There are people who see you and then there are people who make you feel seen. Susan Moss was both.
If you know anything about live music photography, then you know that it is not for the weak. Late nights, loud music that can damage your ears, shoving your way through crowds of drunk and stoned fans, balancing heavy camera equipment while getting shoved in a mosh pit, and that’s just the indoor venues (outdoor music festivals are a whole other story). And then staying up all night sifting through thousands of photos to find the right one. The one that will tell that perfect story formed from your lens.
It’s hard enough being a concert photographer, but to be a woman in that industry at the top of your game for over 30 years is remarkable. What’s even more remarkable is the fact that after all those years Susan remained humble and kind while always being a badass.
The first time we met was in the photo pit at MTELUS. I boldly approached her and asked, “Are you Susan Moss?” She gave me a wide-eyed stare and just said, “Yeah.”
“You’re my favourite photographer!” I blurted out. She smiled, looking a little confused.
“How come I’ve never seen you before?” She could tell I wasn’t young and was intrigued.
“I started concert photography late in life,” I over-explained, awkwardly fangirling. Susan politely nodded, seeming genuinely interested while I gave her my extended biography. She sensed my imposter syndrome as I clutched my tiny Canon SL2 with its tiny 50mm lens, trying to find a spot amongst the tall and hairy bros with their big dick gear. She laughed at my jokes and thoughtfully distracted me, the way a really good nurse talks to you when you’re having your blood drawn.
Then the lights dimmed, the crowd got louder, and we all felt that familiar buzz. I quickly turned to Susan and asked, before it got too loud and crazy: “You’ve been doing this for so long and you’ve seen so many incredible bands. Do you still get excited?” She gave me one of her big, mischievous smiles, got her camera ready and said, “Yeah, I still do.”
Susan made it look so easy. Popping out of her Uber right in front of the venue minutes before the show, she would light up a smoke, cameras strapped across her chest. There was always someone waiting to talk to her. She knew everyone, from the fans to the photographers, venue staff and musicians. She was often escorted by a security guard who would part the crowd as she made her way into the pit. I always felt a sense of calm as soon as she arrived. She had that Zen master energy.
One of my favourite memories was at the book launch of Melissa Auf der Maur’s Even the Good Girls Will Cry. When I got to the venue, there was a long line travelling down Boulevard Saint-Laurent. “Oh shit,” I thought, “I’ll never get a seat.” Then I spotted those copper-coloured curls beneath a cloud of smoke and instantly felt hopeful. She noticed my panic, gave me one of her bright red lipstick smiles and leaned in for a hug. I inhaled her cigarettes and minty gum and immediately felt relaxed. She introduced me to a few people (she knew everyone), announcing, “This is Annette, she’s a great photographer.” She didn’t have to say that, but that was who she was. And each time she left a 🖤 on my photo posts, she made me feel like a rockstar.
“When are you going to write your book?” I asked her for the millionth time. “You have so many great stories. I would love to read your book one day.”
“I don’t need to write a book, but let’s go out for a coffee soon and I’ll tell you my stories.” Susan finished her cigarette, put her arm around me and said, “Don’t worry, just come in with me,” and we cut through the crowd and got in.
I was at Foufounes Électriques that Friday night when I heard the news about Susan. I didn’t believe it. I had just texted her the day before, reminding her that we were supposed to go for coffee. All I could say was “fuck.” I just kept saying it over and over. I wanted to leave, but I had to do photos. I couldn’t control the hot, wet tears that wouldn’t stop. I finished my beer, went to the bathroom, washed my face and thought… What would Susan do? I looked at my red, bloodshot eyes in the mirror, raised my middle finger and said, “Fuck cancer.” 🖕
All photos: Susan Moss
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