Musical odyssey

Loving you is sweet salvation
Baby, there's no measure to your worth
Now it's your love that makes me
So I'll follow where it takes me
Even to the edge of the earth

I first heard those words, wrapped in Little Big Town's lush harmonies, last night. Both the lyrics and the music surrounding them echo a path I've traveled over the last 35 years.

My personal music library spans the spectrum, from E. Power Biggs to AC/DC, but my tastes tend toward the acoustic. I know that makes me something of a dinosaur. So be it.

When I started playing guitar in my late teens, I wore out the grooves of many a John Denver album. Later, the music of the late Dan Fogelberg served as life's soundtrack. Likewise Jackson Browne and Bruce Hornsby.

Along the way I've discovered Gove Scrivenor, Alison Krauss, Nickel Creek, Richard Thompson, Shawn Mullins, Dwight Yoakam, Jerry Douglas, Leo Kottke and dozens of other brilliant musicians.

Music is best experienced in three dimensions and with all five senses -- and I don't mean taking in an arena concert from the nosebleed seats. I've had the good fortune to be in the immediate presence of McGuffey Lane, Jon Pousette-Dart, Livingston Taylor, Stony Creek Band and more.

That presence, especially in small venues, has created moments that glisten in my memory.

An easy conversation with Liv Taylor before a performance, discussing the risks of his playing banjo publicly before truly learning how. Chatting up members of Danger Brothers between Hineygate sets. Being summoned to the mic by Déjà Blue's Andie Pearson to belt-out my best basso profundo on "Mustang Sally."

Standing onstage beside Chan Goodnow of Stony Creek Band, feeling him pour his irrepressible talent into his mandolin. Taking a quiet moment to thank Dick Smith, McGuffey Lane's original drummer, for his gifts to all of us.

Recalling Dick Smith brings me to my particular musical touchstone -- not a song, not an artist, but a place called Zachariah's Red-Eye Saloon.

Zach's opened in the mid-1970s in an old warehouse on High Street across from the Ohio State campus, quickly becoming the "mother church" of central Ohio's music scene. The club attracted its share of big-name touring acts, but its heartbeat was local artists. McGuffey Lane was the unofficial "house band."

Then a sophomore at OSU, I'd often forgo my studies in favor of music at Zach's. I'd grab a table in front of the stage, nursing the same beer all night long while trying to steal guitar licks.

The time, the age, the music -- together, pure magic.

Less than two years later, I moved away from Columbus. Eventually, Zach's closed its doors and the stage went silent. It'd be almost 25 years before central Ohio would again become my home.

Not only did I find McGuffey Lane still making great music, I also learned that the band hosts an annual Zachariah's Red-Eye Reunion. At the close of the 2002 reunion, my first, a seasoned John Schwab and McGuffey Lane performed the debut of "Runnin' Wild and Free":

Those High Street days are still special to me
When Zachariah's was the place to be
For people like you and people like me
But I'm not one to live in the past
I learned long ago most things never last
And after all these years I'm runnin' wild and free...

Every bend in my musical path has been steered by the energy that flowed through me during those evenings at Zach's. And each time a piece of music touches me, it traces back to those sparkling days.

Even now, it's pure magic.

Lawn seating, ears bleeding, warm greeting

When my wife and I heard that our favorite local band, McGuffey Lane, would be playing a free outdoor concert last night in a neighboring town, we didn't have to think twice.

Arriving a few hours early, we found the stage in a corner of the village park. We set up our folding chairs in a prime spot, then headed off to grab dinner from vendors pitched around the concert venue.

Another typical small-town festival, with the usual menu of funnel cakes, lemon shakeups and deep-fried everything. The prices, however, caught us by surprise -- two weeks ago and less than ten miles away, we'd paid twice as much for the same fair fare.

Toting coney dogs and onion rings, we returned to our chairs in front of the stage, where another local band was performing a strange mix of covers, from Led Zeppelin to Donna Summer, from 4 Non Blondes to B-52s.

They were, in a word, awful.

