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		<title><![CDATA[Tony Contini Productions Blog]]></title>
		<link>http://tcontini.tonycontini.com/blog/?page/83172</link>
		<description><![CDATA[Follow the blog of videographer and photographer Tony Contini for concert photography, music videos, behind the scene posts, and more!

Tony Contini is a photojournalist and camera operator based in Reno, Nevada. His photography centralizes around live music, event coverage, band portraits, weddings, sports, and products. His filmmaking centers around weddings, music videos, narrative and commercial work.]]></description>
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		<pubDate>Thu, 05 Nov 2026 04:58:04 -0600</pubDate>
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				<dc:creator><![CDATA[Tony Contini Productions]]></dc:creator>
				
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        				<media:title type="html">Ghost Reveal New Song and Look to Reno</media:title>
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				<link>http://tcontini.tonycontini.com/blog/?page/83172/load/blog_detail/item/7790</link>
				<title><![CDATA[Ghost Reveal New Song and Look to Reno]]></title>
				<description><![CDATA[Swedish rock group Ghost started their tour in Reno, Nevada with co-headliners Volbeat and openers Twin Temple.&nbsp;
Ghost came bearing gifts after the two year gap since they've rocked the Reno Events Center. They performed their new single&nbsp;"Hunter's Moon", their slamming cover of Metallica's "Enter Sandman", and the world premiere of unreleased track "Kaisarion" from their forthcoming album Impera.
The new Nameless Ghoul look had&nbsp;Vic Rattlehead vibes (Megadeth's mascot) and lead singer Tobias Forge unveiled the new Papa Emeritus IV character.
&nbsp;
&nbsp;&nbsp;]]> (0 comments)</description>
				<pubDate>Wed, 26 Jan 2022 17:39:35 -0600</pubDate>
				<guid>http://tcontini.tonycontini.com/blog/?page/83172/load/blog_detail/item/7790</guid>
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				<dc:creator><![CDATA[Tony Contini Productions]]></dc:creator>
				
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        				<media:title type="html">Renzo - The New Shop Foreman</media:title>
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				<link>http://tcontini.tonycontini.com/blog/?page/83172/load/blog_detail/item/6792</link>
				<title><![CDATA[Renzo - The New Shop Foreman]]></title>
				<description><![CDATA[This is a reposting of a 2014 photo story about Renzo, a boy who wants nothing more than to work near large machines. If you ever have any confusion about drilling equipment, wheel loaders or the large trucks, Renzo's your man. Make-A-Wish teamed up with Graniterock Construction to make his dreams a reality. &nbsp;This was my first time photographing a wish, as well as my first assignment ever with a full-frame camera. Yes, all the work you have seen from me before this July have been cropped and degraded. Now let the real work begin! 
I was figuring out the new camera on the go, climbing long vertical step ladders and crawling on quarry floor trying to keep up with Renzo. He had the support of his mother and father, but he wanted to climb himself. He was also brimming with questions. He impressed the staff at Graniterock with his knowledge of the machinery and the way he could differentiate between them with ease. Something I can't do. 
He worked a crane, rode in the biggest machines, scaled himself next to gigantic tires, got a tour of the tools in the workshop and had time in between to giggle with his mother, Crystal, while cleaning off the dirt from his cheeks and hands. Renzo works and plays hard, and doesn't mind getting his hands dirty.
The family of three road on a train that transfers the materials out of the quarry and clocked out for lunch. 
It is impossible not to continuously sympathize for their situation, especially when looking back at these happy images, but their outlook made me see the importance of family and positivity. 
Follow your dreams, work hard and you will find all the reward you need in good people. The world is filled with amazing work ethics, compassionate hearts and people that just want to try. Don't forget to factor in the good sometimes. &nbsp;]]> (0 comments)</description>
				<pubDate>Mon, 12 Aug 2019 03:11:00 -0600</pubDate>
				<guid>http://tcontini.tonycontini.com/blog/?page/83172/load/blog_detail/item/6792</guid>
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				<dc:creator><![CDATA[Tony Contini Productions]]></dc:creator>
				
