I bagged the Wednesday ride with the Alaska Dirt Divas so I could go to a concert. I'd just read about this musician, Trombone Shorty (aka Troy Andrews) in the paper on Sunday. From the description, it sounded like a great show. Without hearing his music I ordered a ticket and biked down to the university to check it out.
Now if you take jazz, R&B, blues, a little hip-hop, rock & roll and don't forget the Funk, wrap it around a talented, energetic guy in his early 20s, add his impressively talented and together band - Orleans Avenue - well, just try to not get into the groove.
The trombone just sang. Everybody danced. Songs morphed. The guitar screamed. Man! I can't describe it except to say it rocked.
After an extended run of high notes on a trumpet, TS said the microphone was smoking. Brash? No. The mic was smoking! I think the high notes broke it... is that possible?
I left the concert after 10pm, buoyed by the energy on the stage and in the house. As I unlocked my bike, I briefly spoke with a couple as they left, equally beaming about the great show. The only disappointment, they said, was that there were so many empty seats. "Lucky us," I said and they agreed. Lucky us.