Vertical vs. Horizontal nightlife photography

This is an extremely pointless and highly opinionated topic to blog about, but here it goes.

I think vertically photographed nightlife pictures look dumb.

I mean no offense to anyone who typically shoots their nightlife vertically. It’s not the end of my world – I just never do it myself. Here’s why:

It makes sense that to want to capture someone’s entire fuzzy pink and glittery raver legwarmer, as well as their torn, glowstick-stained fishnet ensemble. However, I can’t see a damn thing that’s going on in the background.


Photo by Emerald Roots, I think the name is. This is an example of what I mean. It tells a story about the person, but I'm not quite sure what is happening or where this person is. I want to see some crazy seizure-inducing rays of light or Nero in all his glory making magic in the background.

I don’t know about most people who view nightlife galleries. Maybe I'm just judgmental and picky, but I am thoroughly interested in what kind of event this insanely costumed person stumbled into. In my honest opinion, a nightlife photograph is supposed to be an artistic portrayal of the event itself, not necessarily a means of generating ample Facebook profile picture material for the people who were there. Although, killing two birds with one stone isn’t anywhere near impossible.


This does not bother me. Generally, you'd need one hell of a wide-angle lens or at least a full frame body to pull something like this off, but AJ Apuya won. The distortion even looks great.

I mean.. Don’t get me wrong. There are plenty of ways to successfully photograph an artistic vertical picture in a club. I’m more so complaining about those close-up pictures where the photographer ends up distorting their subject by trying to fit everything into their ultra-wide angle, or when they only snap a waist up shot. And that said, you can achieve those waist up shots a hell of a lot more sexily if you were to just back up/zoom out a little.


Good. Angled interestingly, there's pretty spinning lights, and I can sort of tell what else is going on judging by the blurred out dude in the leopard hat and bath robe hanging out in the background.

Keep in mind when posting nightlife images on sites like Facebook and Flickr that vertical images tend to get significantly more resized than the horizontal ones do due to height caps. That’s the other reason why I think vertical images tend to look so dumb. Size-wise on blogs, they’re freaking great.

It’s my own personal opinion, but unless carefully thought about, I feel most vertical nightlife photographs just end up looking like snapshots.


More AJ Apuya from Identity Festival 2011. Really makes me want to grab a press pass for next year. Or sell out and try to weasel my way into USC's photo geek family.

Dear Livenation

Dear Livenation.com,

I am a poor, starving artist who aids old folks with simple computer issues and occasionally photographs drunk kids as a means of gaining currency. This small, yet still reasonable amount of money (I suppose), keeps my caprese salad ingredients in the fridge and the overpriced tallboy of Rainier on the grimy bar table in front of me two to three times a week. However, when it comes to purchasing concert tickets, scraping the pennies together to afford a piece of paper that gives me one days worth of no re-entry access to a steaming cesspool of shirtless, glistening bros fist pumping to Rusko music does not come so easily.

That said, perhaps you can imagine my how my heart shattered when I saw a friend’s Facebook status update exclaiming how Identity Festival’s ticket prices had dropped to $20 as of this morning. Correct me if I am wrong, but typically in the ticket world “early bird prices” were put on this earth by the concert and festival jesus gods themselves in order to provide ticket sales companies with immediate revenue months before an event by those supportive, diehard fans who want lower prices.

I am writing this letter to express my eternal repugnance toward this ass backwards situation. I understand you may be short on ticket revenue this year due to the fact that, quite frankly, the Identity Festival lineup mostly sucks, that Skrillex coincidentally skipped out on the majestic Washington State Gorge location, and that Steve Aoki may not even be there to pie a fat white girl in the face in the front row rolling on multiple uppers every time the bass drops. However, I want you to know that I think the fact I could potentially now purchase my boyfriend’s and my tickets for $10 less than what I paid for a single ticket is a bunch of palookie.

You have destroyed what it means to have an “early bird special” to festival hoppers all around, and you have to live with that.

Scornfully,

Me

P.S. - I still haven't received my tickets in the mail that your lying sack of shit of an email promised me two months ago and remain butthurt about it.

Thank you, Sam, for giving me the opportunity to be a successful, wealthy rapper for one night

I would quite honestly love to be able to explain to you what was happening here, but with gas-guzzling stretch hummer access for the night, playing it safe in the zone of sobriety wasn’t exactly at the top of my list of ways to spend my Tuesday night.

Sam Boyer finally became a man when he turned 21 years old this Tuesday, and he had the older sister-purchased limousine for all his friends to prove it. The poor driver, Tim.. or Jim.. I’m not sure anymore, picked up about sixteen drunkards and shipped us off to the blackout abyss that was Capitol Hill. And afterward, dumped everyone off in all their helpless drunkenness off outside of Earl’s, which supposedly was just shot up last weekend, and took off.

Sam, I want you to know that I have the last 1/3 your triple threat whiskey gift. I salvaged it from the wreckage. (It was in the limo cooler).

Down The Rabbit Hole...

I didn't even write about that little MISSED CONNECTIONS shindiggery at The White Rabbit that one Saturday night, but I said I was going to write about cool shit to do around the city so now's the time to start.



I've been shooting at this bar/dance club like place called The White Rabbit which is located right Fremont. Their website is here: click me click me I'm a link to a website! This is probably one of the best times I've consistently had at a bar since photographing during the Waid's era. There's always a DJ (typically Raul Vasquez) so loud sound to set the mood is never an issue. Not to mention the drinks are extremely decently priced and there's a nice little outdoor balcony and seating area for us kids who like the cancer sticks. I also love the lighting. Because it is blue.

Anyway, you should probably go to this bar next time there's an event. Especially during the day on June 18th because apparently there is going to be a plethora of naked bikers rolling around the streets and that is just something we cannot possibly miss out on.

twenty-two

Yesterday, I turned twenty-two. Yeah, my birthday is on cinco de mayo. No, there was not a sombrero or taco in sight. Coincidentally, Cinco de Mayo this year was on first Thursday, which means artwalk. I was able to hang my "birthday" series that I did and supply the gallery-goers with the ash ridden cake (from our failed attempt at sparkler candle photography) that Leta de Edmonds Bakery had baked for the shoot. My adoring mother, father, and uncle also brought me a cake with way sicker sparkler candles than the ones I had bought myself and endured me and my drunk friends for about an hour. Oh, what a family.

My ghetto Poquitos review
I know I said I'd start writing about cool shit to do in Seattle, so I'll start. Right here, right now. By the time the artwalk was over, I had definitely cut myself off of camera-wielding privileges, so I have no photographs to back up what I'm about to say about Poquitos on the hill.. I am almost certain that Poquitos was the long lost sexier, more intelligent and mature cousin of Cha Cha Lounge and. Poquitos was essentially a metaphorical Kristofferson Fox, coming out of nowhere and just kicking ass at just about everything. They finally opened up the back indoor patio, which was a spacious, had plenty of places to stand and sit around the perimeter, and a fat chunk of island bar in the very middle. Not to mention the walls are just windows so you have ample opportunity to make faces at the drunk kids walking out of Havana.

Then again, I was drunk. I could have dreamt it all, and it might actually just be a really stupid bar.

*** Special thanks to Leanne and Emil for providing me with enough alcohol for me to not actually be sure if it even existed in the first place... And a big e-smooch to all who made it out and had as much fun as I did last night. Thanks for eating all that cake so I didn't have to deal with it.