American Authors @ The Rogue Theater | 10.26.24
Me and American Authors
taken with Zac Barnett’s phone
Signed Setlist
Our story begins back in August when I was photographing a show at Our Studio, just down the street from the Rogue Theater. “American Authors Oct 26” read the illuminated marquee. A band I’d heard of playing in this random Oregon town? I simply must take their picture. I took a long shot by messaging the band on Instagram, asking if I could acquire a photo pass. I’ve never been given a photo pass before, I’ve never even asked for one. I expected no, or simply being left on sent. A week passed, then another…
Then a message. They said yes! They told me to message closer to the show to make sure I get in. I waited until a month before the show and sent a confirmation message. They gave me their email! I got in contact with their management team who made sure to put me on the list.
I had never been to the Rogue Theater before, and I wasn’t sure what to expect. I walked up to the ticket booth and told the woman in the box that I had a photo pass. She was immediately confused, and a security man asked what I meant. I explained that I had been talking with the band and their management and was given permission to photograph the show. Still confused, security let me in.
I entered the theater during the opening act, a local rock musician named Trevor Hanks. I was unsure as to where I should set down my bag and water, so I asked the security man inside the theater door. He was also confused, and at this point I was confused how everyone else was so confused, and I thought the man told me I could set my things behind the left curtain. I have expensive camera gear, so behind the curtain made sense to me. When I slipped through the heavy fabric, I was immediately met with the silhouette of Trevor’s photographer, which only reassured me that I was supposed to be there. I set my bag down and asked the man who was on stage, then I took some pictures. Trevor finished and the audience dispersed. I left my bag and took a trip to the lobby to check out the merch tables. I introduced myself to Trevor, told him I got some nice shots, and bought the last “Best Day Of My Life” shirt they had in stock. I went back to my back. I put the shirt down and drink from my bottle. I look left. “Hello?” I ask the new silhouette.
It’s the owner, and he says I’m not supposed to be back here. I explain that a security man told me to be here. He doesn’t believe me and we go to the lobby for me to identify the security man. We find him and loop him into the situation. “I didn’t tell her she could go behind the curtain,” he says. The owner asks security if I have a ticket. I do not, I’m on the list, American Authors has given me permission to photograph the show, I explain trying to show a group of old men without glasses the emails and messages on my phone. The owner’s not having any of it. I’m kicked out.
I cry in my car for a few minutes until I remember the band’s management team has their phone numbers in their email signature. I call the first one, he doesn’t answer. I call the second one, she’s at a different show. But she helps me anyway by giving me the name of the tour manager and telling me what to tell security. I thank her, pick up my gear, and walk back to the front of the theater. I tell them the magic words, and I’m still not getting in. They feel bad for me, but the owner is pissed at me for a misunderstanding and has already gone home. Out of desperation, I message the band expecting nothing (after all, they’re about to go on stage). Within seconds I get a message back, more magic words to tell security plus a photo of lead singer Zac Barnett vouching for me with a thumbs up. Still not getting in. I message the band informing them of this. “Meet me in back 2 mins”
I let the security team know the band is gonna meet me out back and walk away. I go to the back door, but nobody’s there. I turn all the way around looking for anybody. Then I look left. It’s Zac looking at me from the other back door 20 feet away! I sprint over and am met with lead singer Zac Barnett, banjo player Zac Taylor, and a security man. “She’s not getting in,” he tells singer Zac.
A quick aside, I cannot stress enough how unbelievably kind everyone in this band is. The warmth and kindness they show on stage towards the audience is exactly what interacting face-to-face with them is like.
Now Zac’s not having any of it. He (politely) demands to know why, then he (politely) demands that the security man calls his boss to get this sorted out. Security man calls the owner, Zac asks to speak with him, and my attention was turned elsewhere as bass player Dave Rublin and drummer Matt Sanchez (politely) squeezed through the situation to get into the green room.
The call was a success, Zac B. welcomed me in and reassured me that they were glad to have me there. Zac T. held out his banjo-strumming hand for a fistbump. A staff member led me through backstage and a curtain to in front of the stage where I was allowed to be. And I waited.
I think I waited for about half an hour until the house music switched to a strange voicemail recording, and I knew it was showtime. I started recording on my phone and set it up in the corner of the stage. I got out my camera, and here comes the band. The next hour and a half is an unimaginably amazing experience that I won’t ever forget.
After the show, I pick up my phone and it only has 1% battery left. I linger at the stage hoping to get a setlist. Two are already gone, two teenage girls have come to claim another, and after they leave I ask a roadie if there’s one at the drums. He peels it up and gives it to me, and I thank him. While I’m sitting in a theater seat waiting for everyone to have their meet & greet turn, my phone dies, and I’m left to look through unedited images on my camera’s tiny screen. A security man walks past and I apologize to him for being an issue earlier. He apologizes to me and says they really need to get things up to date around here,” before walking away. A few minutes pass. I look right. Here comes the band, walking up from the stage, through the crowd, and into the lobby. “Get some good shots?” asks Zac T.
After about 20 minutes, I’m one of the last few people in the building who doesn’t work there or with the band. I try to find camera settings that will work in the dimly lit lobby, to no avail. But my phone is dead and I really want a group photo with me and the band. Zac B. offers his phone, since he can quickly send it to me on Instagram. We take a picture together, I ask them each to sign my setlist, and at some point I mention how I’d like to live in NY some day (they’re from NY) and travel the world taking pictures for bands. Dave looks me in the eye and tells me “it’s gonna happen.” At this point I would absolutely have been crying if I hadn’t already done so in another manner 2 hours earlier. I thank them for the hundred-thousandth time that night, grab my things, and close the door on my way out.