WALKIN’ TO NEW ORLEANS….
Well, I’m not going to walk, I’m going to fly. But the idea is the same. Seems like started thinking about going to New Orleans at a young age. My father’s family on one side was from there originally; my grandfather was born there (he was forbidden to speak French as a boy—his family was of French background) and one of my father’s aunts according to family lore had been an entertainer there. My father spoke of visiting there with his parents and having dinner at Antoine’s. So family roots were strong. And when I was about eleven years and a budding piano player, I heard a couple records that had a style of piano playing on them that was fascinating. The records were Ernie K-Doe’s “Mother In Law” and Lee Dorsey’s “Ya-Ya.” The sound and feel of the piano playing on those records was percussive, rhythmic, rolling, with strong chords in the mid-register, a very organic sound. At some point I became aware that these records had been made in New Orleans and a little later I learned that there was a great piano tradition in New Orleans that stretched back to the early days of jazz. That was the beginning of a musical connection with the city that only grew stronger as I heard more music. In 1964 I heard a record on the radio “I Wish Someone Would Care” by Irma Thomas. Her smoky voice and soulful delivery made a huge impression on me. I saw her album in the record shop…it was a black cover with an illustration of Irma, wearing a white dress, with a white necklace, contrasting with dark face, arms and legs. I found out she was from New Orleans.
I didn’t make it to New Orleans until 1982. Don’t know why it took me so long. Ostensibly I went for JazzFest but in reality I was simply fulfilling a long-time dream. The city did not disappoint…..I rented a ten-year old boat of a car from Cheapie Rent-A-Car and cruised the city, the radio tuned to WWOZ which played all sorts of vintage New Orleans music and took in though architecture of the houses that ranged back 50, 100 or 150 years depending on the house. Some neighborhoods seemed frozen in time. Between JazzFest and various clubs and bars, I was in music heaven. By now I knew a lot about the town’s musical history……its jazz and R & B and rock ‘n’ roll. And I saw many legends and many obscure notables—Allen Toussaint, Ernie K-Doe, The Meters, Dr. John, Kid Sheik, Tuts Washington ( a piano player who had been born around 1910 and had gotten his start in the Storyville era), Dave Bartholomew and a host of others. And on a riverboat cruise, I saw Irma Thomas and Aaron Neville sing together. Irma was wearing a pure white dress and white necklace. I roamed the neighborhoods….happily sampling red beans in rice at bar on a Monday night, wolfing down a Po Boy at a neighborhood lunch counter, and enjoying crawfish etoufee and gumbo at some finer establishments. I even did a little research in 19th Century city directories and found three of my father’s familiy’s residence…..on Bourbon Street no less! One was now a souvenier shop and two others were strip clubs. But they were the original structures.
Since that first trip, I have been back to the city many times. Like so many, I fell under its spell. New Orleans has always been a cliché’ in the popular imagination—“the city that care forgot” “the birthplace of jazz” “Storyville’s ladies of pleasure” “Cajun cuisine” (although the real cuisine of New Orleans is creole, not Cajun!), “Mardi Gras”, “Bourbon Street.” Well the clichés were rooted in reality, or more accurately were distortions of reality. But there are many realms beyond these clichés but the real deep culture was not well known to most people outside the city. Gradually, though, thanks to Jazz Fest and the touring of musical ambassadors such as The Neville Brothers, and ultimately the television series “Treme”, the deeper, more esoteric currents of New Orleans culture became widely known. And then came Katrina.
Katrina was devastating and heart-breaking. Many in the outside world had no idea just how devastating its impact was to the culture of the city. Whole neighborhoods were wiped out and these neighborhoods were the seedbeds of musical styles, of the Mardi Gras Indians, of Social And Pleasure Aid Societies, of struggling little haunts that were loci for the city’s soul. Many people—especially poorer folk—were refugees and never returned. I knew many people who lost their homes; many musicians lost everything. Precious artifacts were swept away. Part of what made New Orleans so unique was that it didn’t change much. All of sudden things changed a lot. When I visited after Katrina, it was like visiting a loved one who had been crippled by a stroke or something. I knew it would never be the same. Indeed, the historic Treme’ neighborhood has been gentrified.
The projects emptied. Neighborhoods disbursed. Parades banned and street musicians arrested. Many of the great musicians I had seen and met had passed away.But the city’s culture cannot be so easily killed. It has too many fierce protectors. Trombone Shorty is a younger generation musician taking New Orleans music to the world. His brother James Andrews has opened a nightspot in the Treme’. Recently a new city noise ordinance was successfully protested by musicians and their supporters. Jazz Fest—though corporatized—lives on and lesser festivals, like the French Quarter festival, carry on the Fest’s original mission of showcasing local musicians. Tipitina’s is still in action, even in its original Uptown location. New Orleans has many fans now around the world…..people willing to fight to preserve its traditions, its culture, its uniqueness. Thirty years earlier, that cadre of fans and supporters outside the city did not exist.
So I’m going down to New Orleans. I’m going to James Andrews’ Oop Oop A Doo Lounge. I’m going to have a meal at Mandina’s , the first place I ate dinner at on my initial visit to the city. I’m going to catch Charmaine Neville at Snug Harbor and Zigaboo Modeliste, the Meters’ drummer at an Uptown club. I’m hoping Davell Crawford will still be in town; he’s the current generation heir to the great piano tradition. I’m going to try to get a copy of my great-grandfather’s birth certificate. Going to roam the neighborhoods and stop in at the quirky little joints that have always been a part of the city, though there are less of them now. Maybe I’ll even get to see Irma Thomas. I wonder if she’ll be wearing a white dress.
Comments