In Friday's post I mentioned that Hubby played what might be his last gig in nyc. NYC proper, I should have specified, because yesterday he played a show in the Hamptons at The Stephen Talkhouse. I'd never been up that way before and after my drunken animated behavior last Friday evening, I really wasn't sure I should attend. But I'm awfully glad I did.
We rented a car and drove home shortly after the show, but in hindsight I do wish we'd stayed overnight. The area is beautiful and somehow manages to be rustic and upscale at the same time. I'd never seen so many peaceful vineyards and signs for fresh strawberry picking in my life, each one of them calling out to me, softly, wistfully: Drink me! Pick me! Not to mention, a part of me desperately wished to remain within the stomping grounds of the Barefoot Contessa herself: Easthampton dwelling Ina Garten and her lovable husband Jeffrey. But alas, an overnighter was not in the cards and we arrived home sweet home a little after 2am.
I can't help but smile when Hubby plays his saxophone. Since the sound is generated by breathing, I find it's very close to singing; and the wailing tone that emerges always reminds me of a human voice. In all these years, I've never seen him phone it in or play with anything less than complete, full-scale conviction. He breathes his guts, his soul, his very essence into the music, until the room is brimming with the booming, blazing sounds of bluesy, funky brass. He and his horn cause a ruckus, they make people cheer. My mind sees colors as I listen. It's a gorgeous thing.
Ever yours,
~The Eternal Groupie xoxo
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