Weird things

Sometimes weird things come at you out of the blue. You scratch your head for days asking what is that about.

Last week I was at Close to the Coast at Baba’s which is sort of a local indie festival. I took the camcorder both nights and got a few songs of each band.

They are not professional: they’re fan videos or pics. Bands love them because 1) they don’t have to pay for them 2) they get exposure on YouTube and Facebook and 3) it demonstrates fan interest. There are millions of them posted on YouTube. I’ve done them for most of the local bands plus Lennie Gallant, Slowcoaster, Tom Fun Orchestra, and Chris Colepaugh.

I get emails with thanks everytime I post one. Tim Chaisson asked me if I had any more of him. I usually make the band sound great by editing the soundtrack.

On the third night a local musician, who shall remain nameless lest he get more agitated, came up and started poking me. “I told you to stop taking my picture.” I hadn’t talked to him in weeks. When they’re drinking, people can have an odd sense of reality.

After we got past the “no you didn’t – yes you did” dialogue, I simple apologized and said I didn’t mean to offend him. If he didn’t want to be filmed it was easy not to do it.

That seemed to satisfy him until 5 minutes later when he started yelling in my face again. At which point I told it was perfectly legal for me to film anyone and to get over it. He disappeared off into the back of the club.

What’s with that? There are so many cameras around: cell phones, still cameras, camcorders. People are taking pictures of everything and everyone. You can’t stop them. That’s why we have paparazzi. I’ll venture there were more than 20 people taking video’s and stills that night.

Now what to do with the film of the young singer songwriter on his way up who probably would appreciate a YouTube?

I was thinking of editing the movie,blanking out the sideman and perhaps disclose that “no shots of what’s his name were used in the making if this video.” That would be like no animals hurt or no peanut butter used.

And my musician? He’s walking around Charlottetown miming he is taking my picture. I kid you not. There’s man with a burr up his saddle.

All this time I was being a nice guy but ended up a paparazzi. That’s great: they get paid.