Wedding Season Laryngitis and Still On

four weddings this weekend. voice shot. singer called in sick. i covered leads and sax. wedding bands are marines of joy. crowd didn't know. i knew. ice tea and regret monday. the room emptied slow after the last set. i wrapped cables the way i have for decades and felt the ache in my left hand announce itself. the bartender slid a soda across the bar without charging me. small mercies keep musicians solvent in ways contracts never mention. i drove home past closed storefronts thinking about tempo as a form of honesty. sound check is where you learn who is listening and who is posing. tonight everyone listened. that is rarer than applause. i wrote a reminder on my case to check the bridge cable before saturday. aging hands need maintenance the way horns do. the craft is not youth. it is attention repeated until the room believes you.

Four weddings this weekend. Voice shot. Singer called in sick. I covered leads and sax.

Wedding bands are marines of joy. The crowd did not know. I knew.

Ice tea and regret Monday.

Session musician life is reliability dressed as music. You are not the star. You are the reason the star recovers after the bridge.

The bride cried during the ballad. Worth it. My throat disagrees.

The gig ends. The learning does not. I put the horn away and feel the night settle into my wrists. Music asks for honesty on a schedule. So does aging. I am still negotiating the contract.

Know someone who should read this?