Saturday afternoon, I loaded my car with weekend road trip essentials: blankets, my trombone and a case of beer (a gift for friends hosting me over the weekend). My first stop was The Metro, a venue near Wrigleyville in Chicago.

About a week before, I had received an email from Chad Raines, guitarist for Amanda Palmer’s band the Grand Theft Orchestra, asking if I was interested in playing with them in Chicago and Milwaukee. I had applied to in September, when Facebook friends were complaining in outrage over the band’s decision to crowd-source string and horn players for their latest tour. They were not the only ones angered over this; soon the Internet and professional musicians alike were bashing Palmer for expecting people to volunteer to play for her for free.

The conversations concerning art, money and community continued while I emailed my application. How I see it is this: I play my horn because I love to. I don’t play with the main objective of being paid. And when Amanda Palmer invites you to come hang out and play large venues to sold-out crowds with her because she can’t afford to take an entire chamber ensemble on an international tour, I have no issues. If I’d turned down opportunities that came my way because I wasn’t going to be compensated, I’d have led an incredibly dull life up to this point.

When I arrived in Chicago, 20 minutes late, Raines was already practicing with the trumpet and tenor sax players. We all briefly made acquaintance and got to work. With the exception of one song, none of us had seen the music before.

Through the night, I met the rest of the crowd-sourced musicians, mostly college students studying music at schools in the city, and the rest of the Grand Theft Orchestra. Raines wrote all the horn parts on the new album, Theatre is Evil, and bassist Jherek Bischoff arranged all the string parts. Each member of the band and the crew I met were hospitable, kind and made me feel like a member of the rock and roll circus.

As I stood around the dressing room, snacking on complimentary hummus, Palmer materialized, squiggly-eyebrowed and wrapped in a kimono. She apologized for “hiding out” on the bus, as she has bronchitis. Not too long after, we were all standing on the back staircase behind the stage, hyping each other up. Then we were on.

Bronchitis aside, Palmer performed full-out, and I did my best to match her level of energy from my spot upstage right. The horns performed four songs with her during her two-hour set, and when I wasn’t onstage I was watching from the balcony or back in the dressing room, reveling in how fantastic my life was at the moment.

At the end of the show, when everyone was scrambling around the dressing room trying to pack up and not trip over each other, we established that all of the crowd-sourced musicians were available to play the next night.

Then the manager paid me.

I was astounded. I had no idea Palmer had taken all the criticism to heart and the musicians were being paid. I was still enjoying every moment doing this for free. I later discovered the money came from another part of the band’s budget and they retroactively paid those who played for free early in the tour.

The next afternoon, I drove to Milwaukee in a bizarre sideways rainfall. I eventually found the back door into Turner Hall, a gorgeous, enormous, historic multi-purpose building. Most of the band decided it is haunted.

There was significantly less rushing around and more relaxing during day two. I spent much of my time before the show talking with the other musicians and enjoying the atmosphere.

The crowd wasn’t as engaged as it had been the night before, but I performed better my second time around. Performers and their audience feed off each other in a bizarre symbiotic relationship. It’s easy to feel that rush of energy and unadulterated joy when the crowd reacts to what you put out there for them and for yourself.

After our last song and our bows, Palmer closed the night’s encore with a ukulele-led sing-a-long of Radiohead’s Creep. For a crowd of Palmer fans—dressed in wigs and glitter, feeling connected to each other, to her and to the energy in the room—and for myself, having been exposed to the experience of creating live art to bless people with, singing a song about displacement together felt ironically perfect.

The idea that the musicians on this tour aren’t getting paid is still out there. Some people have painted Palmer as an egotistical diva who expects people to help her for free because the privilege of being in her band should be enough. I never once sensed that from anyone I worked with this weekend.

We all volunteered because we love playing music, we love her music and we love being a part of something so unique and creative. We were met with nothing but hospitality, gratitude and respect. I found Amanda to be a very affectionate and magnetic person who took the time to show her thankfulness and took it seriously when people were upset over her decisions. She recognizes that people have taken time out of their lives for her.

“No one helps because they don’t want to help,” Palmer said. “No one plays if they don’t want to. No one gets onstage and dances if they don’t want to dance.”