Part 3: The Grind — General Rehearsal on HP5+ 3200

The soloists had gone home.

Saturday’s concerto rehearsal was done — the collaboration, the translation, the careful work of integrating guest artists into an established ensemble. But the concert wasn’t just one piece. It was a full programme. And the rest of that programme needed rehearsal too.

Sunday. No soloists. No concerto. Just the orchestra, the conductor, and the grind.

I loaded HP5+ pushed to 3200. Same Nikon FE, same 50mm f/1.8. But three stops of push this time — more grain, more contrast, more raw. If Saturday’s 1600 was work, Sunday’s 3200 was iteration.

You can feel the difference when the guest artists aren’t there. Saturday had a particular energy — the stakes of building a shared language with people from outside the ensemble. Sunday was just us. The regulars. The people who were eating lunch in the car park the day before. Corentin back in his seat next to me. Viktor on oboe. Nicolas patient behind the timpani. The conductor at the whiteboard, same as always, but now talking only to people he knows.

No translation needed. Just the work.

Here’s what general rehearsal looks like: we play. The conductor stops us. Again. We play. He stops us. From 47. We play. No, from 45. We play. Better. Now from the top of the phrase. Over and over, getting it right, then getting it better. It’s not glamorous. It’s not even particularly musical most of the time. It’s iteration — and the HP5+ at 3200 suits it. The grain is heavy but not ugly. Textural. Urgent. Honest about what it’s depicting.

What strikes me looking at the images now is the concentration. The hunched shoulders, the heads bent over sheet music, the conductor’s hands cutting through the air. Nobody is thinking about dinner or what they forgot to do at work. For these few hours everyone is just here, trying to make something work. The grain matches that energy — it says this is real, this is process, this is nowhere near the victory lap.

The full arc of the weekend, in one table:

Fomapan 100 — LunchHP5+ 1600 — ConcertoHP5+ 3200 — General
CameraPentax ME SuperCanon AE-1 ProgramNikon FE
LightNatural daylightMixed indoorMixed indoor
GrainFine, subtleTextural, controlledPronounced, raw
MoodRelaxedFocusedUrgent
StoryCommunity at restCollaboration at workThe machine in flow

Three cameras. Three films. One story.

The choices weren’t accidental. I chose Fomapan 100 for the lunch because I wanted calm. HP5+ at 1600 for the concerto because I wanted texture with control. HP5+ at 3200 for Sunday because I wanted the grain to do some of the work — to say without saying it that this is unglamorous, repetitive, necessary. The photojournalists who shot jazz clubs in the 1950s understood this. You don’t hide the process. You lean into it.

From my seat in the horns I photographed the machine I’m part of — the horn resting in its case between takes, valves gleaming; coffee cups on the floor by the woodwinds; sheet music thick with pencil marks. These are the million small adjustments that add up to a rehearsal. And eventually, if everything goes right, to music.

Seeing the Symphonique des bords de Loire through a viewfinder across a whole weekend changed something. I saw not just the work but the commitment behind it — all these people who could be doing anything else on a Saturday and Sunday afternoon, here instead, playing the same bars until they’re right.

Rehearsal is where the music is actually made. The concert is just the victory lap.

The trilogy is complete.


Shot on Nikon FE, 50mm f/1.8, HP5+ pushed to 3200. Edited in Lightroom — contrast via tone curve, subtle vignettes, grain left exactly where it was.

P.S. All three parts are now published: Part 1 (Fomapan 100, Lunch), Part 2 (HP5+ 1600, Concerto), Part 3 (HP5+ 3200, General). Thank you for following along.

Notes in Monochrome: Music, Photography, and a Quiet Beach Walk

Those who know me know I’m alright at photography, reasonably OK at music, and not especially brilliant at much else. Over Christmas, I was off adventuring in China, but now I’m back in France, trying not to overcommit—and failing, as usual.

It turns out I’ve joined a new orchestra. Lanester, just next door to Lorient, who needed a horn player, and some of the musicians I toured with last year gave me the heads-up. “Only one full-day rehearsal a month,” they said. “Just come try it out,” they said. So I did. And here we are.  Oops a daisy

It’s early days, but I’m settling in, and I think they’re warming up to me too. I’m doing my best to approach things with what I like to call legendary finesse—and not my more traditional approach of putting my foot in it. So far, so good.

Getting to Lanester is a bit of a trek, but I’m lucky to liftshare—what the French call co-voiturage—with Anne, a colleague from the SBL and a percussionist in the orchestra. It’s good to have company on the road, especially someone who doesn’t feel the need to critique my driving. Not that anyone at home does that. Of course not. Never. Virginie, me darling wife…

Anne has serious percussion chops, which puts a bit of pressure on my playlist game. I found a drum tutorial version of Wipe Out by The Surfaris recently and played it for her—she was delighted. It’s nice to have shared moments like that on the drive. Adds a little rhythm to the road.

Anne also likes to arrive early to check over the percussion gear before concerts. On this particular day, we had some time to spare before the pre-concert rehearsal, so we headed down to the beach for a walk. Spring light, sea air, and the strange hush that comes with lowish tide—it felt like stepping sideways out of time.

Naturally, I had my camera with me. You didn’t think I’d go to the coast without it, did you?

There’s something about black and white photography that suits these moments. The beach in spring  isn’t always the bright, holiday postcard version most people imagine—it’s quieter, starker, but no less beautiful. Stripped of colour, the textures stand out: the grain of driftwood, the ripple of sand under wind, the blurred silhouettes of gulls in motion.

I love how black and white invites the eye to slow down, to notice more. Just like music, really—it’s not always the loudest note that makes the biggest impression.

Below, you’ll find a few of the images I made during that walk. Nothing posed, nothing polished. Just a quiet moment between rehearsal and performance, caught in passing light.