Proud Mary - Under Low Lights and a Loud History (11th April, 2025)

Introduction

You don’t always realise what kind of night you’re walking into.

The 11th of April at The Key Club in Leeds felt like a step forward—another chance to build on what I’d started, to take what I’d learned from my first show and push it further.

There’s always that moment when you walk into a venue—the low hum of soundchecks, people filtering in, the quiet before everything properly begins. This time, it felt different. Familiar, but not comfortable. Like I understood just enough to know what was coming—but not enough to predict it.

As the night unfolded, it became clear this wasn’t just another shoot.

What started with a photo documentation for the warm up band ‘Silvertongue’ quickly turned into something more—something unexpected. Through conversations, introductions, and just being present in the right moments, the night shifted in a way I couldn’t have planned.

By the end of it, I wasn’t just documenting Silvertongue’s set. I had arranged to shoot another in the same venue, the same night - the headline act.

I was standing in front of Proud Mary—a band whose history and presence carried far more weight than the room they were playing in.

A Band With History

Formed in Manchester in 1998, Proud Mary aren’t new to this.

They were the first band signed to Noel Gallagher’s Sour Mash Records—an early sign of the direction they were heading. Not long after, they found themselves touring alongside bands like Oasis during the early 2000s, as well as sharing stages with the likes of Stereophonics and Paul Weller.

That kind of history doesn’t come from standing still. It’s built over years—on the road, in front of crowds, refining something that lasts.

And it shows.

This isn’t a band figuring it out.

This is a band that already has.

A Shift In Atmosphere

Silvertongue opened the night exactly how you’d expect—chaotic, loud, unpredictable. The kind of energy that fills every inch of the room and leaves no space to think. Guitars pushed to the edge, movement constant, the band members driving and moshing within the audience with the crowd feeding off every second of it.

Proud Mary did the opposite.

They slowed things down—but somehow held the room even tighter.

Where Silvertongue hit with relentless force, Proud Mary leaned into something more controlled. Blues-driven, melodic, deliberate. Every note felt placed rather than thrown. Nothing rushed, nothing forced—just a steady, confident presence that didn’t need to fight for attention.

You could feel the shift in the room. The crowd didn’t lose energy—they settled into it. Heads nodding instead of bodies colliding. Watching instead of reacting.

You could see it in the way they played together—small glances across the stage, timing that didn’t need thinking about. The kind of chemistry that only comes from years on the road, from playing the same songs in different rooms night after night until it becomes second nature.

Not just a band.

A unit.

Space To Work

From a photography perspective, this night couldn’t have been more different from my first shoot.

The Key Club gave me something I didn’t have before: space.

Even in a sold-out room, people moved. They stepped back. They made room—not just for me, but for the moment. It meant I could think about what I was doing instead of constantly reacting to everything around me.

For the first time, I felt like I had control.

And the lighting finally worked in my favour.

Compared to the harsh reds and blues of my previous shoot at Santiago’s Bar in Leeds where I shot Wailing Banshee, I found that this setup at The Key Club gave me something to work with—depth, contrast, separation. Light that didn’t just hit the stage, but shaped it. Faces, instruments, movement—everything had more definition.

I wasn’t fighting it anymore.

I could actually use it.

It gave me the freedom to experiment—push angles, lean into shadows, and capture something that felt closer to how the night actually looked, not just how it was lit.

Confidence - Still Building

Don’t get me wrong, the nerves were still there however, this time around they felt different.

Not as loud. Not as distracting. Still present—but no longer in control.

Underneath them was something new—confidence. Not the kind that tells you you’ve figured everything out, but the kind that comes from experience. From knowing what to expect. Understanding the pace. Starting to anticipate moments instead of chasing them after they’ve already passed.

Everything I struggled with the first time—I could feel myself adjusting here.

Positioning better. Timing shots earlier. Thinking ahead instead of reacting late.

Not perfect.

But not the same either.

Just better.

Stepping Back

At one point during the set, I stopped shooting. Just for a minute. Camera down, hands off the settings, no second-guessing—just watching.

It’s easy to forget, when you’re focused on capturing everything, that you’re actually in the middle of it. That there’s a whole experience happening outside of the frame you’re trying to build.

For a moment, I let that go. The instinct to keep shooting, to chase the next moment, to worry about what I might miss—it all settled slightly. And when it did, the room felt different.

The sound opened up more. The atmosphere felt less like something I was trying to document and more like something I was part of. Proud Mary don’t rush anything; they sit in the groove and let it breathe, and when you’re not constantly thinking about the next shot, you start to feel that properly.

That moment never made it into a photograph. But it’s the one I remember most clearly.

Backstage - The Favour

I found that Backstage always feels different. No lights, no crowd—just people existing in the gaps between sets.

I found myself speaking with the drummer - Richard Stuverud - between songs, still catching his breath, sweat dripping from a heavy set under low hanging lights. At one point, he asked me to grab him a Red Bull. Nothing dramatic. Just a quick run to the bar, something small that doesn’t really feel like much in the moment.

But it was only later, piecing conversations together, that it clicked what I was actually standing in front of.

This wasn’t just any drummer.

This was someone who had stepped in and played for Pearl Jam during their 2022 tour—filling in when it mattered, on stages most people only ever see from a distance.

And suddenly, that small favour felt different.

Walking back from the bar fridges and around backstage with a can in hand, it hit me how strange all of this really is. A few hours earlier I was there to shoot a support band, just another night with a camera. Now I’m backstage, doing something as simple as grabbing a drink for someone whose career exists on a completely different level of the industry.

There were stories too—names, places, fragments of something much bigger than the night itself. The kind of conversation where you don’t stop to verify everything—you just listen.

And honestly, that’s what made it.

Because in that moment, it didn’t really matter what was exact and what wasn’t. You just knew you were stood next to someone who had lived it.

How It Shifted

What started with Silvertongue turned into something I didn’t expect.

Through a few conversations, a bit of timing, and just putting myself in the right places, I was given the chance to shoot Proud Mary as well.

A band with history. With stories. With a presence completely different to anything I’d shot before.

That doesn’t happen if you stay quiet.

And honestly, if there’s one thing I’d take from this night and pass on, it’s that—especially to anyone in a similar position, whether it’s photography, music, or anything where you’re trying to get your foot in the door. There’s nothing to lose in stepping forward, speaking up, or saying yes when the opportunity presents itself. The worst that happens is nothing changes—but the risk of not doing it is that one day you might look back and realise you missed your moment.

It happens by showing up.

Final Thoughts

This night felt different to the first. I found that this time around, it felt less about surviving the chaos, more about starting to understand it. Understanding space. Timing. Presence. The small details you don’t really notice at first—but start to rely on the second time around.

Importantly, more than anything, it brought everything back to something simple:

You never really know who you’re going to end up standing next to. Or where they’ve come from. Or what they’ve seen that you haven’t.

People carry stories you don’t get to see straight away. Sometimes you only catch fragments of them in passing conversations, or in moments that don’t feel important until later. All you can do is stay open. Be present. And take the opportunity when it’s there in front of you.

From my first show at Santiago’s to this, it’s already clear that no two nights are ever the same.

And that’s exactly why I intend to keep going back.