As much as I hate to say that about any musician, "awful" doesn't begin to describe how bad they were. This wasn't let's-get-up-and-leave bad. I'm talking please-somebody-suffocate-me-with-a-tennis-ball bad.

My most charitable observation would be, "They looked like they were having a good time," but no band that bad should be allowed to have that much fun -- ever.

They played long by 20 minutes.

About an hour after the torture ended, McGuffey Lane took the stage, and immediately became engaged in a frustrating tug-of-war with the sound guy, who couldn't seem to route the right audio to the band's monitors -- a lingering curse from the opening act. Although the scene threatened to get ugly at one point, eventually the problem was solved (or at least tolerated), and the band played on.

It's been a long time since I first took in a McGuffey Lane set at the old Zachariah's Red-Eye Saloon, and I've already paid tribute to its influence on my musical odyssey. Last night's performance proved that "The Lane," after three decades' time, is better than ever.

I had the pleasure of working with lead singer and guitarist John Schwab in a professional capacity several years ago, and we became friendly. Now, whenever my wife and I attend one of John's shows, whether he's solo or with the band, he never fails to give us a personal shout between songs.

After the first set last night, we ducked backstage to say hello, and John greeted us with his customary hugs, warmth and humor. Mrs. KintlaLake and I had just stepped away to allow others to have a moment with him when our older spawn and three of his friends showed up, and we'd hoped to introduce them to John.

The six of us hovered for a minute or two, ultimately deciding that the crowd was too big and time was too short to impose -- but apparently John had been keeping an eye on us, and as we were leaving he called us back. He took the time to greet each of our next-generation companions before bounding back onto the stage.

That brand of kindness is rare in this world -- John, you have my respect and my gratitude.

McGuffey Lane's second set was brilliant, as expected. Driving home, we basked in the warm glow of the evening's experience, vowing to let less time pass before catching another show.

Accidents happen

It took me longer than I'd expected to wade through the images from Saturday night's Zachariah's Red-Eye Reunion. I'm not sure why.

I managed to pull and tweak 65 decent photographs, roughly one of every ten frames that I shot. I won't post them all on KintlaLake Blog, of course, but it's a pretty respectable ratio.

A few of the best were unplanned, anything but deliberate, arguably even accidental. Here's an example, previously posted on Sunday.

(McGuffey Lane)

I grabbed that image as I dashed from one wing to the other while headliner McGuffey Lane paused between songs. Something about the shadows caught my eye, so I turned off the flash, raised the camera to my chest (I didn't take the time to sight through the viewfinder), banged off two shots and moved on. For a what-the-hell photo, the result surprised me.

I love the challenges of concert photography -- moving subjects and rapidly changing lighting, to name just two. I'll close this post with a pair of images illustrating what can happen when the curse of unpredictability becomes a photographic blessing.

(Guest artist Delyn Christian performing "Long-Haired Country Boy")

(Molly Pauken of McGuffey Lane & the Jonalee White band)

My sketchpad

My wife and I made a spur-of-the-moment decision to drop in on the annual Reynoldsburg Tomato Festival last night. It was no coincidence that McGuffey Lane occupied the main stage when we arrived, making this the second straight weekend that we've caught their act.

This time I wasn't there to photograph the performance. I left my pro gear at home but, as I often do, I brought along my digital pocket camera and snapped about a dozen images of the show.
A little silver PhD* camera naturally is less capable than a big black SLR with interchangeable lenses. It works well for documenting events and preserving memories, but even its best work should be passed through the filter of lower expectations.

Then again, because it's much smaller it's more likely to be carried. (That should sound familiar, by the way.) And "getting the shot" requires actually having something to shoot with.

Put another way -- if Jeff Cooper, quoted in Friday's post, had been a photographer instead of the Father of Modern Pistolcraft, he might well have said,

"Remember the first rule of photography: Have a camera."

So a point-and-shoot camera is, potentially, an EDC item. For the committed photographer, however, a high-quality PhD* has other, less obvious applications.

