At times during World Ballet Company’s Swan Lake, I could hear the dancers’ shoes against the stage. It was a small detail among the costumes, scenery and music, but it stayed with me. Ballet can look effortless from the audience. Those sounds offered a little reminder of the strength and control behind the beautiful movements.

The Washington Pavilion was packed with people of all ages, from young children to grandparents enjoying an evening out. The company’s October 18 performance brought one of ballet’s most recognizable stories to Sioux Falls with a live orchestra. For me, it also brought an opportunity to photograph something connected to a part of my life that means a great deal to me. World Ballet Company

Before the performance even began, the staff helping guests throughout the venue stood out. The ushers were friendly, welcoming and seemed happy to be there. Their willingness to help made a good first impression, particularly in a room with so many people finding their way to their seats. The evening felt welcoming before the dancers had a chance to tell their story.

As a photographer, I was working with limited space along the sides of the room and the open seats I could find. There were practical things to figure out, as there always are when photographing a live performance. Even with those limitations, I was grateful to be there. Dance has always meant a lot to me, and this assignment felt different from photographing a typical event.

A story told without words

Swan Lake follows Princess Odette, who is cursed by the sorcerer Rothbart to live as a swan, returning to human form at night. Prince Siegfried falls in love with her and promises his faithfulness, but Rothbart’s daughter, Odile, deceives him into believing she is Odette. His mistaken promise to Odile threatens the love that could free Odette from the spell. That deception gives the dancers a great deal to communicate without a single spoken explanation. World Ballet Company

One of the most impressive parts of the performance was how much emotion came through in the dancers’ movements, expressions and interactions. There was a constant push and pull between characters, with lighter, more humorous moments balanced by darker scenes. The transitions helped keep the story engaging. I could appreciate the dancing while also following the relationships unfolding onstage.

In a written interview with Intellectual Dissatisfaction, company co-founder Sasha Gorskaya described how a familiar ballet can still feel immediate. “The freshness comes from how the dancers inhabit it. You can preserve the classical choreography and still make a look, a hesitation, or a betrayal feel immediate. The technique is incredibly demanding, but the audience should feel the emotion behind it. Love and bad decisions haven’t become any less relevant!”

The Jester gave the production some welcome humor, offering a lighter contrast to the more serious parts of the story. Those moments let the evening change its mood without losing its direction. The solos also gave individual dancers room to stand out. There was pleasure in watching one performer command attention, then seeing that attention expand again as the stage filled with dancers.

The larger group performances were just as impressive. The dancers moved so closely in sync that it was easy to forget how much practice it takes to make that coordination look natural. Every formation depended on the people within it maintaining their balance, timing and control. Watching them together made me appreciate the dedication behind the production as much as the finished image.

Gorskaya said the company’s international mix of dancers brings “Different training, different instincts, different ways of approaching a character.” Those differences become part of the work in rehearsal. “That gives us a lot to work with creatively. Then rehearsal turns those individual qualities into a company that can breathe together.”

Co-founder Gulya Hartwick still finds herself stopping to watch the ensemble. “And when all the swans come onstage, moving in perfect synchronization, the beauty is overwhelming. No matter how many times I’ve seen it, I still stop to watch.” Her answer felt close to what I appreciated in Sioux Falls: the individual effort was considerable, but the dancers kept drawing my attention back to what they could create together.

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Hearing the music happen

The live orchestra added another layer to the experience. Tchaikovsky’s music sounded clear and full, working alongside the choreography rather than competing with it. The orchestra and dancers seemed to move together, with the music helping build the emotion of each scene and guide the story.

Hartwick said this season marked the arrival of the company’s own WBC Orchestra. “For me, nothing compares to seeing Swan Lake while hearing Tchaikovsky’s music performed live. It’s how this extraordinary ballet deserves to be experienced.” Asked what live musicians add, she put it in physical terms: “You feel the music being created in the room—the breath, the texture, the sheer physical sound.”

Gorskaya described the same relationship from the dancers’ side. “For the dancers, there’s a living relationship with the conductor and musicians. Recorded music gives you consistency; live music asks everyone to listen and respond. That makes each performance its own event.”

That sense of people responding to one another was part of what made the performance rewarding to watch. There was plenty to take in visually, but the music helped me stay connected to the emotion while I was also thinking about photographs. Hearing the score performed in the same room gave the evening a presence that became part of my memory of it.

A world you could follow

The backdrops established the setting for each part of the story, while the costumes added color and elegance to the stage. With the theater dark beyond the performance area, the lighting drew attention to the dancers and the world around them. There was a lot to admire through a camera, but those visual details also helped make the story readable from the audience.

Gorskaya said the company first presented this production in 2019, giving it a prologue, additional characters and a more vibrant visual approach. “Over the years, we’ve added multimedia elements and projections, continuing to build that world. Gradually, our Swan Lake has grown into something that feels like a true ballet blockbuster.”

For Hartwick, the design begins with helping an audience understand where it is and who it is watching. “The palace and the lake should feel like very different places, and the costumes tell you something about the people who inhabit them.” She also described a specific change prompted by audience feedback: “We realized that the curse wasn’t always clear through ballet gestures alone, so we added projected lightning to make that moment unmistakable.”

The curse has to make sense before an audience can follow its consequences. In Sioux Falls, the costumes and scenery gave us a world to look at, while the dancers’ expressions and interactions gave us relationships to follow. Both helped keep the production engaging.

There is a practical side to all of that visual detail, too. Hartwick offered a glimpse of it with a little humor: “And yes, transporting more than 150 costumes does make packing for a personal vacation seem wonderfully simple.” From the audience, those costumes helped make each setting feel complete. Her answer was another reminder of the work that goes into bringing the production from city to city.

Gorskaya connected that attention to storytelling with her earlier career. “Working in journalism and media teaches you to think about the person receiving the story. What do they need to understand? What holds their attention? We bring those questions into the theatre.” The question of what an audience needs to understand is especially useful for a performance that must communicate so much through movement.

An invitation close to home

Based in Los Angeles, World Ballet Company tours nationwide with the aim of reaching both longtime ballet audiences and people who have never attended a performance. Bringing full productions into those communities is central to the founders’ approach. At the Pavilion, the mix of ages in the audience gave that goal a local setting: children and grandparents could share the same evening without needing the same history with ballet. worldballetcompany.com

“Sometimes the biggest barrier is the idea that ballet is for someone else—that you need special knowledge, special clothes, or a certain background,” Hartwick said. “You don’t. You can come curious and let the music and story do their work. We also bring full productions to people’s own communities, so attending doesn’t have to mean planning a trip to a major city.”

Gorskaya’s answer was shorter. “There’s no exam afterward. You’re allowed to enjoy it in your own way.” That seems like a good invitation for a room with so many ages represented. A person could follow the love story, appreciate the orchestra, watch the formations or find a favorite character in the Jester. There was room to connect with the performance in more than one way.

Hartwick said her experience producing major national music tours in different countries taught her to take responsibility for decisions and see them through. She described that same attitude toward building the ballet company and its audience. “We had to earn our audience, one city at a time. So we think about the whole experience, from someone first hearing about the show to leaving the theatre.”

That attention to the whole evening brought me back to the welcome at the Pavilion. The ushers were part of the experience, too, helping people settle in before the performance took over. A visit to the theater includes those smaller interactions alongside what happens onstage. In Sioux Falls, they helped make a busy room feel comfortable.

For Hartwick, the reward comes when an introduction to ballet becomes something people want to repeat. “Someone comes to their first ballet, brings a friend the following year, and eventually it becomes a family tradition. That’s what makes me proud: we’ve created a company people choose to come back to, and an audience that keeps growing with us.”

My own connection to the evening came through dance and photography. I love being able to capture people doing what they love, and there was something especially rewarding about documenting the talent, dedication and emotion in this production. I’m not usually a very emotional person, but there was a moment during the performance when I found myself with a tear in my eye.

I think it was a combination of watching the dancers, hearing the music and realizing that I was actually there, getting to photograph something connected to a part of my life that means so much to me. The technical considerations were still there. Where could I stand? Which moments could I capture? But so was the simple gratitude of having the opportunity.

Afterglow

It’s easy to get caught up in the technical side of photography, thinking about where to stand, what settings to use and which moments to capture. Every once in a while, an opportunity reminds you why you love what you do in the first place. This was one of those opportunities for me.

I keep coming back to those small sounds of shoes against the stage. They made the physical work audible for a moment, even as the dancers made it look so graceful. Getting to photograph Swan Lake meant documenting that work, but it also meant being there to feel something myself. That is the part of the evening I won’t soon forget.

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Some concert nights leave you with a favorite song, a memorable performance, or a few photographs you can’t wait to edit. Others remind you why you picked up a camera in the first place. The sold out Crowder LIVE! show at Lutheran Church of Hope in West Des Moines, Iowa, managed to do all three, bringing together LOST & FOUND, Rend Collective, and the man of the hour, Crowder for an evening that crossed musical genres, generations, and even continents while keeping Jesus at the center.

It’s amazing to think that this is my second TPR show in October, and I hope that regularity continues. This is what I feel God called me into photography for: capturing Christian artists doing what they do best, proclaiming Jesus in musical form. While the bulk of my calendar is filled with non Christian artists, I pray that it continues to fill up with artists like the ones who filled this sanctuary tonight. A huge thanks to TPR for having me. When I arrived, Brenton made the check in process smooth and was a pleasure to work with, just as Daisy was when I covered Megan Woods earlier this month.

When I arrived at Lutheran Church of Hope, I honestly didn’t know what to expect. When I think of a church stage, I don’t picture a setup designed for a full scale concert. Walking into this facility quickly made me realize just how small my local church really is. Which isn’t a bad thing. The building was enormous, complete with what looked like a Starbucksesque cafe and even a church gift shop. The production possibilities were impressive, but I still found myself wondering whether all that spectacle was being used to point people toward Christ. A large building and a big stage are only tools. What matters is what happens with them.

That question would follow me through the night, and the answer would come less from the size of the production than from the music, the musicians, and a sanctuary full of people singing together.

LOST & FOUND bring the Psalms with a beat

The evening began with LOST & FOUND taking the stage. I honestly hadn’t heard of these guys before, but I will absolutely be adding them to my playlists. The young, energetic group built its songs around Scripture, drawing directly from the Psalms and giving those ancient prayers a fresh musical home. Their sound landed somewhere between pop and this bluegrass folk fusion, with a vibrancy that made the short opening set feel like an invitation rather than an obligation.

LOST & FOUND didn’t have much time on stage, but they made good use of every minute. They even squeezed in a little trivia with the audience, awarding a hat to the person who answered correctly. It was a small moment, but it gave the group a chance to connect with the crowd before getting back to the music. Their songs have a directness that works well in a live setting, particularly when the source material is Scripture itself. The Psalms contain grief, gratitude, desperation, repentance, and joy, and there’s no shortage of emotional ground to cover when you build music around them.

But the highlight of their set came with “2 STEP THE ENEMY,” a track that brings LOST & FOUND into collaboration with Forrest Frank and ZVC. The song already has a memorable hook, but it landed on a much more personal level for me.

I’m celebrating three years of sobriety, by the grace of God, and these lyrics hit particularly hard: “The only spirit I need is the Holy One. I don’t need Jack from Daniels ‘cause the spirit’s living in me.”

Honestly, what a bar.

There’s a difference between hearing a line like that as a clever lyric and hearing it after experiencing the kind of struggle it describes. My battle with alcohol is part of my story, but it no longer has the final word in it. Christ does. Three years sober is something I’m deeply thankful for, and hearing a song put that contrast into words in the middle of a live set made the moment feel personal in a way I couldn’t have planned.

It’s one thing to hear a song about victory over the enemy. It’s another to stand there knowing what God has brought you through and sing along with it.

The entire set was a refreshing, vibrant take on the Psalms, and I enjoyed it right through to the end. My only real complaint was how quickly it ended. I was left wanting more, which is about the best problem an opening act can give you. LOST & FOUND had introduced themselves to someone who came in unfamiliar with their music, delivered a memorable moment, and left me looking forward to hearing what they release next.

The stage change that followed was almost as impressive as the performance itself. It felt like barely five minutes had passed before the lights went out again and the music started back up. For a night featuring multiple bands and a substantial amount of equipment, the turnaround was remarkably quick. There was little time for the room to lose the momentum LOST & FOUND had built.

And then came the band I had been waiting to see for quite some time.

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Rend Collective brings a little Ireland to Iowa

I’ve been trying to see Rend Collective live for quite some time. Scheduling conflicts and tickets selling out too quickly had repeatedly kept me away, but not tonight. And boy, did they deliver.

The Northern Irish group has built its identity around folk rock instrumentation, communal singing, and a joyful approach to worship.

That combination translated beautifully to the stage. These Irish boys like to have fun, and that enthusiasm was contagious enough to get people dancing in the aisles. This wasn’t a crowd content to sit back and watch a band perform. The music kept inviting people to participate, and they were more than happy to oblige.

During the latter part of the set, the fiddler and drummer moved toward the front of the stage, dancing around with high kicks and spins. The drummer was playing an instrument I’d never seen before, which sent me into research mode afterward. My best identification is a stumpf fiddle, a percussion instrument associated with folk music that can produce a wonderfully unruly sound. Whatever the exact technical description, it was a blast to watch. My camera couldn’t keep up with all the movement, and that’s a pretty good indication of just how much fun they were having.

They truly brought a little bit of Ireland to Iowa.

It’s also always amusing to me how someone can have such a thick accent while speaking, only for it to seem to disappear when they start singing. The transformation is fascinating to witness live, particularly when the music is as full of personality as Rend Collective’s.

They played two songs I‘d been especially excited to hear with “Hallelujah Anyway” and “Counting Every Blessing”. Both were welcome additions to the evening, but this is one of the reasons I love live music. The songs you expect to be your favorites aren’t necessarily the ones that stick with you afterward.

Two other performances took that place for me during my time with Rend Collective.

First came “Salt and Light”, a gospel sea shanty that I didn’t know I needed in my life until that very second. It was wonderfully unexpected to hear a song that takes the language of Christian witness and pairs it with the rolling, communal feel of a sea shanty. The result was catchy, distinctive, and completely at home in a set that refused to limit worship to one familiar sound.

Then came “Hymn of the Highlands,” a song I’ve been unable to find a readily available Rend Collective recording of since the show. The inability to revisit it whenever I want almost makes the experience more intimate. Sometimes a live performance is a moment you simply have to carry with you. You can photograph it, describe it, and tell people about it, but none of those things quite recreates what it felt like to be in the room at that moment.

The song closed their set with a stripped down, congregational feel that gave the entire sanctuary an invitation to sing. After all the dancing, movement, and lively instrumentation, the band brought things to a place of collective worship. Hearing approximately 2,500 people singing together was something else. You could feel the room change as the voices rose, and I was genuinely grateful they chose to end their set that way.

As the audience’s voices faded into the final refrain of “Praise the Lord, Oh My Soul,” the lights lowered and the band walked offstage. It was a beautiful ending, one that directed the applause away from the musicians and toward the One they had spent the set praising.

Jesus.

For a band I’d waited so long to see, Rend Collective exceeded my expectations. The musicianship, the fun, the unusual instrumentation, and that final congregational moment gave me more than one reason to remember this set. I would happily see them again.

An intermission with an eternal purpose

Then came the intermission, a familiar feature of many Christian events: the sponsorship appeal.

Jeremy Rosado remained onstage during The Truth Tour’s intermission while for this show Pastor Eric shared a little about his own journey with the mission. The hope was that his story would encourage people in the audience to sponsor a child through Compassion International. The goal for the evening was to have 200 children sponsored by the time the event ended.

I appreciate that these events make space for ministries working beyond the concert itself. An evening of Christian music can encourage people in their faith, but there are also opportunities to turn that encouragement outward and help others experience practical care and hear about Jesus.

My one complaint with announcing a numerical goal is that the audience doesn’t always get to hear how close the event came to reaching it. I’d love to know whether the 200 child target was met, exceeded, or fell short. That follow up would give the appeal a satisfying conclusion and let attendees see what their collective generosity accomplished.

Those who felt led to sponsor a child could also take home a Crowder hat as a small thank you. The hat was the immediate reward, but the greater hope was that a child would receive needed support and have an opportunity to learn about Jesus.

And with that, it was time for the headliner.

Crowder brings big production with bigger praise

Crowder took the stage with an impressive collection of equipment. Two drum kits, multiple pianos, a keyboard fitted with a beat pad, guitars, fiddles, banjos, and two backing vocalists made for a production with plenty of possibilities. There was no shortage of musical options, and Crowder’s band used them all to keep the sound varied, the energy high, and the praise even higher.

Crowder has enough recognizable songs that choosing a dream setlist can be difficult. Somehow, in roughly an hour and fifteen minutes, he managed to work in all the songs I had been hoping to hear. “Grave Robber,” “It Really Is Amazing Grace,” and “Somebody Prayed” all helped round out an already memorable evening. Each brought something different to the performance, and the variety kept the set from settling into one predictable groove.

But, just as with Rend Collective, the performances that hit me hardest weren’t necessarily the ones I had anticipated.

My favorite of the night was “I Know a Ghost”. The combination of green lighting, huge bass hits, fiddle, and the song’s lyrics came together in a way that hit differently in person. The low end gave the performance a different kind of heaviness, while the fiddle added another layer to the arrangement. Visually and musically, the pieces fit together beautifully. It’s the kind of performance that makes you glad you were there to experience it rather than simply listening through headphones.

I’ll hold on to that performance for the foreseeable future.

Crowder also slowed things down, taking a seat behind the keys for a couple of songs. The stripped down version of “Red Letters” stood out in particular. After the larger production numbers, the change in presentation was a nice contrast to the evening. Crowder didn’t need the full arsenal of instruments to make the moment work. Sometimes a song becomes more powerful when you take away the things competing for your attention and let the words lead.

Between songs, Crowder shared stories from his life, often at a speed that made it difficult to keep up. Man, does that guy talk fast. There were moments when the words came so quickly that I couldn’t quite process everything he was saying before he’d moved on to the next thought. His storytelling was part of the show’s personality, though, adding a conversational quality to a performance built around a sizable production.

One story near the end of the set was particularly memorable. Before launching into a final medley, Crowder told a detailed story about meeting Marty Stuart, seeing Stuart’s remarkable collection of music memorabilia, and collaborating on a remake of Hank Williams’ “I Saw the Light.”

As Crowder told it, Stuart had put Hank Williams’ gray jacket on him before realizing why Crowder was there. The encounter also involved a photograph containing unreleased verses associated with Williams and the legendary Johnny Cash. It was an extraordinary chain of events to hear about in the middle of a concert, particularly given the song’s place in country and gospel music history.

Stories like this are part of what make live performances worth experiencing beyond the music alone. You get glimpses of the people, encounters, and unexpected circumstances that help shape an artist’s life and songs. Sometimes the connections are so unlikely that they make you stop and think.

As a Christian, I can’t help wondering how often God is moving in people’s lives through circumstances they don’t yet recognize. I can’t claim to know the divine purpose behind every unexpected meeting, and I wouldn’t pretend that a remarkable coincidence proves anything on its own. But hearing Crowder describe that chain of events reminded me how often the stories we tell about our lives are full of moments we couldn’t have planned ourselves.

And then, of course, there was the final medley, bringing the evening toward its close after a set that had already given me more than I expected. Crowder delivered the hits, the musical variety, and the memorable moments, but the concert never felt as though the production existed merely to impress. The music kept returning to its central purpose: worship.

Afterglow

This sold out night at Lutheran Church of Hope was a reminder that worshipping Jesus doesn’t fit into one musical mold, nor should it. From a song about two stepping the enemy to country rock arrangements to a lively Irish folk rock band giving us a gospel sea shanty, the evening covered an extraordinary amount of musical ground without losing sight of the One being praised.

That’s part of what I hope to capture through my photography. Yes, I want compelling images. I want to freeze the high kicks, the lighting, the musicianship, and the moments that make a concert visually unforgettable. But I also want my work to reflect why these artists are on stage in the first place. For me, Christian concert photography is an opportunity to document people using their gifts to proclaim Jesus, and I pray that God continues to open doors for me to do more of it.

The music was excellent. The performances were memorable. The crowd was engaged. But the most rewarding part of the evening was watching three very different acts point a room full of people toward the same Savior.

If you have the opportunity to catch a remaining date on the Crowder LIVE! tour, I hope you take it. With LOST & FOUND, Rend Collective, and Crowder on the bill, there’s plenty to enjoy even if your musical tastes lean in different directions. And if you’re still trying to figure out what you believe about Jesus, I hope an evening like this might encourage you to take another look.

After all, the goal isn’t simply to leave the sanctuary humming a catchy tune. It’s to leave with your eyes pointed toward Christ.

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By the time ProbCause took the stage at The Vault at Reign on October 17, the intimate Uptown Minneapolis venue had filled with fans ready for funky grooves, heavy bass and live hip-hop. The headliner delivered, but he was only part of what made our first SIMshows event memorable.

With FLOWERRR, Nick O and MOUSAI bringing their own distinct sounds to the lineup, and local creators adding everything from live painting to upcycled fashion, the night offered plenty worth exploring beyond the music. Ali and I had also turned the trip into a rare weekend getaway. Between unexpected detours, remarkable hospitality and my increasingly frustrating battle with concert photography, we came home with more of a story than we’d anticipated.

The distance between routine and release

It had been a couple of years, easily, since Ali and I had taken a trip together without the kids. Between two young children, full-time jobs and the seemingly endless demands of running a publication, a weekend away can feel like a luxury. So when the opportunity came along to cover ProbCause in Minneapolis, we decided to make a weekend out of it.

The nearly four-hour drive from Sioux Falls felt surprisingly quick. Ali managed to stay awake the whole way, and we took turns picking tunes to vibe to. No bedtime routines, no competing responsibilities demanding immediate attention. Just a few hours to ourselves.

Of course, the getaway didn’t unfold quite as planned. We arrived at the Fairfield Inn & Suites just before midnight Friday, and Ali wasn’t impressed. So, we decided to switch hotels the next morning.

W Minneapolis - The Foshay was more expensive, but the experience was a considerable improvement. After handing our keys to the valet, we stepped into an entryway dominated by a huge, brightly decorated “W”. Purple and amber light washed across an ornate ceiling. Between the entry way and the restaurant, vivid orange flowers stood against softly glowing wall panels. The historic building and contemporary lighting made for an unexpectedly effective combination. Looking back, the colors were practically foreshadowing what we’d find later that night.

First, however, we had a dinner reservation to enjoy. Rinata, a genuine Italian restaurant in Uptown, served delicious risotto and ravioli, along with a Caesar salad and dressing whose distinct anchovy notes were hard to miss. The service might have been the best part. Ali, a bartender herself, described it as the best service she’d received in a very long time. That’s a meaningful compliment coming from someone who spends her own shifts taking care of customers. A shout out to the co-owner and manager “Sino” for the exceptional service.