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        				<media:title type="html">Silver at The 7th Street Station</media:title>
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				<link>http://tcontini.tonycontini.com/blog/?page/83172/load/blog_detail/item/5780</link>
				<title><![CDATA[Silver at The 7th Street Station]]></title>
				<description><![CDATA[The kitchen was full of booze and the living room was full of music.
Silver played two sets at The 7th Street Station last Saturday in brisk Reno, Nevada. Their setlist at the house show featured energetic originals, but they also threw in some choice covers from The Beatles to Cake and The Wallflowers.
It was a rocking good night. The venue must have some kind neighbors.&nbsp;]]> (0 comments)</description>
				<pubDate>Fri, 16 Feb 2018 18:50:22 -0600</pubDate>
				<guid>http://tcontini.tonycontini.com/blog/?page/83172/load/blog_detail/item/5780</guid>
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				<dc:creator><![CDATA[Tony Contini Productions]]></dc:creator>
				
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        				<media:title type="html">Day Trip to Sauraha</media:title>
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				<link>http://tcontini.tonycontini.com/blog/?page/83172/load/blog_detail/item/5409</link>
				<title><![CDATA[Day Trip to Sauraha]]></title>
				<description><![CDATA[It takes three buses to make the 17 mile trip to Sauraha, Nepal. From where I'm staying every passing bus is headed towards Bharatpur, my first stop. So there's no need to ask for destinations, just hop on.
Sauraha is famous to tourists for being the gateway to Chitwan National Park. This is where you might ride an elephant or spot a rhino. I planned to spend the day there for Jitiya, a Tharu holiday. The Tharu are one ethnic group of Nepal indigenous to the Terai, a sweltering jungle and my new home. Jitiya is their version of Teej, a celebration for women to rejoice, dance, sing and fast.
The approaching bus was larger than usual. It was a 1970s retrofitted hippy van, with a circular Austin Powers couch in front by the driver. I was easily the tallest person on the packed bus, so I stood in the aisle with my head cocked at a 45 degree angle to combat the low ceiling.
After the first ride, I walked to the highway. The second bus I waved down was headed to Sauraha. I also scored a front row seat. I felt lucky. After squeezing out of the small city's traffic, we drove above flowing rivers on high bridges then passed wooded patches and agricultural fields. This was my first time taking this route and it was spectacular.
On buses in Nepal there is a driver of course, but there is also a conductor of sorts. He collects fares, hangs out the door to shout destinations at potential riders, and most importantly, lets the ignorant know when to get off. He thankfully informed me I had arrived, and pointed down the road towards Sauraha.&nbsp;On the last ride I wasn't so lucky. The clunky bus curved leisurely through open fields, some with teams of children playing tag. I saw a circle of elegantly dressed women dancing on a rock platform near the river below. I knew I was close. The fear of missing an image struck the pit of my stomach when the bus didn't stop. I should've listened because when I checked my phone again I was halfway to the next town. I had been spoiled by each conductors' individual attention. My fate was in their hands.
I asked the driver to stop and hoofed back near the center of Sauraha, but I didn't know exactly what to look for. I mostly wanted my camera to lead the way. The matriarch of the family I'm staying with said there would be flocks of tourists and ladies, but the streets were empty, save a few kids smiling and asking for chocolates.
I saw signs for the Tharu Cultural Museum, and followed them. There were trees overhead, fields and adobe colored lakes to my sides. I felt my arms and cheeks begin to burn. The sun and humidity strike hard when my attention isn't stolen by photographic pursuits.
It was the time of day when most conversations went like this:
Person &ndash; "Namaste"
Me &ndash; "Namaste"
Person &ndash; "It's hot."
Me &ndash; "Yes, so hot"
In this instance the man added, "Especially for you people." I had no energy for comedy so I simply smiled, but in my mind I was thinking, "You people?"
The map said I was close, but the Southeast Asian sun demanded I drink something first. I stopped at a doorless, one-room shop and asked for a cold water. The boy said he only had Coke, and my smacking dry mouth accepted. He smiled at me and plainly said the words, "Summer day."&nbsp;A group of women pointed me to the museum, and a young girl at the entrance took my 50 rupee entry fee. The museum is a large cavernous room filled with statues, maps and placards describing Tharu culture. There are sections on Bramhaji (the god of creation, and his embodiment in local trees), at-home childbirth, arranged marriages, decorations, funerals, dances and the holiday Jitiya.
"Teej, which is called a Jitiya Pawani, is a major festival where Tharu women take a fast and bathe in the rivers nearby their village. All women get dressed in new clothes and sing in their own local dialect while dancing in a circular motion," I read on a plaque.
