Ghost
Columbus, OH
By Drew Latshaw
On a bitterly cold Monday night in Columbus, during one of the harshest winter stretches Ohio has seen in recent memory, Ghost arrived at Nationwide Arena to deliver a ritual for their devoted congregation.
I was granted a photo pass for the evening, though not a ticket to remain for the full performance. That meant my time inside was focused entirely on capturing the band in the brief window allotted to photographers, rather than absorbing the elaborate theatrics and spectacle Ghost is known for. My attention was fixed through a lens, chasing light, movement, and moments before they disappeared.
Still, one unexpected moment from the crowd left a lasting impression.
As I stood near the soundboard waiting for the show to begin, a young couple walked past me toward their seats. Both were clearly fans, but the young woman stood out immediately. She was dressed in a costume inspired by Papa V Perpetua, frontman Tobias Forge, and clutched a plush version of him in her arms.
She was visibly trembling. Over and over, she exclaimed in disbelief, “Are you serious?! OMG! Are you for real?!” Her excitement was uncontrollable. When they reached their seats, she wrapped her partner in a hug so intense it looked like he might need medical attention afterward. Through tears, she thanked him again and again.
It was a raw, unfiltered display of joy. Watching that moment stopped me in my tracks.
Over the years, I’ve been incredibly fortunate. I’ve photographed countless shows, stood in countless pits, and met artists I once only knew through headphones and album covers. Access becomes routine. Backstage hallways start to feel familiar. The extraordinary risks becoming ordinary.
That couple reminded me how rare and meaningful these experiences truly are. To her, this wasn’t just another concert. It was a dream realized. A memory she would carry for life. And in that instant, I was reminded why music matters so deeply, and why documenting it still feels like a privilege.
When the house music finally faded and the tattered curtain dropped, the arena erupted. The roar of the crowd was deafening, a collective exhale of anticipation. Ghost had arrived.
Unfortunately, I didn’t have the luxury of losing myself in the performance. My focus remained on framing shots, adjusting settings, and making every second count. There was little time to absorb the music or the elaborate stage narrative unfolding in front of me.
While it was disappointing not to stay for the full show, the night still felt like a long awaited win.
In 2019, as Ghost was going astronomical on the global stage, I was offered the chance to cover them and declined. A conflicting commitment on the other side of the country made the decision unavoidable, but I regretted it immediately.
Since then, I’ve applied for eight different Ghost shows in various cities, hoping for another opportunity. This Columbus date was that opportunity.
Every mile traveled, every email sent, every application submitted was worth it. Standing there, camera in hand, finally capturing a band I’d waited years to photograph, felt like closing a long-open chapter.
Even from behind the lens, even in a limited window of time, Ghost delivered something powerful: not just spectacle, but connection. Between the roaring crowd, the devoted fans, and fleeting human moments that happen in the shadows of the stage, the night served as a reminder that live music is still one of the most emotionally charged spaces we have.
And sometimes, the most unforgettable moments don’t happen up on the stage and under the spotlight. They happen in the crowd, between two people, holding onto a memory they’ll never let go.