Photography's components -- composition, exposure, highlight and shadow, color, etc. -- are fundamental. Different equipment may render a given subject in different ways, but I've found that spending time with a pocket camera and then transferring lessons learned to a like-branded SLR (I choose Canon) to be extraordinarily helpful.

Most often I use the smaller camera to play around with composition. I bring the results of those tests back to my PC, looking for promising angles worth exploring with my SLR.

Essentially, it's equivalent to the artist's sketchpad.

That's what I did two years ago with the barns. I do it whenever I shoot a knife, a morning's harvest or other subject to accompany a post on KintlaLake Blog. It was my mission last night, too, as I captured McGuffey Lane's show from a band's-eye perspective.
The images I've posted here today document a scene but by no means are they great photos. That's ok by me -- the goal of the exercise was to create sketches, continuing my exploration of the medium.

*PhD = "push here, dummy"

Music, nearby

This weekend delivered us a winter storm that wasn't -- it showed up mostly as rain and hype. Tonight also brought one of our favorite musicians, John Schwab of McGuffey Lane, to a pizza joint in a strip mall just two miles up the road.

Even though John's playlist consists of original songs, country standards and pop covers aimed at folks my age, my wife and I invited our teenage spawns to join us and, to our surprise, they accepted. The older boy made it a fivesome, bringing his girlfriend.

The real shocker? For three hours they sat with rapt attention, tapping their feet and drumming the table in time to the music. When I said goodbye to John after his second set, he smiled sheepishly and confided, "Man, I hope the kids weren't too bored."

Far from it. I doubt that the "kids" will be downloading mp3s of what they heard, but they seemed to genuinely appreciate both the art and the artist.

Tonight, as usual, John asked for requests from the audience. He performed two of mine: "Tennessee," a sentimental postbellum ballad penned by late McGuffey Lane bandmate Bobby Gene McNelley; and Jerry Jeff Walker's "Redneck Mothers." (I don't think our spawns know that I asked for that shit-kickin' anthem, and I'm not telling.) And when someone shouted out, "Girl from Ipanema," John mischievously complied -- think "bossa nova meets Bobcat Goldthwait."

Whenever I attend one of John's gigs, whether he's alone or with the 'Lane, I'm always struck by the energy in the room. Faces, many framed by hair as gray as mine, shine with three decades of memories. Voices rise and know every word. The scene is heartwarming, testament to a true treasure of central Ohio's rich tradition of homegrown music.

For Mrs. KintlaLake and me, catching John's solo act served as a sort of "fix" -- the annual Zachariah's Red-Eye Reunion concert is three weeks away, and this was a tantalizing taste of what's to come. We can't wait.

Great show, John. See you at the Reunion.

Parallels & intersections

I don't remember exactly when I first heard these lyrics, but I do remember how I felt:

He got up every mornin'
While I was still asleep
And I remember the sound of him shufflin' around
Right before the crack of dawn
Is when I heard him turn the motor on
But when I got up they were gone

Down the road in the rain and snow
The man and his machine would go
Oh, the secrets that old car would know
Sometimes I hear him sayin'

Don'tcha gimme no Buick
Son, you must take my word
If there's a god in heaven
He's got a silver Thunderbird
You can keep your Eldorado
And the foreign car's absurd
Me, I wanna go down
In a silver Thunderbird

As Marc Cohn sang of his childhood he sang of mine, of growing up in northeast Ohio in the late 1950s and early 1960s. I walked through my youth 50 miles south of Cohn, who's two years (almost to the day) younger than me. For what it's worth, my dad drove an Olds.

Sometimes we follow music. Sometimes the music follows us.

* * *
In closing, if you'll permit me, I'll offer a recommendation.

Regular readers of KintlaLake Blog will recall that the music of McGuffey Lane has had my attention for nearly 35 years now. The band's tenth album -- appropriately titled "10" -- has been out for less than a month and it's a bona fide winner. With all due respect to McGuffey Lane's considerable body of work, "10" may be the best yet.

