Introducing Chris Daughtry...

I'd like you all to meet someone you're going to hear a lot more of in the coming months. Meet Chris Daughtry, a local vocalist who is about to go GLOBAL, thanks to his blistering pipes and a little juggernaut named American Idol. If you watch FOX at all, you've already seen him rendering the celebrity judges speechless with his soaring voice. Quite simply, this dude can wail.

I first met him on a September afternoon here in Greensboro, days before he flew to Denver for a chance to audition for Paula, Randy and Simon. Shannon Smith and I sat him down for a quick interview in downtown Greensboro before wandering over to a nearby parking lot where he could sing for my camera. When he opened up his throat, Shannon and I could hardly believe what came out. Chris' voice sounds like he just gargled broken glass and chased it with the finest of Kentucky bourbons. Hell, I still wanna buy him a drink, then make him sing my favorite Alice in Chains songs.

When we left Chris that day, Shannon and I agreed he had what it took to break through the din of American Idol wannabes. Whether he'll make it anywhere near the end of this schlocky yet oddly endearing talent contest depends on too many factors to list here. But one thing's for sure: Chris Daughtry's world is about to change. I sure hope he's ready.

Visit lenslinger.com. for more stories of clamoring on the edge of disaster and pageantry. For sixteen years I've covered everything from murders to hurricanes to more City Council meetings than I can remember. Check for daily dispatches from the ludicrous news front at lenslinger.com. C'mon, do a photog a favor...

UPDATE! To no one's surprise, Chris made the final 24. Check out our Hollywood chat with America's favorite bald rocker dude...

UPDATE!! Chris rocked the house last night with 'Wanted Dead or Alive', showing the rest of America just a little of what he's capable of. Look for more vocal virtuosity from him in the coming weeks. Until then, read how this silliest of talent shows is taking over my life! Or, check out my many sordid encounters with Idols past. Don't say I didn't warn ya...

UPDATE!!! Okay, so Chris just poured on the Fuel and even Simon liked it. After interviewing his old bandmates last night, I see why. Chris has been at this a long time, slogging through the nightclub circuit with potent, original material. The remaining three members of 'Absent Element' struck me as righteous dudes and they all wish him well. They probably also hope he'll drag them along for the ride, but that's not important right now. What IS important is how everyone I interview from Chris' past raves about what a inherently great guy he is. That makes cheering for him all the easier. Next week I'm jetting back to Hollywood for a red carpet event with the final 12 contestants and I'll be sure to tell him how many fans he has here at Viewfinder BLUES. Check back for continuous updates! Seachrest...OUT!

(Did I just say that?)

UPDATE!!!!!

Just returned from a red event with the Final 12 Contestants of American Idol! Not only did I interview Chris at length, but I huddled with him for a few minutes at the after-party. He's doing well, checking out this site and appreciative of his on-line admirers.

"Everybody that’s doing that, writing about me, I’m reading it. Thank you so much and thank you for voting for me."

Chris was on cloud nine when we saw him the other night, as barely an hour had passed since he'd been named to the Final 12. He promises a blistering take on the upcoming Stevie Wonder theme night and confirms trhe rumors that Fuel offered him the lead singer gig after they heard him cover their song.

"They called me yesterday. It’s crazy when you got a band that you’ve been listening to ever since you were like 14 and you respect them as songwriters and they inspire you as a musician and they’re calling you offering you the job as their singer..."

It's been a big week for our little bald rocker dude. Follow this link to read more, and check out the rest of my extensive American Idol Final 12 Red Carpet Coverage. Here's hoping Chris gets through any upcoming show-tunes...

UPDATE!!!!! What the hell just happened? Chris got booted. Read my thoughts on this most unexpected development...

UPDATE!!!!!! Having just returned from the American Idol finale, I'm just now shaking the body glitter from my microphones. While I'm at it, I'm also doling out photos and details out on my blog. Check out my multi-part series on the last two 18 hour days of American Idol Season 5. Comprehensive web coverage of continuous team smotherage, TV style. Hoo Boy! Now let's talk about Chris. He seemed supremely stoked the night of Taylor Hick's final ascension to American Idol. "I love him like a brother." he said.

One gets the impression there is little if any ill will among the finalists (male, anyway). All the finalists raved about Hicks rightful place as Idol, in such a way that's rather convincing. As for Chris, he's excited about the future, as any new household name should be. I've gotta think the crowds at this summer's upcoming Idol tour will screech ther loudest when our favorite bald dude takes the stage. After that, the sky's the limit, with rock god status the most likely destination. Still, Chris was playing it fairly humble the night of American Idol's triumphant finale.

"I'm can only hope this isn't the end for me...", he said, gazing out at the rabid fans and adoring press. But we know better, and judging from the look on his face, so does he. At some point, Chris will return to central North Carolina, but globally known singers usually don't spend too much time kickin' it around the Piedmont. If I see him on any upcoming swing-throughs, I'll post something about it here. Until then, thanks for, reading, check out lenslinger.com for other varied fare, and be sure to check out the incredible string of reader comments nestled below. Seeya!