I was anxious to see this for myself. As I left the museum in search of the festivities, I noticed the beautiful decorations around the front side of the building. Many Tharu homes are adorned with handprints and flowers for good luck and a productive crop yield. It's like if Georgia O'Keeffe was commissioned to decorate a preschool classroom.&nbsp;I continued past the soda shop and was near the road I began on again. This time with a sweat-soaked shirt and mild sunburn. I was discouraged and walking slowly.
I squinted at the horizon and saw a patch of colors. I began to recognize the shapes as women with colorful umbrellas headed towards me. Their clothing was vibrant, full of green, red and blue. There were young girls walking in front of them, equally dressed up like tiny versions of themselves. I photographed a cheerful youngster under her umbrella and she said, "Smile... smile" as she walked along the path. I shared a smile with the adults accompanying her. The innocence and comedy of children tie all people.&nbsp;The procession of women totaled to about 35. I asked one of the last to pass where they were all going.
"Yes come," she responded.
There's no arguing with that. It was wonderful to be included. I followed them to a shaded clearing where they waited for others to catch up. On the outskirts of the vibrant congregation were little boys in street clothes. They either clung to their mothers or ran around whacking each other with sticks.
One boy immediately came over to exchange names. When I tried to pronounce his name he said it sounded sweet coming from my face. This young man, Bijess, immediately became my partner and answered any questions I had about the procession.
We continued walking then reached a large dirt area between houses where a group was already dancing. The women I was walking with went to rest in the shade and wait for their turn. I ducked under a clothesline and was immediately engrossed by the circling dancers and their high pitched singing.
The music started with a unified clap. The footwork seemed simple, but the penetrating melodies were hypnotizing. It didn't sound like the shrillness of a child. Even the highest note was soothing and gentle. They repeated the vocal lines together and occasionally bent at the waist while they spun.
As I watched them orbit, I imagined generations of women teaching this dance. I thought of the amount of culture passed on between people. No matter the advances in technology, it is possible to keep the important things. A young girl entered the center of the dance and recorded the action with her smart phone.&nbsp;After another round of dancing, the caravan continued down the road. The song stayed with the group as they traveled. Bijess told me we were meeting up with more villages. The assemblage filled the entire road and motorists struggled to get through. Blaring horns were a dreadful juxtaposition to their enchanting voices.
We stopped and turned towards a seemingly empty field, but within minutes it turned into a scene from The Warriors, but instead of The Rogues and The Baseball Furies coming out to play, it was streams of neighboring women ready to sing and worship.
I found the straightforward kinship between bordering communities beautiful. One more collection joined us from ahead. They immediately mixed and we continued to a minimal stone altar surrounded by trees.
They took turns circling the altar. They poured water on their hands and on a collection of rocks below, then threw rice and leaves. I was on the street with those who were waiting or finished. I asked if I could photograph this, and fortunately they said yes.&nbsp;I hopped up on the rocks and sat to get some low angle shots. I was sharing the space with another boy taking phone videos. I was absolutely elated being a fly on the wall, my typical temperament.
"Please release your sandal," the boy said to me.
I was caught up in the moment and it didn't immediately click. Thankfully the woman who sent the message with the boy was pantomiming shoe removal. I plopped my shoes off immediately and apologized. She smiled and all was well. As a photojournalist I never want to be noticed, especially during a religious event.
I sat back down and was joined by three highly interested boys. They sat on my lap, looked through my camera, and one fiddled with my arm and beard hairs as I worked. I've always felt comfortable with children, but the children of Nepal feel comfortable with you. They are adored here. On buses, any lap could be the seat for a little one. Childcare is a group effort. I'm often reminded of the maxim "it takes a village."
When everyone was finished with their ritual they converged. They sat on the side of the road overlooking fields, a pond with ducks and the vast sky. They sang together one more time then sat in serene silence. I closed my eyes for a moment and felt the energy.&nbsp;The peace continued as they rose from the ground and parted to their respective communities. They might have different villages or different dialects, but they are one beautiful people.
On the way back, most of the women picked up a melon from a market, and some skillfully balanced it on their heads. They continued to a well where some drank, and others left with large branches a man freshly cut for them. Bijess told me this was for pujas (prayers).
We crossed the street and they started up the dance again. As I parted they were still circling, their voices in my head the entire way home.&nbsp;]]> (3 comments)</description>
				<pubDate>Sun, 24 Sep 2017 14:09:48 -0600</pubDate>
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				<dc:creator><![CDATA[Tony Contini Productions]]></dc:creator>
				
