Michael “Tunes” Antunes, the soulful saxophonist whose tenor lines helped define the heart-wrenching soundtrack of Eddie and the Cruisers, passed away just days after delivering his final performance. At 85, Antunes seemed to carry the stage on his shoulders—hooded cap shadowing his focused gaze, fingers caressing the brass keys—right up until his last set at the Narrows Center in Fall River. That evening, his bandmates gathered around him, singing “Happy Birthday” as he clocked in a decade more than many would dare in a lifetime on stage. Then, nearly ten days later, he slipped away.
Born and raised in New Bedford and Dartmouth, Massachusetts, Michael was steeped in music from a young age. His father and grandfather, both accomplished musicians, inspired a lifelong devotion to his craft that began at Dartmouth High School and carried him through a relentless career. As a key member of John Cafferty and the Beaver Brown Band, his saxophone wasn’t just an instrument—it was a razor-sharp voice scything through every chorus of “On the Dark Side,” a soundtrack staple that remains a gateway to *80s rock nostalgia.
Tunes wasn’t just a background player. In Eddie and the Cruisers, he didn’t just play the saxophonist—he was the saxophonist, appearing on screen as Wendell Newton, solidifying his place in pop-culture lore. He played until the brass warmed in his hands, until the last note vibrated into memory, until the audience’s applause faded. Even then, he wasn’t done—an 85th birthday encore that became part of his farewell.
He was a patriarch in every sense: father of eleven, many of them musical directors following in his footsteps, a fixture in New England’s Cape Verdean and music communities. He leaves behind a sprawling family—children, grandchildren, great-grandchildren, and a handful of great-great-grandchildren—heir to his warmth, his rhythm, and his legacy.
His passing comes amid a medley of headline-dominating events—political shake-ups, public health upheavals—but in the quieter corners of clubs and concert halls, musicians are whispering his name reverently. They’re honoring a man who played until the end, who made his saxophone speak louder than words ever could, who turned stage lights into lifelines and breathed story into every riff.
Michael “Tunes” Antunes didn’t just exit the stage—he exited on his own terms, the last song still ringing, the last breath exhaling music.
