Damn it feels good to be a gangsta

Hello everyone. I hope this fine sunny day finds you in good spirits. My ears are still ringing from playing shows two nights in a row. First I must explain Turkuaz.

Imagine for a moment a packed bar (T.T. The Bear's in Cambridge) with a medium sized stage. Imagine on said stage a 12-piece funk band (the rhythm section all wear matching cream colored dinner jackets circa 1972). Two guitarist/singers, a sick bass player, two smokin' female backup singers, a Central American percussionist who toured the world with Erykah Badu and ?uestlove (pronounced Questlove for everyone that's not Morgan and Dan). To top off this funky cocktail, we spike the drink with two saxes (myself on tenor) and a trumpet player. This is by far the funkiest, most rocking band I've ever been a part of. Thursday's concert was incredible.

We started the evening with some S.E.X. That's the 5-piece blues rock band backed by our bassist Taylor. After their amazing set I realized I had two more hours before I was playing, hence the need to pace myself with the free beers from drink tickets. They'll getchya before you know what hit you.

I had two special appearances by Marty Schwartz himself and a certain gorgeous young lady I'm seeing. She probably thought I was crazy when on our third time hanging out I'm introducing my father to her, though both parties played it cool during the almost inevitably awkward introduction.

Then we took to the stage, the horn section decked out in black shoes, black pants, black shirt, gold bow-ties. It was almost midnight and the concert area was pretty packed with people there to see us. As soon as we started playing we all realized it was going to be one of those shows where you can't hear yourself for shit but you just rock and hope for the best and somehow, almost miraculously, if you put in the right kind of energy in a focused, cohesive manner as a band, somehow it all works out. The audience heard everything just fine. When we kicked into 'Slippery People' by the Talking Heads, they went nuts. I rocked the tambourine. Hard. Actually ripped open a blister on my finger while playing it. There are torture devices that are more ergonomically-friendly. This thing is all metal and sharp edges, designed by someone who clearly had a sadistic hatred for musicians.

Our exhilarating 45-minute set ended with an encore performance of 'Land of a Thousand Dances' (of the Wilson Pickett variety) which has one of my favorite sax parts, a solo actually. It's 100% old school sax with some dirty thrown in for spice. Topped the night off at a party til 5am singing old familiar songs with a huge group of abnormally talented musicians. Then there was Friday night.

Friday we had a show at Hampshire College in Amherst. I had heard of the wonders of this place from Taylor, whose friend got us the gig. I must say it far exceeded my expectations. The place looks like a summer camp for adults. It's a hippy haven, what with its food cooperative, bio-deisel fuel farm, and friendly folks that love live music.

The room was the main floor of a three-story condo unit thing. Couldn't have been more than 500 square feet. But with some creative set up thinking, we spread out along the long wall so that no matter where in the crowd you were, you were in front of one of the musicians. Greg and I didn't have microphones but we didn't need them. We were blowing our face off to people dancing right in front of us. There were people spilling out of the place as soon as we started playing. We must've played almost 3 hours in total. At some points the floor was shaking intensely, with five beers perched precariously atop the P.A. speaker which wobbled around from the undulating floor. Greg and I learned that the floor was a much more suitable resting place for our beers, our only payment for the night. Between songs or during other people's solos I'd duck down for a swig, a wall of dancing people surrounding me. Towards the end we were pressed against the real wall, bombarded with cavorting co-eds, beer spraying everywhere. It was one of the most fun three hours I've ever had.

After the show we got a tour of the coolest parts of the campus. First stop was a root cellar where they store the excess homegrown produce after all the shares of food are distributed each month. We took some carrots, washed and rubbed off the dirt, and devoured them. First time I've ever done that. Won't be my last.

Then we chilled with some goats and a donkey named Francesca. She's wise beyond her years. Her eyes are tired but friendly, her demeanor shy but trusting. Next we checked out some lambs, including adorable baby ones sleeping with their mothers, and some hens. A much-needed trek to the Hess station for some late night snacks and a walk back to the house along open moonlit fields.

I'm starting to feel like a real musician again. Damn does it feel good.