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        				<media:title type="html">Hartalika Teej - Kathmandu, Nepal</media:title>
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				<link>http://tcontini.tonycontini.com/blog/?page/83172/load/blog_detail/item/5378</link>
				<title><![CDATA[Hartalika Teej - Kathmandu, Nepal]]></title>
				<description><![CDATA[At 5:30 a.m. I was in a taxi headed to Pashupatinath Temple, northeast of Kathmandu, where a photographer friend told me was the best place to observe the festivities of Hartalika Teej. Despite jump-starting my day, I was still hours behind the women who queued up at 3:00 a.m.
During the early morning cab ride, I watched people start to stir in the usually swamped streets. They swept their storefronts, balanced heavy loads on their heads, read the newspaper or chatted with neighbors.
I closed my eyes, leaned my head out the window, and felt the rare cool breeze over my pollution mask. I was excited to photograph in Nepal, the land of festivals.
Teej is a collection of holidays draped in tradition and controversy. They take place during the monsoon season and the theme is Goddess Parvati's union with Lord Shiva. The controversy lies in the holiday's focus on obtaining a wealthy and successful husband. Critics feel this departs from feminist values and say there is more to happiness and success than a partner. Generally speaking, the holiday is a time for unmarried women to fast and pray for a husband and married women to celebrate theirs, but it isn't that simple.
Hartalika translates to "abduction of a female friend." This represents the legend of Goddess Parvati's friend stealing her away to the forest upon hearing her father's plan of marrying her to Lord Vishnu. She prayed until Lord Shiva promised he'd marry her. A Kathmandu Post oped recently introduced opposition to the skeptics. The writer's grandmother was quoted saying, "[Parvati] fasted as a sign of devotion. She fasted to take her life into her own hands by choosing her own partner." Multiple interpretations of the holiday make it difficult for an outsider to form a stance. The first challenge is to get inside.
My cab driver advised me how to get into the ancient Hindu temple. I saw ticketed females entering, while males stood behind guards and ropes. Thousands of women were in attendance, and it was only morning.
I approached the guards, and asked if I could pass in slow, focused English to no avail. A nearby man said only women can go through this way. He motioned towards a beautiful forest and said I could get in near the mountains. I thanked him and started walking in the street alongside a sidewalk filled with an extensive stream of women wearing elegant red attire. Cars and motorcycles honked as they passed me, because that's just what they do in Nepal.
The second entrance seemed more restricted than the first. I watched a man get turned away, so I continued on without inquiring. The third entrance was almost vacant, save a handful of guards. I asked them if I could enter, and they said it was the VIP entrance. I might be an oddity or a spectacle in Nepal (being above 5 foot tall with a big 'ole red beard), but I am no VIP.
I then asked where I can enter as a photographer. A young guard took the time to chat with me for a while, and ultimately said to head back the way I came. I told him there didn't seem to be a usable entrance that way, and he insisted I needed a pass to get in the entrance he was guarding. Where do I get this pass? His perplexing answer was the passes to enter Pashupatinath are inside Pashupatinath.
Upon another dead-end, I pleaded to see if there was any other way. He pointed to a path that disappeared hauntingly into the forest.
I didn't have bug spray and truly didn't want this to be the answer.
I thanked him and contemplated my next move. He must have sensed my fear of the mosquito-infested forest or frustration with the failed attempts at entering the temple, and he abruptly told me to follow him.
He led me past the other guards after attaining his boss' approval and I was in. Persistence awarded me VIP status... or so I thought.
There was at least one more bridge to cross before I could begin covering the festival.
Little huts, shops and swarms of monkeys surrounded the temple. I have learned to not look into the eyes of our clever little evolutionary ancestors. They are quick to defend their young and don't mind searching you for goodies.
The first bridge I came to had an onslaught of guards, and I was starting to feel like Solid Snake. I didn't want to trigger the exclamation points atop their heads so I cut an immediate right.
The next bridge was roped off, but men and children were scampering under without a word from the guards, so I did the same.
The endless lines of colorful women were now weaving in and out of buildings and down corridors. There were people at their feet asking for pittance or rice. Merchants lined the dirt roads to sell ornate statues or adorn foreheads with tikkas.
After making a few rounds I felt like I was missing something. Photographers have an intense fear of missing out. There had to be a world within a world I needed to find. I started to follow the queues of ladies until I found a workable entrance. It was a tall golden gate surrounded by guards and children.
I decided to keep my chin down and take my chances. And I was happy I did. I heard one "sir", but continued on, escalated heartbeat and all.
I was now in the heart of the celebration. &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;
The lines outside continued here, some over raised bridges. Beyond them were collections of women of all ages rejoicing and dancing. Some groups were guided by a religious leader, but most were a call-and-response format where one would start a chant, then the group would join in unison.
There was a quad with more of these circles and stubborn goats meandering about. Men in a stand offered different forehead adornments. Up some steps they burned incense and prayed. Fire plays a crucial role in their lives and spirituality. When the festival hasn't engulfed the temple, it is used for cremations.
&nbsp;&nbsp;There weren't many photographers, so it was daunting and exhilarating to stand out even more in a country that already had no problem staring. Outside the walls of the temple I am one of few Americans, inside I am also one of few males. The joyous women quickly exchanged smiles and displayed their intricate henna tattoos with this curious foreigner.
Hours later I was sun-baked, head and throat throbbing from the incense smoke, but happy. Controversy aside, it seemed to be a day of sharing happiness between mothers, daughters and friends.
So if you're a male in Nepal during Teej and you want to enter Pashupatinath, I suggest being a little weasel and wearing a camera. And if all else fails, bring your DEET and brave the forest.&nbsp;]]> (1 comments)</description>
				<pubDate>Sun, 10 Sep 2017 15:06:56 -0600</pubDate>
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				<dc:creator><![CDATA[Tony Contini Productions]]></dc:creator>
				