(The photograph on the art accompanying the CD isn't bad, either.)

If your musical tastes run similar to mine, I believe you'll enjoy it.

Play before work

The KintlaLake household had a productive weekend, beginning with a bit of recreation.

Screamin' Willie's is a local mega-bar with a decidedly scooter-trash atmosphere. I'd known for some time that McGuffey Lane would be there Friday night, headlining a triple bill that also featured Danger Brothers (of Hineygate fame) and Jacked Up, but my wife and I couldn't justify fifty bucks to get past the door.

A phone call Thursday evening from John Schwab, offering us a pair of tickets gratis, changed our minds. We packed the spawns off to sleepovers at friends' homes and made a night of it.

Jacked Up was playing by the time we got there. We hadn't seen this new-country cover band before, but we'll definitely make a point to catch them again -- they're absolutely killer.

It wasn't long before we decided to shell out an extra $10 each to upgrade our general-admission tickets to table seats in front of the stage (worthwhile only because the tickets were free to begin with). McGuffey Lane followed the opening act with an energetic 90-minute set, after which we got to spend a few minutes backstage chatting with John and his girlfriend. Danger Brothers finally took the stage around 11:30pm.

Talented as these guys are, as much as we enjoy their act, we prefer to see Danger Brothers under pre-game skies at Hineygate, not indoors at some redneck bar. We hung around for a half-dozen songs and then headed home -- sort of.

For safety's sake (if you know what I mean), Mrs. KintlaLake took the wheel. We both had a bad case of the wee-hours munchies and, over my wife's objections, we swung by the drive-thru at a nearby White Castle.

It's been said that what separates men from women, fundamentally, is that guys find the Three Stooges funny and girls think they're just stoopid. I contend that there's a second difference: guys like Slyders and girls don't. So after our White Castle run, we hit Wendy's.

Fed and watered, we slept well -- very well.

The next morning I dragged myself out to the barn for the springtime ritual of stripping the tractor of its winter wardrobe (chains, wheel weights, plow blade) and installing the mower deck. With everything working as it should, I did an admittedly half-hearted job on the lawn -- I had other work to do, and besides, I couldn't stop thinking that it won't be my lawn for long.

My family and I spent the rest of Saturday and all day Sunday packing and hauling four loads of boxes to the storage unit. At one point yesterday afternoon, I did devote a couple of hours to rotating the tires on my wife's car.

It's never easy to use hand tools to break loose lug bolts last tightened with a pneumatic impact wrench. I got the job done, but in the process I managed to do a serious number on my right elbow, which is resting on an ice pack as I type this. Damned tendinitis.

My wife's father keeps reminding me that I'm in no shape to be doing this household move without professional help. (Maybe he was all used up by the time he was my age, but I'm still swinging.) I can't wait to tell him that I hurt myself changing tires -- sure, it'll validate his opinion, but it'll give me a good (private) laugh.

Anyway, it was a satisfying weekend. Now there's more work to do -- and, I think, more good times to come.

An unexpected gift

Mrs. KintlaLake and I were the first to arrive at our shop yesterday, as usual. When the first of our two co-workers strolled in a half-hour later I noticed that he was carrying some sort of flat parcel, wrapped in a white trash bag.

"I found this at my parents' place yesterday," he announced, pulling back the plastic. "I thought you should have it."

Without further fanfare, he presented me with his discovery: an original album cover from McGuffey Lane's self-titled 1980 recording, the band's first, complete with autographs.

According to my co-worker, the members of McGuffey Lane were regular visitors to his parents' house, since (the late) Bobby Gene McNelly's back yard bordered theirs. The guys signed this particular cover while hanging out in the basement one day shortly after the album's release.

This is a bona fide keeper, of course. Preserved in a proper frame, soon it'll adorn the wall of my office.

'The Journey Continues...'

This music-slideshow just hit YouTube:



What a treasure -- those images of McGuffey Lane, from roots to present day, collect vivid memories, special moments.

A good day, indeed.

