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Black is the New AP Style

Photo courtesy of Dana Gorab

I’ve been working on concert crews for nearly 40 years, and I’ve probably seen more performances than most people could imagine. Some were spectacular, some were unforgettable and a few actually brought me to tears.

Stagehands love live music, too, and what’s more, we love bringing shows to life for audiences. We may be working above the stage, behind it or underneath it, but we feel the energy when a performer really connects with an audience. It’s one of the reasons we do this job. Even though I’ve seen thousands of shows, things still happen that raise gooseflesh on my arms.

One of those moments came during Fleetwood Mac’s reunion tour, The Dance.

I’d worked with Fleetwood Mac before, back when things could get pretty wild. But seeing them reunited in 1997 was an entirely different experience. They were together, they sounded incredible, and from the very first note, you could feel the energy coming off that stage. It rolled across the front of the audience and flowed right up to where we were working in the catwalks.

There were people weeping in the audience, and I understood exactly how they felt. It was one of those performances where something extraordinary happened between the musicians and the crowd. My voice still shakes when I talk about that night, almost thirty years later.

Another time, I was working a Neil Young show at Great Woods, the outdoor amphitheater outside Boston that’s now called the Xfinity Center.

I’ve worked on productions with enormous sets, elaborate lighting and huge props. Believe me, I appreciate what goes into creating a spectacular show. That’s my job.

But Neil’s stage was almost bare; nothing but Neil, a stool and his acoustic guitar. Behind him was a string of Christmas lights arranged in the shape of a ship. That was the entire setup.

I was up on the catwalk, running a follow-spot, and I had a wonderful view of the performance and the audience. Neil was playing his greatest hits, including songs from the 70s, and the audience was on its feet all night long. He connected with those people in a way that’s hard to describe. It was like lightning going off. It was one of the best shows I’ve ever seen.

We can build the biggest, most elaborate stage in the world, but when a performer really connects with an audience, none of that other stuff matters. I think we all cried that night.

And then, there was one of my idols, Tina Turner. This happened in the early 90s, also at Great Woods. I had immense respect for Tina, not just because of her talent, but because she was a true performer. Every single time she stepped onto a stage, she gave it everything she had.

For this particular show, they’d brought in a cherry picker - or a mechanical lift for Tina to use during her performance. Somebody asked me if I’d try it out first to make sure it was safe for her. I said, “Absolutely!”

They put me up in that thing and extended it all the way out over the audience seats. It was cool as hell.

Time came for the show. Now, I had tested the cherry picker, so I knew what it felt like to be out there. But who knew Tina Turner was going to hang off the thing with one arm and one leg, wearing leather pants and stilettos? She was amazing! When Tina came back down onto the raised stage, there was a ramp leading offstage. My friend Rusty and I were standing at the side, ready to help her.

And here’s the thing: at that moment, we weren’t thinking about the fact that this was Tina Turner, one of the biggest stars in the world. We were stagehands doing our jobs. She was coming offstage, and we needed to help her down safely.

Tina came right into our arms, and we caught her. We were all sweating because it was the middle of summer and hot as hell. Tina had been giving everything she had to that audience, and Rusty and I had been working the show.

As we caught her, Tina handed me an armful of teddy bears! Then she grabbed Rusty’s face and planted a great big kiss on his cheek. She told us, “Without stage hands, I would be nothing.”

Rusty and I just stared at each other with our eyes filling up with tears. You have to understand something about working backstage. The crew is responsible for making sure everything happens the way it’s supposed to happen. We’re there before the performers arrive, and we’re still there long after they’ve gone. We do our jobs because we love what we do, but we don’t always get a lot of recognition from the people onstage.

And we don’t expect it. That’s not why we’re there. But here was Tina Turner, this incredible woman I’d admired for years, taking a moment to acknowledge us. Not just with a thank-you, but with genuine affection and appreciation.

We were gobsmacked. Rusty had this big lipstick kiss on his cheek, and he told me, “I’m never gonna wash my face again.”

I’ve worked thousands of performances over the years, and I’ve seen some extraordinary things. But I’ll never forget that moment with Tina. The audience had spent the evening showing Tina how much they loved her. And when she came offstage, she turned around and showed a couple of stagehands how much she appreciated them.

That meant the world to us. Of course we busted out crying!

- Lisa Deyesso, veteran stagehand and co-author of WE ARE THE CREW!
October 15, 2026 No comments
Photo courtesy of Dana Gorab

Truth be told, I wasn’t lucky enough to get tickets to the concert itself (although I tried hard), but I bought the online stream for the day and it’s still one of the moments I’ll never forget. It happened during the birthday party of a friend-of-a-friend in Santo André (São Paulo, Brazil). He’s also a big fan, so he was more than happy to put the show on his TV and sound system so we could watch it together.