A warm welcome to The Vault

Instead of following the front steps at Reign Event Center, we noticed a small line forming along the side of the building. The ProbCause and GRiZ jerseys and other familiar EDM-scene drip made it obvious we’d found the right entrance. We arrived around 10:10 p.m., ten minutes after doors opened, and got inside about fifteen minutes later. The first act had already started, and only a modest crowd had gathered.

The first impression was positive. Inside, staff seemed appropriately assigned to the bar and other stations. An employee even offered to hold Ali’s coat behind the rail when she asked about a coat check, which the venue didn’t have. That’s not a spectacular gesture, but it says something about how guests are treated.

The room surprised me. Exposed brick, dark upholstered furniture, ornate chandeliers and a compact performance area made The Vault at Reign feel unusually intimate. Ali ordered drinks while I looked for places to shoot from. Before long, I realized how challenging those photographs would be.

This was also my first time covering a SIMshows event. Founder Jack Trash, a longtime figure in the Twin Cities electronic music scene, explained during a phone interview afterward that the downstairs venue gives the company unusual flexibility. The owner of The Armory, where Jack is a partner, also owns the Reign building. According to Jack, SIMshows can supplement the venue’s setup with its own small LED wall, lasers and recently purchased subwoofers, while choosing the music and inviting vendors. “They kind of give us free rein to do whatever we want,” he told me.

That flexibility matters financially. Jack said smaller EDM shows sometimes struggle to break even amid competition and crowded touring schedules. The arrangement at The Vault, he explained, lets SIMshows manage costs while still investing in a production worth attending. From what we saw, that investment extended beyond the stage.

Aaron Opoien’s Not Dead Yet clothing booth was full of one-of-a-kind, upcycled garments, including customized flannels, reworked athleticwear and imaginative creations fashioned from thrifted and vintage finds. A Chucky-inspired flannel caught my eye. Ali liked it enough to buy it for a friend.

Based in Saint Paul, Opoien sees his work as a creative response to the staggering amount of textile waste produced each year. “I feel that there’s way too much garbage in the world right now,” he told us. Using his mother’s sewing machine from the 1970s, he transforms secondhand clothing and even throw blankets into what he calls “one of a kind wearable art.” His latest projects include patchwork sweatshirts assembled from repurposed sleeves, hoods and pockets. Opoien primarily sells his creations at EDM events around the Twin Cities, with interested buyers also able to reach him through Instagram while he works toward launching a website.

Austen and McKayla Horowitz also brought colorful paintings, including a cosmic scene with planets and bright bursts of color that Austen worked on live. Watching an artist concentrate on a canvas while bass reverberated through the room gave the space its own creative pulse.

Austen described his work as a combination of galactic imagery, UV-reactive painting and street-art influences. Based in the Twin Cities, the duo also promote SIMshows events and have spent the past five years live-painting at shows around Minneapolis. Austen takes commissions and shares his work weekly through Instagram and Facebook under Austen Horowitz Art.

The vendors weren’t simply background decoration. They helped make the event feel like a gathering of local creators and fans, not just a stop on someone’s tour. Jack described community-building as something that begins with promoters being accessible, talking with fans and supporting the people around them. He said SIMshows consistently books local DJs, mixing performers who’ve worked with the company before with people getting their first opportunity. That approach made sense in a room where musicians, visual artists and independent sellers shared the same space.

FLOWERRR with special guest Moonshie Sax

FLOWERRR wasn’t even on the published lineup, but she and an accompanying musician, Moonshie Sax, were already performing when we arrived. Her set moved between psychedelic textures, funky electronic rhythms and atmospheric melodies, all anchored by deep, rumbling bass. What made the combination work was the contrast. The funkier, more melodic passages offered room to breathe between heavier sections, keeping the performance from becoming a monotonous succession of drops.

FLOWERRR has described her sound as something between GRiZ and CloZee, and I could hear why. Moonshie Sax’s electronic saxophone brought a distinct live instrumental element to the electronic backdrop, while brilliant magenta lasers cut across the room beneath the chandeliers. It was a colorful introduction to the evening, both musically and visually.

Fans of the local artist have plenty to look forward to, even if they missed Saturday’s show. FLOWERRR told us that she and special guest Moonshie Sax are starting a new project together. The DJ also revealed that she has new music on the way and several other projects in the works. She described opening for ProbCause as an experience she was “so grateful and honored to have.” According to FLOWERRR, fans hoping to catch her live can see her perform at Graco Park on November 14, during an event organized by Silent Nights Minneapolis.

The show looked fantastic in person. Through my camera, unfortunately, it was another story.

The room was so dark, and the lighting changed so quickly, that frame after frame came back nearly black or hopelessly blurry. I pushed the ISO as high as it would go and kept adjusting, but the more I fought the camera, the more anxious I became. I’d traveled all this way to photograph an artist I loved, and I was beginning to worry I’d have nothing worth publishing.

Nick O blends hip-hop, phonk, wave and deep dub

FLOWERRR’s handoff to Nick O was almost seamless. For a moment, they were both behind the decks, keeping the music moving without a lengthy pause to drain the room’s momentum. By then, the crowd was filling in, and Nick O brought a noticeably heavier, more bass-forward sound.

Thick, wobbling low frequencies dominated much of his set, occasionally seeming to rattle the venue itself. But the weight of the bass wasn’t the whole story. Sharp percussion and higher-frequency textures cut through the low end, adding rhythmic detail and dimension to a performance that could otherwise have relied too heavily on sheer intensity.

Ali found some of the bass-heavy passages a little conventional, but appreciated the quality of his execution and his ability to keep the crowd engaged. I was particularly drawn to the contrast between his low-end sound design and the sharper elements layered above it. A brief burst of feedback near the end interrupted that experience, but the issue was quickly resolved.

Following the show, Nick O gave me more context about what we’d heard. “I don’t really put myself under one genre,” he said, describing a sound rooted in hip-hop and rap while incorporating the elements he loves about phonk, wave, deep dub and freeform. That combination helped explain the contrast between the set’s hard-hitting, wobble-heavy basslines and its more atmospheric passages, with the influence of hip-hop particularly evident in the rhythmic foundation.

He formerly played heavier trap and brostep, but said his July headlining appearance at Taco Tuesday marked the debut of a new artistic direction. He’s previously shared bills with Peekaboo, Sully and Sumthin Sumthin.

Nick O was upbeat about the night itself: “It was a fun show, packed house, Prob and Mousai killed it. The crowd was great, it was all around a great time.” He also mentioned new music on the horizon, including a planned flip of “Thought It Was a Drought” and Pursuit 808, the first mix in a new series previewing upcoming releases.

Then it was finally time for ProbCause.

ProbCause served up the good vibes then passed ‘em all around

I’ve been a diehard GRiZ fan since seeing him at Summer Set in 2017. Watching GRiZ bring Rainbow Brain to Electric Forest deepened that appreciation. ProbCause’s collaborations with him, particularly the way his live rapping interacts with GRiZ’s funk-infused production, were what made me a fan. Once I learned ProbCause was doing solo shows, I knew I had to cover one. I’d even spent months dropping comments on his social posts encouraging him to come to the Midwest. We reached out as soon as the Minneapolis date appeared.

By the time he took the stage, the crowd had packed into the intimate room. Rounded, almost inflatable-looking lettering and brightly colored graphics filled the LED wall behind him. His sound was every bit as diverse as I’d hoped: heavy dubstep, rich bass, elastic funk grooves and clean transitions into tracks with his own vocals. Those live rapped passages are the difference-maker for me. They pull the performance out of the familiar DJ-set mold and turn it into something that feels closer to a hybrid of hip-hop show and electronic concert.

Jack shares that enthusiasm. Asked why ProbCause appealed to SIMshows, he pointed to the artist’s versatility. “The vocal element is super, super lit and fun,” he said, describing a performer who can move from a GRiZ-style funk groove into considerably heavier music. The set demonstrated exactly what he meant. It never stayed in one lane long enough to become predictable. The bass was powerful without repeatedly swallowing the sharper melodies or vocals, and the audience responded enthusiastically throughout.

Then came “Rainbow Machine,” ProbCause’s collaboration with GRiZ on Future Funk Volume 1. It’s become one of my favorite tracks, and hearing it live was the point when I finally put the camera down. After spending the night worrying about shutter speeds, ISO and how many photos might be unusable, I stopped working. For a few minutes, I was just another fan in the crowd, enjoying the funky groove. Honestly, I needed that.

Seeing that kind of performance in a room this small, with tickets around $25, felt almost ridiculous in the best possible way. Other attendees told us how special the night was, and I agreed.

Jack’s comments offered some insight into how SIMshows approaches events like this. He teaches school in addition to promoting concerts and said his teaching salary gives him some flexibility to take risks on smaller shows. Some only break even, while stronger sellers can help support bookings that might otherwise be difficult to justify. “It gives me a lot of freedom to fight for lower ticket prices,” he explained, while emphasizing that artists, staff and venues still need to get paid. It’s an approach he believes allows SIMshows to put the music and community first without ignoring the financial realities of running events.

That philosophy was visible all around us: the small room, the impressive production, the local vendors, and a headliner who could easily have felt out of reach in a more conventional setting. ProbCause’s performance was easily worth the trip. If you get the chance to see a solo set of his, don’t miss it.

They came for ProbCause but stayed for MOUSAI

MOUSAI brought the evening to a close with deep, rolling bass, psychedelic textures and a sound that immediately reminded me of Mersiv. Not a carbon copy: the heavy, hypnotic sound design had its own character, alternating between atmospheric passages and more aggressive moments. He is absolutely a must-see local act.

Having a local artist close after a touring headliner is an interesting choice. In some circumstances, the crowd might thin considerably once the main attraction leaves the stage. A few guests did head for the exits after ProbCause, but plenty remained, responding enthusiastically as MOUSAI carried the night forward. It was a convincing demonstration of the local support he’d built, and a fitting conclusion to the show.

MOUSAI described his own sound as “melodic harmonic bass music,” a fitting description for an approach that balances immersive melodies and atmospheric soundscapes with powerful, bass-heavy production. His experience extends well beyond the local circuit, with performances at festivals including Infrasound, Dancefestopia, Lightning in a Bottle, WAKAAN Festival and Bass Ribbon Pines. He’s also provided support for artists such as Liquid Stranger and CloZee. And for those interested in exploring his music beyond the stage, MOUSAI told us he releases new material almost every month.

As for his experience joining ProbCause, MOUSAI had nothing but praise for the headliner. He said he “had a blast” performing alongside him, calling ProbCause “a great dude” and expressing his gratitude for the invitation to join him on tour.

Ali, meanwhile, had been doing some excellent networking and met photographer Scarlette, who graciously shared images that helped us capture MOUSAI’s performance more fully. Several of her photographs accompany this section, credited to Scarlette Darling Photography.

You can find more of her work on Instagram — Scarlette Darling Photography.

Afterglow

Ali deserves considerable credit for the evening. She established a home base on a couch near the bar, took notes, minded our drinks and struck up conversations while I scrambled from spot to spot, bumping into other guests, trying to rescue my photographs. I could tell she was frustrated by my hyperfocus, and I couldn’t blame her. This was supposed to be a rare weekend away together. Yet she kept contributing in ways I hadn’t expected.

Something Jack said during our interview came back to me afterward. He talked about taking care of the people in the scene, whether that meant supporting local talent, helping fans through difficult times or simply making connections. “There are ways that everyone can win,” he said. Between the artists who took time to speak with us, the vendors sharing their work and Scarlette generously contributing her photography, we’d seen examples of what he meant.

We slipped out as the final set ended, caught a reasonably priced Lyft back to The Foshay and ordered Hawaiian pizza from Mother Clucker’s. Back in the room, we put on The White Lotus, which Ali had recently introduced me to, and finally settled in for the night.

The hotel change and photography frustrations weren’t quite what I’d envisioned for a relaxing weekend. But the music was excellent, the atmosphere welcoming, and we got to share an experience in a scene we’d never covered before. Even if I spent an awful lot of our date night arguing with my camera, I couldn’t have asked for a better person to spend it with.

I arrived at xBk Live exhausted and carrying a little more apprehension than usual. Igor and I had split our commitments for the evening: he was running an open stage night at Mickey’s Irish Pub in Waukee while I covered Jesse Roper on my own. For some reason, the thought of handling the whole show solo had gotten into my head. Taking notes, taking photographs, making sure I caught what I needed — I was looking forward to the music, but I was also thinking about the work.

Then I walked through the door.

There were staff members I know and love, familiar faces in the audience and people I would get to know before the night was over. My reservations disappeared almost immediately. I might have come without my usual partner, but being at xBk didn’t feel particularly lonely.

By the time Jesse finished, exhaustion would be a distant memory. Getting to sleep afterward turned out to be the harder assignment.

Familiar faces, pointed words

Ducharme-Jones started right on time at 7 p.m., with 27 people in the audience by my count. The Des Moines band centers on husband-and-wife songwriters Dave and Anne Ducharme-Jones, whose years in California and Austin preceded their return to Iowa. Dave handles lead guitar and vocals, Anne plays rhythm guitar and sings, with Ben Mars on bass and background vocals and Jim Stevens on drums and percussion. Their shared history reaches well beyond their current hometown. Ducharme-Jones

Their relationship with this particular room runs deep, too. Their 2023 album Ducharme-Jones Live from Dogtown was recorded across multiple xBk performances between March 2022 and April 2023. They have already preserved a piece of what happens here, which made their presence on this bill feel especially fitting. Ducharme-Jones

The set included “My Soul and You”, a song that also appears on their latest album, lumina. The band describes it as a ballad about connection, while another selection from the same record, “(F)orget U”, concerns the disappointment that can follow when a relationship goes wrong. On this Wednesday, the introduction gave the latter a pointed additional association. Ducharme-Jones

During a discussion of early voting, they repeatedly referred to “there’s somebody we don’t want to think about anymore”. I took the tactful wording as a reference to Trump. They left the name unspoken, then moved into “(F)orget U,” letting a catchy song follow the suggestion.

It was a memorable bit of stage conversation because of that restraint. The implication was easy enough to catch without becoming an extended speech, and the music carried on.

Ducharme-Jones would stay for Jesse’s performance after finishing their own. Later, I noticed Anne taking photos and video, and the band members looked noticeably impressed by what they were watching. Having already seen them onstage, it was fun to find them sharing the audience’s side of the evening.

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Flowers under changing lights

Jesse Roper started at 8:05 p.m. By then, I counted 41 people.

The lighting was minimal: orange and green, then blue and yellow. One detail that caught my eye was Jesse’s guitar strap, decorated with red and purple flowers. The other guitarist and bassist wore plain black straps. I couldn’t tell whether the contrast was deliberate, but it made his floral strap stand out all the more. Even before getting into the playing, there was something pleasing about that small patch of color against the simpler straps beside him.

Then there was the matter of keeping up with him.

Jesse smiled broadly, bounced and kept moving. His physical enthusiasm was constant enough that “never stopped moving” made it into my notes. That can sound like a broad description until you spend a set watching somebody whose enjoyment is so visible. There was no need to guess whether he wanted to be up there.

His first song was “Journey Man”, from his 2015 album Red Bird. By the third song, he was into “Make It All Work Out,” bringing a more recent part of his catalog into the evening. Those selections alone reached across years of recording, though keeping track of release dates was hardly what held my attention in the room. I was watching the man playing them. jesseroper.ca

The Victoria, British Columbia artist works across blues, Americana and soul, with guitar playing central to his performances. His booking biography also describes serious stage fright earlier in his life. Watching him at xBk, that history was difficult to picture. The movement, the enormous smiles and his ease with the audience gave little outward indication of someone who had once struggled to get onstage. Crossover Touring

I had arrived with my own much smaller set of nerves, so I appreciated that detail. There is something encouraging about seeing a performer so comfortable doing something that once frightened him. I wouldn’t presume to know what goes through Jesse’s head before a show. I can only say that what reached us looked joyful.

And joy is difficult to resist when it is standing that close, guitar in hand.

A request worth shouting

“The Hurricane’s Eye” drew what may have been the biggest reaction of the night. I hesitate to award a definitive winner because I wasn’t measuring applause, but it stood out enough that I marked it while taking notes. In a room this size, you can register a response without needing thousands of voices behind it.

Jesse also talked about seeing Metallica when he was younger and the mosh pits he remembered from those concerts. At a more recent Metallica show, he had enjoyed fighting his way toward the front, only to discover a very different scene when he got there: people standing with their cellphones, with no mosh pit in sight.

His disbelief was the entertaining part. He had gone looking for the kind of physical participation he associated with those earlier shows and found an audience holding up screens instead.

I was there with a camera myself, so I can hardly pretend that documenting a concert is foreign territory. But listening to him describe the difference, then watching how much of himself he put into his own performance, made the story fit. Jesse gave us plenty to photograph. He also made it awfully tempting to forget the equipment for a moment and simply enjoy being there.

That willingness to participate came through when people called out “Cool Whip.” He played it, and members of the audience sang along.

It was one of my favorite exchanges of the evening: a shouted request, a response from the stage and people who knew the song joining in. With the crowd still relatively small, those voices felt individual and close. You could recognize the enthusiasm behind the request and then hear it continue once the song began.

There were other details I wanted to hold onto. “Yomalady” made it into my notes, as did Jesse’s use of a slide during the set. So did those recurring smiles. The technical details and song titles were part of what I needed to record, but his expression kept demanding its own attention.

Meanwhile, I was still hoping to hear “Cherry” and “Access to Infinity.” Both belong to his 2018 album Access to Infinity, and they were the personal wish-list songs running through my head as the evening continued. That is one of the pleasures — and occasional distractions — of covering an artist whose music you already love. You’re listening to what is happening while quietly anticipating what might come next. jesseroper.ca

By 9 p.m., I counted 51 people. Those were my own snapshots of the audience rather than official attendance figures, but the progression was noticeable: 27 during Ducharme-Jones, 41 when Jesse began and 51 later in his set.

I kept looking at the stage and thinking that more people should be seeing this. His performance deserved a larger audience. Still, I was grateful to be among the people who had made it into this room on a Wednesday night.

The change in my own state was striking. Earlier, I had been utterly exhausted. Now I felt high on life, watching a musician I admire perform with an enthusiasm that seemed to keep replenishing itself. I found Jesse mesmerizing, and the longer I watched him smile and move through the set, the harder it became to imagine hanging onto a bad mood.

That is a personal response, certainly. It is also the most honest account I can give of what his performance did for me.

A few minutes at the merch booth

After the show, I had a chance to speak with Jesse. He needed to get to his merch booth, so he invited me behind it with him. We had a short, sweet conversation while he sold shirts and other merchandise.

There was no lengthy interview or grand revelation. I was simply happy to have a few minutes with someone whose music I love and respect. After watching him perform, getting to talk while he handled the ordinary business of selling merchandise felt like a lovely way to finish the evening.

I made sure to grab a quick selfie before leaving.

The encounter stayed with me alongside the performance. I had come in worried about covering everything myself, then found familiar people, made new friends and ended the night chatting with Jesse behind his merch table. The evening had become much easier to inhabit than I had expected while thinking through it beforehand.

As I write this, I’m still waiting for Igor to finish editing my photographs. I’m hopeful about what I captured. Jesse gave me plenty to work with: movement, those huge smiles and a floral guitar strap I kept noticing beneath the changing lights. With someone that photogenic, I had to have caught a few good ones.

For now, I’m enjoying the anticipation of seeing them.

Afterglow

Leaving xBk, my mind felt sharp and I was wide awake. The fatigue I had brought through the door had given way to thoughts of the performance, the people I had spent the evening with and those few minutes talking with Jesse afterward.

I felt blessed to have had the opportunity. Covering a show means paying attention, keeping track and making sure you can tell its story afterward. Sometimes, somewhere in the middle of doing that work, the music gives you something you hadn’t realized you needed.

I had worried about handling the night on my own. By the end, I was grateful I had been there at all.

Then I went home and tried to sleep.

Jesse Roper had made that considerably more difficult.

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Plans are subject to change. Knowing how those changes will work out? Well, that’s another thing entirely. A few weeks before this Saturday, I saw that Grits & Greens were coming to Blue Canoe and checked with my buddy Randy and his lady, Tina. We made plans to meet up, hang out and catch the show. Simple enough, until my usual Tupelo go-to, Backline Music Hall, announced Float Like a Buffalo for the same night.

Now I had a little scheduling problem to resolve… lol. I wasn’t 100 percent sure what to expect from either band, and I wanted to hear both. Float Like a Buffalo’s 7:30 start and Grits & Greens’ 8:30 start gave me a timeline to work with, provided I could talk myself into leaving the first show. By the end of the night, I was wishing somebody had put both bands on the same stage.

As I would find out across town, that idea wasn’t nearly as far-fetched as I thought.

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Let's try Buffalo first

I arrived early at Backline Music Hall, giving myself time to say hello to everyone and see how things had been going. I’ve got an idea I want to run by Meredith, too, though there are still a few things to iron out before that conversation. For now, I had a camera, two shows on the schedule and a roomful of familiar faces to catch up with before the first band started.

Denver’s Float Like a Buffalo brought six musicians and enough instrumental options to keep my eyes moving around the stage. Cory Pearman handled lead vocals and rhythm guitar, with James Steinbach on lead guitar, Jason Clukies on bass and Jon Cales behind the drums. Cory “Beef” Meier moved between keyboards and trombone, while Luke Story supplied saxophone. Two Corys, one band. I had my work cut out for me keeping names straight before we even got to the music.

The group formed in 2014, and its mix of funk, ska, reggae and rock has taken it from Colorado clubs to Red Rocks. Here at Backline, though, the part that interested me was how all those pieces worked together in a room this intimate. Guitars, keys and horns can make for a lot of moving parts. These guys kept theirs tight and locked in.

They came on promptly at 7:30, and Preston had them sounding great. A small cable issue cropped up at the start, but it was resolved quickly while the guys never missed a beat. “FKA” opened the set and established where this was headed. We were going to have a party, and a little trouble with a cable wasn’t going to change those plans.

Pearman kept the vocals strong while Steinbach kept his six strings hot. Underneath them, Clukies and Cales held the groove together, giving the guitars and horns something solid to work against. Meier tickled the ivories, then added trombone when the arrangement called for it, joining Story’s saxophone to fill out the horn sound. Watching him change jobs was part of the fun. The band could shift its instrumental balance without losing the groove that had everybody engaged in the first place.

“Rocketship,” “Get in the Van”, “SOB” and “Day Late, Dollar Short” kept that combination of jams, funk and guitar work coming. I had arrived without knowing quite what I was getting into, and now the problem was that second starting time across town. Every song gave me another reason to stay. It’s a good problem to have on a Saturday night, even if it doesn’t make leaving any easier.

