Even though those guys could really play their horns, we started off weak, lacking confidence in each other. Our sound was workmanlike—competent, but definitely not rousing. When the date arrived to play at Shirley's we were not in the least bit confident that we could win the crowd.
It was a sultry evening, unseasonably warm for the third week in September. A small but growing group of patrons eyed us suspiciously as we unloaded our gear, five white boys in a sea of black faces. The unmistakable aroma of cannabis drifted over our heads. A couple of girls wearing form fitting sequined dresses stood off by themselves singing a song I did not recognize. No one hassled us as we carted our instruments and amplifiers into Shirley's, although some shot us a look that made it plain they were pro
