A Full-Circle Moment
Snail Mail’s story has always felt especially close to home for me.
I had watched Snail Mail grow from those smaller performances into one of the most recognizable names in indie rock, and now I was there photographing the same project I had been listening to since I was a teenager.
There was another layer to it, too. Lindsey Jordan grew up in the same area I did, attended high school in the same school district, and graduated the same year as me. There has always been something strangely personal about watching someone from a place that feels so familiar build a career that reaches far beyond it.
Photographing Snail Mail back in Baltimore felt like several different parts of my life suddenly overlapping: growing up in Maryland, discovering “Thinning” when I was 19, and now beginning to build a career photographing live music myself.
There are some concerts that end up feeling bigger than the show itself.
On April 18, I photographed Snail Mail at an outdoor show at Union Collective in Baltimore. Years earlier, I had seen Snail Mail perform in Baltimore during the Lush era at a much quieter, seated theater-style venue. I still remember how intimate that show felt compared with most of the concerts I had been going to at the time.
So standing in front of the stage years later with a camera in my hands felt a little surreal.
I had watched Snail Mail grow from those smaller performances into one of the most recognizable names in indie rock, and now I was there photographing the same project I had been listening to since I was a teenager.
Stepping Into the Pit
Walking into the Union Collective parking lot that night, I was definitely nervous.
This was the first time I had been hired specifically to photograph a concert, and there is something intimidating about knowing you only get one chance to document what is happening in front of you. Live music doesn’t stop because your settings are wrong or because you missed a moment. Everything is moving, the lighting is constantly changing, and whatever happens onstage happens once.
Then I got my photo pass wristband.
Walking into the photo pit in front of the stage for the first time is probably the moment I remember most clearly from the beginning of the night. I was excited, nervous, and honestly a little shocked that I was actually standing there doing something I had wanted to do for such a long time.
Photographing the Show
Once the music started, most of that nervousness disappeared. I approached the show the same way I approach most of my photography: looking for atmosphere, movement, expressions, and the smaller moments happening around the obvious ones. The shifting stage lights, reactions from the crowd, and quick glances between musicians became just as interesting to me as the bigger performance moments. I wanted the photographs to feel like being there rather than simply document who was standing onstage.
I also made a point to photograph the rest of the band rather than keeping my camera on Lindsey the entire night. Lead singers naturally get most of the attention, but the energy between everyone onstage was one of my favorite parts of photographing the set. Honestly, everyone was absolutely rocking it. Some of my favorite frames from the night came from watching the band interact with each other instead of waiting for one perfect front-and-center shot.
I photographed part of the night on film as well, using CineStill 800T pushed to 1600, Reflx Lab 800T pushed to 1600, and P3200 black-and-white film. The stage lighting worked especially well with the tungsten-balanced stocks. Some of the Reflx Lab frames even came back with unexpected light leaks, which probably should have felt like a mistake, but somehow they fit the night perfectly.
That is part of why I love photographing concerts on film in the first place. The grain, motion blur, strange colors, missed focus, and bright lights bleeding into the frame can make an image feel closer to what actually being at a concert feels like. Live music is loud, dark, unpredictable, and happening faster than you can completely process it. The photographs do not always have to be perfect to feel right.
Saying Goodbye with Thinning
Toward the end of the night, the energy in the crowd had started to settle a little. People had been standing outside for hours, the set was nearing its end, and it felt like the night was beginning to wind down. Then Lindsey started playing the opening chords to “Thinning.” The crowd lost it, and honestly, so did I.
“Thinning” was the song that originally got me hooked on Snail Mail. I first heard it when I was 19, at a point in my life where I felt caught somewhere between who I had been and whoever I was supposed to become next. There is something about that song that captures the strange comfort of leaning into your own exhaustion and uncertainty. It takes all of those messy, anxious feelings that come with growing up and turns them into something that somehow feels beautiful instead.
Over time, the song became attached to a very specific version of myself. Hearing it years later while standing in a photo pit with my camera felt bizarre in the best possible way. Then it became the final song of the night. That somehow made the entire moment hit even harder.
After following Snail Mail since first hearing that song years ago, getting to photograph the band while hearing it close the set felt almost impossible to fully process in the moment. For a few minutes, it felt like time folded in on itself a little bit. I could remember being 19 and listening to that song while having absolutely no idea what came next. At the same time, I was completely aware that I was standing there years later doing something that version of me probably never would have expected.
By the time the night ended, photographing Snail Mail felt important to me for reasons that went beyond it being my first paid concert photography job. Of course, that milestone mattered. Walking into my first photo pit, receiving a pass, and being trusted to document a live performance were all things I had wanted to experience for a long time. But the night also reminded me why I want to photograph live music in the first place.
I am less interested in making every concert look perfectly polished than I am in documenting what it actually felt like to be there. I want the lights, movement, weird imperfections, exhausted crowds, quiet moments between songs, and those few seconds when an entire room suddenly reacts to the same thing at once. For me, that is what makes live music worth photographing.
Getting to begin that part of my photography career with a band whose music has been tied to my own memories for years made the whole thing feel especially full circle. It was a night that connected where I grew up, the music I loved when I was younger, and the kind of work I want to keep creating now. I’m incredibly grateful I had the opportunity to photograph this show. More than anything, it made me excited to see where live music photography takes me next.
Looking Back