“Don’t Worry,” “Gone By Morning” and “Buy My Book” closed out my time at Backline. They did not close out the band’s night, and I hated to leave with the set still going strong. The crowd had been into it from the beginning. Later, a couple of Hal Teasler’s videos showed me the party carried right on after I left. I think I even saw an alien dancing!

A little love for Backline

Before heading across Tupelo, I need to give some credit to the people who make Backline feel like Backline. Meredith, Hal, Kate, Jason, Preston, Matthew and Brian: thank you for the opportunities to come hang out, hear music, work on my craft and keep learning. The friendships are a big part of why I look forward to walking through those doors.

The room’s intimacy hits you almost immediately. The decor, the super-comfortable seating and the green room all contribute to a place where I’ve grown comfortable spending an evening with artists I might not know much about yet. That was exactly the situation tonight. A band from Colorado could come in, start playing and give me a reason to put its name on my list for the next time around.

Then there are the sandwiches from Bleu Collar Toastie’s. A delicious bonus, and I have yet to hear a bad word about them. Get you one and FOFA about it! I’d have happily settled in for the rest of Float Like a Buffalo’s set, but Randy, Tina and a second band were waiting on the other side of town.

A Southern staple gets loud

After a short trip across Tupelo, I arrived at Blue Canoe for some Mississippi folks who had come up from Hattiesburg. Randy and Tina were already there and had grabbed a great table for the show. I set my gear down and took a moment to check in with Grits & Greens before they got started.

That turned into a fun little discovery. They had played shows with Float Like a Buffalo before and were surprised to hear their former billmates were also performing in Tupelo that night. Here I was trying to connect the two shows with a drive across town, and the bands already had a connection of their own. My wish to hear them on the same stage had some history behind it after all.

I also brought up The Whispering Trees, Cookie Wu and Red Light Vendetta to see who knew whom down south. Connections, it’s all about connections in this worldwide web of music. Sometimes you find them by checking a tour calendar. Sometimes you set your gear down at a bar and start talking. Then it was back to the table to catch up with my friends and hear what Grits & Greens had brought to the Cathead Stage.

Ryann McGhee handled vocals, keyboards and guitar, with Jesse McGhee on lead guitar, Jake Noble on bass and Sam Martinez on drums. The band calls its sound psychedelic “y’allternative,” a description that leaves room for its Southern roots and the different directions the songs take. Tonight, that meant a set that could get loud while also making room for anxiety, bad influences and the pressure people carry around inside their own heads.

For the second time that evening, a band started right on time. At 8:30 sharp, Grits & Greens opened with “Fleas”. No animals had to attend for us to get those. The song’s warning about bad influences and staying in an unhealthy environment gave the opening some bite. You can keep putting yourself in the same situation, but eventually you have to deal with what comes along with it.

“The Fall,” “Slingshot” and “Ain’t It Fun” followed, bringing us to “27,” a favorite of mine from the set. Its attention to mental health, anxiety and the pressure of expectations gave me something to hold onto beyond the playing. Those subjects fit the band’s stated songwriting interests, but hearing them in the middle of a night out with friends gave them a place in the evening rather than leaving them as words in a band biography.

It was good to see people out for both shows. Personally, I would have loved to see both venues packed, but we are in the South, in SEC country at that. There are competing loyalties on a Saturday in October. I was glad my own scheduling dilemma had involved two bands I wanted to hear, and that I’d managed to get in front of both.

“Play it Cool” approached a more familiar kind of discomfort: being socially introverted, getting trapped inside your own head and then drinking enough that keeping quiet turns into oversharing. So much for playing it cool. The band recorded the song at FAME Studios in Muscle Shoals during its 2026 sessions, and its subject sits comfortably beside the concerns I heard in “27.” These are songs about the things people can bring into a room without anybody else knowing they’re carrying them.

The 13-song set eventually delivered one of the most recognizable bass lines in rock, Ozzy Osbourne’s “No More Tears.” Grits & Greens slayed it. After a run through their own material, that was a great way to finish my second show of the night. I’d started with horns and funk at Backline and ended with Ozzy at the Canoe. The revised plan was working out just fine.

Playing it forward

Afterward, I spent a few more minutes with Ryann and Jesse discussing the set and what was coming next. That included Play it Forward, the charity music festival Grits & Greens organizes to benefit Extra Table FEEDS. This year’s event is scheduled for November 1 at Keg & Barrel in Hattiesburg, with seven acts on the bill.

Stephen Wade Scott, Grace Manor Haints, Jacob Arnold & the Bird Dogs, Rufus McBlack, Electric Ramble and The Iceman Special will join Grits & Greens, who headline the event. The band reports that the 2025 festival raised more than $14,000 to help feed people in Mississippi. That gives this next gathering something substantial to build on, along with a lineup full of music I’m looking forward to hearing.

We plan to be on assignment for that one in November. What started as a conversation before a show had already revealed one connection between bands. The conversation afterward gave me another date to put on the calendar and several more artists to get acquainted with.

Afterglow

My original plan was to meet Randy and Tina for Grits & Greens. Then Backline added a Buffalo to the evening, and I ended up with two venues, two bands and a new appreciation for both. I still wish they’d shared a stage that night. Leaving Float Like a Buffalo mid-set was the one part of the arrangement I wasn’t happy about, even with another show waiting.

But I got time with the Backline folks, caught up with my friends at the Canoe and left with a November assignment in mind. Plans are subject to change, and this time I’ve got no regrets about following the change across town.

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Faith in Focus is a weekly reflection on what God has been teaching me throughout the week regarding my faith. Whether it’s personal interactions, reading, or the Sunday sermon, God speaks through it all, and I hope this helps you focus on His mission.

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Sermon Reflection

What if the deepest hope of the Christian life isn’t simply escaping pain, but being with Jesus? In 2 Corinthians 5:1-10, Paul invites us to face suffering honestly, examine the desires shaping our lives, and find courage in the resurrection promise that even death will not have the final word.

Based on the sermon by Traye LaMere, Connection Church Sioux Falls, October 11, 2026.

What Are You Living For When Life Hurts?

What gets you out of bed in the morning?

For some of us, the answer is responsibility. Work needs to be done. Bills need to be paid. People depend on us. We have commitments we can’t simply abandon. For others, getting out of bed can feel like a battle of its own, especially when grief, loneliness, physical pain, or discouragement makes another day seem difficult to face.

Traye told us a story about a pastor who once recalled asking an elderly widower what motivated him to get up each morning. The man was in his eighties. He’d lost his wife, experienced the limitations of old age, and lived with the distance between himself and his children and grandchildren. Yet his answer was remarkably simple. He looked forward to each day because each day brought him closer to Jesus.

Not merely closer to the end of his responsibilities. Not closer to another accomplishment or a more comfortable season. Closer to Jesus.

That answer is easy to admire and harder to live.

How often do we wake up thinking about everything we want to accomplish before the day ends, while giving little thought to the eternity we’re moving toward? How often do we measure the quality of our lives by what we can see, achieve, possess, or control?

The problem isn’t that our earthly responsibilities are unimportant. God gives us work to do, people to love, and opportunities to serve. The problem comes when those things become the foundation of our hope.

In 2 Corinthians 4:13–5:10, Paul directs the church toward a future that changes the present. Our bodies are wasting away. Suffering is real. Death remains an enemy. But the resurrection of Jesus means that death isn’t the end of the story.

The question is whether we’re living as though that promise is true.

The World Behind the Text

Corinth was a prominent Roman city where public reputation, social standing, wealth, and influence could open doors. Those cultural values weren’t left outside the church when people gathered to worship. They threatened to shape how believers evaluated their leaders and one another.

Paul’s relationship with the Corinthian church had become strained. Some questioned his authority because his ministry didn’t always look impressive by conventional standards. His hardships, weakness, and suffering seemed inconsistent with the kind of power and success they expected.

Paul responded by turning their attention away from appearances and back toward the gospel.

In the preceding chapter, he describes the good news as a treasure carried in jars of clay. The container is fragile, but the treasure is precious. The weakness of the messenger demonstrates that the extraordinary power belongs to God.

This theme carries into chapter 5. Paul doesn’t promise that following Jesus will preserve our health, guarantee a comfortable life, or shield us from grief. Instead, he explains why believers can remain courageous even as their earthly lives grow fragile.

The foundation is the resurrection of Jesus Christ.

The God who raised Jesus will also raise those who belong to him. Their future doesn’t depend on their physical strength, public reputation, or ability to remain optimistic. It rests on the faithfulness of God.

That line becomes critical when life starts falling apart. If our hope depends on everything around us remaining stable, we’ll eventually face circumstances that shake it. Paul offers a hope that can withstand the shaking because it rests on something beyond the visible world.

Walking the Passage

Paul compares our earthly bodies to tents. A tent is useful, but temporary. It provides shelter without promising permanence. It can be damaged by storms, worn down through use, and eventually taken apart.

Our bodies aren’t exactly like tents in every respect, of course. The metaphor emphasizes their present vulnerability and the temporary nature of our mortal condition. Age, illness, injury, and death remind us that we’re not as we were meant to be in God’s completed creation.

Sometimes that reality is painfully personal. A diagnosis changes the future we imagined. Chronic pain makes ordinary tasks exhausting. We watch a parent grow frail or sit beside someone whose life is nearing its end. At other times, the suffering is relational or emotional. A marriage breaks apart, a friendship ends, or loneliness settles into the quiet spaces of the day.

Paul doesn’t tell us to pretend these experiences are harmless. He acknowledges the groaning.

Christian faith does not require us to deny the heaviness of life in a fallen world. Scripture gives us room to grieve, lament, and cry out to God. The Psalms are full of prayers from people who trust the Lord and still struggle to understand their circumstances.

Our longing for something better isn’t necessarily a failure of contentment. It can be an honest recognition that the world is broken and that God has promised to restore it.

Paul says that what’s mortal will be swallowed up by life. His hope isn’t merely that our souls will escape the physical world. The Christian promise includes resurrection, the redemption of our bodies, and the renewal of creation. Romans 8:18–25 connects our present groaning with the future redemption God has promised, while Revelation 21:1–5 describes a future in which death, mourning, and pain will be no more.

Death is an enemy. Grief is painful. Suffering isn’t something we need to romanticize.

But for those who belong to Christ, none of these will have the final word.

Paul calls present affliction light and momentary in comparison with the eternal glory to come. This’s a statement about the immeasurable weight of eternity, not a command to treat someone’s suffering as insignificant. A season of pain can feel endless while we’re living through it. Knowing that God will ultimately redeem his people doesn’t erase today’s tears.

It gives us a reason to believe the tears won’t last forever.

There’s a difference between wanting our circumstances to change and wanting to be with the One who will make all things new.

We want relief. We want healing, restored relationships, financial security, recognition, and peace. Many of these desires are good. The trouble begins when we ask temporary things to provide the lasting security only God can give.

What are you longing for beneath the surface?

Perhaps you want to be known because you’re afraid of being forgotten. Maybe you chase achievement because failure feels unbearable. Perhaps you need other people to approve of you before you can rest. Or maybe you seek control because uncertainty leaves you feeling exposed.

These desires can reveal genuine human needs, but they can also become masters. We begin organizing our lives around the promise that if we can finally obtain the right thing, we will finally be enough.

The promise rarely holds.

In 2 Corinthians 5:8, Paul describes being at home with the Lord as the hope that lies beyond this present life. His longing isn’t simply for an end to discomfort. He wants to be with Jesus.

That’s the deeper center of Christian hope. We don’t merely want the restoration Jesus brings. We want Jesus himself.

The gospel tells us why we can approach him with confidence. Romans 5:6–11 points to God’s love demonstrated through Christ’s death for sinners. Jesus didn’t wait for us to become impressive, morally flawless, or worthy of his attention. He gave himself for people who couldn’t rescue themselves.

When we begin to understand that grace, our lives can change. We can confess our mistakes without making our failures our identity. We can receive correction without treating it as the end of our worth. We can love others without demanding that they satisfy every longing in our hearts.

This doesn’t happen perfectly or all at once. We still drift toward lesser things. We still reach for the familiar comforts that can’t sustain us. Yet the gospel keeps calling us back to the One who’s already demonstrated his love.

The question begins to change. Instead of asking only what we want from God, we begin asking what it means to know him, love him, and honor him with our lives.

Paul writes that believers walk by faith, not by sight.

Faith isn’t a refusal to acknowledge reality. It doesn’t require us to ignore a medical diagnosis, deny financial trouble, or pretend a painful relationship is healthy. Biblical faith is trust in the character and promises of God when the visible circumstances don’t reveal the whole story.

Sight can tell us that the situation is difficult. Faith reminds us that the situation isn’t the whole of reality.

If recognition is our deepest longing, we’ll arrange our decisions around being noticed. If control is our deepest longing, we may struggle to surrender outcomes to God. If approval is our deepest longing, honesty becomes frightening whenever the truth threatens our reputation.

But when Jesus becomes our hope, we have a different foundation.

Because our standing with God rests on Christ, we can admit when we’re wrong. Because his love doesn’t depend on public recognition, we can serve when nobody applauds. Because our future is secure in his promise, we can obey him even when obedience costs us something.

Paul says that his aim is to please the Lord. This isn’t an attempt to manipulate God into loving him. It’s a response to the love God has already shown.

Grace doesn’t make our actions irrelevant. It changes the reason we do them.

This is also where gospel, community, and mission belong together. The gospel gives us our identity and hope in Jesus. Christian community helps us remember those truths when suffering, temptation, and discouragement make them difficult to see. Mission carries the good news into the lives of people who need hope beyond what this world can offer.

A church shaped by eternity shouldn’t be obsessed with appearances or celebrity. It should be a people learning to love faithfully, bear burdens together, repent honestly, and serve their neighbors because Christ has first loved them.

A Fair Counter-Reading

Does looking toward eternity risk making Christians less concerned about suffering now?

It can, when eternal hope is used carelessly. Telling someone who is grieving that their suffering is only temporary can become a way of avoiding their pain rather than entering it. Telling a person who’s struggling to have more faith can make them feel that sorrow itself is a spiritual failure.

Paul’s own words resist that interpretation. He knew suffering intimately. Earlier in 2 Corinthians, he describes being burdened beyond his strength and despairing of life itself. His hope didn’t mean that he never felt overwhelmed.

The phrase “light and momentary affliction” must be understood in comparison with the eternal glory to come. Paul isn’t declaring that every painful experience feels small or that every Christian should recover quickly from grief. He’s declaring that even the worst suffering of this present age can’t outweigh what God has promised.

Nor does the promise of future restoration excuse us from helping people in the present. Christians can pursue justice, care for the sick, seek wise counsel, support those in grief, and work to alleviate suffering. We can acknowledge the need for professional help when burdens become overwhelming.

Hope and lament belong together. We can grieve what’s broken while trusting the God who promises to restore it.

The Turn

Near the end of the passage, Paul introduces a sobering reality. We must all appear before the judgment seat of Christ, where our lives will be brought into account.

Traye advised us that the Greek word translated as judgment seat is bēma, a term associated with a raised platform used for official proceedings and judgments. In a Roman city such as Corinth, the image would have been familiar.

Paul’s point isn’t that our lives are inconsequential because eternity is secure. Our choices do matter. Our treatment of other people does matter. The way we respond to God’s grace does matter.

Christianity doesn’t teach that we can earn salvation by assembling enough good deeds. Ephesians 2:8–10 holds together salvation by grace through faith and the good works God prepares for his people to walk in. We aren’t saved by our achievements, but the grace that saves us calls us into a transformed life.

For believers, this judgment must be understood alongside the assurance of Romans 8:1, which declares that there is no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus. Our confidence rests in Jesus’ finished work, not in a claim that we’ve lived without sin. Our lives remain accountable to the Lord, and our faith should produce a growing desire to honor him.

The passage also offers a serious invitation to anyone who’s not trusted Christ. We can’t escape our guilt by becoming more successful, religious, or respectable. Our hope isn’t found in our ability to repair ourselves. It’s found in the Savior who took sin seriously enough to give his life for sinners.

At the cross, Jesus bore the judgment we couldn’t bear for ourselves. In his resurrection, he defeated death and secured the promise of life for those who belong to him.

The judgment seat reminds us that evil won’t be ignored and that our lives aren’t meaningless. The gospel reminds us that the Judge is also the Savior who offers reconciliation through his own sacrifice.

That should change our motivation. We don’t seek to please Jesus in order to purchase his love. We seek to please him because his love has already met us in our need.

Carry It Into the Week

Begin with an honest question. What are you living for?

Not simply what fills your calendar, but what occupies your heart. What outcome feels necessary for you to have peace? Whose approval are you afraid of losing? What’re you trying to control because trusting God feels difficult?

Bring those answers before the Lord without pretending you have everything figured out. Ask him to reshape your desires around the truth of the gospel.

Then put that hope into practice.

If someone is suffering, listen before offering an explanation. If you’ve sinned, confess it rather than protecting your image. If you’ve been isolated, reach out to your church community and invite others into your life. If you’ve been consumed by your own plans, make room to serve someone who can’t repay you.

These things don’t earn eternal life. They’re ways of living in response to the grace we’ve received.

And when tomorrow feels heavy, remember the elderly widower who looked forward to each morning because each morning brought him closer to Jesus.

We don’t know everything the coming day will hold. We can’t guarantee that our circumstances will improve as quickly as we hope. We can’t prevent every loss or answer every question.

But we can trust the One who’s promised to raise the dead.

Our bodies are temporary. Our earthly achievements will fade. The things we build for our own glory won’t last forever. Jesus, however, has conquered the grave, and his promise is more durable than anything we can see.

So grieve when grief comes. Pray when you’re weary. Ask for help when the burden is too much to carry alone. Keep loving people in the ordinary, unseen places where faithfulness takes shape.

And keep your eyes on Jesus.

The Christian hope isn’t simply that one day the pain will end. It’s that one day we’ll be with our Savior, and everything broken will be made new.

Death won’t have the final word.

Jesus will.

Song of the Week: The Gospel - Olivia Lane

I listen to Olivia Lane every single day. Not always her songs, but as the morning show host for SiriusXM The Message, she’s become a familiar voice in my daily routine. The Message is a channel I’ve been gravitating toward more and more as my journey with Jesus continues, and through Olivia’s shows, I’ve had the opportunity to hear more of her story.

Olivia was previously an atheist, but she found Christ, changed her musical direction from country to worship, and is now working at a Christian radio station proclaiming Jesus daily. Hearing her openly share that journey makes this week’s Song of the Week, “The Gospel,” that much more powerful to me.

It’s not just a song. It’s Olivia’s public proclamation that she’s no longer an atheist. She believes in the Gospel, in Jesus, and in the truth of His death and resurrection for us. But it goes beyond simply believing that these events happened. It’s about recognizing what that truth means for her life today. The Gospel isn’t just a story from thousands of years ago. It’s the truth that changes lives, brings us from death to life, and gives us a new identity in Christ.

And that truth can live in us as well.

Jesus has conquered sin and death for all of us, whether you currently believe in Him or not. His sacrifice wasn’t limited to those who already knew Him, and His invitation to salvation isn’t reserved for those who have their lives figured out. The Gospel is the good news that Jesus died for our sins and rose again, offering forgiveness and eternal life to those who put their faith in Him.

Olivia’s story is a reminder that God can transform a life in ways we might never expect. Someone who once rejected the faith can become someone who proclaims it daily. That transformation is part of what makes the Gospel so powerful. It’s not about what we can accomplish on our own, but what Jesus has already done for us.

So this week, I pray that you would take the time to hear this song, listen to the message of the Gospel, and consider what Jesus has done for you. Whether you’ve walked with Him for years or have never put your faith in Him, the invitation remains.

Listen to the Gospel. Hear the truth of Jesus. And find your hope in Him.

Week in Reflection

This week marked Missional Week at our Gospel Community (GC). A couple times each semester, we take time to be intentional about the mission of Connection Church in our group: to make much of Jesus in our community and reflect Him in the way we live.

This week, our group got together for some meal prep. The reason? Our church frequently uses what are called Meal Trains. When someone experiences a significant life event, such as welcoming a new baby or receiving a medical diagnosis, finding the time and energy to prepare food can become difficult. Meal Trains allow people to sign up for a day and provide a meal for that individual or family.

That meal could be homemade, fast food pick up, or even something prepared at the person’s residence. Whatever it looks like, the goal is to come alongside someone and help meet a practical need during a potentially difficult or exhausting season of life.

For our Missional Night, we decided to prepare freezer meals that could cover multiple days on future Meal Trains. Instead of waiting until a need arises, we could prepare ahead of time and have meals ready when the next opportunity to serve inevitably comes along.

It was fun watching our group come together to plan which recipes we would use, prepare the food, and set things up for success down the road. What might seem like a simple evening of cooking was an opportunity to serve people we might not even know yet.

That’s one of the things I appreciate about being part of a Gospel Community. We aren’t just gathering to study the Bible and spend time together. We’re also finding ways to put our faith into action. Sometimes that means praying with someone or walking alongside them through a difficult season. Other times, it means preparing freezer meals for people that need a little extra help.

Serving others doesn’t always require a grand gesture. Sometimes, it’s as simple as preparing a meal and reminding someone that they aren’t alone. We may never know the full story of the people who receive these meals, but we can pray that they become a tangible expression of the love of Jesus.

My hope is that these meals go to good use and that, through this small act of service, Jesus is shown and proclaimed. After all, making much of Jesus isn’t limited to a Sunday morning or a couple of intentional evenings each semester. It’s something we can live out in the ordinary moments of everyday life.

And always remember, God loves you, and so do I.

Connection Church in Sioux Falls is a gospel-centered community committed to helping people follow Jesus through authentic relationships, biblical teaching, and everyday mission. Rooted in historic Christian belief and aligned with gospel renewal movements, the church exists to see lives transformed by Jesus. Learn more: https://siouxfallsconnection.com/who-we-are

Some concerts are special because of the band on stage. Others carry a little more personal history, a reminder of how far you’ve come and the opportunities that have opened along the way. For me, Godsmack’s stop at Pinnacle Bank Arena on October 13th was both. Less than a year ago, this was the venue where my journey into the concert photography industry began, thanks to my first photo pass approval for A Day to Remember. Returning to the same arena, this time to photograph a band that’s been part of my playlists since high school, was priceless.

Godsmack brought its Rise of Rock World Tour to Lincoln with Dorothy in support, promising a night of hard rock from two acts that know their way around a big stage. Godsmack has spent decades building a catalog of radio staples, while Dorothy has carved out her own place in modern rock with a gritty vocal delivery and songs that lean into bluesy, Southern flavored rock. On paper, it was an easy combination to get excited about.

The room itself, however, presented an immediate challenge.

