The Photo-essayist, the big-nosed guy, and fries with Norfolk - By N.L. Belardes
I went to the Boiler Room Saturday night looking for some music to bubble out of the Bakersfield darkness. Little did I know I showed up for a historic night of music that had as its apex Bakersfield’s alt country band, Norfolk. They were being followed by Sara Gettys, a budding photo-essayist whose work for the Portland Tribune and Columbia Missourian has won her accolades for her moody journalistic images of daily Americana. Will she be the next James Nachtwey?
Sara sitting on the floor...
Take a look at her ‘photo of the week’ that captures the melancholy nature of one woman’s twilight years, or Maurice the cat who was likely her college buddy while going to school in Missouri. Two of my favorite photos are her WWF photo and honorable mention image that is probably as moody and atmospheric as the church moment she captured.
Sara carried a Holga toy camera, a fully plastic camera that has a personality like a cat. No two are alike as they leak light into each picture you snap. With a plastic lens, the Holga offers a leap backward in technology while offering some funky image textures, light seepage and lens shadowing. I have to order one.
I arrived at the Boiler Room at the end of Stepsonday, a local jazz/Indie/rock band. Jason Ford Turner fronts the band and is quite fun to watch as he loves to goof around while singing and playing the guitar. He’s a bit more reserved in his Norfolk bass playing. Unfortunately I only caught a portion of a few songs…
The next band hailed from the LA area. I don’t know who they were, but they performed and sounded like a youthful pop group. They were young, energetic, yuppyish, and if I were scouting bands to throw on Radio Disney, these would be the guys. And that’s not a bad thing either. Poppy songs for kids are a big industry. Just look at how many kids love the yuppie youth bands of today… The lead singer said he was from Bakersfield but moved away when he was five. And I dug his Star Wars shirt even though he thought the audience was dead because they weren’t dancing as if parading down Main Street, Disney.
Cedar Street is a local band I had never seen until Saturday night. Composed of guys from Bakersfield and San Diego who are all in Bakersfield for the summer, they have a unique piano-driven sound with a whole lot of raw songs they’re developing. This was the perfect opportunity for them to get out in the scene and practice in front of the local crowd. I always find it impressive to see a piano in a band. Front man Bryan Gonzales is no slouch either. He belted out the songs and melodies and played a lengthy set to the Boiler Room crowd.
Norfolk played a great set. James Ratliff did a little storytelling about his new Dodger cap and why baseball is a sport where you watch grass grow. He promised to tell a ‘biting’ dog tale, but sadly never got to it. Sara Gettys snapped photos like some crazed tentacled beast. Three cameras but only two hands? How does she do it? I have enough problems with my one camera and a shaky hand.
Norfolk’s full alt country sounds really grabbed the crowd. But then they only played half of one of their songs, claiming it was for some guy in the crowd. It was a great slow country wail of a song that really slows the tempo and gets the crowd on track. But only half? Come on Norfolk… Ah, but whom am I? I’m just the whiny novelist who wants to hear all the Norfolk material when at a show. I can understand how someone would get sick of their own songs. I get sick of my own writing all the time. I’ve written entire novels that I don’t like to read. I generally don’t read them at all even after finished. I create the art for others to read, not for myself. Music is different. You perform it, you immerse yourself in it over and over again, even after you think it’s perfected. And so you have to keep finding ways to love it. Or you would never be able to perform.
I was sarcastic and tried joking around and telling the guy with the big nose who told Norfolk to stop playing their slow song “thanks for ending a great song.” But he wouldn’t talk to me, even after I trailed Norfolk to a lonely bar attached to Zingo’s diner on Buck Owen’s Boulevard.
There James Ratliff and I talked a lot about music and art, ordered fries, burgers, and jalepeno poppers. I contributed two bucks to the Johnny Cash and other country songs blasted from the jukebox while Peter Prevost and some other Norfolk friends played pool. Of course I confronted the big-nosed guy again, but he ignored me. So I defiantly yelled, “Thanks for ruining a great song!”
Sara sitting on the floor...
Take a look at her ‘photo of the week’ that captures the melancholy nature of one woman’s twilight years, or Maurice the cat who was likely her college buddy while going to school in Missouri. Two of my favorite photos are her WWF photo and honorable mention image that is probably as moody and atmospheric as the church moment she captured.
Sara carried a Holga toy camera, a fully plastic camera that has a personality like a cat. No two are alike as they leak light into each picture you snap. With a plastic lens, the Holga offers a leap backward in technology while offering some funky image textures, light seepage and lens shadowing. I have to order one.
I arrived at the Boiler Room at the end of Stepsonday, a local jazz/Indie/rock band. Jason Ford Turner fronts the band and is quite fun to watch as he loves to goof around while singing and playing the guitar. He’s a bit more reserved in his Norfolk bass playing. Unfortunately I only caught a portion of a few songs…
The next band hailed from the LA area. I don’t know who they were, but they performed and sounded like a youthful pop group. They were young, energetic, yuppyish, and if I were scouting bands to throw on Radio Disney, these would be the guys. And that’s not a bad thing either. Poppy songs for kids are a big industry. Just look at how many kids love the yuppie youth bands of today… The lead singer said he was from Bakersfield but moved away when he was five. And I dug his Star Wars shirt even though he thought the audience was dead because they weren’t dancing as if parading down Main Street, Disney.
Cedar Street is a local band I had never seen until Saturday night. Composed of guys from Bakersfield and San Diego who are all in Bakersfield for the summer, they have a unique piano-driven sound with a whole lot of raw songs they’re developing. This was the perfect opportunity for them to get out in the scene and practice in front of the local crowd. I always find it impressive to see a piano in a band. Front man Bryan Gonzales is no slouch either. He belted out the songs and melodies and played a lengthy set to the Boiler Room crowd.
Norfolk played a great set. James Ratliff did a little storytelling about his new Dodger cap and why baseball is a sport where you watch grass grow. He promised to tell a ‘biting’ dog tale, but sadly never got to it. Sara Gettys snapped photos like some crazed tentacled beast. Three cameras but only two hands? How does she do it? I have enough problems with my one camera and a shaky hand.
Norfolk’s full alt country sounds really grabbed the crowd. But then they only played half of one of their songs, claiming it was for some guy in the crowd. It was a great slow country wail of a song that really slows the tempo and gets the crowd on track. But only half? Come on Norfolk… Ah, but whom am I? I’m just the whiny novelist who wants to hear all the Norfolk material when at a show. I can understand how someone would get sick of their own songs. I get sick of my own writing all the time. I’ve written entire novels that I don’t like to read. I generally don’t read them at all even after finished. I create the art for others to read, not for myself. Music is different. You perform it, you immerse yourself in it over and over again, even after you think it’s perfected. And so you have to keep finding ways to love it. Or you would never be able to perform.
I was sarcastic and tried joking around and telling the guy with the big nose who told Norfolk to stop playing their slow song “thanks for ending a great song.” But he wouldn’t talk to me, even after I trailed Norfolk to a lonely bar attached to Zingo’s diner on Buck Owen’s Boulevard.
There James Ratliff and I talked a lot about music and art, ordered fries, burgers, and jalepeno poppers. I contributed two bucks to the Johnny Cash and other country songs blasted from the jukebox while Peter Prevost and some other Norfolk friends played pool. Of course I confronted the big-nosed guy again, but he ignored me. So I defiantly yelled, “Thanks for ruining a great song!”
This entry was posted by N.L. Belardes, on
Monday, June 27, 2005.
You can leave your response.
leave a response