Stars, bars & blunt-force trauma

Lynyrd Skynyrd is one banana peel shy of being a tribute act.

The band that performed outdoors at The LC in Columbus last night featured only one original member -- that would be guitarist Gary Rossington. Johnny Van Zant stands in for late brother Ronnie these days so that the group can claim some credible measure of lineage.

But really, other than the music itself, this wasn't Skynyrd.
It was a helluva show anyway. For better (pride) and worse (prejudice) the battle flag of the Confederacy was everywhere, on stage and off, and the players wielded the Skynyrd songbook like the musical bludgeon it is. This morning my ears have stopped bleeding but they're still ringing.

I don't need to name the encore, do I? Everyone ought to hear that classic performed live and authentically, even by a latter-day Skynyrd.

The opening act, McGuffey Lane, was stellar, especially the guitar work. The jam at the end of "Green Country Mountains" -- Kevin Reed on harp, Mike Nugen and John Schwab on guitars -- was the stuff of goosebumps.

All in all, it was a great gig. The way I see it, sometimes a near-tribute is a clear winner.

Forty-eight hours (illustrated)

In yesterday's much-ballyhooed (but patently inconsequential) Ames Straw Poll, Rep. Michele Bachmann won a squeaker over Rep. Ron Paul. Stealing a piece of their thunder, Gov. Rick Perry of Texas announced that he, too, wants to be President.

Never mind what you hear from giddy conservatives -- neither development heralds the defeat of Pres. Barack Obama. So far Bachmann and Paul have polled poorly in a hypothetical matchup with the incumbent, and Perry will show that he's incapable of shedding the perception that he's nothing more (or less) than George W. Bush II.

Worse, and despite thumping the "Liberty!" tub, all three of these GOP hopefuls pander shamelessly to (so-called) "social conservatives" -- white evangelical Christians, mostly, whose ideology couldn't be more antithetical to Liberty.

Barely a week before declaring his candidacy, Perry led 30,000 in a "Prayer-Palooza" at a stadium in Houston -- a sitting governor keynoting a camp meeting. Even Paul, arguably dean of the small-government movement, has been sucked into the anti-libertarian abyss on abortion and other issues.

Considering the weak Republican field, this is not good.


"I may not be the gearhead I used to be, but I'm still plenty redneck."

Those aren't my words -- they came from my smiling wife as we sat along a curb in nearby Reynoldsburg last night, joining thousands of others to watch the annual Mopar Nationals "Brice Road Cruise."

The air was thick with tire smoke. Some of the onlookers, many of them children, laid down patches of water on the pavement, hoping to lure a good burnout. Drivers were more than willing to oblige, a token police presence having little effect.

Either you get this sort of thing or you don't. We had a ball, and besides, dropping by the Brice Road Cruise was Mrs. KintlaLake's idea.

I married a redneck gearhead. Somebody pinch me.


Ohio's state flag appears on a new postage stamp, released on Friday. It's part of the "Flags of Our Nation" series and, since I'm a born-and-bred Buckeye, it's a source of pride.

Yet another harvest shot, this haul from midday today -- nine large cukes, five peppers, two Romas and five yellow pear tomatoes.

I'll end this roundup with the way our weekend began -- at the Huntington Park Hoedown, a benefit concert held Friday evening at the home ballpark of the Columbus Clippers.

We arrived at the will-call window just before the gates opened, fetched my media badge and my wife's field pass and made our way to the visitors' dugout to deposit my photo gear. Local solo artist Chris Logsdon took the stage first, followed by Jonalee White and her band. Both treated the crowd to typically great performances.

McGuffey Lane, by far our favorite local band (and the source of our comp passes, by the way), was next on the bill and didn't disappoint. My wife and I adjourned to the parking lot for a smoke after their set.

When we returned, the reunited Exile was onstage. Of all the acts, we figured, this was the lone take-or-leave proposition.

Boy, were we wrong.