The first thing I noticed walking into Pinnacle Bank Arena wasn’t the stage setup or the anticipation of seeing a longtime favorite. It was the seating. This was an entirely seated show, with no standing room area for the crowd to gather and move freely. My mind immediately went back to the Sevendust show at Grand Falls Casino in April, where a similar arrangement made it difficult for a high energy rock show to reach its full potential.

To be clear, the audience wasn’t sitting quietly through the performances. People stood, sang along and did what they could with the space they had. But there’s a difference between standing in front of a stage with room to move and trying to throw yourself into a rock show while boxed in by rows of chairs. For a genre built around movement, heavy riffs and the collective release of a crowd losing itself in the music, the arrangement felt limiting before the first note had even been played.

Fortunately, neither band seemed interested in letting the seating dictate the quality of the night. Dorothy brought the opening punch, and Godsmack followed with decades of hard earned hits, giving the audience plenty of reasons to make the most of what it had.

Dorothy starts things off strong

The last time I saw Dorothy live was in May 2023, when she opened for Disturbed. Clearly, sharing a stage with established names in rock isn’t new territory for her. With more than a decade of touring behind her and a growing catalog of releases, Dorothy knows how to command a room, and her appearance in Lincoln was a reminder that an opening act doesn’t have to play second fiddle in the attention department.

I absolutely love a good female lead singer. There’s something about a woman’s voice cutting through a wall of distorted guitars, especially when that voice has the grit and power to match the instruments behind it. Dorothy has that quality in abundance. Her vocals can carry a rough edge without losing their clarity, giving the songs a character that fits comfortably alongside the heavier acts she’s shared stages with.

Despite being founded in Los Angeles, Dorothy’s music often carries a distinctly Southern flavor. The bluesy foundations and hard rock swagger give the songs a lived in quality, as if they’re just as comfortable in a smoky bar as they are under arena lights. That truly works in the band’s favor, helping it stand out without needing to reinvent the genre.

For me, the highlight was “Rest in Peace,” a personal favorite that gets plenty of play on SiriusXM Octane. Hearing a song that’s already worked its way into your regular listening rotation in a live setting is always a treat, particularly when the performance gives you another reason to return to it later. The song landed as the set’s high point for me, but the audience was pulled into Dorothy’s world throughout the performance.

The band members were constantly moving, visibly feeling the music rather than simply standing in place and playing through the set. From a photography standpoint, that presented a challenge. When everyone on stage is moving, finding the right moment to focus on becomes a game of anticipation, timing and trying not to miss the next great expression or pose. I wasn’t always sure where to point the camera next.

For the audience, though, that movement was part of the appeal. A band that looks like it’s having as much fun playing as the crowd is having listening creates a connection that doesn’t need to be explained. You can feel it in the way the performance unfolds, in the musicians feeding off the songs and each other rather than treating the stage as a place to stand until the set ends.

And honestly, that’s what makes seeing shows live so important. As photographers, we can only capture so much. A frame might preserve a singer’s expression, a guitarist’s movement or a perfectly timed burst of light, but it can’t contain the sound filling the arena or the feeling of watching an entire band throw itself into a performance. The photographs are a way to hold on to pieces of the experience. The experience itself is so much bigger.

Dorothy was the perfect start to the night, giving the crowd a taste of the show ahead while reminding everyone that the opening set deserves its own attention.

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Anticipation and fist bumps

During the set change, while the photographers waited to take our places in the photo pit, an audience member decided to make his way around and fist bump every one of us. He counted each bump as he went, eventually landing on 52. His goal, he told us, was to reach 100 by the end of the night.

I have no idea whether he made it. I do know that, after we had all contemplated how this was one of the strangest interactions we’d had while waiting for a band to start, it was time to get back to business.

Then the curtain dropped.

Three decades of Godsmack

When Godsmack took the stage, I immediately flashed back to October 2018, when I saw the band opening for Shinedown. That was another chapter in my history with the group, long before I started photographing concerts. Coming back nearly eight years later, now on the other side of the camera, made the experience feel a little different.

Sully Erna and the gang have spent decades proving they belong among hard rock’s most durable live acts. The band formed in 1995, and the longevity is audible in a catalog built to fill large rooms. Godsmack doesn’t need to rely on one era or one hit to carry a show. There’re too many familiar songs, too many riffs that have become part of the genre’s vocabulary, and too many opportunities for the audience to recognize a favorite before the opening line even arrives.

As a longtime fan, one of my favorite parts of the night was seeing how much of the discography made it into the set. The band’s self titled debut and Faceless represented earlier chapters, while When Legends Rise and 2023’s Lighting Up the Sky brought more recent material into the mix. The result felt like a look across Godsmack’s history.

And with a catalog this extensive, there’s always the fun of waiting to see which songs make the cut. You can have your own wish list going into the arena, but the setlist belongs to the band. Part of the experience is discovering where the night will take you, whether that’s a deep pull from the earlier albums or one of the songs that helped define Godsmack’s later years.

Then there’s the moment when a familiar song begins and an entire arena reacts as one.

Usually, it’s a recognizable guitar riff or chord progression that sets off that immediate roar. With “Voodoo,” the response was a little different. The crowd erupted at the first word, even though the song hadn’t reached a note before its first hook was already finished. That kind of recognition is difficult to manufacture. It comes from years of listeners carrying a song around with them, knowing it so well that the smallest cue is enough to bring the whole thing rushing back.

It’s one of the reasons a live performance can feel different from listening to the same track at home or in the car. You aren’t just hearing the song again. You’re hearing thousands of people recognize it with you, each bringing their own memories to the moment. In a room full of seated sections, that collective reaction cut through the limitations of the setup. The chairs might have restricted movement, but they couldn’t stop the audience from responding.

Godsmack’s strength has always been its ability to make heavy rock accessible without sanding down its edges. The riffs remain muscular, the hooks memorable, and the songs direct enough to bring a large crowd along. That formula has served the band well since the 1990s, and the Lincoln performance showed why it continues to work.

Sully has something to say

If you know Sully, he’s is a talker, and on this particular night, he had plenty to get off his chest.

From early in the performance, something seemed off. Rather than leaving the audience to wonder, Erna acknowledged it was simple. He was just having a bad day. He didn’t go into specifics, but he made it clear that he was irritated by just about everything and was close to breaking every instrument on stage.

It was an unusually candid admission, and it added a different dimension to the evening. Concerts can make it easy to imagine that musicians step on a stage and leave the rest of their lives behind. But the people performing are still people, and not every night is going to arrive with everything neatly in place and Erna didn’t pretend otherwise.

The most entertaining part came when he turned his attention to the crowd. Between his frustrations and the all seated arrangement, the commentary started to feel less like standard between song banter and more like a comedy set. He roasted the audience, and the contrast between a frontman known for heavy rock and someone essentially working the room with a microphone made for a memorable stretch of the show along with a few laughs.

It also gave the seating issue another moment in the spotlight. I’d already been thinking about how much the arrangement dulled the physical side of a performance designed to get people moving. Erna’s reaction made it clear that the limitation wasn’t lost on the stage, either.

To help bring back some of that rock and roll atmosphere, he asked the men to put the ladies on their shoulders for a song, leading into “Something Different.” It was a playful attempt to get the crowd involved in a way that went beyond simply standing in front of a chair and singing along. For a moment, the audience had a new way to participate, and the show leaned into the kind of communal spectacle that makes arena rock fun.

Erna’s comments didn’t derail the performance. If anything, they made the night feel less scripted. The songs still carried, but the exchanges between them offered a glimpse of a frontman who wasn’t going to pretend he was having a perfect day just because the lights were on.

From bass lines to a battle of the drums

Thirty one years into Godsmack’s history, bassist Robbie Merrill remains the only member besides Erna to have been there throughout the band’s entire run. That’s a remarkable stretch of time to spend building a musical identity together, particularly in a genre where lineups, projects and careers can change considerably over three decades.

And Merrill certainly didn’t look like someone content to coast through another night on stage.

There’s something about a bassist who seems to be having the most fun in the room. Vince Hornsby of Sevendust and Ryan O’Leary of Fit for a King are two examples that come to mind. Both have that animated stage presence that makes it difficult to look away for fear of missing something entertaining. Merrill brought a similar quality to Godsmack’s performance.

His movement and enthusiasm made him a natural focal point, even with Erna commanding so much of the audience’s attention. As a photographer, those are the kinds of moments you learn to watch for. The frontman may be the obvious subject, but the musicians around him often provide some of the most memorable frames of a set. A bassist getting lost in the music can communicate just as much about a band’s live personality as a dramatic pose at the microphone.

I found myself keeping an eye on Merrill, never quite sure when he might do something worth capturing next. It was another reminder that a concert is made up of more than the biggest name on the bill. The chemistry between musicians, the way they occupy the stage and the enthusiasm they bring to familiar material all help keep a performance alive.

By this point, Godsmack had given the crowd the career spanning selection of songs I had hoped for, along with the humor and personality that made the evening feel like more than a greatest hits run through.

Then came the drum battle.

The now traditional showdown between Erna and Mike Mangini was underway as the set moved toward its closing stretch. It was the sort of spectacle that fits Godsmack’s larger than life approach to live performance, turning musicianship into a centerpiece rather than simply another element of the show.

Unfortunately, that was where my night had to end.

Afterglow

The downside of covering a rock show three and a half hours from home on a random Tuesday is that the night doesn’t always end when the band finishes playing. Sometimes it ends when you have to make the call to get on the road so that work the following morning doesn’t become an absolute failure. With the drum battle underway, I made my exit, knowing there was still plenty happening on stage but also knowing that the drive home wasn’t going to get any shorter.

Even so, I spent much of that drive replaying the night in my head, already excited to get home and work through the photographs I’d captured. That’s one of my favorite parts of concert photography. The show itself is only the beginning. Once I’m home, I get to revisit the moments I managed to preserve, see which expressions and movements I caught, and discover which frames best represent what it felt like to be there.

Dorothy started the night strong, with powerful vocals and a band that never stopped moving. Godsmack followed with the sort of hard rock that’s kept audiences coming back since 1995, drawing on a catalog that spans generations of fans. The seating arrangement wasn’t ideal for a show built around movement, and Erna’s admission that he was having a rough day added an unexpected wrinkle. But neither took away from the musicianship or the moments when the music brought the arena together.

For me, returning to Pinnacle Bank Arena also meant returning to the place where this chapter of my life began. My first photo pass approval here came less than a year ago. Now I was back, photographing a band I’d listened to since high school. The distance between those two experiences might not seem like much on a calendar, but when I think about how much has happened in that time, it feels significant.

I’m grateful for the opportunity to keep doing this, to see the bands that have soundtracked different seasons of my life, and to preserve a little piece of those nights for others to enjoy. There are only so many moments a camera can capture, and there are only so many hours in a Tuesday night, but I’m thankful for every chance I get.

The Rise of Rock World Tour still has more stops ahead. Check Godsmack’s official tour dates to see when the band is coming to a city near you, and make time for a night of good old fashioned rock and roll.

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And, so it begins…

The 10th anniversary of Waitress brings Sara Bareilles’ beloved musical to Sioux Falls, pairing a lively diner atmosphere and standout performances with a story that’s more complicated than its sweet exterior suggests.

The Washington Pavilion’s 28th theater season is upon us! Starting with the 10th anniversary tour of Waitress, Sioux Falls gets a little taste of Broadway right here at home. While I love live music with my concert reviews, theater will always be my first passion. There’s something different about amazing musical talent in the element of telling a story, where every note, movement, expression, and line of dialogue works together to bring characters to life.

With my new series subscription seat bringing me closer to the middle of the magic, I was excited to see how it differed from being more stage left in years prior. A change in perspective might seem like a small thing, but theater is a visual experience as much as an auditory one. Where you sit can influence what you notice. From the expressions on an actor’s face to the movement happening across the stage. And with a production like Waitress, which balances comedy, music, choreography, and some difficult subject matter, there’s plenty to take in.

The national tour arrived in Sioux Falls October 9–11, opening the Washington Pavilion’s 2026–27 Broadway Series with a musical that has spent a decade finding its way into audiences’ hearts. With music and lyrics by Grammy Award winning singer songwriter Sara Bareilles, a book by Jessie Nelson, choreography originally created by Lorin Latarro, and direction originally led by Tony Award winner Diane Paulus, Waitress has a creative history worth recognizing. When the musical debuted on Broadway in 2016, its four leading creative positions were all held by women, a historic first for Broadway.

That accomplishment is a fitting backdrop for a show centered on women trying to figure out what they want from life, what they can endure, and what they are willing to change.

Welcome to Joe’s

Based on Adrienne Shelly’s 2007 film, Waitress follows Jenna Hunterson, a talented pie maker working in a small town diner while trapped in an abusive marriage. An unexpected pregnancy complicates her already difficult circumstances, but the possibility of a different future begins to emerge through her friendships, her baking, and an unexpected romantic connection.

It’s a story that could easily become relentlessly heavy. Instead, Waitress finds much of its personality in the ordinary rhythms of diner life. The friendships between the women, the quirks of the people who pass through the restaurant, and the humor found in everyday frustrations let the show unfold naturally. The laughter isn’t simply a break from the serious material. It’s part of the way these characters navigate their lives.

One of the first things that caught my attention was the sheer amount of real food represented in the production. These were some of the most convincing food props I’ve seen in a theatrical production, and they helped sell the setting. A diner built around pie making needs to feel like a place where people actually work, eat, and spend their days. The food isn’t merely decoration. It belongs to Jenna’s identity, providing an outlet for her creativity when so much else in her life feels beyond her control.

There’re plenty of moving pieces, too. The production has to make the diner feel like a functioning workplace while leaving room for the performers, the musical numbers, and the changing emotional temperature of the story. The stage picture has to support both the practical business of the restaurant and Jenna’s more personal inner life. That balance gives the production a theatrical language of its own, allowing the audience to distinguish between what’s happening around Jenna and what’s happening inside her head.

The musical also benefits from having its musicians onstage. Rather than treating the score as something detached from the action, the production keeps the music visibly connected to the world of the show. Bareilles’ songs are central to that relationship. Her background as a singer songwriter gives the score a contemporary pop sensibility, but the music still has to do the work of musical theater: carry the story forward, reveal what characters struggle to say aloud, and shift the emotional stakes from one scene to the next. Bareilles has described the freedom of writing for Waitress as an opportunity to explore different musical styles while keeping storytelling at the center.

That combination is a large part of the show’s appeal. The music can be catchy without losing its connection to the characters, and the humor can be broad without making the underlying circumstances feel trivial.

Jenna at the center of it all

At the heart of Waitress is Jenna, and the production depends on its leading performer making the character’s contradictions believable. She’s talented, funny, and capable of imagining a different life, yet she’s also dealing with an abusive husband and an uncertain future. Her pies offer a glimpse of the person she wants to be, even as the rest of her circumstances threaten to keep her in place.

Samantha Lane Scruggs leads the touring production as Jenna Hunterson. The role requires more than delivering the score’s big emotional moments. Jenna needs to feel like someone who can joke with her coworkers, lose herself in the details of a recipe, and carry private pain into a room without announcing it to everyone around her. The comedy and vulnerability have to belong to the same person.

That’s one of the musical’s most interesting balancing acts. Jenna isn’t defined exclusively by what’s happened to her, nor is she presented as someone who can simply decide to leave and immediately solve every problem. The story gives her room to be conflicted. Her desire for something better is real, but so are the complications that make pursuing it difficult.

The show’s emotional center is especially clear in the way it treats baking. Jenna’s creativity isn’t just a charming character trait or a convenient way to give the musical its title. It’s a part of herself that remains available even when her personal life’s become restrictive. Through the pies she makes, she can express feelings that might otherwise stay buried. The production’s commitment to making the food look convincing strengthens that idea: this is a craft Jenna knows intimately, a place where she can still make something of her own.

Bareilles’ score supports that sense of an inner life continuing beneath the surface. She didn’t begin with the intention of writing a collection of songs that would simply decorate a familiar story. In interviews about the musical, she’s discussed how Jenna’s character opened the door into the material, eventually leading to “She Used to Be Mine,” one of the show’s defining songs.

That history gives the musical a particularly personal center. The songs aren’t just there to make the evening sound like Broadway. They allow the characters to become more complicated than the roles they play in the diner.

Ogie steals the First Act

For all the heavier material, Waitress knows how to have fun, and one of my favorite moments of the first act belonged to Ogie.

Played by Davey Fried, Ogie brings a distinctive comic presence to the production. During “Never Getting Rid of Me,” he stole the show in Act I. It’s the kind of number that depends on a performer committing fully to the character’s peculiarities and letting the comedy build rather than playing everything at the same volume. Fried made the moment a standout, giving the audience a welcome chance to laugh without reservation.

Ogie’s role in the story also helps demonstrate the musical’s willingness to embrace eccentricity. The diner is populated by people with their own oddities, insecurities, and desires. They aren’t all moving through the story with the same level of self awareness, and the comedy often comes from the distance between how a character sees a situation and how everyone else sees it.

The musical’s humor is at its best when it comes from those character differences. Rather than pausing the story to deliver jokes, the production allows the characters to create the comedy themselves. Fried’s performance was a particularly strong example of that approach.

It’s also a useful counterweight to Jenna’s story. The audience needs the lighter moments, not because the more painful scenes should be forgotten, but because a diner full of people doesn’t stop being funny just because someone is struggling. People keep flirting, making mistakes, getting on one another’s nerves, and finding reasons to laugh. The tonal shifts are part of what makes the world of Waitress feel alive.

The harder ingredients

Here’s where my feelings about Waitress become more complicated.

The musical tackles domestic abuse, a subject that deserves to be treated with care. Jenna’s marriage isn’t simply an unhappy relationship. Her husband’s behavior creates a situation in which her choices, confidence, and sense of what’s possible are constrained. The show’s ability to place humor beside that reality is one of its strengths, but it also creates a responsibility to handle the serious material thoughtfully.

The production’s funniest scenes can make the diner feel like a refuge, a place where Jenna and her friends have room to be themselves. Yet the story outside those walls is considerably more troubling. That contrast gives the musical much of its emotional force. The audience sees the difference between the person Jenna is among friends and the person she has to be when dealing with her husband.

My biggest reservation is the use of adultery as an escape for many of the characters. I understand the dramatic function of the romance and why the story presents it as an opening toward a different life. Jenna’s lonely, vulnerable, and searching for a way forward. It’s not difficult to understand why a new connection might feel like a lifeline when her marriage has become a source of pain.

Understanding the circumstances, however, doesn’t mean I have to agree with the choice the story makes. I found myself wrestling with the idea that an affair becomes part of the route out. A story about a woman reclaiming her agency could have explored that struggle without making infidelity such a prominent part of her escape.

That tension didn’t erase the strengths of the production, but it kept me from embracing the story without pause. Waitress wants audiences to root for Jenna as she begins imagining a life beyond the one she knows. I could root for her desire to find safety, independence, and a future of her own while still questioning the path the musical gives her.

A character can be sympathetic without every decision being beyond criticism, and a story can raise worthwhile questions without providing answers that satisfy every audience member. In this case, the show gave me plenty to enjoy while leaving me with a disagreement that was difficult to set aside.

That complexity is part of the experience of seeing theater live. The performers make the characters real, and the audience has to sit with their choices rather than simply reading a synopsis and moving on. You can laugh at one moment, feel the weight of a scene the next, and still be uncertain about what the story asks you to accept.

A new seat for a new season

The new subscription seat was another reason I was looking forward to this production. Moving closer to the middle from my usual position farther stage left gave me a different perspective on the show’s visual composition. With an ensemble production, the center of the stage is only part of the picture. Movement, entrances, reactions, and the relationships between performers all contribute to what the audience sees.

Waitress has plenty happening at once, from the working diner environment to its musical sequences and the moments when Jenna’s imagination takes over. The change between the real world and her internal daydreams was one of the production details I particularly appreciated. Theater can make an internal thought visible in a way that film and books approach differently, and the show uses that possibility to help the audience understand Jenna’s emotional experience.

The staging has to make those transitions legible without interrupting the story. The diner needs to remain a recognizable place, but the production also needs room to move beyond its everyday reality. The musicians, the food, and the ensemble all contribute to a stage world that can shift between comedy and introspection.

Having the band onstage adds another layer to that experience. The musicians aren’t hidden away from the audience, and their presence reinforces the connection between the score and the story being told. With Bareilles’ music at the center, the songs become part of the production’s personality rather than an interruption to it.

The Washington Pavilion has opened its 2026–27 Broadway Series with a show that offers more than a collection of familiar musical theater conventions. Its combination of contemporary songwriting, ensemble comedy, physical stagecraft, and emotionally complicated storytelling gives audiences plenty to discuss after the curtain falls.

Curtain call

Theater will always be my first passion, even with the time I spend photographing and reviewing live music. A concert can leave me thinking about a guitar tone, a vocal performance, or the way a room responded to a song. A musical adds another dimension, asking how those same elements can serve a character and help tell a story.

Waitress gave me plenty to appreciate: the convincing food props, the moving pieces of the production, the presence of the live musicians, the distinction between Jenna’s reality and her daydreams, and Davey Fried’s scene stealing turn in “Never Getting Rid of Me.” Sara Bareilles’ score gives the show a musical identity that can move between humor and vulnerability, while the cast has to carry a story that refuses to remain entirely sweet.

I didn’t agree with every choice the story made, particularly its treatment of adultery as a way out of abuse. But I’d rather leave a theater with a genuine question about a story than pretend every element worked for me simply because the production was entertaining.

The Washington Pavilion’s new theater season is underway, and Waitress is a lively, frequently funny, and sometimes uncomfortable way to begin it. Like a good pie, the show has several ingredients, and not every flavor will appeal to everyone in the same way. For me, the best parts were the moments when the music, performances, and stagecraft came together to make Jenna’s world feel alive, even when I was still questioning the recipe.

A Beautiful Night at Stir Cove

Outside of Harrah’s Hotel and Casino sits Stir Cove, a venue I would describe as a mini amphitheater. It has the feel of an outdoor concert venue without being quite as massive as some of the larger amphitheaters around the country. The layout gives concertgoers several different ways to experience a show, from grassy areas where guests can sit in their chairs to standing room only areas closer to the stage where chairs aren’t allowed. There’re also multiple upper level areas that provide a different perspective of the performance for those who want to get away from the main crowd.

For my first experience at Stir Cove, I couldn’t have asked for much better circumstances.

The weather throughout the week had been rainy and full of cloud cover, so I was a little nervous it would ruin the evening, but I am so thankful that God provided such a beautiful evening for an outdoor concert. The skies cleared, the temperature was comfortable, and as the sun began setting behind the venue’s tall gates, the anticipation throughout the crowd continued to build.

Those gates serve a practical purpose, keeping people outside the venue from simply watching the concert for free, but as the sun disappeared behind them, they also created a pretty cool backdrop for the evening. Everyone inside knew why they were there.

