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Night Serenade
Is there anything more romantic?
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Nico Cilli Band@Chiostro Comunale – Città S.Angelo
A few shots from a reportage I did during a jazz gig.
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When The Passion Is Gone (thank to a sneaky photographer)
The close-up delivers a feeling of hot passion, as often tangueros do. But a wider view, including that sneaky photographer, kills the mood.
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Who Said That Music Is Relaxing?
Performance photography often leans on grand gestures—flying hair, dramatic spotlight, or an ecstatic soloist. I went in the opposite direction here, waiting for a moment of exhaustion rather than exaltation. The guitarist’s slumped posture, arm draped over his face, dissolves the illusion of effortless expression. It’s not stage fright or defeat—just the inescapable weight of presence. Shot from the stalls with a moderate telephoto, I aimed to compress the performer and his instrument, emphasising their closeness. The guitar, held tightly even in rest, becomes an extension of the body rather than a separate tool. The body language is loud, even if the room was likely hushed. I chose not to…
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A few shots from a Paco de Lucia live performance
A few shots from a Live Report I did for Rockol.it, an online music magazine
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Lorenzo negli stadi
Rockol.it – a music-oriented online magazine I work with – published the reportage I did at the Jovanotti’s “Lorenzo negli stadi tour 2013” in Pescara (IT). Here are the other pictures.
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The SoundMaster
You don’t usually see them—not really. They’re always there, but never in the spotlight. Still, without them, there wouldn’t be a show. I was at a concert recently, camera in hand, doing what I normally do—trying to catch something a little off-stage, something that tells the rest of the story. That’s when I spotted him: back to the crowd, eyes on the board, headphones hanging loose around his neck. Focused, steady. Doing the kind of work that only gets noticed when something goes wrong. I framed the shot from behind. The lights of the soundboard, all blinking and glowing, lit up the edges of his shirt—a simple icon of a…
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Evolution of a Guitar Player
It’s strange how a decade can pass in the blink of an eye — and yet carry with it the weight of evolution. The last time I met Roberto Di Virgilio, he had a Steinberger in his hands: all sharp edges, carbon fibre, and the aura of the 1980s futurism that guitarists either loved or dismissed outright. Seeing him now, a Les Paul slung across his shoulder, feels almost like a chapter shift in a novel I didn’t realise I was still reading. The photograph was taken in the kind of setting that usually conspires against the photographer: a stage during setup, flat midday light filtered through the structure above,…
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Rocco Zifarelli, Jeff Berlin, Beth&Danny Gottlieb, Gabriela Sinagra
These frames—made on a Leica M9 with an Elmarit 90/2.8—form a compact essay in concert reportage the labour of musicianship. The 90mm perspective is decisive here. It compresses the space, trims away the audience and the room, and turns performance into a sequence of concentrated gestures: hands, shoulders, the angle of a head, the moment a player listens as much as they play.
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A Master Luthier in his lab…
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In the backstage
There’s a kind of quiet tension in the way they lean against the wall. No people in sight. No instruments visible. Just the outlines of music, sleeping inside their forms. As a photographer, that’s the kind of silence you try to listen to. The room was dark, lit only from one side. The light caught the curve of one case and slipped off the edge of the other. Texture came forward. Shape. Memory. You could almost hear the faint creak of clasps, the echo of strings long since gone quiet. Sometimes the most expressive shots come when nothing is happening. No performance, no sound—just the pause in between. These cases…
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Waiting for the goal
Why can’t I enjoy my soccer team’s match instead of wasting my time here? Because my wife loves music…
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Snaps of a Flamenco recital…
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The Hands of a Drummer (Horacio “El Negro” Hernandez)
You don’t photograph a legend. You try not to get in the way. This frame is all rhythm, no fanfare. No face, no spotlight—just hands, sticks, cymbals, and breath held between beats. It’s Horacio “El Negro” Hernández in concert, but not in the way the audience sees him. This is closer. Quieter. The private side of percussion. Shot just beneath the hi-hat, I framed the photo to let the hand speak: fingers curled not in tension, but in dialogue. The skin slightly worn, the grip half-visible—mid-phrase, mid-flow. The cymbals catch the stage light like the faintest of brushstrokes, shimmering but not stealing the scene. You can feel the groove here.…
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Shade of Berlin
… Jeff, Berlin.
