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Punk wasn’t love at first sight. I got into it like a lot of kids do—drawn in by the noise, the look, the attitude. At first, it felt like a trend, something to be part of. But pretty quickly, I realized there was something deeper underneath. While some of my closest friends moved on to other scenes—electronic stuff, experimental sounds that never really spoke to me—I stayed.
Punk offered more than a sound. It gave me a framework: raw, direct, imperfect, and fiercely independent. That’s what stuck. That’s what still does.
When I got kicked out of my last project, it felt like the end of an era. What I didn’t realize at the time was that it was also the start of something new.
The Band Years (and the Fall That Made Room)
I played in punk bands for almost 20 years—from the age of 17 until 36. Those were raw, loud, imperfect years. We didn’t have much, but we had each other, some chords, and a reason to shout.
When I kicked out from my last project “Simanya”, it didn’t break me—but it did leave a mark. I felt disappointed, mostly by the way a couple of people handled things. One in particular. More than anger, I felt a kind of quiet pity. Still, that unexpected break turned out to be exactly what I needed: a forced pause that made room for something better to take shape.
A Different Kind of Lens
After I left the stage, I didn’t want to just watch punk happen. I needed a way to stay inside it. That’s when I started bringing my camera to shows—not as a pro, not as a plan. Just me, trying to see things differently.
Small, sweaty rooms. No barriers between band and crowd. Everyone right there, on top of each other. That’s still where I feel most at home. And now, instead of adding sound, I capture silence between the chaos—the glances, the grit, the imperfections that make the scene what it is.
That shift in perspective opened doors I hadn’t expected. One of the first came when I met Fastloud, a young skate punk band from Barcelona. We clicked quickly, and when they were preparing for their first European tour, I offered to come along and document the whole thing. No budget, no big plans—just a van, some shows, and the will to make it happen. That tour became a turning point. Sleeping on floors, getting lost in strange cities, chasing sunlight for photos—it reminded me why I loved this scene in the first place. I wasn’t on stage anymore, but I was fully in it.
It was not long after that when I crossed paths with The Movement. I’d admired them for years, and when I heard they were touring Spain, I reached out with a simple proposal: let me document the tour. No expectations—just curiosity and instinct. Their booker couldn’t join and asked if I had any touring experience. I told him about my time on the road with Fastloud, and that was enough. I joined as photographer and tour manager, and by the end of that first run, I was part of the team. Since then, we’ve done stages, squats, fests, border crossings, breakdowns—and I wouldn’t trade it for anything.
Life in the Van
Touring as a photographer felt like being re-admitted into the scene, but from the edges. Documenting punk bands on the road—across Europe, in borrowed vans, through half-broken cities—gave me something even the stage didn’t always provide: perspective.
I shoot the shows, yeah, but I care more about the stuff between them. The pre-set tension. The broken cables. The inside jokes at 3 a.m. The way punk survives off crumbs, caffeine, and conviction.
Why I Still Care
Punk was never just music. It’s stubbornness, it’s self-sufficiency, it’s community when nothing else fits. Photography has become my DIY contribution to that.
I’m not trying to make it glossy. I’m not documenting for nostalgia. I’m just keeping track—visually—of what’s still kicking. I’m still inside, just quieter now.
Looking Back, Without Regret
Getting kicked out of my band at 36 felt like being shut out of the only room I’d ever belonged in. But punk has a way of breaking its own rules. Turns out the room has more doors than I thought.
Now, with a camera instead of a guitar, I still walk into the same venues. Still part of something, just with different tools.
Final Thoughts
If you’ve ever felt like your time in the scene ended—think again. Punk doesn’t care how you show up, only that you do. Play. Organize. Document. Support. There’s no single way to belong.
Just bring what you’ve got. That’s always been enough.