We were waiting for Chance the Rapper. And we were celebrating a decade of Coloring Book.

La Reezy Brings the Energy

Before that anticipation could finally be satisfied, however, we had the opening act.

Twenty two year old Louisiana rapper La Reezy took the stage alongside his DJ and keyboardist, Claydough. From the moment he walked out, it was clear that this wasn’t going to be an opening set where the artist simply stood behind a microphone and worked through a handful of songs.

This kid had energy. And not the kind of energy that felt forced.

La Reezy was all over the stage, moving around naturally and interacting with the audience throughout the performance. He brought an enthusiasm that quickly began spreading into the crowd, and what surprised me most was just how willing the audience was to participate.

Opening acts can sometimes have a difficult job. People paid to see the headliner, and depending on the artist, getting a crowd to participate can feel like pulling teeth.

That wasn’t the case here.

La Reezy repeatedly called on the audience to participate, and the crowd responded in kind. The energy became contagious, giving the opening portion of the night much more life than I was expecting.

But there was more to La Reezy’s set than simply getting the crowd moving.

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Finding His Identity Through Music

One of the more meaningful parts of his performance was hearing him talk about his upbringing and his journey toward becoming a rapper.

He talked about first getting into rap when he was just fourteen years old, writing and recording in his home closet. But as he began pursuing the craft, he found himself wrestling with an identity crisis.

There was an expectation, at least in his mind, that being a rapper meant fitting into a particular mold. Much of the lyrical content he’d heard from other artists seemed to reinforce the idea that you had to be a gangster to be a legitimate rapper.

But his father reminded him of something much simpler. He just needed to be himself and that message clearly stuck with him.

Now, years later, he was standing on a stage opening for Chance the Rapper, something he expressed genuine gratitude for throughout the evening.

That authenticity came across in the performance. La Reezy wasn’t trying to be someone else. His style, antics and genuine passion for what he does made for a fun opening set, and if this performance was any indication, I hope there are plenty more opportunities ahead for him.

For an opening act, he certainly left an impression.

Peter CottonTale Keeps the Crowd Moving

Before we got to the main event, there was still a little more waiting to do.

Chance’s DJ, Peter CottonTale, stepped onto the stage and helped keep the crowd entertained during the intermission.

As someone who’s primarily listening to metal these days, I found myself enjoying this part of the night more than I expected. CottonTale played several songs that I’d not heard in years, taking me back to a time when I was much more into this style of club music.

It was almost nostalgic.

The crowd remained engaged, and CottonTale did exactly what the crowd needed. Instead of allowing the energy to disappear while everyone waited for the headliner, he kept things moving and gave everyone another reason to stay locked into the night.

Then came the question everyone had been waiting for.

“Who’s ready for Chance the Rapper?”

And the lights went out.

Chance the Rapper Takes the Stage

The photo pit was incredibly close to the stage, which immediately made me excited from a photography perspective.

Then the steam cannons went off.

This was actually my first time photographing a show where steam cannons were used during the opening of the set, while pit access was granted and I got absolutely covered in the residue.

Was it worth it?

Absolutely.

As a concert photographer, I love when artists incorporate production elements into their opening moments. We typically only get a limited amount of time in the photo pit, so anything that adds another visual element can make a huge difference.

The steam created some great opportunities as Chance launched into the performance.

There was just one problem.

Eventually, the steam started running out of steam.

As the night progressed, the bursts became smaller and smaller, until they were nowhere near as dramatic as they were at the beginning.

Thankfully, the show had plenty of other things going for it.

The video boards, lighting, Chance’s stage presence and the crowd itself provided more than enough visual and musical energy to keep the performance moving.

The Musical Range of Chance the Rapper

The first thing that stood out to me about Chance was the range of his music.

He can move from fast paced rap into melodic singalongs and then completely change the atmosphere again without it feeling out of place. There’s a musical unpredictability to his set that keeps you wondering what’s coming next.

And for a concert celebrating the 10th anniversary of Coloring Book, there was certainly no shortage of recognizable moments.

One of the biggest came when “No Problem” started. The crowd immediately knew what was happening and judging by the volume, they knew every word and Chance noticed.

Right at the start, he turned toward CottonTale and appeared to signal for him to cut the music. Eventually, CottonTale caught on and the speakers went silent.

The crowd didn’t.

For roughly a minute, the audience continued singing the song together with no music behind them.

I can’t imagine what it must feel like as an artist to stand on stage and hear an entire crowd singing your song back to you in unison.

No backing track. No instrumental. Just the audience.

It was something to behold.

Put the Phones Down and Be Present

After letting the crowd have its moment, Chance restarted the song and made a comment that I don’t think you hear often enough at concerts.

He pointed out that everyone had probably just gotten their “money shot” video and encouraged the audience to put their phones down and actually be present for the song.

That immediately caught my attention.

I understand why people record concerts. I do it too, although my job gives me a pretty unique opportunity to capture moments from a perspective most fans never get. I have three songs in the photo pit to capture a performance up close, and I absolutely want to make the most of those three songs.

But there’s a difference between capturing a memory and spending an entire concert staring at it through a screen.

Watching the phones slowly lower one by one was a site to see. You’re no longer watching the concert through a six inch screen.

You’re actually there.

A Little Auto-Tune

Chance also brought out an auto tune microphone during the performance, adding another fun layer to the set.

Personally I was thankful it was used sparingly. It can be a bit much when the element is overdone.

He only used it for a couple of songs, which made the effect feel more like an intentional change in the performance rather than something that dominated the night.

It was another example of the range Chance brought to the stage.

There were plenty of moments built around traditional rap, but he wasn’t afraid to slow things down, experiment with his vocals and lean into the melodic side of his music.

“Link Me In The Future” Steals the Show

For me, the most memorable performance of the night came from one of Chance’s newer songs, “Link Me In The Future.”

I would almost describe it as a power ballad.

The lyrical content is incredibly strong, but what really elevated it for me was the way Chance performed it.

There was a noticeable level of passion behind the performance that made it feel like the song meant something to him personally.

That’s one of those things that can be difficult to manufacture on a stage.

You can have incredible production. You can have a massive audience. You can have years of experience.

But when an artist performs a song with genuine emotion behind it, you can feel the difference.

“Link Me In The Future” was one of those moments for me.

In fact, this may be one of the rare instances where I walked away thinking the live version was actually better than the studio recording.

A Trip Back to the Beginning With “Sunday Candy”

While the night was celebrating Coloring Book, Chance did not forget about the music that came before it.

He went all the way back to his days with Donnie Trumpet and the Social Experiment for “Sunday Candy.”

For longtime fans, this was a great opportunity to revisit the roots of Chance’s career.

It also helped make the show feel like more than simply a 10th anniversary celebration of one album. It became a look back at the musical journey that brought Chance to where he is today.

For newer fans, it was a history lesson.

For longtime fans, it was nostalgia.

And for everyone else, it was another opportunity to sing along.

Afterglow

Overall, my first experience at Stir Cove was more than exceptional.

From La Reezy bringing an unexpected amount of energy to the opening set, to Peter CottonTale keeping the crowd moving during the transition, to Chance the Rapper delivering a performance filled with production, nostalgia and musical variety, the night had something for everyone.

And then there was the venue itself.

The combination of the outdoor atmosphere, grassy seating areas, standing room space and elevated viewing areas gave Stir Cove a personality that I really enjoyed. Add in a beautiful evening after what had been a rainy and cloudy week, and it was hard to ask for a better night.

There was something mesmerizing about watching the sun disappear behind the venue while thousands of people waited for Chance to take the stage.

And when he finally did, the night delivered.

If this is the kind of show that comes through Stir Cove during its concert season, I’m already looking forward to seeing what comes next year.

There’s only one show left before Stir Cove gets put away for the winter, but if my first experience is any indication, this certainly will not be my last trip here.

Chance the Rapper brought the celebration.

Stir Cove provided the setting.

And God provided one beautiful night to make it all happen.

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Faith in Focus is a weekly reflection on what God has been teaching me throughout the week regarding my faith. Whether it’s personal interactions, reading, or the Sunday sermon, God speaks through it all, and I hope this helps you focus on His mission.

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Sermon Reflection

What if our weakness isn’t an obstacle to God's work, but the very place where His power becomes visible? In 2 Corinthians 4, Paul reminds the church that the gospel's glory doesn’t depend on impressive messengers, comfortable circumstances, or human strength. It rests on Jesus Christ, whose resurrection gives weary believers a reason to keep going.

Based on the sermon by Jonathan Land, Connection Church Sioux Falls, October 4, 2026.

The Treasure Is Greater Than the Vessel: Finding Hope in 2 Corinthians 4

There’s a strange temptation in the Christian life to judge the message by the person delivering it.

We gravitate toward impressive speakers, polished presentations, confident personalities, and people whose lives seem to fit neatly into the picture of what a successful Christian ought to be. We can even find ourselves questioning whether someone is qualified to speak biblical truth because of their weaknesses, past failures, or imperfect delivery.

The church in Corinth struggled with precisely this kind of thinking.

In his sermon on 2 Corinthians 4:1-18, Jonathan Land brought the congregation back to a fundamental truth: the gospel is infinitely more important than the messenger who carries it. Paul wasn’t the most impressive figure by the standards of his critics. His ministry involved suffering, opposition, and weakness. Yet God was working through him to bring people to the knowledge of Jesus Christ.

Jonathan illustrated the point with a picture frame. Imagine standing before the Mona Lisa, one of the world’s most recognizable paintings. Most people would struggle to describe its frame because their attention belongs to the painting itself. The frame exists to display something more beautiful than itself.

That’s the calling of a Christian messenger.

The church isn’t meant to draw the world’s attention primarily to its personalities, programs, musical performances, or polished presentations. It’s meant to make Jesus visible. Our gifts can serve that purpose, but so can our weaknesses, provided we remain faithful to the truth of the gospel.

The question, then, isn’t whether the vessel is impressive. The question is whether it faithfully displays the treasure it carries.

The World Behind the Text

Corinth was a city where public reputation, persuasive speech, and social standing were important. The church had absorbed some of those values, creating divisions around influential leaders. Some identified with Paul, others with Apollos or Peter, turning Christian leadership into a contest of personalities. Paul had already challenged this thinking in 1 Corinthians 1:10-17.

By the time we reach 2 Corinthians, the relationship between Paul and the church has become more complicated. He’d confronted serious problems, and his correction had caused tension. Other leaders appeared more impressive, perhaps arriving with credentials and recommendations that made Paul’s ministry look comparatively unimpressive.

The Corinthians’ criticism exposed a deeper problem. They were evaluating Christian leadership using standards borrowed from the surrounding culture rather than asking whether the message faithfully proclaimed Christ.

Paul’s response wasn’t to build a better public image. He pointed away from himself.

The central declaration of the passage appears in verse 5: the apostles do not proclaim themselves, but Jesus Christ as Lord. Their role is to serve others for Jesus’ sake.

This’s more than advice about pastoral humility. It’s a statement about the nature of Christian ministry. The church’s authority doesn’t come from charisma, celebrity, or an impressive resume. Faithful ministry depends on God’s mercy and remains accountable to His Word.

That’s why Paul begins the chapter by explaining that he’s received his ministry through God’s mercy. He’s no reason to boast as though the work originated in his own ability.

Mercy is the foundation. Christ is the message. God’s glory is the goal.

Walking the Passage

Paul opens by declaring that, because he’s received this ministry through God’s mercy, he doesn’t lose heart.

Notice the order. Paul doesn’t say that he perseveres because he’s unusually resilient, spiritually superior, or naturally gifted. He begins with what God’s given.

Christian faithfulness is a response to grace, not an attempt to earn it.

There are seasons when prayer feels difficult, obedience costs more than expected, and following Jesus seems to expose rather than eliminate personal weakness. In those moments, it’s tempting to conclude that something must be wrong with our faith.

But Paul doesn’t ground perseverance in a person’s ability to maintain an impressive spiritual performance. He grounds it in God’s mercy.

That mercy also shapes the methods of ministry. Paul rejects deception, manipulation, and tampering with God’s Word. He refuses to manufacture results by making the message more attractive through dishonesty.

The principle is straightforward: truth must govern our methods.

Christians are called to communicate the gospel clearly, compassionately, and confidently. They’re not called to manipulate people into a response or soften God’s truth until it becomes indistinguishable from the surrounding culture.

We’re messengers, not editors.

Paul then explains why some people fail to recognize the glory of Christ. In verses 3 and 4, he describes spiritual blindness that prevents unbelievers from seeing the light of the gospel.

This language isn’t an invitation to treat people with contempt. Paul’s describing a spiritual problem, not granting Christians permission to humiliate those who don’t share their faith.

The passage also confronts religious complacency. Familiarity with Christian language, church attendance, or a religious upbringing isn’t identical to knowing Jesus. A person can recognize the vocabulary of Christianity without having grasped the glory of the One Christianity proclaims.

The question is therefore personal. Has the truth about Jesus moved beyond familiarity into genuine faith?

Paul answers by returning to the beginning of creation. The God who commanded light to shine out of darkness has shone in believers’ hearts, giving them knowledge of His glory in the face of Jesus Christ.

The same God who brought light into the darkness of creation brings spiritual sight where there was none.

Salvation isn’t ultimately a story of people becoming sufficiently impressive to reach God. It’s a story of God graciously making Himself known through Jesus.

At the center of that revelation stands the gospel itself: the Son of God entered human history, bore sin at the cross, and rose victorious over death. The glory of God is revealed not through human achievement, but through the saving work of Christ.

Paul’s next illustration may be the most comforting part of the passage.

He describes believers as having a treasure in jars of clay, ordinary and fragile containers that demonstrate the extraordinary power belongs to God rather than to the vessels themselves.

The treasure is the gospel, the knowledge of God’s glory in Jesus Christ. The container is the human messenger.

Jonathan returned to the picture frame to make the point. If the frame becomes the main attraction, it’s distracted people from the painting. Similarly, when Christian leaders become more concerned with protecting their reputations than displaying Christ, the messenger has begun to compete with the message.

This doesn’t mean that character, preparation, or competence are irrelevant. Scripture calls Christian leaders to integrity and faithful stewardship. Nor does it mean that suffering or failure automatically makes someone trustworthy. The message must remain faithful to Scripture, and messengers remain accountable for their conduct.

It means that human weakness doesn’t have the final word about what God can accomplish.

Paul describes the paradox in verses 8 and 9: afflicted but not crushed, perplexed but not driven to despair, persecuted but not forsaken, struck down but not destroyed.

He doesn’t pretend that suffering is imaginary. He acknowledges the pressure, confusion, opposition, and pain of ministry. Yet none of these circumstances can overturn the resurrection hope that sustains him and in return, us.

Christian perseverance isn’t the claim that believers never struggle. It’s the conviction that struggle can’t separate them from the purposes and promises of God.

A Fair Counter-Reading

Paul’s teaching about weakness must not become an excuse for abusive leadership, careless preparation, or the dismissal of legitimate concerns.

A leader can’t appeal to being a jar of clay to avoid accountability. Neither should a Christian accept harmful treatment simply because suffering is part of the Christian life. Paul’s rejection of manipulation in verse 2 makes clear that integrity is important.

Likewise, not every criticism of a Christian messenger is persecution, and not every suffering believer is experiencing the same circumstances Paul describes. The passage doesn’t promise that faithful Christians will avoid every earthly defeat or receive an immediate explanation for their pain.

Instead, Paul locates Christian hope in God’s power, the truth of the gospel, and the future resurrection of His people.

Weakness isn’t a substitute for faithfulness. It’s a reminder that faithfulness has never depended on human strength alone.

The Turn

Twice in this chapter, Paul insists that believers don’t lose heart. The repetition frames the passage with a call to perseverance.

But what sustains that perseverance?

Paul points toward the resurrection. The God who raised Jesus will also raise those who belong to Him and bring them into His presence. The suffering of Christian ministry is therefore set within a much larger story, one that ends not in death but in resurrection life.

This hope also turns believers outward. Paul explains that his suffering and ministry are for the sake of others, so that grace may reach more people and thanksgiving may increase to God’s glory.

The Christian life isn’t simply about enduring personal hardship. It’s also about becoming a means through which others encounter the grace of God.

That may involve speaking the truth when it would be easier to remain silent. It may involve listening humbly when someone confronts us with a truth we would rather avoid. It may involve serving faithfully without recognition, inviting someone into Christian community, or sharing the gospel with a person who’s never understood its good news.

The messenger may be ordinary. The impact belongs to God.

Paul closes by directing attention away from what’s temporary and toward what’s eternal. The body wears down. Circumstances change. The things that seem most significant today won’t last forever. Meanwhile, God renews the inner person day by day, and the glory awaiting His people surpasses anything that can be measured against present suffering.

This isn’t a declaration that pain is insignificant. It’s a declaration that pain isn’t ultimate. The Christian doesn’t have to pretend that the present is painless in order to believe the future is glorious.

Jonathan ended with another imaginative question: What would happen if Jesus physically walked into the room?

Would anyone insist on finishing a sermon before listening to Him? Would worshipers remain distracted by the details of the gathering? Would believers continue defending their accomplishments, or would they recognize the One before whom every accomplishment pales?

The illustration exposes how easily secondary things can occupy the attention that belongs to Christ.

We can become absorbed in the quality of a sermon, the atmosphere of a worship service, the reputation of a church, or the perceived success of a ministry. Those things can have legitimate value. But none is the treasure itself.

The purpose of Christian community is to help people see Jesus more clearly, follow Him more faithfully, and carry His good news into the world.

The church’s gospel, community, and mission belong together. We receive the good news of Christ, grow together as His people, and serve others so that grace may extend further. None of these should become a stage for self promotion.

The frame matters only insofar as it serves the painting.

Carry It Into the Week

The passage invites several practical responses.

First, examine what receives your attention. Are you more impressed by a person’s confidence, influence, or public success than by their faithfulness to Christ? Do you measure your own spiritual life by visible results rather than by humble obedience?

Second, receive correction with humility. When someone points to Scripture and challenges your conduct, resist the immediate urge to discredit the messenger. Consider the truth being presented. A person’s imperfections don’t automatically invalidate a biblical concern, though every concern should be tested against Scripture.

Third, refuse to confuse weakness with failure. You may be tired, uncertain, grieving, or struggling to understand what God is doing. You don’t need to pretend otherwise. Bring those realities honestly before God and trusted believers. The promise isn’t that every question will be answered today, but that God’s power isn’t limited by your ability to understand everything.

Finally, keep the glory of Jesus before you. The things that dominate your attention this week may be important, but they’re not eternal. Let the resurrection shape how you understand your work, relationships, disappointments, and opportunities to serve.

The call isn’t to become an extraordinary vessel. It’s to remain a faithful one.

We carry a treasure we didn’t create. We depend on a power we can’t manufacture. And we look toward a glory we will never exhaust.

Because Jesus Christ is risen, we don’t lose heart.

Song of the Week: Somebody’s Praying - Bay Turner

Bay Turner’s “Somebody’s Praying” is a jam that keeps me coming back for more. Beyond the catchy sound, the lyrical content speaks directly to my life and reminds me just how much I have to be thankful for.

The first verse says it all, “Should’ve been long gone now. Shouldn’t be livin.” Those words hit close to home when I think about my past. Between my struggles with alcohol, drunk driving, and the countless bad decisions I made along the way, there were plenty of moments when I put my life, and others, at risk. Looking back, there’s no telling how things could’ve turned out differently. I can even remember specific instances when simply making it to my destination felt like a miracle.

But somebody was praying. My parents remained faithful in prayer during seasons when I was anything but faithful. I can’t begin to measure the impact of those prayers, and I’ll never take them for granted. I thank God for giving me parents who continued to lift me up, even when my choices were leading me down.

Ultimately though, this isn’t just a story about my past or the prayers of my parents. It’s a story about God’s grace and faithfulness. I don’t believe I’m here today because I somehow managed to get everything right. I’m here by the grace of God, who has brought me through seasons I never should’ve made it out of and drawn me closer to Him through the process.

Now that I know the truth of Jesus, I’ve the privilege and responsibility of praying for others. There are people in my life who need Him just as desperately as I did and still do. Some may be making decisions that put them in danger. Others may be struggling silently, wondering if anyone sees them or cares about what they’re going through. I may not know the full extent of their battles, but I can bring them before God in prayer.

Somebody’s praying. Maybe it’s a parent, a friend, a coworker, or a sibling. Never underestimate the power of faithfully bringing someone before the Lord. And if you’re the one praying for someone who seems far from God, don’t give up hope.

I‘m living proof that God can work through seasons of brokenness and bring someone to the truth of Jesus. Today, I’m thankful that somebody prayed for me. Now, by God’s grace, I get to pray for somebody else.

Week in Reflection

This week has been filled with a slowly growing realization that I am pushing myself toward burnout. Between photography gigs, church meetings, writing, editing, and everything else that fills my schedule, I‘ve been keeping myself incredibly busy. While I’m thankful for the opportunities God has placed in front of me, I’m beginning to recognize that even good things can become overwhelming when I fail to give myself time to rest.

I think it’s easy to fall into the trap of believing that if something’s good, I should always say yes. There’re concerts to photograph, articles to write, opportunities to serve, and relationships to invest in. I don’t want to miss out on what God has for me, but I also need to remember that I’m not God. I have limitations, and pretending otherwise doesn’t make me more faithful.

My prayer is that the Lord would continue to teach me the importance of saying no when necessary. Sometimes, saying no isn’t a failure or a missed opportunity. Sometimes, it’s an act of wisdom and obedience. I need to recognize that I can’t do everything, and I shouldn’t try to.

God established the Sabbath because rest matters. I don’t want to become so consumed with doing things for God, and admittedly myself, that I forget to rest in Him. My worth isn’t determined by how many photographs I take, how many words I write, or how many responsibilities I carry. My identity is found in Christ, not in my productivity.

As I move forward, I pray that I would become more intentional with my time, more willing to set boundaries, and more faithful in making room for rest. I want to serve the Lord wholeheartedly, but I also want to trust Him enough to slow down.

Sometimes, the most faithful thing I can do is stop, be still, and remember who’s in control.

And always remember, God loves you, and so do I.

Connection Church in Sioux Falls is a gospel-centered community committed to helping people follow Jesus through authentic relationships, biblical teaching, and everyday mission. Rooted in historic Christian belief and aligned with gospel renewal movements, the church exists to see lives transformed by Jesus. Learn more: https://siouxfallsconnection.com/who-we-are

Before the music, there was a little time to enjoy God's creation. And before the night was over, there would be plenty of reasons to praise Him for what He had created in the voices of two gifted Christian artists.

A little time in God’s creation

Before heading to the venue, I took advantage of the amazing weather God had provided and visited Fontenelle Forest. Tucked away in Bellevue, just outside Omaha, this local outdoor adventure features miles of trails, including a one mile boardwalk that winds through the forest and offers a beautiful opportunity to experience nature and try out some outdoor photography. Being able to walk through and witness God’s creation before heading to the venue was a real treat. Sometimes, taking a little time away from the hustle of a concert day is exactly what I need before stepping into an evening of music and worship.