LONG TIME, NO UPDATE!!!!!! But now there's a reason to. Chris just dropped by the studio, plowed through an acoustic version of "It's Not Over" and even did the weather. Check out my latest entry and follow the links. Also, check back soon, as fellow blogging photog Chris Weaver caught up with Daughtry as he recorded tracks in L.A. Weaver will soon post photos, details and video links and I'll update it at Viewfinder BLUES. Here's looking forward to the CD!

Reasons To Stay

I clicked on this thread hoping to find reasons to stay in TV, for it’s an issue I’ve been struggling with lately. First though, some background:

I never planned to work in TV news ... never studied, never interned, never petitioned my local anchor for a fifty cent tour. Instead, I wandered into a tiny CBS affiliate on a dare and quickly fell in love with the lights, the cameras and the kooky characters that roamed those rundown halls. Before anyone could stop me, I wormed my way behind an unmanned fancy-cam and proclaimed myself a certified pho-TOG. Suddenly I found myself ferrying reporters across town in my very own logo-mobile, pushing past mere mortals for an up-close look at the latest sensation, atrocity or fender-bender. A deep kick indeed! Unconcerned with the lowly pay and long hours, I became rapidly addicted to the access my oversized lens afforded me. By my late twenties, I rightfully considered myself the weathered veteran of a thousand-plus newscasts, one who was all too aware that most of what I knew about the world came from looking at it through a tube. Like most young men, I equated who I was with what I did. And what I knew myself to be was a lenslinger, though it would be a few more years before I started using that word in public.

But that was long ago. These days, everything that is wrong with local TV news (and there is a LOT wrong) has pretty much eclipsed the moon-faced joy I used to feel while assembling all those ninety second video vignettes. Justified or not - rookie reporters, endless live shots and the mindless repetition of a million newscasts have turned this once eager scanner-hound into a volatile burnout prone to cubicle outbursts and news unit swearing matches. An all too predictable transformation perhaps, but it ain’t the guy I’d hoped to become when I first took up the glass all those years ago. Whereas I was once the youngest guy in the newsroom, I am at 38, something of an old-timer, a grizzled used-to-be who can deconstruct a damaged industry but still can’t quite figure out his place in it. So, literary aspirations aside, I began to look around for other ways to spend my workdays.

Trouble is, few lines of work compare to chasing news. I don’t want to fix stereos, sell real estate, deliver packages or any other skull-numbing gig out there. Why should I - when I’ve spent the better part of the last sixteen years focusing on something different every shift? As much as I detest the window-dressing and hollow glitz of local TV news, there is absolutely no more satisfying feeling than rolling up on a breaking news and kicking glass, or silently stalking citizens as they allow me (and a million viewers) a peek into their lives, or turning a small, seemingly unimportant event into water-cooler chat for the region’s masses. Recently, I had an opportunity of the cyber-variety, a chance to put down the camera and pick up the pixel. At first the idea excited me, until an interior voice I’ve learned to listen to began asking questions I’d yet to answer. Did I really want to hand over my Sony, move out of my beloved my news unit and pass up the chance to clamor at turmoil’s edge - all so I could ride a desk, take longer lunches and baby-sit a website? Hell no. I may as well turn in the keys to my storyteller’s soul.

Thus, it is with an inward grin and a hint of resignation that I once again admit a long-known fact. I’m a hopeless news geek. I’ve done this so long it’s engraved in my DNA. As much as I may bash my broadcast habit, so many other endeavors strike me as equally insipid, profoundly pointless, inherently empty. If that sounds overly negative, well, you got a point. But for me, this ingenuous outlook fits far better than a feigned disposition of optimism and light. Besides, I don’t intend to wallow in obscurity forever; instead I plan to become the Poet Laureate of the Photog Nation. A strange goal for sure, but it’s the only destiny I feel equipped to fulfill. For now however, I got a book to write. Lock up on your way out, would ya?

Back From The Slopes

No scathing diatribe here; just a quick note to explain why the blog has been so quiet as of late. Yes, I did indeed trek West for a brief but needed family ski trip. Though my still-twisted ankle prevented me from hitting the trails, I had a great time snapping photos of all the females in my life as they handily dominated the kiddie slopes. All in all, it was a great weekend of memory-making that had absolutely nothing to do with deadlines, laptops or super-times. Now that I'm back in Viewfinder BLUES Central, I hereby pledge to get back on the blog and crank out something of worth. I'll try to make it TV-related but allow me a book review or two, won't you? I've been tearing through other people's pages lately and, as always, I'd like to blather about it. Now if you'll excuse me there's a salt-encrusted station wagon to unpack and the wife and kids are looking at me like it's MY job. I'll be in the garage if you need me...

