Sherman Smith

Writer of Historical Fiction

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Sausalito Night Music

Earl Crier was in rare form, his fingers gliding magically across the piano keys in a way that you could practically see the notes rise from the ivories as a flight of scarlet chested sunbirds. The bass, moody, reaching out for her lover in the middle of the night – secretive and lustful. Imogene, the beautiful lyrical songbird of the Earl Crier quintet parted her lips to sing “GoodMorning Heartache’ with such heart and soul that the raindrops falling outside The Honeysuckle Rose Hotel hung in mid-air hypnotized by her purity of heart – the blues. Then as she faded a tenor saxophone filled the room – there is no one sound to the tenor saxophone, it is the player. Michael O’Dea transcended his music making it more powerful than it was. His sound was dark, fat, lush, masculine, wallowing in the heart and the pain that made up the man’s soul. A man of flesh and blood, Michael O’Dea was an ugly man, hard to look at, hard to forget. His physical appearance made you uncomfortable.

His music unforgettable.