My intention was to stay home on this particular Saturday evening. Earlier that morning, River asked if I could shoot photos of the Ballista set at the Monster Mash festival. It was a metalcore festival at one of the venues under the Gilley’s Dallas name. Without hesitation, I agreed to stop by and take a few photos. Without the invitation, I would’ve stayed home after my weekend shift, probably continuing my journey through the Dune series after taking a short, much needed nap. I figured the best thing to do was attend the fest, get a few shots and leave after their set. By doing so, I would be home just in time for dinner and movie. Fortunately, I only worked for a few hours, giving me enough time to come home and relax before getting up to get ready. Falling deep into relaxation mode, I accidently allowed more time than expected to pass me up but not by much. I was able to hop up, throw on some jeans and a sweatshirt, grab my camera and head out the door towards Dallas.

Evening traffic going towards the city wasn’t as bad as I thought at least for a little while. Going south on I35, the roads came to a near screeching halt just past the Sam Rayburn 121 tollway. From there on, traffic was moving slower than the last drop on honey out of the jar. I didn’t seem like time was on my side in that moment. The traffic caused me to run a little behind. I wasn’t too worried. I was in the middle of Dallas, and I was sure I was going to make it time to capture a handful of moments of the set. The congestion of vehicles took up the main three lanes I35 south near the Royal Lane exit. There was puzzling moment occurring as I was moving along. I wasn’t able to see the reason for traffic, it looked like a bundle of cars decided to slow down all at the same time. Luckily, I found my way to get around it and began hauling ass to the venue. Going 85 with lo-fi jazz music secreting from the speakers, I was sure I was going to catch the set before it began. Once again, I spoke to soon as I approached the exit for I30 west. It was more traffic here than near Royal Lane. Still, I kept my cool. I was only 3 minutes away or so, no need to panic. By the time I was at The Botham Jean light, 6 minutes has passed. After the streetlight emitted the green light, I zig zagged my way through the street, took the right into the Gilley’s parking lot and headed towards the back where a parking space was $15 a spot. “Damn the rates of these parking spots are going up” I said to myself as I hopped out of the truck with my camera swinging around my hip.

Walking up to the Gilley’s entrance, I was a bit confused as to where I was. The last time I attended the venue, I was on the side facing the street. This side of the building I entered seemed to be facing northeast, in between the parking lot and the Alamo Draft house. Gilley’s is a huge building with accommodating spaces sectioned off for whatever the occasion may be. After receiving my wrist band, I walked through a couple of heavy glass doors before I entered inside the establishment. Partially lining the walls were participants of the fest. The band t-shirts, vibrant hair colors and a variety of costumes lead me to believe I was in the right place. It wasn’t difficult to find where Ballista was playing. River’s vocals reach beyond the doors of the Lone Star Room. It was then I realized they were already on stage, and I needed to get to the front to take photos. There was a nice size crowd huddling front of the stage from my point of view. The Lone Star Room is twice as big from my original thought. The space was massive. My perspective witnessed a slight change in awareness as I edged closer to the right side of the stage. There was a decent size hole in the middle of everyone, containing the moshers. Suddenly, I noticed a ratio. After one good look over, I came to a loose conclusion; the ratio from hardcore kid to everyone else was 1 to 4. Hardcore kids are distinctive at a show. They are a bit more reckless; majority have style and essentially have a “no holds barred” attitude in the pit while still adhering to the pit rules. I was forced to take a step back and examine my surroundings. For a second I felt out of place, like I didn’t belong. It was like a fresh new feeling in a strange world, in a way. With recognizable faces in the crowd, I felt a bit more comfortable.

I began snapping photos as soon as I reached in front of the stage. There was a photographer or two followed by a videographer front and center stage, casually pacing back and forth behind the row of front stage attendees. It was another indication to let me further know there wasn’t many hardcore kids at this event. My first subject was River. River’s stage presence is exceedingly admirable. I was witnessing an individual with years of experience, performing on stage without skipping a beat. A moment later, I began covering ground to shoot more photos of each member of Ballista. The musicianship each of them possess is undeniable. You would have to be full of hatred to disagree. For the style of music, the band plays, it’s tight. The way each member plays falls into a perfect sync. With years under their belts and a ton of practices later, it’s no wonder their music is so good. This wasn’t a hardcore show, so I was able to pace back and forth along front of the stage without the worry of getting hit. Every so often I would look over my shoulder and see a character flailing their arms around to the aggression of the music. Monster Mash was essentially a Halloween festival, leaving a logical explanation as to why people dressed up, looking crazy. It was difficult for me to shake this awkward feeling, a strange feeling brewing from a loose paradox. I was uncomfortable and felt like an outcast in an environment I would normally feel comfortable in. I didn’t blame my age or being out of touch. Both of those theories proved to be irrelevant. It was much easier to say, “this isn’t my scene”. The statement held no weight and presented a truth I came across many times before. Nonetheless, they came to see Ballista.

A brief moment occurred during their set. It gave me time to adjust my camera setting to invite more light through the lens. Although I had my external flash, I wanted to put my lens to work instead of firing off a blinding light. Suddenly, River hopped up from a kneeling position and thrusted her phone in front of her to expose the screen to the audience. Her phone screen was on a face time call with her mother. River proceeds to tell the audience it was her mother’s birthday. I began snapping a handful of shots before River put her phone back to where it was before. It was an impromptu moment, a very special moment I was obligated to capture. Seeing her mom smile on the phone screen as she was wished happy birthday was a beautiful moment in time. Not a second later, Ballista continued to play their set to perfection. The assorted colors emitted from the stage lights gave the set a concert-like vibe. Although the stage wasn’t as high as I thought, River towered over the crowd as she continued to shred her vocal cords with ease. Before I knew it, the Ballista had reached an end. I stood on the side of the stage until they exited the stage, giving each member a hug. After giving her a hug, River expressed her thoughts on her performance. She wasn’t pleased about it. I was able to tell she wasn’t satisfied by her spirit, followed by the face of disappointment. It was then that I was able to completely relate how she was feeling. As a vocalist, I am my own worst critic. The last three shows I felt as if I didn’t perform the best of my abilities. On the contrary, from the audience perspective, there were no flaws detected. Being on a fan and a spectator, it looked as if River was doing a great job. I came to the realization that many artists across all genres on music are also their own worst critic. I didn’t stick around for long. This one of the few shows I showed up for only one band and left. After saying my goodbyes, I high-tailed back to the comfort of my own home. Didn’t to miss out on dinner and a good night sleep.