I don't remember the last time I was as blown away by a performance. I mean, here was an '80s pop-turned-country band showing chops that had the show's other musicians gathering, awestruck, behind the stage. Exile's a capella rendition of "People Get Ready," the Curtis Mayfield classic, had the ballpark so quiet I swear I heard the outfield grass growing.

Seriously, people -- if you have a chance to catch Exile live, with all five of its founding members, do it. I promise you won't regret it.

Hoedown headliner Pure Prairie League, over five hours after their sound check, closed the show with a high-energy set, including three of my favorites: "Early Morning Riser," "Two-Lane Highway" and, of course, "Amie."

Photographically the night had me wishing for faster glass and steadier hands. But incomparable music performed in a great venue, on a clear summer evening that saw a full moon rise over the Columbus skyline behind the stage -- it doesn't get better than that.

Boxing Day

I skipped posting here yesterday, choosing to preserve a wonderfully peaceful Christmas Day in the KintlaLake household.

Our holiday revelry began on Thursday, actually, when my wife and I marked her birthday with a trip to Cementos for an evening of good friends and great music. The John Schwab Party Band, a subset of McGuffey Lane, provided the perfect soundtrack to our celebration.

Thanks to Christmas spirit, perhaps, the crowd was in a playfully festive mood. And thanks to the Italian restaurant next door, the all-you-can-eat buffet was free -- no cover.

Cementos, as it often does, hosted a high communion of local musicians. Gifted guitarist Mike Nugen guested throughout the gig. The five-piece band was joined at various times by an aging Kid Rock impersonator, a silver-haired fellow who played a mean harp -- sans harmonica -- and a vocalist known for his Zydeco stylings.

A light dusting of snow Friday night fulfilled our dream of a white Christmas. We drew close 'round our tree, exchanged gifts and embraced a life not imagined a year ago.

Although each day in this place is special, the last few weeks have presented us with sparkling reminders of our good fortune -- this holiday season seems to have gathered our blessings. Yesterday we shared our Christmas Day meal, mindful of the road that brought us here.

As Thoreau might say, these days we advance confidently in the direction of our dreams. It's all good.

Now, if you'll permit me, I want to thank Mrs. KintlaLake and the younger spawn for my holiday haul: an Everest Designs hat and a Leatherman MUT.

The fleece-lined wool hat, hand-knit in Nepal, is a welcome addition to my cold-weather kit. The practical-tactical MUT is rather specialized compared to my trusty Wave, fitted with gadgets designed to aid in servicing the AR-15/M-16 rifle platform. It appears to be well made, as I've come to expect of Leatherman, and very thoughtfully conceived. I'm especially impressed that a number of its normal-wear items are replaceable.

It's a safe bet that I'll have more to say later about the MUT.

Today we've escaped the Nor'easter battering the East Coast. The Lake Erie Snow Machine gave us another dusting anyway, enough to lure a few sledders to the hill behind our house but not enough to shovel.

The woods are laced in white, the landscape quiet save chattering chickadees and barking squirrels. It's a cold cap to a warm holiday weekend.

Kibble

"What is it with schools closing? Who are the sissies making these decisions?" (John Schwab of McGuffey Lane, speaking this morning to "Wags & Elliott" of QFM96, on Columbus-area schools being closed again today)

"My children's school was canceled today. Because of, what? Some ice? As my children pointed out, in Chicago, school is never canceled. In fact, my 7-year-old pointed out that you'd go outside for recess. You wouldn't even stay indoors." (Pres. Barack Obama, commenting yesterday on school closings in Washington, DC)

"What the President and the music man said." (KintlaLake)

"Some residents would like to see Pataskala (Ohio) do more to address icy roads, especially in light of recent storms. ... With the new (budget) cuts, the city does not intend to salt, grit and plow subdivisions unless the Licking County Sheriff's Office declares a Level 2 Snow Emergency." (The Newark Advocate, January 10, 2009)

"(Pickerington, Ohio) street crews would plow neighborhood streets only when there was more than 3 inches of snow. And crews wouldn't go out on evenings and weekends unless it was an emergency." (The Columbus Dispatch, November 11, 2009)

