The Tour That Could’ve Been

They asked me to shoot the tour.

Not attend. Not apply. Not show up to one date with a pass — something I was used to.

They asked me to shoot the whole thing. The full UK leg of the tour.

They were a band I loved. A band I could only dream of working with them like this.

It was 2014, maybe 2015. I was still in the UK — still figuring out my place in the world. Somewhere between twenty something creative and feeling like a child with imposter syndrome. I was using the camera my parents had got me for my birthday a few years back — I still use it to this day. I had got good enough to be noticed and reposted by a few artists I loved.

And then it happened.

Not online. Not via email.

We were at a signing. I was in the queue with some prints of the last show I had shot for them.

It was supposed to be just a quick hello, will you sign my prints and maybe a selfie.

Instead, I got asked if I wanted to shoot their next UK tour.

I still replay that moment over and over in my head.

It was that moment where all I had been chasing for half my life finally became real.

They were the band that had made me want to shoot live music. I had seen them live more times than I would like to admit. A band I had studied, I knew their lighting, their on stage moves, EVERYTHING.

It was all I had wanted for a long time.

And then my heart dropped into my stomach.

I had to say no.

Not because I didn’t want it. Not because I wasn’t ready.

But because I was leaving.

I was moving to the other side of the planet.

Not for a holiday. For good.

New life, new country, new everything — at the exact moment my old one cracked open a door to everything I’d ever wanted.

It felt cruel. Like a cosmic joke.

To be offered your dream just as you are forced walk away from it.

There wouldn't be chances like this in Australia. I would be starting all over, away from the big cities. Away from even the nearest towns. I would never get this big of a break again. My mum said things like “You’ll get other opportunities like this again.”

As if that made it better.

As if this was just a band.

As if this wasn’t the kind of opportunity people kill for — tour photographer, front of stage, backstage access, story-of-your-life shit.

And I had to let it go.

Flights were booked.

Goodbyes were already hanging heavy in my chest.

So I said no. I said thank you. I said maybe another time.

But there wasn’t another time.

The tour happened without me.

Photos got taken. Shows got played.

History rolled on, and I watched it from the other side of the world.

I cried a lot that summer.

About the things that could have been and about the version of me that could have existed.

That's where I like to think there are parallel universes.

One where I said yes. One where I became a touring photographer. Where I lived out of a suitcase, on tour buses and in green rooms.

Camera in hand. Earplugs always at the ready. The wild and at times lonely existence.

But I live in this universe.

The one where I didn't.

But I’ve done cool shit since.

I’ve shot new artists. I’ve built a brand. I’ve carved out a career that’s honest and weird and mine.

But that tour? It’s the one.

Not because it would’ve made me.

Not because it would've made me famous.

But because it was me — the purest version of who I wanted to be. Camera in hand. Music loud. Caught in that space between chaos and capture.