This photo looks like I'm relaxing.

I'm not.

That's me in the Florida Keys, somewhere between sound check and showtime, sitting in what I can only describe as a tropical sanctuary — guitar in hand, phone out, surrounded by everything that makes Key West feel like another world. We were playing the Smokin' Tuna Saloon that night with Elmore's Revenge, and if you know that room, you know it demands everything you've got.

What you're actually looking at is my warm-up.

If you look closely at the headstock of that guitar, you'll see the name Nicky written there.

That's my son. He's always with me — on every stage, at every sound check, in every quiet moment before the lights come up. I think about him constantly. And the more I pray, the more I feel his presence with me. There's no question about that. It's undeniable.

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What "Warming Up" Actually Means to Me

People see a musician sitting quietly before a show and assume we're resting. Saving energy. Zoning out.

Not me. Not ever, really.

My pre-show ritual has evolved over the years into something I take seriously — maybe more seriously than anything else I do on a gig day. It goes something like this:

Quiet time first. I need a few minutes where the noise of the world stops. No conversation, no distractions. Just me and whatever space I'm in.

Prayer. This has always been part of it. In the last few years, I've added a full Rosary — sometimes before sound check, sometimes after, depending on the day. The more I pray, the more I'm able to play. The more I pray, the more I feel Nicky's presence with me. Music is medicine for me. It always has been. And that connection — between the prayer, the music, and him — that's real. That's what keeps me going.

Then the guitar comes out. Not to run scales mindlessly — to work through the parts that matter. The solo sections. The transitions. The moments in the set where I know I need to be locked in and present. I'm not warming up my fingers. I'm warming up my focus.

And yes — social media. That photo? I was posting updates to the Elmore's Revenge band page. Letting people know we were on that night. Keeping the connection alive between the stage and the people who follow the music. That's part of the job too, and I've always believed in it.

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The Florida Keys, Elmore's Revenge, and a Life Full of Band Names I Can Barely Remember

Playing the Keys was always something special. The Smokin' Tuna is one of those legendary rooms — the kind of place where the crowd is already having the best night of their week before you play a single note. You feel that energy the moment you walk in.

Elmore's Revenge was one chapter in a long, long story. I've played with so many bands, so many projects, so many incredible musicians over the years that honestly — I can't always remember all the names. That's not a complaint. That's a life in music. Every project taught me something. Every stage left a mark.

That photo captures one of those moments between the chapters. Quiet. Focused. Ready.

Nicky on the headstock. Prayer in my heart. Guitar in my hands.

That's the warm-up.

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Wayne Sorbelli teaches guitar, bass, and ukulele in Venice Beach, FL. Lessons available for all levels — book a lesson.