One of the surprises waiting at Fontenelle Forest was the Raptor Woodland Refuge, where rescued birds of prey can be observed up close. Hawks, falcons, and even a pair of bald eagles were among the residents. It was amazing. It’s one thing to see these birds in photographs, but being able to walk around and observe them in person was something else entirely.

With my camera in hand and a little more appreciation for the world God has given us, it was time to make my way to the venue. I was heading into the evening with a memory card of outdoor photographs, beautiful weather behind me, and a concert experience ahead that I hoped would be just as memorable.

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Bellevue Christian Center opens its doors to a different kind of Saturday night

Tucked away just 15 minutes south of Omaha, Bellevue Christian Center is a place of worship, but on this particular Saturday night, its doors opened for a different kind of gathering: a live concert experience where the music was designed to point people toward the same God they came to worship. The Bellevue stop was part of Megan Woods’ Truth Tour, with Jeremy Rosado joining her for an evening of music, personal testimony, and praise. The October 3rd show was only the third stop on the tour’s fall run.

This was my first time seeing either artist live, and my first visit to the church, so I really didn’t know what to expect. I knew the night would be centered on Christian music, but there’s something memorable about hearing these songs performed in a setting where the audience isn’t simply there to watch a show. They’re there to sing along, worship, and connect with the message behind the music.

And if the opening set was any indication, we were in for a powerful evening.

Jeremy Rosado: A voice that carries more than notes

If you recognize Jeremy Rosado from American Idol or The Voice, you already have an idea of the vocal talent he brings to the stage. If you haven’t heard him before, well, boy, this man can sing.

Rosado has spent years developing his voice, from singing in church and at neighborhood gatherings to competing on national television. His musical career has taken several turns, including a season when he stepped away from pursuing music to raise his niece, whom he took on as his daughter. His story is one of family, faith, and the willingness to follow a different calling when life asks something unexpected of you.

That personal history became especially present during his set. While performing “God Came Through,” Rosado became emotional as he spoke about losing his father just four months earlier. Continuing to get onstage and lead people in worship while walking through that kind of grief is a testament to his faith in Jesus. He wasn’t presenting a life free from pain. He was standing in front of a room full of people in the middle of it, still choosing to worship.

That honesty made the music hit more impactfully. There’s a difference between singing about trusting God during hard seasons and actually doing so when the hurt is still fresh. Rosado’s vulnerability made the songs feel less like polished performances and more like an invitation to keep bringing our pain to God, even when we don’t have everything figured out.

His performance of “When I Meet Jesus,” a song that also played a role in his father’s celebration of life, carried that personal connection into the music itself. The title alone takes on a deeper meaning when you know the circumstances surrounding it. The hope of seeing Jesus isn’t just a lyrical idea; in a moment of loss, it becomes something to hold on to.

Then there was “Keep Holding On.” Rosado’s voice has an impressive combination of power and control, and this song, along with most of his set, gave him room to demonstrate both. The sustained notes seemed to go on forever without wavering, each one delivered with remarkable steadiness. He wasn’t simply reaching for volume. He was controlling the sound, carrying the melody with a strength that made it hard not to stop and appreciate what he was doing.

By this point, even in a seated concert setting, the audience was moved enough to give him a standing ovation. It was a deserved response to a performance that offered both vocal fireworks and something much more personal.

Rosado’s set was a reminder that worship doesn’t require us to pretend everything’s fine. Sometimes it comes from the middle of grief, with tears still close to the surface, even pouring out. Sometimes the most honest expression of faith is continuing to sing when life has given you every reason to be quiet.

A song, a family story, and an invitation to make a difference

The intermission wasn’t simply a break between performers. Rosado stayed on stage to share more of his story, including the circumstances behind “Hero in the Room,” a song connected to his relationship with his niece, whom he raised as his daughter. The song’s family centered message offered a natural transition into the evening’s partnership with Compassion International.

Compassion International works with local churches to support children living in poverty, providing practical assistance that includes education, food, and medical care while introducing children to the Gospel. The presentation gave concertgoers an opportunity to sponsor a child, turning the evening’s emphasis on faith into a tangible way to serve someone beyond the walls of the church.

There was also an extra incentive for those who decided to sponsor. Each person who sponsored a child would receive Megan Woods’ upcoming album ahead of its October 9 release.

I appreciated that the evening made room for something beyond the stage. It would’ve been easy to treat the intermission as a chance to stretch, check a phone, or wait for the set change. Instead, Rosado used that time to share a personal story and connect it with an opportunity to help children in need.

Christian music can encourage us, challenge us, and help us express our faith. But when that encouragement leads us to act on what we believe, the experience reaches beyond the music. The invitation to sponsor a child gave the audience a practical way to respond to the message of compassion and care that ran through the night.

Megan Woods: A headliner without a full length album

It’s rare to headline a tour when you don’t even have a full length album out yet. Megan Woods is doing exactly that, and after seeing her perform, I understand why she can command a room.

Originally from a small town in northern Massachusetts, Woods has built her music around a deeply personal testimony. She’s spoken openly about struggling with self worth before coming to understand her identity in Christ, and that experience now runs through her songwriting. Her breakout song, “The Truth”, grew out of that journey, serving as a reminder that our identity isn’t defined by the lies we believe about ourselves, but by who we are in Jesus.

That background helps explain why her music feels so personal. Woods isn’t simply singing songs about faith as an abstract subject. She’s singing about a truth that changed how she sees herself, and she wants other people to experience that same freedom.

Vocally, she’s a soulful powerhouse. There’s a richness to her voice that gives her performances plenty of emotional depth, but she can also open up and let those bigger notes fly. Her set had room for both sides of that ability, moving between intimate moments and the kind of full throated delivery that makes you sit up and pay attention.

“I Believe You” was one of the songs that stood out, showcasing the expressive side of her voice while reinforcing the trust at the heart of her music. She followed with “Heaven Down Here,” her newest single, bringing another piece of her growing catalog into a set that was already connecting with the audience.

For an artist still building toward the release of her first full length album, Woods already has a clear musical identity. Her songs are rooted in personal experience, her delivery is strong enough to carry them, and she understands that a worship focused concert isn’t just about getting through a setlist. It’s about giving the audience something they can carry with them after the final note.

Then came a Whitney Houston cover.

My notes from the night leave the exact title uncertain, so I won’t pretend to remember which song it was. What I can say is that the choice gave Woods another opportunity to showcase her soulful vocal style and tackle material associated with one of pop music’s most recognizable voices. It’s one thing to sing your own songs, where every phrase is written around your strengths. Taking on a Whitney Houston classic is another challenge entirely.

Woods rose to the occasion, adding a different flavor to the evening without losing the musical character that’d made her original songs so compelling.

When two powerful voices become one

One of the night’s more impressive moments came when Rosado returned to the stage to join Woods for “Goodness of God.”

To say my jaw dropped during this song is an understatement. What a duet.

Both artists have the kind of voices that can fill a room without needing to hold anything back, and hearing them together gave the song an extra dimension. Their vocal power complemented each other, with each singer bringing a distinct quality to a song that has become a familiar expression of gratitude and trust in God’s faithfulness. Rather than feeling like a guest appearance added simply for the sake of a surprise, the collaboration felt entirely at home in the evening’s worship.

It was also a fitting meeting point between two artists whose performances had already revealed how much personal testimony shapes their music. Rosado had shared his grief and the importance of holding on to Jesus through loss. Woods had brought songs about identity, faith, and learning to believe the truth of God’s love. “Goodness of God” gave those themes a shared place in the setlist.

The evening also featured, unbeknownst to me, the bassist from Casting Crowns, John Michael. In fitting fashion, Megan Woods and the band performed a cover of “Praise You in This Storm.” The song itself was a fitting selection for a night that repeatedly returned to faith in the middle of life’s difficult seasons.

But the moment that will stay with me most came during “The Truth.”

This is the song that gives the tour its name, and it’s also the clearest expression of Woods’ testimony. Her official biography describes it as a deeply personal declaration of finding identity in Jesus, written to remind listeners who they are when the lies begin to close in.

Watching that message unfold in a room full of people was something else. I could see people singing along, fully invested in the words. There were children crying while praising Jesus. There was an openness in the room that went beyond simply enjoying a performance. People were responding to a message they clearly connected with, and the emotion was impossible to miss.

As someone who came to the show to worship alongside the opportunity to experience two artists live for the first time, I wasn’t expecting that moment to affect me quite the way it did. It was a reminder of why I love covering Christian music in the first place. The photographs, the vocal performances, the lighting, and the production all have their place, but sometimes the most compelling part of a concert is watching people encounter a message of hope together.

And here, that message was unmistakable: our identity is found in Jesus, not in the lies we tell ourselves or the world tells us.

There wasn’t a need to manufacture a dramatic ending. The people in that room were already providing one, singing, crying, and praising God together.

Afterglow

Overall, the night was more than I could have hoped for. Emotions were high, but the praise was higher, and you could really feel God show up.

From Rosado’s honest account of grief to Woods’ songs about finding worth and identity in Christ, the evening offered more than impressive vocals. Both artists brought their own stories to the stage, and those stories gave the music a sincerity that you could feel through the entire night. The collaborations added some memorable musical highlights, while the Compassion International presentation offered a way for the audience to put faith into action.

I arrived having never seen either artist perform live and left encouraged by what I’d witnessed. The Truth Tour is a reminder that music can do more than entertain us. It can give voice to our struggles, remind us of the promises we cling to, and bring people together in worship.

If you have an opportunity to catch a remaining date on Megan Woods’ Truth Tour, please go check it out. With Jeremy Rosado joining her for this run, you’re in for a night of powerful vocals, honest testimony, and music that points people to Jesus.

You’ll leave encouraged and pointed to Jesus. And that’s a pretty good way to end any night.

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Andy LaPlegua was sweating all over us, and everyone loved it. Pounding beats and distorted vocals had everyone moving nonstop around Combichrist’s stage at Catch One. I spent the night in that stage area doing photo coverage, close to the action as Andy kept interacting with the fans.

Das Bunker’s 30th anniversary really felt like a massive homecoming and a big reunion for the whole industrial family and underground community. Everyone went all out with their outfits; the darkwave and industrial style was on point everywhere you looked. White face paint, rows of studs and glowing red goggles stood out among the black clothing. The crowd had dressed for an occasion, and Combichrist’s early material gave that occasion its sound.

The anniversary show had been billed around a special throwback set, with The Treasury and Das Bunker’s resident DJs also on the lineup. The choice of headliner came with a long association between the club and the artist. I got a small reminder of that history before the show, with Andy and Franck H-Bomb together during soundcheck.

The people in the photograph

I got to meet Andy and Franck and took a photo of them together. Having one of Das Bunker’s longtime DJs and co-promoters alongside Combichrist’s frontman made that an especially fitting picture to get on this particular night. Franck was also on the anniversary flyer’s Noise Room lineup, still participating in the club’s musical life as it reached thirty.

Das Bunker began in a Long Beach bar in October 1996. In a 2011 interview with I Die: You Die, co-promoter Rev. John described its early focus on European EBM and electro, followed by an increasing interest in power noise. The club developed outside the Hollywood circuit, making space for harsher electronic music and eventually expanding into larger venues. The reunion at Catch One belonged to that longer history of people finding a place to hear the music they wanted.

Combichrist had a place in Das Bunker’s recorded history well before this anniversary. The club’s 2004 compilation Fifteen Minutes into the Future included “Das Der Bunker”, putting the connection right there in the song title. That release predates Everybody Hates You, the album that would become such a defining part of Combichrist’s early club identity. There is something satisfying about that timeline alongside the soundcheck photograph: the association reaches back to when these were new records.

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The early records hit home

The music pulled super heavy from the early Combichrist catalog. That history begins with The Joy of Gunz, released in 2003, followed by Everybody Hates You in 2005 and What the Fuck Is Wrong With You People? in 2007. Those first three albums established the sound this anniversary set was looking back toward: hard electronic rhythms, abrasive textures and vocals that could make a dance track feel confrontational.

On Everybody Hates You, techno and electronic body music meet the rougher edges of power noise. The hooks and samples give listeners something to recognize inside all that abrasion. By What the Fuck Is Wrong With You People?, the provocative language and beat-driven attack were firmly established. Those records make sense in a club because the aggression has a practical purpose: it gives people something forceful to dance to.

Combichrist killed it onstage. Andy was interactive with the fans, and his distorted delivery sat alongside an exchange that felt familiar and affectionate. One knee up at the edge of the stage, he reached toward the hands coming back at him. There was a funny contrast between the hostility in the music and how pleased everyone seemed to be there. A record called Everybody Hates You makes a pretty good excuse to get together when everyone knows what they came for.

They played “At the End of It All” and a bunch of the classic early stuff. The song comes from 2009’s Today We Are All Demons, extending the focus past the first three albums. The emphasis was on that earlier electronic identity, with room for material from the years immediately after it.

This was also a deliberate choice within Combichrist’s current schedule. The Venom in the Mouth of God arrived in July 2026, and the band’s North American tour was running under that album’s name. The Los Angeles date was specifically marked as an old-school set. With a new release already out, setting aside this night for older material gave the anniversary its own musical focus.

More than one room

The anniversary’s layout also reflected Das Bunker’s life as a dance club. The flyer placed Combichrist on the main stage and The Treasury in the Jewels Room, with DJs Mimi Cry and IHX. Franck H-Bomb and The Operative were listed for the Noise Room. Those separate spaces gave the celebration room for different parts of the industrial scene, while the main stage concentrated on Combichrist’s earlier years.

The Treasury brought a newer name to that bill. Richmond-based musician Troy Hancock came through the Raleigh punk scene before developing the project around synthesizers and drum machines. His debut EP, Permanent District, came out through DKA in October 2025, drawing on EBM, 1990s techno, post-punk and synth-punk. That booking put a recent release alongside an anniversary set reaching back roughly two decades. My photo coverage stayed with Combichrist, but the programming made space for both.

Rev. John had described that balance in the 2011 interview, explaining the responsibility he felt to introduce clubgoers to unfamiliar music: “we are where the patrons look for new music.” Remembering favorite records and finding another artist to follow can happen on the same night. For a club celebrating thirty years, leaving room for both seems like a sensible way to keep having birthdays.

Afterglow

The soundcheck photo of Andy and Franck offers one way to remember Das Bunker’s 30th: two familiar figures together for an anniversary. The view from Combichrist’s stage offered another, with the crowd dressed up and moving nonstop while Andy worked close enough to share the sweat. I got the photograph, but that messy exchange is what gives the reunion its character. Everyone went all out, Andy included.

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There was something immediately encouraging about looking around Mary W. Sommervold Hall inside the Washington Pavilion and realizing just how many people had come out for Neil Diamond’s songs.

Gray and white hair dominated the crowd, certainly, but this wasn’t an audience sitting politely with its hands folded, waiting for memories to arrive on schedule. People sang. They held phones in the air during songs they loved. They sent heart-shaped hands toward the stage and, every so often, seemed to shed a few decades entirely.

Matt Vee and The Killer Vees gave them plenty of reasons to.

Saying what he said

The opening stretch established quickly that I Am, He Said was going to be more ambitious than a handful of musicians standing beneath stage lights and running through familiar hits. “Forever in Blue Jeans” arrived early with enough movement to loosen the room, Vee working the stage comfortably and keeping his attention trained on the audience instead of disappearing into the mechanics of impersonation.

“Song Sung Blue” opened that relationship further. It is practically constructed for communal singing, and Vee knew better than to keep it to himself. He encouraged the room to answer, allowing hundreds of voices to become part of an arrangement they already seemed to know instinctively. Neil Diamond’s original recording has always carried that accessibility, simple without being disposable, and hearing the chorus returned from the seats made its durability obvious.

Vee spent much of the evening putting Diamond’s catalog into context, talking about the period when the songwriter imagined his future primarily as someone supplying songs to other performers rather than becoming the person standing at center stage singing them.

The stories weren’t interruptions. They were part of the production.

Vee has spent enough years performing this material that he knows when to let a song carry the room and when a story can change the way the next one lands. He doesn’t approach Diamond as a costume. The resemblance comes through most clearly in his phrasing and vocal tone, close enough to evoke Diamond without reducing the evening to imitation.

That approach makes the show’s own description of itself feel more accurate. The Killer Vees have resisted calling I Am, He Said simply a tribute, instead presenting it as a celebration of Diamond’s music. Watching the production unfold, the difference was easier to understand. Nobody appeared interested in pretending it was 1972. They were interested in why the songs still worked in 2026.

Julie Velline gave the show another dimension.

During “I’m a Believer,” Diamond’s composition that became a massive hit for The Monkees and later found an entirely new generation through Shrek, Matt moved closer to Julie when the song reached its declaration of being in love. It was a small gesture, almost playful, but those details kept the performance from becoming mechanical.

The keyboardist had one of his strongest moments of the night during the song as well, breaking outward from the arrangement instead of simply furnishing the chords underneath it.

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More than one voice

Julie returned throughout the night for backing vocals and featured performances, eventually becoming essential to some of the show’s strongest material.

“You Don’t Bring Me Flowers” was the obvious centerpiece.

The song, recorded by Diamond and Barbra Streisand, depends on tension more than volume. Matt and Julie understood that. Rather than overselling the drama, they let the conversation inside it do the work. The closeness between the two performers gave its depiction of affection disappearing through ordinary neglect an added weight. Two people standing beside each other singing about two people growing apart creates its own quiet friction.

It also showed why Julie’s role mattered. She wasn’t brought onto the stage merely to recreate a famous duet before disappearing again. Her voice became part of the architecture of the production.

When she remained onstage for another featured performance, the shift felt natural rather than scheduled. The band had already established that I Am, He Said was willing to move its center around. Matt remained the host and primary voice, but the musicians surrounding him were repeatedly allowed to become part of the story.

And Matt made sure the audience knew who they were.

The introductions were thorough. Chris Bloniarz had traveled from New York to handle keyboards. Dennis Kennedy worked percussion. Richard Manik covered saxophone, flute, keyboards and vocals. Around them sat the familial DNA that gives The Killer Vees an identity beyond the average touring tribute production.

That family connection extends directly to Bobby Vee, whose sons Tommy and Jeff Vee are part of the project and whose grandson Bennett Vee handles lead guitar. Matt Vee’s own connection to the family and its musical history gave him plenty to draw from whenever he stepped away from the setlist and started talking.

Some of those stories were almost too strange to need embellishment.

One reached back to Bobby Vee’s early band and a young pianist remembered as Elston Gunnn, who didn’t remain with the group for long. The musician behind that name was Robert Zimmerman.

The world would come to know him as Bob Dylan.

The story fits into a particularly peculiar corner of American music history: Dylan briefly played piano with Bobby Vee before either man’s career had become what history now remembers. In Sioux Falls, Vee told it less like a lecture than family lore, another strange intersection between artists whose names would eventually grow far beyond the rooms where they first played.

Matt had previously spoken with Lyrical Limelight about growing up around that history, including Bobby Vee’s career, and during the Sioux Falls performance he took a moment to thank us for the interview. Feel free to click the link below to watch the interview!

Then he went back to work.

When the room got younger

“Thank the Lord for the Night Time” became one of the evening’s most physical numbers. Kennedy pushed the percussion hard, at one point sending his tambourine into the air, while the guitar stepped forward with considerably more bite than anyone expecting a polite nostalgia show might have anticipated.

It was one of those moments when the audience’s age became almost irrelevant. Shoulders moved. People responded. The room got louder.

Neil Diamond songs have survived partly because they invite that reaction without demanding it.

“Kentucky Woman” came with another piece of Diamond history, Vee explaining the circumstances surrounding the song before launching into it. Diamond’s 1967 recording remains one of the sharper examples of the punch his early songwriting could carry, and The Killer Vees gave the arrangement some muscle of their own.

It also produced the only noticeable sound-balance issue of the evening. The live horn cut aggressively through the mix and occasionally competed with Vee’s vocal rather than sitting beside it.

Live horns are unforgiving that way.

It was a small blemish during a show that otherwise remained remarkably controlled, especially considering how many moving pieces were involved.

That control mattered because the band had promised something larger than a stripped-down Neil Diamond tribute.

They delivered it.

The arrangements had full-band weight. Instrumentation changed. Julie moved between backing vocals and the foreground. Guitar, percussion, keyboards and saxophone were each given room. Family history occasionally interrupted the music in the best possible way.

The musicians weren’t trying to reproduce old records note for note. They were preserving the characteristics that made those records worth returning to.

The audience understood that better than anyone.

Watching older concertgoers illuminate their phones during songs that had been part of their lives decades before was one of the night’s most telling images. Phone lights have become such a familiar concert ritual that they can feel obligatory, but here they carried a different weight.

These weren’t teenagers discovering their first favorite band.

Some of the people around us had likely been listening to Diamond before anyone could imagine a phone becoming a flashlight, camera, ticket and lighter replacement all at once.

They sang anyway.

They sent hand hearts toward the stage. They reacted to opening notes before Vee had time to begin the first lyric. Certain songs appeared to trigger something physical, bodies straightening in seats, heads turning toward partners, voices suddenly joining from sections of the room that had been quiet minutes earlier.

For a few songs, they looked younger.

Afterglow

The finale widened the production one final time when the Spotlight Choir joined The Killer Vees onstage, fulfilling the evening’s promised appearance by local performers and turning a show built around one songwriter’s catalog into something communal.

Julie’s vocals were especially strong there. She had been reliable throughout the evening, but during the closing stretch her voice pushed above the arrangement with clarity and confidence rather than simply supporting it.

It was the right ending for a show that had spent the night gradually revealing how many people were involved in keeping these songs alive.

Matt Vee may stand at the microphone singing Neil Diamond, but I Am, He Said works because it refuses to treat Diamond’s catalog as museum property.

These songs were loud.

They were funny.

They carried family stories.

They occasionally came with a tambourine flying through the air.

And when the crowd sang back, Vee frequently stopped being the most interesting thing to watch.

The people around us were.

Some had probably been listening to Neil Diamond for more than half a century. Now they were holding phones above their heads, singing lyrics they didn’t need screens to remember and throwing hand hearts toward the stage.

For one night at the Washington Pavilion, Matt Vee and The Killer Vees didn’t simply remind Sioux Falls what those songs sounded like.

They reminded the room what it felt like when those songs belonged to them.

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A Rough Start Gives Way to a Masterful Night

Grand Casino Arena. The last time I was here was for one of my favorite shows of the year when Bring Me The Horizon brought their epic tour through town, so Teddy Swims had some pretty big shoes to fill.

Thankfully, by the time the night was over, Teddy had done more than enough to overflow them.

The night, however, started off a little rough. And, admittedly, that was completely on me.

After making the four hour drive to the venue, getting inside and picking up my media pass was easy enough. I was told where we would meet to be escorted to the photo area, so I found my way around the venue and waited.

And waited.

As the first band’s scheduled start time got closer and closer, I started wondering where everyone was. Eventually, I found out what’d happened.

My approval was only for the headliner. Not the openers.

I went back through the approval email to make sure I hadn’t somehow missed something, and sure enough, there was nothing stating that I had access to the opening acts. Normally, this is something I confirm ahead of time, but this time around, I dropped the ball.

And because I had driven four hours to be there, realizing that mistake was understandably frustrating.

A huge thank you goes out to Tess and Carrie from Grand Casino Arena, who did everything they could to try to get things sorted out. Unfortunately, there wasn’t much that could be done, so I ultimately brushed it aside, made my way to my seat and reminded myself that I still had Teddy Swims to look forward to.

As it turns out, that was more than enough.

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MarcLo Brings His Songwriting Experience to the Stage

The first artist for the night was MarcLo, a singer, songwriter and producer whose resume is significantly more impressive than I initially realized.

He has songwriting credits connected to artists including Dua Lipa, Miley Cyrus and, fittingly, the headliner of the evening, Teddy Swims.

So while I walked into his set not knowing many of the songs he performed as a solo artist, there was a good chance I had heard his influence somewhere along the way.

Unfortunately, because of my earlier media access mix-up, I missed the first couple of songs of his set. What I did catch, though, showed plenty of promise.

MarcLo was essentially a one man band, handling his own instruments while also moving around the stage and working to get the crowd engaged. That’s no small task when you’re opening an arena show by yourself.

He also mentioned that this was his first ever tour, which made watching the performance even more interesting. There was a sense that we were getting an early look at an artist who’s still figuring out exactly what his solo career is going to become.

Based on what I saw, there’s plenty of potential there.

It will be interesting to see where MarcLo goes from here.

Mac Ayres Brings the Groove

Next up was Mac Ayres, a three piece group that brought a completely different energy to the evening.

Where MarcLo leaned heavily into the one man band approach, Mac Ayres settled into a smooth R&B groove that carried throughout the arena.

And I have to admit, it got me moving in my seat a few times.

There was something incredibly easy about settling into the groove of this set. Mac’s vocals were another highlight, fitting perfectly with the musical style and adding another layer to the overall atmosphere.

The set also seemed to fly by.

Maybe that was because I was enjoying it so much. Maybe it was because I was still counting down the minutes until Teddy took the stage. Either way, it felt like Mac Ayres accomplished exactly what an opening act should do.

And then came the moment that really got everyone locked back in.

The unmistakable sound of the Backstreet Boys came through the arena as Mac Ayres launched into a cover of “I Want It That Way.”

At that point, there was no question that the crowd was ready.

A Collector’s Dream Before the Show Even Started

Before Teddy even took the stage, Grand Casino Arena had already given me something that immediately caught my attention.

When I first entered the building, I saw a QR code advertising a tour exclusive vinyl for Teddy’s upcoming unreleased album, “Ugly.”

And it was only available to preorder at a concert.

As someone who loves collecting physical music, this was basically an invitation I couldn’t refuse.

So, naturally, I ordered one.

It was a fun little bonus before the show even began, and it made the experience feel a little more personal than simply walking into an arena, watching a concert and walking back out.

But the vinyl was only the beginning.

Because then, it was Teddy time.

Teddy Swims Takes Over the Arena

I don’t think I can adequately describe how excited I was to finally see Teddy Swims live.

There’s something about Teddy that makes him incredibly easy to root for.

It’s the charisma. The awkwardness. The kindness.

The way he interacts with his audience.

The tattoos. The personality.

And, of course, there’s that voice.

Teddy has one of those voices that almost doesn’t seem like it should come from the person producing it. He has this larger than life vocal ability that comes from a guy whose appearance and personality initially might not lead you to expect what you’re about to hear.

And that contrast is part of what makes him so captivating.

Even before Teddy appeared, the energy inside Grand Casino Arena was already building.

Part of that was thanks to what I can only describe as one of the strangest and most entertaining concert intermissions I’ve experienced.

A “janitor” came onto the stage with a radio sitting on top of his mop bucket, blasting classic ‘90s songs while he danced around the stage and worked the crowd.

And honestly?

It was so much fun.

It was such a refreshing change from the usual random playlist being pumped through the PA while everyone waits.

The arena was already buzzing.

Then the curtain dropped.

A Three Story Hotel Becomes Teddy’s Playground

The stage design was immediately one of the biggest visual highlights of the night.

Behind Teddy was a massive three story set piece designed to look like the side of an old school hotel building. Teddy was positioned on scaffolding that slowly lowered him down to “street” level as the show began.

It was an incredible entrance.

And the set wasn’t simply there to look pretty.

Throughout the performance, Teddy would climb the fire escape stairs on either side of the structure, turning the entire set into part of the performance.

It gave the show a theatrical quality that elevated it beyond simply watching an artist perform songs on a stage.

The set itself became part of the storytelling.

And then there was the hot dog cannon.

Yes.

You read that correctly.

A hot dog cannon.

The Hot Dog Cannon

During “Another Thing Coming,” a hot dog cart was rolled onto the stage.

At first, I was confused.

What did a hot dog cart have to do with anything?

As it turns out, absolutely nothing.

Teddy apparently just wanted to set up his next feat.

After arming what looked like a hot dog themed cannon, he proceeded to fire actual hot dogs into the audience.

Real hot dogs.

Flying through an arena.

I genuinely don’t know what else to say about it.

It was one of the most hilarious and completely unexpected things I’ve ever witnessed at a concert.

There are plenty of artists who can put on a technically impressive arena production.

But how many of them are going to shoot hot dogs into the crowd?

Turning “Bad Dreams” Into a Nightmare

One of the most visually impressive moments of the night came during “Bad Dreams.”

The song began with Teddy lying on a bed on the third story of the set. A camera positioned above him captured the moment as he sang, creating an intimate visual despite the massive size of the arena.

Then the scene began to transform.

Teddy left the room, and suddenly the environment around him changed.

Walls appeared to crack. Nightmare inspired paintings moved in the background, almost like the kind of creepy artwork you might see decorating a Halloween attraction.

Shadows with teeth raced across the walls.

The entire set took on this unsettling, dreamlike quality that perfectly complemented the song.

It was another example of how much thought went into the production.

Teddy wasn’t simply singing “Bad Dreams.”

He was creating an entire world around the song.

Sometimes Less Really Is More

And then came the part of the show I always hope for at arena concerts.

The stripped down section.

I’ve said this before, and I’ll probably say it every single time I experience it.

Give me an artist sitting down with an acoustic instrument in a giant arena, stripping away the massive production and simply singing, and I’m probably going to love it.

Watching an arena full of people get quiet for a moment while the artist relies almost entirely on their voice and the song itself just hits differently.

Teddy leaned into that during several songs throughout the evening.

But he also used the opportunity to connect directly with the audience.

Before the show, fans were given a QR code where they could submit song requests. During this unplugged portion of the performance, Teddy responded to those requests by performing “She Loves The Rain.”

That was such a cool touch.

Every city doesn’t necessarily get exactly the same show based on the fans requests.

The audience gets a chance to influence what Teddy performs, which means there’s an element of unpredictability and personalization attached to the experience.

I wish more artists would do things like this.

In an era where so many tours can feel meticulously rehearsed down to the smallest detail, giving the audience even a little bit of influence can make a concert feel like something that belongs specifically to that city.

Teddy’s Connection With His Audience

There was also another feature throughout the show that showed an impressive example of multitasking that I can’t say I’ve seen from a performer.

Teddy was grabbing signs from people in the audience and signing them while continuing to sing.

Think about that for a second.

You’re performing in front of thousands of people.

You’re singing live.

You’re grabbing a sign from someone in the crowd.

You’re signing it.

You’re handing it back.

And somehow you’re still managing to stay on pitch and not miss a beat.

That’s an impressive level of confidence on stage.

More importantly, though, it reinforced one of the things that stood out to me throughout the night.

Teddy genuinely seemed to enjoy being there.

The interaction didn’t feel like something he was simply checking off a list.

There was a looseness and personality to the evening that made the arena feel less like a giant room filled with strangers and more like a massive group of people who’d all shown up to have a good time together.

Afterglow

Looking back at the beginning of the evening, it’s almost funny how frustrated I was when things didn’t go according to plan.

After a four hour drive, finding out that my media approval didn’t include the opening acts wasn’t exactly how I wanted the night to begin.

But sometimes you just have to roll with it.

And once Teddy Swims took the stage, that frustration became an afterthought.

The combination of Teddy’s incredible voice, his personality, the audience interaction, the massive set, the visual production, the acoustic moments, the spontaneous song requests and, of course, the absolutely ridiculous hot dog cannon made for one incredibly entertaining evening.

Teddy Swims didn’t simply give me another memorable night at Grand Casino Arena. He gave me a completely different kind of memorable night.

And honestly, I’m glad I got to experience it.

There are still plenty of opportunities to catch The Ugly Tour live, so if Teddy Swims is coming to a city near you, go see him.

I can pretty much guarantee you’ll have a blast.

And hey...

You might even catch a hot dog.

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Leather Rose returns to the Cathead Stage, and it has been a minute or two since I last checked in with Silas Sloan, Carson Loden, Blake Summerford and the rest of the band. There was plenty to catch up on. They’ve released the acoustic Cabin Sessions, recorded a live EP at their hometown Lucky Tap and brought Lee Bates in on drums. Wade, Erin and the crew from Amory made the drive up, too, after closing out their own night. Before the first song, this already felt like a visit with people I knew.

The Blue Canoe is a good place for one. The Cathead Stage sits in a room where the names on the walls give you something to look at between sets, and the staff can seem as invested in the music as the people who came to hear it. I’ve spent enough time with this band and around its home crowd to notice when somebody new is standing among them. Tonight, a few more people had followed Leather Rose to Tupelo.

Changes and recognition

The guys have been busy this year. They’ve been working on their identity as a band, their sound and the direction they want to go. The change you could see immediately was behind the kit. Tonight was Lee Bates’s official debut as a full-time member. He had filled in a few times when Mason wasn’t available, so this wasn’t a first introduction to the songs. It was the first time I was watching him play them as part of Leather Rose’s next chapter.

There has been recognition for the older lineup’s work, too. Leather Rose Live at The Lucky Tap, the EP Carson and Silas recorded one afternoon with only a few patrons in their hometown room, earned a Josie Music Awards nomination for Americana/Folk EP of the Year. I like that the recording came out of an ordinary afternoon at a place the guys consider their home stage. People can now hear what happened in that room, including the acoustic “Strikeout” and three songs that were new at the time.

“Ground Zero” goes back to their first Clarksdale show, opening for Memphis’s Ghost Town Blues Band at Ground Zero Blues Club. They’ve since been invited back to open for them again. “Burnt’ Out” doesn’t hide its subject. The final track is titled “Here Am I,” a song Silas wrote about his gratitude and willingness to be of use to God.

Silas always reserves a spot in the set to talk about his testimony. He took those few minutes at the Blue Canoe, and the crowd applauded him for it. I’ve seen him do this before. It still takes courage to stop a rock show and speak that plainly about faith.

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New songs, a bluesier turn

Leather Rose put together a set that balanced originals with covers they’ve worked into their own versions. The two Muddy Waters songs were where I heard the change most clearly. Silas said the band wants to pursue a more bluesy sound going forward, and hearing them lean into those covers made that direction easier to picture. Clarksdale is just across the state, and they’ve already started finding a crowd there. They have songs that sit comfortably in Americana; the bluesier rockers give the set another way to move.

I heard several new Leather Rose songs that I hadn’t caught before. I asked for a setlist afterward so I could name a few of them here, but I don’t have the titles. I’d rather leave a song unnamed than put the wrong name on it. What I can say is that they didn’t feel dropped into the show just to announce that the band had been writing. The new material, the covers and the originals from earlier releases were mixed through the set, with the breaks and quieter moments where they needed to be.

You can see the band working together on the Cathead Stage. Silas can step out to address the crowd, then turn back toward Carson, Blake and Lee, and the night becomes a band show again. With a new drummer and a possible shift in sound, I was watching for how those pieces sat together. By the time the set was rolling, I was listening to the songs.

The Blue Canoe has been a Tupelo staple since 2011, and I still tell people to get the wings. The Cathead Stage has hosted Gary Clark Jr., Alabama Shakes, the Red Clay Strays and Sturgill Simpson, among plenty of others whose names you can find on those walls. On Sept. 12, it belonged to four guys from Amory who are still deciding exactly what Leather Rose can sound like.

Afterglow

It had been a few weeks since I’d been out locally, so it felt good to see everyone, catch up with the band and catch up with the people who travel with them. Some came from Amory. Others are starting to show up because they heard the songs and wanted to hear them again. Twenty-five or thirty miles may not sound like much, but they made the trip.

Leather Rose came to Tupelo with a new drummer, new songs and a bluesier sound in mind. The crowd came with them. And yes, the guys kicked some ass.

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New attendees for this show were my daughter Sofia and her two friends, Haley and Jaydn, who loaded up and made the trip down to Birmingham. The three of them kept things fun on the ride. We were headed to All Good Beverage Company for Stanley Simmons and Miles Connor, and now it was showtime!

All Good sits along the Hugh Kaul Trail at 3501 1st Avenue South. Having recently crossed its one-year milestone, the venue brings together craft beer from local favorites like Good People and Avondale, food from Trail Magic Sandwich Shop and live concerts at All Good Music Hall. It’s family-friendly, with space inside and outdoors along the trail.

Young Nashville band opens

Miles Connor is a name you should remember. He brought his sound and songs into All Good Beverage Co., mixing in a few covers such as the Beatles’ “Eleanor Rigby”. The band was tight and had the crowd rocking right along with them. If you’re looking to catch a young Nashville band playing some rock ’n’ roll, keep an eye on Miles.

The set ran through “Talk No More,” “Ruin My Plans,” “Birds on a Wire,” “Jump,” “Memphis,” “Eleanor Rigby” and “Hanging Around.”

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Back in Alabama

Here we were, once again enjoying Evan Stanley and Nick Simmons, Stanley Simmons, performing songs from their debut album live in Birmingham. Earlier this year, they performed at the John Lewis Civil Rights Award ceremony honoring Buddy Guy in Florence, Alabama. This was my fourth time seeing Evan perform. I had seen him open for his dad’s band, KISS, on the final leg of the End of the Road tour, and again with Amber Wild when they opened for Lynam at Iron City in Birmingham.

Jacob Bunton from Lynam, a friend of the band who helped them with their debut album, Dancing While the World Is Ending, was in attendance as well, showing his support. I spent a few minutes chatting with him about what he’s been up to.

The Dancing While the World Is Ending tour brought the duo to a packed All Good Music Hall ahead of the album’s October 2 streaming release. Evan and Nick carry familiar names as the sons of Paul Stanley and Gene Simmons of KISS, but the music they brought to Birmingham leaned toward folk, blues and Americana.

Dancing while the world is ending

Stanley Simmons’ rootsy sound favors crisp acoustic foundations and driving percussion, with precise, instinctual two-part vocal harmonies reminiscent of Crosby, Stills, Nash & Young. Vintage Laurel Canyon folk and grittier singer-songwriter influences sit alongside the heavy blues and gospel-infused vocals. The interlocking voices held their place against the band’s heavier playing, too.

They kicked things off with the soaring, hypnotic title track, “Dancing While the World Is Ending,” locking into their acoustic-driven groove. From there, the band moved through the retro, psychedelic textures of “Cellophane” and the melancholic slow burn of “Cold.” In “Cold,” the disappointment sharpens into distrust as the singer realizes he no longer recognizes the person he thought he knew.

“Body Down” and “Lilith” also appeared in the set. The traditional spiritual imagery in “Body Down” reads to me as a battle cry for personal endurance: the body can be buried, but the voice in the song refuses to disappear. Its insistence suits the duo’s vocal approach, with the harmonies reinforcing the defiance.

A highlight of the night came during the bluesy stomp of “Don’t Leave Me Here Like That,” which gave the rhythm section a chance to shine and left the audience chanting along.

Another song that showed off some of Evan’s slide guitar skills was “Dystopia Boogie,” a real grinder at high speed. That one stayed with me. They closed out the evening with the swampy drive of “Real Life.”

Afterglow

My friend from Huntsville, Alabama, Leslie Phillips, was also there with her daughter Brittnee, and it was great to see them again. Derek Gunn was there too, so it was nice to meet him in person.

After the show, Evan and Nick, Miles and his band, and the rest of the Stanley Simmons band hung around in the sandwich shop at merch, chatting, signing and taking photos with their fans. They did not leave until everyone got through the line. It appeared that no one had left after the show; they were all in line to meet the musicians.

When we finished, we headed out for the long ride home. The girls lasted as long as they could, but soon all three were asleep, leaving me to reflect on the fun and the joy of them enjoying a night of music out with Dad. That made the whole thing worth it.

Until next time… Are you on the right trakks??

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Faith in Focus is a weekly reflection on what God has been teaching me throughout the week regarding my faith. Whether it’s personal interactions, reading, or the Sunday sermon, God speaks through it all, and I hope this helps you focus on His mission.

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Sermon Reflection

What if the clearest evidence of Christ’s work in our lives isn’t what we can accomplish, but how Jesus is changing us? In 2 Corinthians 3, Paul points us toward a life written by the Spirit, lived in community, and transformed one degree of glory at a time.

Based on the sermon by James Swanson, Connection Church Sioux Falls, September 27, 2026.

From Veiled Hearts to Unveiled Lives

What if your life is already being read?

Not your resume. Not your accomplishments. Not your social media profile. Your actual life.

People see how you respond when plans fall apart. They notice how you speak about people who aren’t in the room. They see what happens when someone wrongs you, when you’re overlooked, when you fail, and when you have nothing left to prove.

The question isn’t whether people are reading your life. They are.

The question is what they’re reading.

Paul gives us a striking picture of this in 2 Corinthians 3. He tells the Corinthian believers that they’re a letter from Christ, written not with ink but with the Spirit of the living God on human hearts. [2 Corinthians 3:1-3]

The goal isn’t simply to become people who know more Bible verses, behave better, or appear more religious. The Spirit is doing something deeper. He’s changing who we are so that our lives increasingly point beyond ourselves to Jesus.

James points us to a letter of recommendation example which are meant to establish credibility. Someone applying for a position might ask another person to testify about their character, experience, or qualifications. The letter says, in effect, “You can trust this person.”

Paul turns that idea upside down.

He doesn’t need a traditional recommendation for the Corinthians because their transformed lives are evidence of God’s work through his ministry. Their lives are the letter.

But Paul is careful about whose letter they are.

They aren’t ultimately Paul’s letter. They’re “a letter from Christ,” written by the Spirit of the living God. [2 Corinthians 3:3]

Christian testimony is never ultimately about how impressive the Christian is. It’s about how faithful Christ is.

The strongest recommendation for the gospel isn’t a person who can convince everyone that they have everything together. It’s a person whose life increasingly shows what Jesus does with broken, sinful, ordinary people.

A changed life doesn’t say, “Look how good I am.”

It says, “Look what Jesus is doing.”

The World Behind the Text

Paul’s words come in the middle of a larger discussion about his ministry and the new covenant.

The Corinthian church was familiar with competing claims about authority and credibility. Paul responds by pointing away from credentials and toward transformed people. His confidence isn’t rooted in his own ability.

It comes from God.

Paul writes that his sufficiency is from God and that God has made him a minister of a new covenant, “not of the letter but of the Spirit.” [2 Corinthians 3:5-6]

Paul isn’t arguing that Scripture is bad, unnecessary, or something Christians should replace with vague spiritual impressions. The passage is contrasting the ministry of the old covenant, particularly the law written on stone, with the new covenant ministry of the Spirit.

The law reveals God’s holiness and exposes human sin. It shows us what righteousness looks like while also revealing our inability to produce that righteousness ourselves. As Paul explains elsewhere, the law brings knowledge of sin. [Romans 3:19-20]

The problem isn’t that God’s law is defective. The problem is that sinful human beings can’t transform their own hearts simply by being given commands.

The new covenant brings something greater. God doesn’t merely tell his people what righteousness looks like. Through the Spirit, he works within them.

The prophet Ezekiel anticipated this promise, describing God giving his people a new heart and putting his Spirit within them so that they would walk in his ways. [Ezekiel 36:26-27]

The gospel therefore isn’t simply an invitation to try harder.

It’s an announcement that God has acted in Christ and continues his transforming work through the Spirit.

Walking the Passage

The passage begins with living letters, but it eventually arrives at unveiled faces.

Paul moves from recommendation letters to the Spirit’s work in the heart, from the glory of Moses to the greater glory of the new covenant, and finally to the transformation of believers into the image of Christ. [2 Corinthians 3]

God writes.

We are read.

Christ is revealed.

And the Spirit transforms.

That means Christian growth can’t ultimately be reduced to behavior modification.

We can change behavior without changing our hearts.

We can look calm while remaining furious inside. We can serve while secretly craving recognition. We can know enormous amounts about Scripture while using that knowledge primarily to win arguments or make ourselves feel superior.

External behavior can be rearranged without the heart being surrendered to Christ.

The Spirit goes deeper.

He exposes pride, fear, envy, unbelief, resentment, and the places where we resist God’s authority. He doesn’t simply make us better at hiding those things. He brings them into the light so that we can turn to Jesus.

That’s why Paul can say that where the Spirit of the Lord is, there is freedom. [2 Corinthians 3:17]

Christian freedom isn’t freedom to become whatever we want.

It’s freedom from the condemnation and bondage of sin and freedom to live for Christ.

And that freedom is connected to transformation.

Paul says that believers are being transformed into the same image, “from one degree of glory to another.” [2 Corinthians 3:18]

One degree.

Then another.

Then another.

That‘s both encouraging and humbling.

We often want instant transformation. God frequently gives us faithful transformation.

A Fair Counter-Reading

There’s a danger in reading this passage as though every visible change in a Christian’s life is automatically proof of spiritual maturity.

People can perform religious behavior for many reasons. Fear, pride, reputation, social pressure, and the desire for approval can all produce outward conformity.

Likewise, a struggling Christian shouldn’t assume that difficulty, weakness, or slow growth means the Spirit is absent.

Paul’s picture isn’t of Christians who have arrived. It’s of people who are being transformed.

The emphasis falls on God’s work, not our performance.

The Christian life is therefore neither passive indifference nor frantic self improvement. It’s dependent participation in the work God is doing through Christ and by His Spirit.

We pray. We confess. We listen. We receive correction. We study Scripture. We gather with God’s people. We obey.

But we don’t manufacture spiritual life.

