You are looking at a small slice of nirvana. It is a prefabricated house situated in a park of similar houses, located a ten-minute drive from an upscale oceanfront—and it belongs to Bossy’s brother.
This is Bossy’s brother, and he is currently demonstrating why he decided to buy a vacation home and how he could afford that vacation home: for the second year in a row, he has been hired to play five nights a week at a resort on the sand.
Bossy just returned from four days spent with her brother and she has the following report about how it works:
Bossy’s brother sets up shop on the deck at the base of the hotel, which is adjacent to the tiki bar and pool.
The hotel isn’t fancy, but what it lacks in sophisticated style, it makes up for in beach towels hung from every surface.
Bossy’s brother has a varied song list, and he can tackle complex tune arrangements by utilizing a looping machine. This means he can lay down his own rhythm track live and then play along on top of it for a fuller sound. This never ceases to wow the crowd.
The first thing Bossy does when she goes to hear her brother play is order a drink special from the tiki bar, and that drink special usually consists of a cherry with lots of rum around it. And then Bossy finds a seat under one of the canvas umbrellas and settles back so she can better absorb B.B. King, the Police, Eric Clapton, the Beatles, Jimi Hendrix, Green Day, and the mom who was shouting at her kids.
Whenever Bossy’s brother begins to play, a magical thing happens: strangers turn into friends.
It usually begins with smiles and shared song requests, shouted out across the din of kids wrestling in the baby pool.
And within no time, people are scooting around chairs and springing for another round of drinks.
There is something about the power of music to melt the barriers between the generations:
Everyone is charmed by Bossy’s brother and his guitar. Even management:
OK, maybe Bossy’s brother didn’t charm everybody: