Honestly? It’s different every time. There’s no fixed plan. It depends on the band, the venue, the lighting — and what kind of content we need that day. Sometimes I know exactly what I want. Sometimes I figure it out on the fly.

There’s this moment — right before the band comes on — when every photographer tightens their camera strap and lines up at the edge of the pit. You glance around, and suddenly it hits you: you’re the only woman there.

And even if no one says anything, you feel it.
Not always in a bad way. But it’s there. The glances, the subtle sizing up, the assumptions. Sometimes it’s support. Sometimes it’s surprise. Sometimes it’s silence.

Tour photography looks glamorous from the outside — traveling the world, working with bands, capturing epic moments night after night. But what most people don’t realize is that those moments often look exactly the same every night.

Same lighting. Same songs. Same setlist. Same three jumps during the breakdown. And somehow, you're supposed to find something new in it — every single time.

Most people assume that shooting massive music festivals means you need a massive zoom lens — or three. And yeah, zooms have their place. But after years of shooting in photo pits and backstage... I still mostly rely on just three prime lenses: 14mm, 35mm, and 85mm — all from the Sigma Art series.

Are they light? Absolutely not. Sigma primes are tanks. But the image quality, light performance, and control they give me are worth every extra gram strapped to my shoulders during a 10-hour day.

Let’s be honest — black and white isn’t just an Instagram trend or a way to fix bad lighting (even if sometimes, yes, it saves the day). In concert photography, it can be one of the most powerful tools to highlight emotion. But it only works when it works.

If you shoot regularly — especially concerts, festivals, or tours — storage isn't just a technical detail. It's survival.

Photographers often talk about lenses, cameras, presets, and color grading… but not enough about where all that data goes. And trust me, when your drive crashes mid-tour or you lose a month of RAWs because your only backup was in the same bag — it suddenly becomes the most important gear you own.

When the burnout hits, when the rejections pile up, when you're deep in edits at 2AM wondering if anyone even sees what you're doing — pause. Take a breath. Step back. And ask yourself: why did I start?
Maybe it wasn’t about building a career at first. Maybe it wasn’t about getting hired, landing photo passes, or chasing validation. Maybe it was simpler. Maybe it was the feeling you had at that first show you ever shot. The energy. The rawness. The sound that hit you in the chest. 

So, you sent the pitch. You wrote the DM. You dropped the email with your portfolio link. And then...

Nothing. Silence is frustrating, especially when you put your heart into the message. But here’s the key: following up respectfully can keep the door open — if you do it right.

This guide is for any photographer reaching out to bands, managers, PR teams, or labels — and wondering how to stay visible without being pushy.

Building Respect in the Photography Scene.

You see a band you love. They already have a photographer. You admire their work — but you want that job.

It’s tempting to slide into their DMs anyway, offer your services, and hope the band picks you next time. But here’s the truth:

That energy? People feel it. And it rarely leads where you want to go.

Rejection is part of the journey — and if you're trying to break into tour photography, it's going to happen more than once. You’ll open Instagram, see another photographer backstage or on the road with the band you love, and feel that familiar sting. Especially if you wanted that gig badly.

But here’s what no one tells you: this happens to everyone. From new photographers to seasoned pros. It’s not always about skill. More often, it’s about timing, trust, and relationships.

So what do you do when a band chooses someone else? Here’s how to process it, learn from it, and keep moving forward — without letting it crush your momentum.