As I grasp my gunmetal silver saxophone by the outside of the bell and bring it towards me, I can feel it’s substantial weight pulling itself down towards the concrete stage. This only makes me grip it tighter in fear of dropping it and being rendered a futile attempt at shaped metal. I place the foam padded neck strap around my head and feel the weight being transferred to my neck and back, relieving my strained hands from stress. Looking out into the diverse crowd I can see different people staring back at me, the band, impatient audience members. Far away from the stage’s base, there are impatient people sitting at cracked wooden tables eating their cheap bar food that was delivered by a waitress just a few minutes before. There are people seated closer to the band that are eyeing the stage and the band members, trying to get a sense of when the music will start up. Their anxious shifting in their seats screams, “Just start playing already, I want to go dance!”

    The tables that the different audience members are sitting at are made of scratchy, orange wood. Upon a first encounter, an innocent bystander might consider them well-loved, while others who have experienced the chaos of the bar before know how often these tables are treated roughly and neglected. The tables closer to the dance floor at the foot of the stage are of a slightly darker color, with more chips in their corners. These tabletops have seen many spills of various beverages, and because of this have been discolored to a muted brown. If one inspects them closely, they can see the faint footsteps on the table that were left there by our lead singer from the previous set of songs. These high top tables seat eight people comfortably, possibly ten or eleven if people are feeling friendly. So, when an energetic singer starts to stand and dance on top of the creaking, wooden table, my attention is immediately drawn to the girls giggling excitedly right in front of him. 

    Out of the corner of my eye I can see the rest of the band setting up their equipment as well. The sharp thud of the drumset being placed on the stage cuts through the rest of the thick, hazy sounds produced by idle chatter of the audience members. The glossy seafoam green drum set reflects the light of the stage fairly well, and I can see my reflection staring back at me. As the drummer strategically places the fragile microphone in front of his snare, it starts to pick up on the miniscule tapping of the drummer’s fingers on the head of the drum. The hazardous cord of the microphone leads through the center of the stage and connects to the convoluted soundboard that gives power to all of the electronic audio equipment. I trace the rest of the power cords through the stage and see that every member of the band has a delicate microphone balancing on a plastic stand as well. It is a fascinating sight to see such miniscule details of the different power sources connected to so many different devices; all of this mechanical complexity and effort is for seven musicians to sound professional on stage.

    I faintly hear the lead singer start to mention something about starting in a few minutes to the band, and I know that is my cue to start warming up for the next set. It fills me with bubbling excitement that I can feel coursing from my fingers down through my feet as I stand on the creaking stage. I turn away from the audience and from the inquisitive microphone as I start to play a few notes in different octaves. In the process, I feel the slight resistance from the reed and move it down a hair. Then, the lead singer booms through the microphone and starts getting the restless audience excited for more live music. The drummer taps off the tempo for the first song and I am swept up by the vivid sounds of the guitar and the harsh sounds of the drum. As the energy picks up in the audience, some at first introverted or reluctant people start to stand up and make their way to the center of the dance floor in front of the stage. The spirit of the music picks up, and consequently makes the dancing audience less self conscious and more willing to fling themselves around to the music, not caring what they look like.

     After the first song concludes, I see out of the corner of my eye the band leader bitterly murmuring to the guitar player to the right of him. I notice the faint red color appearing on his cheeks and realize he must have been reprimanded for something he did during the last tune. A moment later I hear two or three passionate footsteps in the direction of the guitar player as the lead singer whispers in his ear. I can almost feel the spit landing in his ear out of frustration from the singer. The only other girl on stage, another singer, steals the microphone away from the band leader in an attempt to distract the audience from the “discussion” that is happening behind her. After a quick corny joke, a collective groan from the audience catches the band leader’s attention and he remembers that there is a sea of people waiting for him to start the next song. He hastily moves toward the center of the stage once more and stares out into the crowd. The spotlights moving on and off of our faces highlight the sweat on our foreheads, especially on the lead singer’s. In a Michal Jackson fashion, the band leader thumps his heel aggressively against the solid stage, and cues the drummer to crash his cymbals and start up the next song, acting as if nothing ever happened. 

    To my right, the other saxophone player starts playing a background to the song that I’ve learned to be familiar with from playing with this band so often. As I join in, the harmonizing brings added color and depth to the music, and I see the bass player grinning at us. I know that the whole band enjoys having more variety within the music, and it encourages me to keep playing through the whole set. As the band leader tosses me a solo, I start to listen to the complexity of the chords and begin to play. Upon hearing the first note, it opens doors of possibilities in where my solo can take me. I begin to make my solo more complex, and take note of what the audience is responding well to. After a minute of building up tension, I finally start playing at full speed and in dynamic, technical phrases. The mixture of adrenaline and exhilaration I feel make the audience a mere blur of white noise and distorted faces. I hear the unorganized audience cheer and clap after I hit an especially high note, and let my solo fall down from its high energy blitz. Once my solo is concluded, I glance to my right and see the other saxophone player nod in approval, and the lead singer smiles at me before continuing the song.