(A quote from Pete Fountain years ago in an interview with New Orleans journalist Rosemary James.)
And so it has always been, with every Mardi Gras being the one that is the favorite in your mind, tops in your memory. And so it is this year. Some impressions;
Perfect Carnival weather, just what you'd want -- warm temperatures, blue skies, blessedly dry ground. There was a little rain a few nights, but it was mostly just mizzle-drizzle, not enough to stop a parade or soak the ground. The terrific weather really facilitated the crowds, the families setting up with their chairs and tables and canopies and BBQs.
•Prize for most beautiful parade this year goes, hands down, to Hermes, with a theme of the myth of Dionysus. Royal Artists created floats that were apparitions of sensuous loveliness, with flowing draperies, exquisite figures both male and female, and giant jiggling flowers in the 19th century style. Even Mardi Gras virgins were impressed -- a friend of mine, seeing her very first parade ever, asked wonderingly, "Are they all this beautiful?" Well, no -- but it does make you appreciate the ones that are. Thank you, Hermes, for the gift of such ephemeral beauty.
•No less than 4 different groups skewered Archbishop Hughes for the closure of those New Orleans Catholic churches after Katrina: Druids did "Why Archbishop Why?" Tucks pictured him as a Mafia boss. Either Chaos or Krewe D'Etat (sorry, i get them mixed up) had "You Pay Your Money, He Makes His Choice" Winner in the make-fun-of-the-Archbishop contest has to be the Marching Archbishops, a group of about 50 men of all shapes and sizes dressed in formal archbishop liturgical robes.
•Best new throw of the season is the amazing holographic cup thrown by Hermes -- a regular plastic Mardi Gras cup of the regulation size, but completely wrapped around the outside with a 3-dimensional-looking design. Once the new cup hit the streets, interest waned in normal cups. Next year, look for more krewes catching onto this innovation. Thanks again, Hermes!
•My sister from Minnesota noted a whole hierarchy of catching throws. You can still feel good about yourself if you scoop up cups, beads, dubloons, and gadgets off the sidewalk or street once they've fallen there, but better than that is catching them on the fly in the air, snatching them down out of their high-flown trajectories. Higher still is when you catch something that is meant just for you, with the float rider gesturing or pointing to you and you then receiving something that is intended for you. (Correct parade etiquette demands that others intercepting that throw give it to the intended target.) Once you get the throw that was meant for you, politeness requires acknowledgment to the float rider, with thumbs up, a wave, or a blown kiss. Top marks in the ranking of catching/receiving parade throws is when a float rider manage to "ring" you with a necklace, landing it neatly and almost gently right around your neck. This, being understandably difficult, doesn't happen that often. (The masker who got me that way at one parade danced around in triumph, both thumbs raised in the air.)
•Nearly everything local that ought to be satirized came in for the requisite slings and barbs -- the mayor of course, the governor, FEMA (most fun: Tucks' Dracula float with the caption "FEMA Sucks"), Bill Jefferson (and his indicted family), David Vitter and his escapades with prostitiutes, the city council (pictured as crying babies in one memorable instance), those stupid traffic cameras. Some krewes went outside the city and state to throw their outrageous arrows, with floats depicting Sarah Palin and even Amy Winehouse (gee, who cares??).
•I love how we New Orleanians salute the carnival royalty with the traditional cries of "Hail!" "Hail, Dictator" we yell incongruously to the leader of Krewe D'Etat in his Napoleon outfit. "Hail, Captain!" we holler at the man in old silver brocade and velvet riding a horse at the head of Rex. "Hail, Proteus!" to the Uptown guy in the theatrical make-up waving the traditional trident.
•My brother-in-law's idea to purchase 2 cases of plush alligator headgear was inspired. Our extended family gathered at our regular spot on Napoleon, about 20 people altogether give or take making up the newly-formed Krewe of Gatorhead, was a tremendous hit with other parade-goers as well as with float riders (celeb Joan Rivers threw stuff to my niece, yelling down, "Love your hat!") Bonus: an AP photographer not only took our group's picture, he bought a gatorhead to take home to his girlfriend!
