NO CONNECTION. JUST PASSION.

NO CONNECTION. JUST PASSION.

5 14 26

This is Ab-Soul at S.O.B.’s.

Sarah and I had VIP section tickets, but what I really remember is how I used to move through rooms like that.

Back then I loved smaller venues. The Highline. S.O.B.’s. Places where you could feel the room breathe. Places where being early meant something. Places where the bouncers remembered faces.

I got cool with the door staff, not on some fake industry thing, just on a human thing. I showed up. I was respectful. I did not act entitled. After a while it stopped feeling like I was asking to bring a camera in. It started feeling like they already knew why I was there.

And once I got the camera in, I worked.

I shot like my life depended on it.

The photos came out close enough, alive enough, that people thought I was with the artist. I was not. I had no inside connection. No introduction. No friend of a friend. Just passion and the willingness to keep ending up in the same place until people started recognizing me there.

That is basically what led me to Dave East.

I started going to his shows early. I shot from the front row. I sent the photos to his manager every time. No long email. No begging. Just the work, sent over like I belonged in the conversation.

The first thing that really caught their attention was an iPhone video I got when he jumped in the crowd.

It was not polished. It was not cinematic.

It was proof.

Proof that I was there. Proof that I could catch a moment while it was still breathing.

After that, I did not miss another event he had. By the middle of 2016, I was locked in. By the end of that year, I was his unofficial personal photographer.

When I think about that now, the lesson still feels simple.

You do not always get access by knowing somebody.

Sometimes you get access by being undeniable.

By showing up early.

By standing in the same place enough times that the room starts to remember you.

By delivering what you said you would deliver, over and over, until people stop asking who you are.

And this is where Malik quietly enters the picture.

Lately I have been watching him the way I used to watch stages. Not hunting for a moment. Not forcing one. Just present enough that when the moment happens, I am already there.

He walks into a room and does not announce himself. He studies. He circles. He touches one thing, then another. He lets the object tell him what it is before deciding what to do with it.

That feels familiar to me.

The patience.
The attention.
The kind of confidence that does not need a speech.

I do not want to sit him down one day and tell him how his dad got access.

I want him to learn it by watching my posture.

By feeling that I do not beg for rooms.

I show up with respect and let my work introduce me.

He gets to learn that from my presence, not my absence.

And there is another part of it too. One that took me longer to name.

You can be hungry without being desperate.

You can want something badly and still keep your dignity.

Your pace can stay calm even when your heart is loud.

That is a grown man lesson.

That is a father lesson.

It is also protection.

The world loves talented people who do not know how to hold their boundaries. It will take the work and keep moving.

So when I look back at nights like this now, I am grateful, but I am not romantic about it.

It was work.

It was repetition.

It was becoming the kind of person who does not disappear after one good moment.

And when Malik gets older, I hope he recognizes that pattern.

Not the venues.
Not the names.

The pattern.

Show up early.
Pay attention.
Bring proof.
Stay kind.
Stay steady.

Let your life speak before your mouth does.

That version of me was building a door out of repetition.

I am still doing that now.

The rooms just changed.