’re suspicious of anyone you don’t know because the media and the Internet have given you no reason or opportunity to connect with a stranger like me. So, you glower. You look away. You try to hide. I’m extraordinarily shy, but I’m trying to overcome it. I want to take your picture without your assent because I don’t believe I can convey to you just how much I think your face is beautiful. I’ve reached the point where every picture I take without a face in it somehow feels like a waste. I’m really depressed about it and every time I try to take your picture results from a small battle within me and if I click the shutter, my soul scores a minor victory over fear. I’m sure I can never communicate this to you. So, I snap a frame and offer a weak smile, which you probably think is creepy. But, I truly believe I’d treasure that picture more than you’d dislike having it taken.

Anyway, I just wanted to tell you you’re safe. The roll of film in my camera never fucking spooled properly, so all the pictures I took of you were just illusions. Mimed inconveniences that exist now only in my failing memory. I’ve got nothing. You should be happy.

Cheers,

Mick O

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Right this very moment, our heroes of summer are honing their reflexes to catlike precision. They’re sharpening their eyes to slow down action and not miss a single important detail. The titans of baseball know that preparation now will mean the difference between glory and second place. Spring training is where it all starts.

Um, me too!

With the Coachella Valley Arts and Music Festival looming, and my photographer’s pass pending* I wanted to get some swings in with my trusty old Canon 5D with the kung-fu battery grip. Given my recent preoccupation with film, I haven’t gone on extended shoot with the digital “five-dizzle” in months, and I haven’t used the grip since last year’s Coachella. Compared to the rangefinders I’ve been shooting, going out with the gripped SLR feels like I’m taking photos with a barbecue grill. It reminds me a little bit of this, too. Yes, I needed some practice.

The North Hollywood sector of Los Angeles county is undergoing a remarkably fast rebirth as a hipster art district. That is, it wants to be. It’s a melting pot of serious community theaters, art galleries, countless new lofts and apartments, and general development — all centered around the fact that it’s the last stop on the L.A. Metro Red Line. The NoHo Arts District council is nothing if not enthusiastic about all of this and has launched Hear NoHo — a first Thursdays series of local music showcases dotted around the different businesses in the NoHo area. The first one was last night.

I tried to hit a bunch of the performances, ended up getting to see six local acts in some pretty unique locations. There’s a local theater, and then there’s the NoHo Arts Center. They’re currently running a production of Bram Stoker’s Dracula. In a stroke of brilliance, or maybe expedience, they put the rock band Carney right into Dracula’s living room — keeping the set intact. I saw a quirkyperky duo entertain the youth in a hip demo loft, an acoustic balladeer serenade the Pitfire Pizza patio crowd, funk and soul among high art, and an engaging songstress in a blacker-than-black empty theater set. And, it was all for free! The music was good and local and I got the chance to knock out some pretty standard concert shots. I got my spring workout in.

I’m really rooting for Hear NoHo to keep it going. It would be nice for it to grow and be the place to be on the first Thursday of every month. This debut was free to all comers, though the map and schedule I picked up on the way said it was only five dollars per venue. I guess that’s where they hope to be at some point. I’m skeptical how much local music people will shell out cash for. Maybe the neighborhood is passionate about all things local and will support it, but I’m also rooting for free.

Links:

Hear NoHo’s homepage
My Flickr photoset

* knock on wood-like surface