But the trajectory of a music career can be surprising. Still, it is true that very few artists set out on their musical careers believing they will find their place covering Donna Summer songs in the beach hotels of Portugal, or providing soft reggae dinner sets on Caribbean cruises. A prosperous summer can allow a musician to devote the quieter out-of-season months to working on their own material, or to have some semblance of a normal family life.
But in a music industry that is increasingly precarious, particularly in an era of economic uncertainty, Brexit and streaming, an established residency in a holiday resort can offer artists a degree of financial and emotional stability. One might assume that there is something dispiriting about performing night after night to audiences for whom music is a mere backdrop to recreation, forgoing the chance to focus on your own songwriting in favour of covering singalong hits to a party crowd. The art of playing music to holiday crowds is distinctly different to any other: a careful calibration of pleasure and crowd control. But Gerd Rube played on, and the warm night air drifted in from the street, filled with plumeria and liquor and the paling scent of suntan lotion. Occasionally, the effect was stirred by drunken bickering or the whiplashed shrieks of tequila shots. The crowd sang along, applauded, whooped.
Over the course of four hours he moved through a set that included Don Henley’s The Boys of Summer, Bryan Adams’s Summer of 69, a few of his own compositions, and a sprinkling of numbers from the Zac Brown and Jimmy Buffett songbook that seemed to speak directly to the voluptuous mood.
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