Our sufficiency is from God.

The Turn

The passage eventually asks us to look beneath our behavior and examine what might be covering our vision.

Paul uses the image of a veil. He describes people who can read the Scriptures while remaining unable to recognize their fulfillment in Christ. The veil is removed when a person turns to the Lord. [2 Corinthians 3:14-16]

What if the thing blocking our vision is pride?

What if it’s pain?

What if disappointment with God has quietly become a conviction that he’s absent or unloving?

What if resentment has made mercy feel impossible?

What if familiarity with the Bible has become so routine that we’ve forgotten to look for Christ in its pages?

None of these questions should be used to shame people who’re hurting. Pain is real, and Scripture doesn’t ask us to pretend otherwise. But pain can become a barrier when we allow suffering to define what we believe about God’s character.

Turning to Jesus means bringing those things into his presence.

Not hiding them.

Not polishing them.

Not pretending.

Bringing them.

Sometimes the first step is confession. Sometimes it’s forgiving someone. Sometimes it’s asking a trusted Christian for help. Sometimes it’s simply praying, “Lord, show me what I can’t see.”

The Spirit doesn’t free us by teaching us how to become self sufficient.

He frees us by teaching us to stop pretending that we are.

Carry It Into the Week

If our lives are living letters from Christ, then every ordinary interaction becomes an opportunity to display something about Jesus.

How do we speak when we’re stressed?

How do we treat people who have less authority than we do?

How do we respond when someone corrects us?

What happens when we’re ignored?

Do our relationships show forgiveness?

Do they show compassion?

Do they hold truth and grace together?

These questions are especially important because Christianity was never designed to be lived alone.

A living letter needs to be seen, read, and shared.

That’s part of why the local church is so important. Connection Church describes its Gospel Communities as places where believers live life together, extend grace, practice the “one anothers” of Scripture, study God’s Word, and apply the gospel to everyday life.

Community gives other people access to our lives, and that can be extremely uncomfortable.

We need people who know us well enough to ask difficult questions.

How’re you experiencing me in your life?

Where do you see Christ growing me?

Where do you see me resisting him?

Those questions can hurt.

They can also become instruments of grace.

The goal isn’t to become impressive Christians who’ve mastered religious behavior. The goal is to become people increasingly shaped by Jesus.

And that requires attention.

What gets most of your attention during the week will shape your thoughts, desires, and reactions. Constant outrage can make us harsher. Comparison can make us dissatisfied. Endless entertainment can dull spiritual hunger. Work can become an identity. Even Bible knowledge can become a substitute for knowing Christ if we’re not careful.

But there’s good news.

Transformation is promised.

Paul tells the Philippians that the God who began a good work in his people will bring it to completion at the day of Jesus Christ. [Philippians 1:6]

We’re not finished. Neither is God.

The Christian life is a process of becoming more like Jesus as we behold his glory and depend upon his Spirit. The destination isn’t merely improved behavior. It’s Christlikeness.

And one day, the process will be complete.

The veil will be gone.

Faith will become sight.

The One we’ve spent our lives learning to love will be seen face to face.

Until then, we keep turning toward Jesus.

We keep confessing.

We keep receiving correction.

We keep gathering with his people.

We keep opening Scripture to see Christ.

We keep depending on the Spirit.

And we keep becoming living letters.

Because someone is reading your life.

May what they read point them to Jesus.

Song of the Week: What Grace Can Do - Cochren & Co.

I had the pleasure of seeing this week’s Song of the Week performed live at LifeLight this summer when Cochren & Co. graced the stage. But even beyond the experience of hearing it live, “What Grace Can Do” has become one of my favorite songs of the year.

The song immediately calls me back to one of the most beautiful pictures of grace we find in Scripture with the parable of the prodigal son.

The son had wandered. He’d taken what he thought he wanted and left his father behind. He found himself broken, empty, and eventually realized that home was where he needed to be. So he turned around and headed back.

But what happened when the father saw him?

Luke 15:20 says, “But while he was still a long way off, his father saw him and felt compassion, and ran and embraced him and kissed him.”

He ran.

The father didn’t stand on the porch with his arms crossed waiting for his son to crawl back and beg for forgiveness. He didn’t make him prove that he was sorry enough. He didn’t demand that he clean himself up before coming home. When he saw his son returning, he ran to him.

That’s the picture of grace.

And that’s what makes the Gospel so beautiful.

We can sometimes convince ourselves that we’ve wandered too far. Maybe we’ve made too many mistakes. Maybe we’ve spent too much time running from God. Maybe we’ve believed the lie that we need to get our lives together before we can come to Jesus.

But the Gospel tells us something completely different.

Jesus doesn’t wait for us to become perfect before He saves us. We can’t become perfect on our own. That’s why we need Him.

Romans 5:8 says, “But God shows his love for us in that while we were still sinners, Christ died for us.”

While we were still sinners.

Not after we’d cleaned ourselves up. Not after we’d fixed every mistake. Not after we’d become the people we thought God wanted us to be.

While we were still sinners.

Jesus came for us.

The grace we receive through Christ isn’t something we earn. It’s something freely given because of what Jesus accomplished through His death and resurrection. His sacrifice was sufficient. His blood washes us clean. His work on the cross was once for all.

Hebrews 10:10 says, “And by that will we have been sanctified through the offering of the body of Jesus Christ once for all.”

Once for all.

That phrase is easy to read and move past, but stop and think about it. Jesus didn’t partially pay for our sins. He didn’t make salvation possible if we could somehow finish the job ourselves. He gave Himself completely.

That’s grace.

And honestly, I couldn’t explain what that grace looks like much better than Cochren & Co. already does. The final refrain of “What Grace Can Do” says it all:

“The broken find their breakthrough.
The old is made brand new.
The hurting find their healing.
That’s what grace can do.
Make a heart of stone start beating.
Raise you right up out that tomb.
Make a saint out of a sinner.
That’s what grace can do.”

That’s the Gospel.

Grace takes what’s broken and restores it. Grace takes what’s old and makes it new. Grace brings life where there was death. Grace softens hearts that have become hardened. Grace doesn’t simply make us feel better about who we were. Through Christ, grace makes us new.

2 Corinthians 5:17 says, “Therefore, if anyone is in Christ, he is a new creation. The old has passed away; behold, the new has come.”

Maybe you’re reading this and you’ve been walking with Jesus for years. Maybe you’re in a season where you feel closer to Him than ever. Or maybe you’ve never truly turned toward Him at all.

Wherever you are, the invitation is the same.

Come home.

It doesn’t matter how far you’ve drifted. It doesn’t matter how many times you’ve failed. It doesn’t matter how broken you think you are. And it doesn’t matter if this is the first time you’ve ever genuinely turned toward God.

Jesus is still there.

And when you turn toward Him, you don’t find a Savior standing at a distance waiting for you to prove yourself worthy. You find a Savior who gave His life for you.

The Father runs.

That’s what grace can do.

And it can do that for you too.

Turn to Jesus. Trust in Him. Lay down the things you’ve been carrying and come home.

He’s waiting, and He will come running.

Week in Reflection

With Gospel Community in full swing, I want to take this week’s reflection to simply thank God for the community He’s placed in front of me.

What started as a weekly gathering has become so much more than that. This group has become family. We don’t simply show up once a week, talk about what we’ve been learning, and then go our separate ways. We’re doing life together. We celebrate the highs together, walk through the lows together, pray for one another, encourage one another, and challenge one another to continue growing in our walks with Christ.

One of the things that encourages me the most is seeing the growth and vulnerability within our group. There’s something powerful about being able to sit around a room with other believers and be honest about where we are. We don’t have to pretend that everything is perfect. We can talk about our struggles, our victories, our questions, our failures, and the ways God is working in our lives. That kind of vulnerability creates an environment where real discipleship can happen.

Scripture reminds us of the importance of this kind of community. Hebrews 10:24-25 says, “And let us consider how to stir up one another to love and good works, not neglecting to meet together.” That’s exactly what I’m seeing in my Gospel Community. We’re not simply meeting because it’s something on the church calendar. We’re meeting because we need each another.

I’m incredibly thankful that God has given me this community. There’ve been plenty of seasons in my life where I tried to walk through things on my own, and I’ve learned that God didn’t design us to live that way. He gives us His church, His people, to walk alongside us.

So if you’re reading this and you aren’t currently connected to a Bible study or Gospel Community within your local church, I would strongly encourage you to get involved. Take the step. Show up. Be willing to be vulnerable. Let people into your life, and allow yourself to walk alongside others as they walk with Christ.

I truly believe it can change your life. More importantly, it can help you see more clearly how God is working through His people.

I’m so thankful for this family God has placed in my life, and I pray that I never take it for granted.

And always remember, God loves you, and so do I.

Connection Church in Sioux Falls is a gospel-centered community committed to helping people follow Jesus through authentic relationships, biblical teaching, and everyday mission. Rooted in historic Christian belief and aligned with gospel renewal movements, the church exists to see lives transformed by Jesus. Learn more: https://siouxfallsconnection.com/who-we-are

Another night of old-school music at Grand Falls

Back to Grand Falls Casino for another taste of what old school music looks and sounds like.

This time, the Event Center was graced with Melissa Etheridge taking the stage, and if there’s one thing I’ve learned from my trips to Grand Falls, it’s that they know how to bring in artists who’ve stood the test of time. From one legendary act to another, the Event Center continues to be a place where you can see artists who helped shape the soundtrack of multiple generations.

Etheridge has been a major presence in American rock music since the release of her self titled debut album in 1988. Over the decades, she has collected two Grammy Awards and an Academy Award for “I Need to Wake Up,” which was featured in Al Gore’s documentary An Inconvenient Truth.

But her story is about considerably more than awards.

In 2004, Etheridge was diagnosed with breast cancer, which she beat after she went through treatment, including chemotherapy. Even so, she continued performing, even appearing at the 2005 Grammy Awards. Her career continued, and decades after first stepping onto the national stage, she’s still writing, recording and touring.

That perseverance is especially fitting when you look at her newest album, Rise. Released March 27, 2026, the album is Etheridge’s 17th studio album and carries themes of pain, loss, love, acceptance and resilience.

And on September 25, she brought that experience to Larchwood, Iowa.

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‘We’re gonna get crazy’

To start the show, Etheridge announced something that seemed particularly appropriate considering this was the final show of the tour.

She told the audience that because there was nothing left after this, they were going to get the crazy.

And did we ever.

For someone in her 60s, Etheridge can still bring it.

She might not spend the entire night jumping around the stage or running from one side to the other, but honestly, she didn’t need to. There’s a confidence that comes from spending decades doing something at the highest level, and Etheridge carried that confidence throughout the night.

More importantly, she still has the pipes.

That might have been the most impressive part of the entire evening for me.

I can scream along to a concert for a night and completely destroy my voice for the next couple of days. Meanwhile, these artists go out night after night, sometimes for decades, and somehow still sound fresh.

That’s the difference between singing for fun and singing for a living.

Your voice becomes your instrument.

You have to take care of it, learn how to use it and know when to push it. Etheridge demonstrated all of that throughout the night. There was power behind the vocals, but there was also control. After nearly four decades of performing, that’s something pretty remarkable to witness.

A guitar, a guitar tech and a moment that felt personal

One of the most unexpected moments of the night happened during a guitar change.

If you’ve ever watched a professional concert closely, you know there’s an entire machine working behind the scenes to make everything appear seamless. The artist finishes a song, the lights shift, someone comes running out with another instrument and suddenly everything’s ready for the next song.

Etheridge’s longtime guitar tech was a busy man that night.

Song after song, he was bringing out freshly tuned guitars and keeping the transitions moving. But during one of those changes, Etheridge took a moment to tell the audience about their relationship and how long they’d been working together.

She then handed him a guitar.

The story behind it made the moment even more meaningful. Etheridge explained that it was a guitar she had lost at one point but eventually found again. Rather than simply keeping it for herself, she gave it to her longtime guitar tech.

It was a small moment compared with the production of the entire concert, but it was one that stuck with me.

I found myself wondering whether this was something she’d planned specifically for the final show of the tour, whether she had done something similar at previous shows, or whether this was simply one of those spontaneous moments that happened because the circumstances were right.

His reaction certainly made me wonder.

Maybe he was completely shocked. Maybe he was already thinking about the next guitar that needed to be tuned. Or maybe there was a history between the two of them that made the gesture mean even more than the audience could understand.

Whatever the case, it was a heartfelt moment, and I’m glad I got to witness it.

A little Dolly Parton

Another story that stood out came when Etheridge talked about Dolly Parton.

September 25 had been recognized as Dolly Parton Day in several places in 2026, with the date intentionally tied to Parton’s iconic song “9 to 5.” Parton passed away on August 25, 2026, at the age of 80, making the September 25 celebrations part of the early tributes to her legacy.

Etheridge mentioned the significance of the date during the show, and I have to admit, at the time I was wondering how much of the story was serious and how much was Etheridge having a little fun with the audience.

Either way, I can definitely get behind it.

There was something fitting about hearing Dolly Parton remembered during a night celebrating another artist who has spent decades making music, breaking barriers and building a career that has crossed generations.

And the fact that this concert happened on September 25 made the story that much more special.

‘Tomboy’ and taking back a name

The final highlight for me personally came with “Tomboy.”

Before performing the song, Etheridge told the story behind the nickname and what it meant to her growing up.

Sometimes a song can simply be a song.

Then an artist gives you the story behind it.

Suddenly the lyrics have another element to them.

That was the case with “Tomboy.”

The combination of Etheridge’s story, the lyrics and the performance created a moment that felt much more personal than simply another song in the setlist. It was a reminder that some of the songs artists write aren’t just entertainment. They’re pieces of their own history, identity and experiences.

Being able to hear that story directly from the person who lived it made the performance hit differently.

Afterglow

Overall, it was another amazing night at the Event Center at Grand Falls Casino.

What continues to impress me about this venue is the variety of artists they’re able to bring through the area. There’s something special about seeing artists with decades of history performing in a relatively intimate setting rather than having to travel to a massive arena to experience them.

Melissa Etheridge was another example of that.

You have an artist who’s been doing this since 1988, who’s won Grammys, an Academy Award and earned a place in rock history, standing on a stage in Larchwood and still sounding like she’s something left to say.

And that’s probably my biggest takeaway from the night.

Getting older doesn’t mean the music stops.

If anything, sometimes the stories behind the music become even more meaningful.

Grand Falls has plenty more of those stories coming.

As of this writing, the Event Center’s upcoming lineup includes Rick Springfield on October 16, Blue Öyster Cult on November 7 and Wilson Phillips on November 14.

So if you’ve not checked out the upcoming shows at Grand Falls Casino, I would highly recommend taking a look.

If Melissa Etheridge was any indication, there’re still plenty of blasts from the past waiting to remind us why these artists became legends in the first place.

I hope to see you there!

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Around noon, before the parking lot had anything resembling a crowd, skateboards were rolling across the asphalt at Bigs Bar. It was a great addition to Eerie Echoes. Bigs has enough room outside to give skaters an actual place to move, and the rails and boards made the festival feel like more than a succession of bands waiting for their turn onstage. The morning turnout was light. Many of the skaters in town are younger, and more trickled in as the day went on, when the lot had started to look and sound more like a festival.

The schedule needed that breathing room. Several bands couldn’t make it at the last minute, for reasons that ranged from members being out of town or halfway across the country to canceled United flights. One act had gear stolen. The festivities were pushed back, an unwelcome complication for a day already designed to run from afternoon rock and metal into late-night electronic music. For the skaters arriving later, though, it meant more time to take a turn at the rails. Eerie Echoes kept moving, even if it couldn’t move quite as planned.

Around 2:40, Nate, the creator of Eerie Echoes, was excited about a band that included a few friends he’d graduated high school with. He expected their families to turn out, and they did not disappoint. I don’t think I’ve ever seen so many moms and dads in a crowd like this. There was a particular pleasure in watching people show up for musicians they’d known before the bands and the festival existed. With so much of the bill shifting around them, that gathering became one of the day’s most beautiful memories.

The music finds its feet

Indigent, a local favorite, started off the evening bands for us. Their first song took its time introducing them. The long instrumental opening had an older, spacious feel, the sort of passage that brought Pink Floyd to mind, before the rougher punk-rock edge came through. There was a Nirvana-like scrape to it, then something stranger at the end — spooky, almost alien. The musicians had enough command of their instruments to let that opening develop instead of rushing straight to the loudest part. It gave the set more shape than a quick introduction would have.

Outside, the crowd rose and thinned over the course of the day. A festival this long is a marathon for the audience, too. People pick the hours they can manage, leave for a while and come back for the sounds they most want to hear. That’s a double-edged sword for a band playing to whoever happens to be in front of the stage at a given moment. The musicians still brought their best to those people. Smoke hung under the outdoor rig as a vocalist moved toward the edge of the stage; later, a bassist leaned into a set while the sky darkened. There was more room than bodies at points, but the people I spoke with who did come were having a wonderful time.

The changing bill also showed how willing musicians were to help each other keep the day going. Giant’s Knife came from the St. Paul area at the last minute to perform. In conversations around the festival, musicians talked about trying to make it to Sioux Falls and branch out farther into the Midwest, not simply passing through on a tour. Ocean of Illusions had come from as far away as New Jersey. Eerie Echoes was meant to put unfamiliar bands alongside local talent; even with cancellations, those distances and last-minute decisions gave the idea some weight.

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The art and merch between sets

My favorite part of the festival was seeing my friends Michelle and Stefan with Sanctuary Goods. They’re coming up in the vending community, but they belong in conversations about the local art and music scenes, too. Inside Bigs, their display was part of a wider collection of handmade pieces and small businesses. Band shirts were spread across tables. Paintings and prints filled one booth; jewelry and carefully arranged small objects filled another. At one station, an artist worked glass over a flame. There was something to linger over even when the next band was still getting ready.

What Michelle and Stefan offer feels based around care for oneself and others. That might sound like a large claim for a vendor table, but their thoughtfulness and intuition are part of what makes them so welcome at an event. They talk with people, make room for them and help the festival feel like a place to spend time, not just a schedule to follow. On a day when the timetable kept changing, that kind of presence mattered to me. The other makers and merch sellers gave the room that same sense of activity between sets, each table a little different from the next.

When the sound changed

After dark, the music turned toward EDM. The electronic crowd I usually see at these events wasn’t there in the same numbers, and many of the metal bands and artists didn’t stay for that portion of the night. I understand it. Everyone had put in a long day. Still, a conversation near the end stayed with me. Someone argued that EDM artists don’t have talent, that making this kind of music doesn’t take much. I hear versions of that from time to time, and I can’t agree.

I’ve known electronic musicians who are classically trained and others who spent years playing in bands. I’ve known artists who devote serious attention to the music they love and to the choices behind what an audience hears. That doesn’t mean everyone has to like EDM, any more than everyone who came for the electronic sets has to love metal. But dismissing the work because it doesn’t look like a guitarist and drummer onstage misses what those artists are doing. I wished more people from each side had stayed long enough to hear the other.

Afterglow

I keep thinking about the parents watching their kids’ band and the first few skaters crossing a mostly open parking lot. Neither moment depended on a full crowd or a perfect schedule. By night, the lot had changed again, with screens lit up and electronic performers taking their turn. The day asked people to make room for music and art they might not have come specifically to see. Some did. Some went home. Eerie Echoes had its setbacks, but it still gave those who stayed a chance to listen past what they already knew.

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Returning to Slowdown

The last time I was at Slowdown was for the amazing Hawthorne Heights show back in March of this year, meaning this show had some pretty big shoes to fill. But as I walked through the doors this time, the thing I was most nervous about had nothing to do with the music.

It was my pictures.

The last time I was at Slowdown, my photography kit was, let’s just say it, hot garbage. I also made one of those rookie mistakes that you never want to make as a photographer. I let my camera battery die. That meant I walked away without getting the photographs I felt those bands deserved.

Since then, I’ve made quite a few upgrades to my kit. New equipment, more experience, and a better understanding of how to work in difficult lighting situations have all made a difference. So as I walked into Slowdown, I was hoping that these bands would get the coverage I strive to provide now.

Then I noticed something else.

The venue setup was completely different from what I remembered.

Rather than using the larger stage toward the back of the venue like the previous show, this night was set up in the front portion of Slowdown. The stage was significantly smaller, which immediately made me think about how that would affect the lighting and my ability to move around.

But that’s part of concert photography.

You adapt.

You take the room you’re given, figure out the lighting, adjust your settings and make the best photographs you can. Thankfully, one of the biggest advantages of a show like this is that I had the opportunity to photograph the full sets rather than dealing with the typical first-three-songs restriction, giving me room to experiment and adjust as needed.

By the grace of God, I think the results turned out pretty well. But I’ll let you be the judge of that.

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BleakHeart sets an ethereal start

The first band of the evening was BleakHeart, or, as became the running joke of the night, Blackheart.

Apparently, someone had a little trouble with the band’s name.

The venue had the name listed incorrectly on promotional materials and even on the marquee. The mistake became such a running joke that Pallbearer’s lead vocalist even made a comment about it during their set later in the evening with a chuckle.

Thankfully, the name may have been wrong, but the music certainly wasn’t.

BleakHeart brought an incredibly ethereal sound to the stage. Their music had a calming quality to it while still carrying some seriously heavy tones. It’s one of those combinations that sounds strange when you try to explain it, but once you hear it, it makes perfect sense.

There was an almost physical atmosphere to the performance.

Rather than immediately hitting the audience with wall-to-wall heaviness, BleakHeart created a mood and slowly pulled you into their sound. It was an intense way to open the evening and a fitting introduction to what would become a pretty diverse night of music.

After their set, I had the opportunity to stop by the merch table and speak with lead vocalist Kiki GaNun. One of the things we talked about was the band’s newest album, A Stone Thrown to Silence.

The record represents a departure from BleakHeart’s previous work, as it’s the first album featuring GaNun as the sole vocalist following the departure of the band’s previous vocalist.

GaNun described the album as being more vulnerable for her personally, and after hearing that, I knew I had to pick up the vinyl.

That’s one of the things I love about smaller venues. You can actually talk to the people making the music.

It isn’t unusual to walk over to the merch table, have a conversation with a band member and learn something about the music that you wouldn’t necessarily get from a press release or a social media post.

Of course, our conversation also included our mutual love of dogs.

GaNun told me that she can’t bring her dog on tour because the dog isn’t exactly a fan of drums. As someone who can’t imagine being away from my own dogs for that long, my heart goes out to her.

It was a great first set, both musically and personally.

But things were about to change pretty drastically.

Ordh brings a change of pace

If BleakHeart eased the audience into the evening, Ordh came in and kicked in the door.

The musical contrast between the two bands was significant. Where BleakHeart leaned heavily into an atmospheric and instrumental sound, Ordh brought something that I can only describe as Dethklok and Amon Amarth having a baby.