Several months later my band drove from Rhode Island to Georgia to play a series of shows I booked in the Southeast. The first was in Atlanta at Smith’s Olde Bar. We got to the club on a weekday in mid-afternoon. As I walked into the bar, I heard from behind me an unmistakable voice.

“Providence, Rhode Island.”

It was Bruce, sitting in a booth with a friend. I told him how great it was to see him again, and that we were in town to perform.

“How’s the tour going?” Bruce asked.

“This is the first night,” I said.

“You drove all the way from Rhode Island? Who in the world is your booking agent?” he asked.

“You’re looking at him,” I said.

Bruce laughed.

“Any advice for tonight?” I asked.

“It’s a small room,” he said. “Play low. Get your tone, but play low. The people won’t hear you if you’re too loud.”

The last time I saw Bruce was in October of 2001, again, in Syracuse. I had asked Bruce and his band, The Codetalkers, to be a part of a musical tribute to Mimi Fishman, the mother of Phish drummer, Jon Fishman. Mimi had passed away the previous winter, and we had organized a benefit performance in her honor at the Landmark Theatre.

Before the show, we had arranged to have all the performers close the concert with a version of The Band’s “The Weight.” All of the participants gathered onstage: Jon Fishman, Merl Saunders, the Codetalkers, and my band. All, but Bruce.

We finished the sobering ballad, softly ended the show, and prepared to take our bows.

Then, Bruce appeared.

He shuffled onstage, pointed at Fishman, and immediately lit into “Turn on Your Lovelight.” Everybody quickly followed, with me scrambling to grab my guitar and plug-in my amp. Another lesson learned.

Bruce was not going to let that show, that special evening of music, that tribute to a friend end on a somber note. We were not going to go gentle into that good night. We were going to celebrate. We were going to turn on that light and let it shine. And, we did. And, it was perfect.

When I heard the news of Bruce’s passing after his final performance of “Turn on Your Lovelight,” I couldn’t help but think of that moment and, really, all of these moments. I couldn’t help but be grateful for the time I had spent with him, however brief. I couldn’t help but remember to laugh, and to never be too loud or else I wouldn’t be heard.

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