Me and a close friend - also his friend - arrived early because we wanted to catch all the opening bands. With Brazil being three hours behind the UK, the show technically started around 10:30 a.m. We only managed to get there near the end of Pantera’s set, around 3 p.m., and immediately cracked open some beers. At that point it was just the two of us watching the stream; not even the host was ready yet, but he still let us in so we wouldn’t miss anything.

We’re huge fans of Ozzy and Sabbath, so the anticipation was massive. More guests slowly arrived, surprised to find a live-streamed metal show in the middle of a birthday party. Hours (and beers) later, Ozzy was finally about to come on. The lights went down, the crowd on-screen started screaming and we were standing there in the living room, eyes glued to the TV. My veins were buzzing when “O Fortuna” played, that iconic prelude he’s used since the Randy Rhoads era.

Then Ozzy appeared. Knowing how fragile he’d been, how much his music meant to me… I burst into tears immediately. When Zakk Wylde hit the opening riff of “I Don’t Know”, the emotion shifted into pure joy; witnessing that moment unfolding in real time. My friend looked at me and said, “Are you crying, man?!” I nodded. He laughed and gave me an “aww”, half teasing, half touched.

The next song was “Mr. Crowley”, one of my favourites. I couldn’t help thinking back to being a kid, spending five months learning that solo - a breakthrough moment that made everything else on guitar feel easier afterward. Then came “Suicide Solution”, and we toasted the song with fresh beers, soaking in the moment.

After that, Ozzy gave a speech. At first it was hard to understand - between the crowd noise, the party around me, his thick accent and the Parkinson’s making things harder - but once I tuned in, he was talking about how difficult the past years had been. I remembered having tickets to see him in Birmingham in 2019, postponed again and again. Then he said, “You have no idea how I feel… thank you from the bottom of my heart.” Knowing his love for the stage and his fans, that line hit hard. I broke down again.

Zakk started “Mama, I’m Coming Home” and as the cameras cut to the audience, everyone was crying. I looked at my friend; he was crying too. We looked at each other and laughed through it, overwhelmed by how intense it all felt.

He closed with “Crazy Train” and we both knew that was likely his last song of the night. I wasn’t sad; I was excited thinking I’d still see Black Sabbath right after it and convinced myself he still had some years left - so perhaps another album, maybe another farewell show. “Crazy Train” turned the whole room into a celebration.

I had no idea he only had a few weeks left to live.

Still, I’m grateful. For his music, his madness, his heart. Our music - hell, the entire landscape of heavy metal music - would sound very different without him. At this moment in my life, I don’t really believe in a God, but… God bless you, Ozzy, wherever you are.

Love you more.

- Elvis Suhadolnik Bonesso, Stone Sea

January 01, 2026 No comments
Photo courtesy of Dana Gorab

I’m not the type who cries easily, though I’m not made of stone either. I’ve definitely shed a few tears at funerals, and I’ll admit, a good film can get to me too. The movie Lion, for example, had me absolutely sobbing long after the credits rolled - my girlfriend was genuinely worried I’d completely lost it.

But a rock concert? That was new territory. A few years ago, I found myself standing in the middle of Olavshallen in Trondheim, tears streaming down my face as Dream Theater played one of the most important albums of my life.

They were in my hometown for the Images & Words 25th anniversary tour, performing the album in full. For anyone who doesn’t know me, this is the record that got me into progressive rock. It shaped my teenage years, my guitar playing and my entire way of thinking about music. I can safely say I’ve listened to that album thousands of times - no exaggeration. It was on constant rotation in my room, and I learned most of the songs by heart, guitar parts and all. It was my musical education, my escape and my obsession all rolled into one.

It also became the soundtrack to my late teenage years; the background music to my first relationships, my first heartbreaks and those long nights of trying to make sense of life. I even remember listening to it a lot during my military service, where I was lucky enough to end up in the same room as some of my best friends from high school. One of them brought his stereo system, and we’d spend countless hours in that small room, surrounded by uniforms and gear, blasting Images & Words. It felt like our little refuge; a world of melody, complexity and emotion tucked away inside military barracks.

So when Dream Theater came to Trondheim to play Images & Words from start to finish, it felt almost surreal. As the lights dimmed and the familiar intro of “Pull Me Under” filled the hall, something inside me just… gave way. By the time they got to “Another Day”, I could feel the lump in my throat forming, and when “Learning to Live” began - my all-time favourite - that was it. The floodgates opened.

I was there with my girlfriend, who enjoys the band’s music but isn’t as sold on James LaBrie’s voice. I’ve heard that before - his voice is definitely an acquired taste. Some people love the music but can’t quite get past the vocals. For me, though, LaBrie’s voice is one of the things that makes Dream Theater so powerful. I love how he can shift between emotional vulnerability and full-on aggression, often in the space of a single song. Hearing him deliver those lines live - the same ones I’d sung along to countless times as a teenager - hit me harder than I expected.

It wasn’t just nostalgia, though. It was the realisation that this album had been there for me through everything: growing up, learning guitar, figuring out who I was. And now, decades later, I was standing there as an adult, hearing those same songs performed by the band that made me fall in love with music in the first place. It was like my entire musical journey had come full circle at that moment.

What struck me most that night was how tight the band still was; how even after all these years, John Petrucci’s precision, Mike Mangini’s drumming and Jordan Rudess’ keys carried that same intensity and technical brilliance I’d admired in my youth. Dream Theater has evolved a lot since Images & Words - their newer material is more intricate and experimental - but for me, there’s something special about those early records. The songwriting had a certain magic that connected both the heart and the mind.

Walking out of Olavshallen that night, my girlfriend gave me a look somewhere between amusement and affection - maybe half surprised to see me in tears. I just smiled and said, “That album means more to me than I can explain.”

It reminded me why I make music myself. That night wasn’t just a concert - it was a reminder of why music matters, why it endures and how a record can stay with you for a lifetime. Dream Theater’s Images & Words did that for me. And for one night in Trondheim, it gave me permission to let it all out.

That same love for storytelling, dynamics and emotional connection still drives what I do with holon today. If my music can give someone even a fraction of what Images & Words gave me, then I know I’m on the right path.

- Ronny Pedersen, holon

November 04, 2025 No comments
Photo courtesy of Dana Gorab

Hey, Mario here from Take It Or Leave It, and I want to tell you guys about the time I was overwhelmed with emotions from seeing Goldfinger at Starland Ballroom.

It’s fair to say that I cannot hear Goldfinger’s “Superman” by them and not immediately think of dropping into the warehouse in Tony Hawk Pro Skater. I always make it a point to see them when they come to town and this time was no different. It was late June and for my 21st birthday, a few friends and I decided to head to Sayreville, N.J. to see Goldfinger while they made their way east from California. At the time, I was in a band playing similar music (we loved covering “Spokesman”) and all I could think about while standing in the pit was being on that stage one day.

About halfway through the set, lead vocalist John Feldmann put his guitar down and started singling out people wearing yellow or gold to come up on stage with him. Luckily for me, I was donning my bright yellow Pikachu shirt and was summoned to the stage. Now, my buddy Dylan and I have been going to shows for years and he knows the look I give him when I want to crowd surf. As soon as we made eye contact, I was immediately six feet in the air flying forward. Eventually I surfed through the surge of people flocking to the stage and just had a blast dancing and screaming my lungs out.

As the song was coming to an end, security started pulling folks to the sides of the stage to get them out of the way. The house lights were on and you could tell the staff at Starland Ballroom wanted to get that stage cleared as soon as possible. I happened to be stuck in the middle of the group, so after a few left down the side of the stage, I found myself standing next to John Feldmann. He gestured out to the crowd and mouthed “do it” to me, with a stage diving gesture. He took a step off the box he was standing on at the edge of the stage and gave me the all-clear to take a dive.

I’ve been to a lot of shows and I’ve watched plenty of mistakes from inexperienced crowd surfers, so I knew to lock eyes with a few people in the crowd to catch me. Guess who was right up front waiting for me? Yup, Dylan. He grabbed three random dudes next to him and everybody put their arms out to catch me.

It felt like I fell for an eternity and a millisecond all at once. Not only did I finally get to go on stage at Starland Ballroom, but I got to join Goldfinger up there too?! Plus, I got the seal of approval from John Feldmann for a stage dive?! I was so overwhelmed the rest of the night that I don’t even think I slept when we got home. And the cherry on top, they weren’t even the headliner! Not only did Big D And The Kids Table open for them, but Reel Big Fish closed out the show. It was one of those nights I will remember forever and I chase that high every time I step on stage to perform my own music now.

September 02, 2025 No comments
Photo courtesy of Dana Gorab

For anyone who doesn’t know about the legendary 1991 Monsters of Rock festival in Tushino, Moscow, the Soviet Union had just collapsed and the post-Soviet space was feeling the wind of change. At that moment, about half a million people gathered at the Tushino airfield, according to unverified data. Legends such as Metallica, AC/DC and Pantera were performing in front of an absolutely unsophisticated audience, consisting of citizens of yesterday's Evil Empire. It is clear that all this was a celebration of life, an imprint of light from another universe…

But my essay is not about this concert. At that moment I hadn't even walked under the table yet. My story will be about an event that took place on July 18, 2008: Metallica, for the first time in 17 years, returned to St. Petersburg, Russia. I was 19 years old and I decided to see my idols. I was living in the south of Russia and it was 1800 kilometers from my city to St. Petersburg, or 36 hours by train.