Propane, Oreos and Dynamite

While I wallow in a painkiller haze, the photograsphere echoes with voices old and new...

Just down the road, Bluedog Photog has stepped up his game of late. Whether chasing propane spills, reliving grow-room busts or deconstructing bureau life, Ken Cravens has been filing regular, readable reports. He even popped off a shot in MY cubicle recently, but don't hold that against him.

Off the Coast, a photog by the name of CJ checks in from her 'little red box' of an edit bay. Having recently left her native West Coast for the inland prarie sea, she regularly riffs on Sudoku, Spot News and life in the I-Team. Amazingly, it all comes together in the end.

Best new blog title goes to Oreo's Crumbs, the ever reflective site of one Mike Sellers. Though awful fond of his wife's native Denver, this Baton Rouge news shooter's heart is on the Bayou. Hurricane Katrina may have swept away his childhood home, but not his hopeful perspective.

There's a New Guy In The Shop and he'd like to blog about it. With the ink still wet on his EKU sheepskin, Andy Pollard is currently making his bones on the mean streets of Lexington. But this rookie's got a second persona, He's "The Voice of the Indians" in Kentucky's local radioland.

Finally, from the outskirts of Sin City itself, Erin Winking brings us the implosion of an old casino in full Technicolor glory. With a station video link, expertly sequenced stills and a steady string of F-bombs, the endearing eWink provides extensive, one-of-a-kind coverage in a way that only a grizzled photog can. Having blogged the Burlington implosion earlier this year, I'm impressed how easy eWink makes it look. A synchronized event, a thoughtful execution, a Tour de Force.

Lenslinger Down!

Life hasn't been interesting enough lately so last night I twisted the heck out of my ankle - you know, just to liven things up. I'll spare you the grisly details but let's just say I'm getting too old to run up a tall staircase at sinking-sailor speed. The last time I missed a step like that, klaxons were sounding over the ship's loudspeakers. But that was long ago. Right now I got a throbbing foot, a funny walk and something else to complain about. Did I mention I was supposed to go skiing this weekend?

A Million Little Embellishments?

"Dude, one more thing. You MUST read 'A Million Little Pieces'. IN-credible." I bid Danka adieu and made a note of the title. This was after all, the man who turned me onto 'The Things They Carried', a wrenching tome that's become a treasured part of my overflowing library. A few days later I picked up a copy of 'Pieces', breaking my personal rule of staunchly avoiding Oprah's Book Club choices. But before I could get around to cracking it open, The Smoking Gun accused author James Frey of making up some of the more salacious details of his celebrated memoir. Suddenly I was intrigued, and not just as a potential reader.

As anyone who's read a few of my posts can attest, I'm something of a struggling memoirist myself. This whole blog thing has been a kick, but I'd planned to document my existence long before Al Gore invented the Internets. So it's with great interest that I watched James Frey on Larry King Live last night. Though Frey stood by his book (as did call-in guest Oprah), he didn't deny embellishing parts of his life story. Hmmm. I'm not really sure how I feel about that. Working off memories, compressing time, re-creating conversations you kinda remember; these are things anyone who writes at length about their own life does. But to trump up events to the point of dishonesty strikes me as more than a little skeevy. After all, a memoir is by definition an personal acount of one's time on Earth. Though I think authors are allowed a certain amount of creative liberty, changing the fundamental facts transforms the chronicle into a work of fiction, albeit one closely based on true events.

So here's the deal: Keep reading my drivel and I promise to stick to the facts. I reserve the right to compress time, mind you - but I hereby vow to adhere to (dare I say it) journalistic standards. Hell, if I could write fiction, I would. At least that's what I plan to tell Larry King's cryogenically frozen head, should I ever get the chance. Hey, that reminds me, did I ever tell you about the time I stumbled onto the zombie farm on the outskirts of High Point? It was a calm autumn evening, I remember the way the moonlight glinted off my steely pectorals as I cut down the brain-eaters with nothing more than a tripod leg and half-dead camera battery. It was about that time the Pod People showed up...

With Apologies to Bud Light...

Today we salute you Mr. Parabolic Microphone Holder Guy. (REAL AMERICAN HE-ROES!) You show up game after game, sportin' orange, blue and that transparent umbrella thingie. (TRANSPARENT UMBRELLA THI-I-INGIE!) Why? So back home we can hear the spare change rattling in the referee's pocket! (A BUCK FORTY NI-INE!) And when your team scores, you don't let an army of cameras stop you from throwin' up the devil horns and barking out an encouraging "Woo-Woo!" (YOU'RE ON TEE-VEE, DUDE!") So crack open a Bud Light, Mr. Parabolic Microphone Holder Guy, for You Sir know when to capture authentic gridiron sound and when, to represent! (MR. PARABOLIC MICROPHONE HOLDER G-U-U-U-Y!)

{Via b-roll, with thanks to Warren...}