"(Columbus) Mayor Michael B. Coleman said up to 1,300 city employees, including himself and other nonunion managers, will face five-day 'temporary layoffs' in the coming months -- unpaid days off that will save an estimated $1.65 million. Together with a pay freeze approved by Columbus firefighters, a decision announced yesterday to lay off 27 police recruits and two other newly added cuts, city government will eliminate half of a $13 million gap that still exists in its proposed 2009 budget. ... He said he plans to shut down the Office of Education... (and he) wouldn't rule out more police layoffs or spending cuts in the Department of Public Safety..." (The Columbus Dispatch, today, January 29, 2009)

Backstage past

For all of my personal promotion of last night's Zachariah's Red-Eye Reunion, I'm just now getting around to posting about it. I can explain.

Thursday afternoon, I got a surprise call from John Schwab of Reunion headliner McGuffey Lane. After some catching-up and general chit-chat, John asked me if I'd be interested in photographing the concert.

Oh, twist my arm, I thought. Somebody pinch me.

Honestly, being offered an all-access chance to document my favorite music and musicians made my head swim. And if I agreed to the job, Mrs. KintlaLake and I wouldn't be able to reprise our annual trip down memory lane, at least not together.

Still, I didn't blink -- I said yes.

Two hours before showtime, my wife and I, accompanied by our older spawn and a friend, entered through the stage door. The three of them cooled their heels in the near-empty hall while I spent some time checking sight lines and chasing down a step ladder for one high-angle shot that John wanted.

Once the show got underway, I started bouncing from wing to wing, capturing moments as they presented themselves. I made one long trip up to the balcony, and several times I wound my way down to the foot of the stage, eventually abandoning those low-angle shots as the general-admission floor became too crowded.

I worked from stage risers and speaker towers, stood on folding chairs and perched on the aforementioned ladder, occasionally (and briefly) invading the stage during a performance to get my shots.

I went non-stop for four hours, burning hundreds of frames. Everyone -- musicians, crew, audience -- was magnificently helpful and accommodating, making what could've been a stress-packed evening an absolute pleasure. It was at once exhausting and satisfying, maybe the most rewarding photography I've ever done.

So that was the job. And the concert?

I've been immersed in this music for the better part of 32 years and I've attended every Zachariah's Red-Eye Reunion since 2002. My wife and I, along with every performer we spoke with, agreed that this was by far the best one yet -- instrumentally and vocally, talent and performances, energy and audience. Each Reunion has been uniquely great but this year's, without question, topped 'em all.

Between the concert and the after-party, along with a lingering natural high, sleep didn't find me 'til the wee hours of this morning. I finally hauled my weary ass out of bed around 10am, brewed a pot of coffee, pulled the memory card from my camera and started flipping through the images.

I was disappointed immediately.

My expectations were especially high for this job, and I'm a perfectionist anyway. I couldn't seem to find a single shot that met my standards for sharpness, exposure and composition. As I sat grumbling in front of my computer, my wife eased down next to me and put her hand on my shoulder, giving it a knowing squeeze. She didn't say a word.

Then on my second pass through the photos, I found a few that I liked. By the third or fourth review, I realized that there were some killer images in the bunch. A crop here and some color-correction there -- to make a long story shorter, by late this afternoon I couldn't stop smiling.

Just before I started writing this post, Mrs. KintlaLake remarked that she awoke today with the same mixed feelings she's had after the last three Reunions.

"I have this warm afterglow...energy and joy from the best concert ever," she said softly. "At the same time, I'm sad -- sad that we won't get to do it again for another year."

She gets it, y'know?

We looked into each other's eyes, held hands and smiled, sharing the same emotions and knowing that irrepressible soul and incomparable music have the power to carry us to next January.

Morning scramble

As I sipped my first cup of coffee early this morning, I clicked the send-receive button to check e-mail. There were several messages related to my new job and a couple of slices of fresh spam, plus a note from McGuffey Lane's publicist.