•Prize for best parade food: the folks who set up a table in my sister's front yard and shucked raw oysters til the sacks ran out. My god! THAT was fun!! And totally delicious.
•Most exciting moment for me was witnessing my Big Man marching down the street in the Rex Parade as part of the 3rd Line Brass Band. Wow! The Rex Parade! My late father would have been SO impressed. Actually, the Rex Parade was Big Man's *third* parade, as he marched with the Riveraide Ramblers right behind the Ducks of Dixieland in the Tucks Parade, and of course in the Krewe of Barkus in the French Quarter (fun, of course, but a smaller deal). Big Man says the biggest thrill is the turn onto Canal Street from St. Charles Avenue, just as the musicians and other marchers are tiring and wishing it were all over, when the gigantic crowd ROARS and it seems like wall to wall to people and they are all cheering you on, and the energy just washes over the bands and marchers. (Of course, afterwards, if you are not a teenager with raging hormones and endless stores of energy, you are dead tired and your legs and feet ache -- but still, Big Man says he would SO do it all over again.
•Once again this year, I pass without detailed comment on the MOMs Ball, except to note that it was a great time, as always somewhat surreal in its transgressive delights. I was disappointed to leave "early" at 2"30 am -- our plan next year is to arrive later and avoid the entry line, and thus be willing and able to stay later. (However,, this will require finding someone else to lead the service at church the next day.)
And so, oversupplied once more with beads and throws, replete with way too much good food, with sore feet and leg muscles, we wake on Ash Wednesday a little bit relieved and a little bit sad that another Carnival is over.
Friday, February 27, 2009
Monday, February 23, 2009
Lundi Gras Zulu Festival (in Kenner)
(Yes, that's right, Kenner. OK, before today, I didn't know there was a Zulu Fest on Lundi Gras in Kenner either.) Turns out there are 3 celebrations going on simultaneously along the Mississippi River in Greater New Orleans on Lundi Gras, the day before Mardi Gras -- the Rex Festival at Spanish Plaza, the Zulu Festival at Woldenburg Park, AND the Zulu Festival at Rivertown in Kenner. Who knew?
When Paul Batiste asked Big Man to play with the Batiste Brothers at the Lundi Gras Zulu Festival, we naturally assumed he meant the one near the Aquarium at Woldenburg Park. It wasn't until we were just about to leave the house this morning that we clarified that the concert was actually in Kenner. Yikes! Luckily, we made it on time, greatly helped by the fact that the Official Proclamations and Royal Toasts (from the Mayor of Kenner, assorted Jefferson Parish elected officials, and the Captain, Big Shot, and Medicine Man of Zulu, along with various Ladies of the Royal Zulu Court) went on for longer than advertised. This being Zulu's 100th Anniversary year, I figure they can take as many toasts as they want.
Then, just for good measure, a somewhat truncated assortment of Rebirth players got on the stage and played ONE TUNE before announcing that they were playing live at the Maple Leaf on Mardi Gras night, from 11 pm to 6 am, and everyone was invited. The crowd was pleased, but somewhat surprised at the one tune deal. Big Man called it a live commercial for Rebirth.
It was an absolutely gorgeous day -- perfectly clear blue sky, bright sunshine (don't you LOVE getting a sunburn in February?), light wind. It had seemed chilly as we left the house, but at the Rivertown festival ground, it was warm and bright. An enthusiastic crowd had gathered in Zulu's honor -- about 300 total men, women, and kids who were mostly black, some white, and a smattering of Latino and some kind of Asian-American (Vietnamese-American? Hmong-American? Chinese-American?). There were a few booths with food and drinks (chicken on a stick, funnel cakes, hamburgers, hot dogs, boudin, pralines, hurricanes, soft drinks, beer, coffee) and a few not-really-crafts booths. It seems that after the Zulu formalities, the music stage was the main deal and that the Batiste Brothers (with Big Man on trumpet) was the main event.
The band took the stage about 12:15 pm and they played pretty much non-stop for about 3 hours. (Not counting some stage banter and side business that never took more than say 3-5 minutes.) Fortunately for Big Man's poor chops, there were a few tunes during those 3 hours that didn't require much or anything from a horn, so at least he got that much of a break. Three hours without a break! Amazing!