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        				<media:title type="html">Special Olympics - Bowling</media:title>
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				<link>http://tcontini.tonycontini.com/blog/?page/83172/load/blog_detail/item/1730</link>
				<title><![CDATA[Special Olympics - Bowling]]></title>
				<description><![CDATA[  Normal 0     false false false  EN-US X-NONE X-NONE              MicrosoftInternetExplorer4              
I never quite understood the association of the word "challenged" with people with disabilities. If the bowlers I met at the Special Olympics' Bowl for the Gold in Reno's National Bowling Stadium were "challenged," I'll be shocked the day I meet a person who isn't.
I arrived early to get the portrait area set up. I was immediately greeted by athletes and staff, asking me questions about my past involvement with the Special Olympics, my interest in bowling and definitely dancing.
I met some amazing bowlers, some reserved, focused and extremely high-scoring. Others were dynamic, boisterous and fun-loving.
I met some amazing dancers, some shy, but still swaying. Others were breakdancing and conga-lining around the stadium.
Everyone was there for fun and smiles.
I saw this cutie dancing with her mom, and I couldn't help but grab their picture.
                                                                                                                                              

&nbsp;
She was immediately excited and wanted to see my camera and take a picture of me. I handed her my camera with a strobe/diffuser on top and a battery pack on bottom, a set up half her own size. She had the large camera in her hands and instinctually knew how to compose and trigger the shutter of a DLSR and got this shot with a little help from me.

&nbsp;
Like any great digital photographer, she wanted to check out her work. She gazed at the back of the camera, looked back up and me and said, "smile!" A request that would've made Ebenezer crack. The pint-sized photog recomposed and got this next all by herself.

A face for radio, but one of the happiest memories I have of this life.
If I can recommend one thing it's to donate some of your time and get involved with the Special Olympics. At first you might think, "yeah, I'll help some people in need." But in reality they are going to help you.
True happiness is all internal, and this bunch is the happiest I've come across.
&nbsp;
Oh, and she commanded the dance floor. Shyness, take a hike!
]]> (0 comments)</description>
				<pubDate>Thu, 13 Mar 2014 17:30:00 -0600</pubDate>
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				<dc:creator><![CDATA[Tony Contini Productions]]></dc:creator>
				
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        				<media:title type="html">Top Burning Man Images</media:title>
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				<link>http://tcontini.tonycontini.com/blog/?page/83172/load/blog_detail/item/1238</link>
				<title><![CDATA[Top Burning Man Images]]></title>
				<description><![CDATA[I feel my first year at Burning Man was fruitful.
My main priority was keeping my gear clean. I can't afford replacements at the moment.
There were a lot of considerate people and awesome art for the photographin'. Here are my favorites -

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				<pubDate>Thu, 24 Oct 2013 17:31:00 -0600</pubDate>
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				<dc:creator><![CDATA[Tony Contini Productions]]></dc:creator>
				
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        				<media:title type="html">2012 Nevada Humane Society Duck Race and Festival</media:title>
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				<link>http://tcontini.tonycontini.com/blog/?page/83172/load/blog_detail/item/617</link>
				<title><![CDATA[2012 Nevada Humane Society Duck Race and Festival]]></title>
				<description><![CDATA[


The essential next post.
&nbsp;
DUCKLINGS!]]> (0 comments)</description>
				<pubDate>Tue, 11 Dec 2012 03:03:00 -0600</pubDate>
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