The band wants me to photograph Zachariah's Red-Eye Reunion again this year -- and that's tonight.

I charged every camera and flash battery I could find and cleaned my lenses, all while taking business phone calls and answering e-mails. I soothed my wife's disappointment (and conveyed my own) that we won't be enjoying the entire concert together at the table we've reserved. The spawns will be there, so that's good.

Since my own batteries needed charging, too, I knocked off around 1pm for a quick nap. In a few minutes I'll grab a shower and get ready to head downtown, intending to arrive early to block my shots.

Just like last year, it's gonna be a great night -- and a very long one. Photos to follow.

Reunion recap, an epilogue

Ah, the much-touted "basic eight" -- I actually got a full night's sleep last night, closing my eyes just after 9pm. When the alarm buzzed at 5am this morning I awoke refreshed. I needed that.

Trumping the digital images of Saturday night are two mental images, memories that I cherish.

Behind the curtains in the left wing, a father and son occupied a pair of folding chairs set against the stage wall. It was clear that the boy suffers from some sort of disabling condition, his small body frail and his limbs twisted.

His spindly hands gripped a kid-sized Epiphone electric guitar, and throughout the concert -- I mean without stopping -- he "played" along with the show. He seemed to know every song, every lick and every break, jamming and dancing with unbounded joy, a broad grin on his young face.

I stopped shooting the on-stage performances several times to photograph him, which only made his grin bigger and his strumming more energetic. I still don't know who he is.

Now, as then, the thought of this boy brings a smile and a tear.

Toward the end of the Reunion, headliner McGuffey Lane and friends performed arguably the band's biggest hit, "Long Time Lovin' You." I heard the familiar opening strains while crouching between the drum and keyboard risers, framing a shot of lead singer John Schwab approaching his microphone.

Instead of pressing the shutter button, I turned the camera off, lowered it to my chest and quickly made my way off the stage. I hustled down the ramp, through the crowd and to the table where my wife and spawns were sitting.

I extended my hand to Mrs. KintlaLake. She smiled, stood and wrapped her arms around me. We slow-danced to "Long Time Lovin' You," just as we do every time we hear it.

The rest of the world could wait -- it's our song.

Placing a kiss on her cheek as the music faded and the audience cheered, I turned my camera on again and went back to work.

Yes, I love my photography and all of the heady behind-the-scenes stuff, but I love that woman a whole lot more.

An uncompensated plug

Zachariah's Red-Eye Saloon opened in the mid-1970s in an old warehouse on High Street across from the Ohio State campus, quickly becoming the Mother Church of central Ohio's music scene. The club attracted its share of big-name touring acts, but its heartbeat was local artists.

Nothing lasts forever, of course. Zach's closed in the early 1980s.

Now, every January, many of those musicians -- along with those of us who sat on the other side of the footlights -- gather in Columbus to rekindle the warm glow of the High Street days. The event, like all good reunions, is as much soul as it is song.

This year's Zachariah's Red-Eye Reunion, the ninth edition, will happen the evening of January 31st. If you're within driving distance and have 12 bucks (plus beer money) to spare, I encourage you to make it a date -- you won't regret it.

Zachariah's Red-Eye Reunion 2009

Saturday, January 31st, 7pm at The LC
(Lifestyle Communities Pavilion)

405 Neil Avenue, Columbus, Ohio

Appearing
McGuffey Lane
Tom Ingham
Delyn Christian (of The Fret Shop Band & QFM96)
Dave Rangeler (of Blackjack & Pistol Pete)
Denny Petroff (of Spittin' Image)
Julie Ivory & Terry Fickes (of Jesse Squire Band)
John David Call (of Pure Prairie League)

& more...

Tickets
General admission $12 in advance
(Ticketmaster or call 614-457-6157)
$15 day of show

(reserved seats sold out)

Wallpaper: McGuffey Lane

Here's a page torn from my sketchpad -- a simple image, massaged a bit in Photoshop, becomes an appealing desktop background.