With plans to stay overnight in Moscow, I made my way to the Saint Petersburg Sports and Concert Complex, which has since been demolished. The rounded arena was surrounded by three chains of cops, each of which thoroughly searched attendees. I had a ticket on the floor, but I was one of the first to arrive, so I got into the hall and immediately ran closer to the fence of the fan zone. As people kept arriving, they slowly started to press from behind. Eventually the pressure became so strong that the first row fell down the fence of the fan zone and rushed to the stage. I ended up two or three meters away from the stage.

The Sword and Down were the opening acts, but I don't really remember their performances, to be honest. I remember that it was very hot in the dense crowd. It was impossible to take off your jacket, it was impossible to go to the toilet without losing your seat. But when Metallica finally came on stage, I realized that James Hetfield was three meters away from me!

The opening riff of “Creeping Death” played and the madness began. There was such a slam of crowd-surfing that people were mixed in my head like in a huge washing machine. Because of the heat and pressure, people started yelling to the guards to get water as I think someone fainted. They tried filling plastic beer glasses with water, but each time a security guard handed a glass to the crowd, dozens of hands reached for the glass and it was spilled. In the end I got some water at the bottom of a glass, but everything in my wallet ended up getting wet.

It seemed as though the show was over in one breath, and there we all were, standing stunned and dumbfounded in front of the stage and yelling to the stage crew to throw us something from Metallica. Lars Ulrich's towel flew in my direction and about five of us jumped on it and started tearing it apart. I don't remember where the pieces of that towel are now.

I remember joining the crowd of people coming out of the arena and it carried me to the nearest supermarket, which was about three hundred meters away from the complex. It was a fairly large supermarket that was open 24 hours. There were probably a couple thousand people barging into it and rushing to the gallery with drinks to grab everything they could. Falling on bags of cat food, I could finally catch my breath and come to my senses.

That's how I went to see Metallica for the first time in my life!

- Aleksandr Yarvinen, Arctic Dreams

August 05, 2025 No comments
Photo courtesy of Dana Gorab

I remember first seeing Bauhaus in the opening scenes of the iconic vampire film, The Hunger, starring Catherine Deneuve and David Bowie. Lead vocalist Peter Murphy appears in the opening scenes, lean frame silhouetted against a foggy backdrop. The song playing is “Bela Lugosi’s Dead”, unarguably one of the most important and memorable goth songs of all time.

I lived in New York at the time, attending film school at NYU, where I studied experimental film and classics. Years later, I lived in Vancouver; I was back in my home country. I had lived all over the world at that point, and some of those travels had landed me in San Francisco for eight years or so. I still kept in touch with the best friends I had made there, including my friend, Zach. I also still received emails about events in San Francisco, which I’d casually perused to keep an eye on the pulse of local culture.

I remember when Bauhaus tickets went on sale. Being one of my favourite bands since college, Zach and I excitedly chatted about how for me it was a can’t-miss. We bought tickets for the show along with another friend, Evie. I usually flew to San Francisco around my birthday, May 19, to spend time with the family I still had in the area, and the show was two days after.

I usually wear black, and it was no exception on the day of the show. I batwinged my eyeliner with the best of them and wore my chunkiest, gothiest boots. I showed up to see my friends similarly attired, swimming in the sea of goths milling out front of the SF Masonic Auditorium, a historic venue near downtown San Francisco.

I was shocked when Peter Murphy took the stage. He was still so hot! Way different vibes than when he appeared in The Hunger, he had gone from hot boy twink to sexy leather daddy, but the appeal remained. He had a magnetic stage presence that pulled your eye directly to him, and his growling, thick, low voice was as good as ever.

I’ve always found goth crowds to be the friendliest, most inclusive people at shows and clubs. I felt perfectly content in that room full of black leather, vinyl and chains. Everyone had a smile on their face and several people in the crowd had their eyes closed, listening to the pulsing music. My eyes were dry until the first strains of “Lagartija Nick” floated above the crowd. I had listened to the song on repeat for so many years that I knew each note by heart. I whipped my head around and observed the crowd of black-clothed bodies dancing and singing along to the music. My eyes welled with tears as I thought to myself that rare thought: I belong.

- Jin, The Haptics

July 01, 2025 No comments
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