The Day the Music Changed: From Alabama Gulf of Mexico to Spain Where Columbus took his historic Voyage
It was Thanksgiving Day, 2019, when the Macy's parade—all those bloated balloons and manufactured cheer—felt like a soundtrack to a life I was leaving behind. My wife, Maria, catching the tail end of the televised spectacle, thought it was some kind of party
.Me? I just knew we were loading up the rental car, heading for a whole new rhythm, a different kind of blues, across the Atlantic to Spain. I left my world behind, flying out of Louis Armstrong, Airport, New Orleans, a city so deep in culture, Mardi Gras, parades, and all that—a city so deep in my soul.
I was taking the almost direct route that Columbus took in 1492, although in reverse, to our Future village in Palos de la Frontera, Spain, the village he sailed from, except is was a 747, not the Santa Maria!,
Maria, you see, was born in Extremadura, Spain. And our story, well, it’s got a bit of that grand, unpredictable sweep that only true musicians and romantics understand.
I met her back in 1995, on the Long John Baldry tour. I was the keyboard player, stepping into the shoes Elton John once filled in the late '60s

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We were in Fulda, Germany—a city steeped in history, where Saint Boniface first preached the Gospel to the Germans way back in 800 AD.
For me, it was love at first sight. But sometimes, the universe takes its sweet time orchestrating the reunion. We didn't connect until 2012, and we've been together ever since, our lives finally merging into one beautiful, sometimes challenging, melody
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Funny how life sends you packing. For years, I’d been laying down tracks, literally. Before the move to Spain, I'd been living in Vancouver, British Columbia, until 2015.
That's when I made the move to Orange Beach, Alabama, https://mulletwrapper.net/john-lee-sanders-brings-loaded-resume-pbr/
https://mulletwrapper.net/pbr-piano-man-john-lee-sanders-releases-tweakin-some-twang/
It was a really nice gig there, at one of the largest hotels on the strip, with benefits for both me and Maria, playing five nights a week, plus extra gigs at various restaurants. My parents had long owned a beautiful condo there, where they'd escape every February and summer, so the area already held a deep connection for me.
From the hotels of Orange Beach, where folks clamored for "Sweet Home Alabama" Sweet Caroline,Brown eyed girl, the same damn five songs, like it was the only tunes on the planet, to the Mobile Big Band Society, where I could stretch out and really play. Money was good, tips were sweet—sometimes two, three hundred bucks a night at places like Fish River Grill.
I ended up making a song list, with a huge poster
where people could pick which songs were their favorites.
Over the years, I've developed a huge repertoire, with great American songbook, blues, classic rock, funk, classical, I have a photographic memory when it comes to music
And then there was AirGigs Where people all over the world could hire studio musicians,
My studio sanctuary, where I'd stack saxophones and vocals, keyboard and organ parts born from thin air, pulling down five-star ratings, working almost seven days a week. Life was a perpetual gig, a relentless tour.
But something was off-key. Back in Alabama, the political notes in a sea of red hats, were jarring, turning friends into strangers over lines I couldn't cross.
And in those upscale restaurants, where my "outdoor voice" was an unwelcome guest, a part of me was dying on the vine. The hotel owners, maybe they didn't quite appreciate my "gift" when it leaned too much into the black music that courses through my veins.
No, the political dissonance wasn't the only reason. I had a deeper yearning for something else. I’d connected with Gecko Turner, a force in the Spanish music scene, back in 2014, and he was talking about big booking agencies.
I later signed with Concertos de Norte. The thought of a new stage, a new audience, a place where my music, my whole music, could finally breathe. I had been touring Europe since the nineties, and longed for a change.
The concert halls I was playing were glorious and grand, 1000 seats or more, with an amazing backing band!
Our belongings, packed tight in a shipping container, didn't arrive until Christmas Day, still no house in sight. But we found it—a sprawling apartment, big by Spanish standards, with three bedrooms and space for my studio. We crashed with Maria’s brother, Carlos, and his family, the Spanish welcome a warm, familial hum in contrast to the fading echoes of America.
The Unscripted Solo: Navigating Recovery
Then, life, in its unpredictable rhythm, threw a sudden, discordant note. In 2022, a stroke cut through everything.
Could it have been the Johnson and Johnson covid vaccine? Will never know.
My mind, gone. My music, silenced. Lost. Ten days in the hospital in Huelva Spain, therapists doing what they could, then… cut off. The Spanish government offered support for about a year, but then that, too, ended unfortunately.
But the true healing, the real therapy, came from Maria.
No college degree, no occupational therapy certificate, but her unwavering presence, her relentless belief, brought me back. I'm not all the way there, but I've come far, so far, thanks to her. It’s been a challenge, a raw, aching silence without playing music, something I've done my whole life—saxophone, keyboard, guitar, vocals (thank God I didn’t lose those). It’s the hardest thing I've ever had to deal with, this battle to restore what was lost. I pray every night, every day, that the power in the universe, or God, whatever you call Him, will heal this, restore my functionality, my right hand, everything to where it was before, but I must do my own work at rehabilitation.
And in that struggle, a symphony of support emerged from the most unexpected places.
I can’t name them all here—some very famous artists and promoters, yes, but also the everyday people who sent five, ten, fifty, a hundred dollars, sometimes thousands. To everyone who sent donations over these last three years, thank you. You know, this isn't like a cold you get over overnight. But I honestly couldn't have made it through without your help. I’m getting better every day, and that's thanks to you, too.
https://www.gofundme.com/f/how-a-lifetime-musician-became-a-stroke
A New Harmony: Life Under a Spanish Sky
I miss the stage, the collective pulse of a band.
But here in Spain, even with the shadows of the past and the anxieties of the present, there's a different kind of rhythm. A Catholic serene and vibrant, loud, family celebration that echoes a Jewish jubilee more than any staid Sunday service I knew growing up. My granddaughter's communion, a huge family gathering, a joyous, all-day party—it’s a connection I never had, never felt, in Alabama. Here, it’s about connection, community, a deep, abiding family love.
My father, Bill Sanders. a VP at State Farm, and my Mom, Gladys, believed in education, in the arts, sciences, history, not just music. And I carry with me, a hunger for understanding, for truth. And in this new chapter, this Spanish interlude, I’m still learning, still playing, still listening for the next note in this extraordinary, unscripted song of life.
I have a boatload of New songs just waiting to come out,
And, we continue to create, to the best of our ability, especially, for the condition we are in!
Thirty-five years ago, my late buddy, Stan Dural (Buckwheat Zydeco), said these words to my daughter, the then 9-year old incredible fiddler…
“Remember, your talent is a gift from God. But, it’s not for you. It’s for you to make other people happy!”
We have lived our lives making people happy. No higher calling I can think of.
I am so thankful that Steve connected us.
With deep sincerity,
Mojo