What is billed as "The Batiste Brothers" is really an agglomeration of brothers, cousins, nephews, and sons of the extended Batiste family, or maybe Batiste dynasty would be more correct. (With the addition of Big Man, of course.) Through his musical experiences around town, Big Man has separate working relationships with 2 members of the group, Paul and Russell (who are cousins). The level of musicianship is high, and they segue smoothly from New Orleans classics to old-school soul numbers and a few originals. Big Man was fast on his musical feet and everyone onstage and in the crowd seemed appreciative. I could tell he was enjoying himself, too.
The band called for everyone who could do the Bus Stop or the Electric Slide (what's the difference, I want to know?) to come to the front, right in front of the stage and about 150 people of all ages complied. It was quite a sight to see: men and women, grandmothers and grandfathers, one wizened white lady who was surely a great-grandmother, a couple of elderly drunks, 2 or 3 black kids under their teens, some white women younger than me, all moving together in rhythm, steps more or less the same (some folks giving a little extra special "english" on some moves), a wonderful communal celebration.
Made me proud and happy to be a New Orleanian -- and proud and happy to be Big Man's spouse.
When Paul Batiste asked Big Man to play with the Batiste Brothers at the Lundi Gras Zulu Festival, we naturally assumed he meant the one near the Aquarium at Woldenburg Park. It wasn't until we were just about to leave the house this morning that we clarified that the concert was actually in Kenner. Yikes! Luckily, we made it on time, greatly helped by the fact that the Official Proclamations and Royal Toasts (from the Mayor of Kenner, assorted Jefferson Parish elected officials, and the Captain, Big Shot, and Medicine Man of Zulu, along with various Ladies of the Royal Zulu Court) went on for longer than advertised. This being Zulu's 100th Anniversary year, I figure they can take as many toasts as they want.
Then, just for good measure, a somewhat truncated assortment of Rebirth players got on the stage and played ONE TUNE before announcing that they were playing live at the Maple Leaf on Mardi Gras night, from 11 pm to 6 am, and everyone was invited. The crowd was pleased, but somewhat surprised at the one tune deal. Big Man called it a live commercial for Rebirth.
It was an absolutely gorgeous day -- perfectly clear blue sky, bright sunshine (don't you LOVE getting a sunburn in February?), light wind. It had seemed chilly as we left the house, but at the Rivertown festival ground, it was warm and bright. An enthusiastic crowd had gathered in Zulu's honor -- about 300 total men, women, and kids who were mostly black, some white, and a smattering of Latino and some kind of Asian-American (Vietnamese-American? Hmong-American? Chinese-American?). There were a few booths with food and drinks (chicken on a stick, funnel cakes, hamburgers, hot dogs, boudin, pralines, hurricanes, soft drinks, beer, coffee) and a few not-really-crafts booths. It seems that after the Zulu formalities, the music stage was the main deal and that the Batiste Brothers (with Big Man on trumpet) was the main event.
The band took the stage about 12:15 pm and they played pretty much non-stop for about 3 hours. (Not counting some stage banter and side business that never took more than say 3-5 minutes.) Fortunately for Big Man's poor chops, there were a few tunes during those 3 hours that didn't require much or anything from a horn, so at least he got that much of a break. Three hours without a break! Amazing!
What is billed as "The Batiste Brothers" is really an agglomeration of brothers, cousins, nephews, and sons of the extended Batiste family, or maybe Batiste dynasty would be more correct. (With the addition of Big Man, of course.) Through his musical experiences around town, Big Man has separate working relationships with 2 members of the group, Paul and Russell (who are cousins). The level of musicianship is high, and they segue smoothly from New Orleans classics to old-school soul numbers and a few originals. Big Man was fast on his musical feet and everyone onstage and in the crowd seemed appreciative. I could tell he was enjoying himself, too.
The band called for everyone who could do the Bus Stop or the Electric Slide (what's the difference, I want to know?) to come to the front, right in front of the stage and about 150 people of all ages complied. It was quite a sight to see: men and women, grandmothers and grandfathers, one wizened white lady who was surely a great-grandmother, a couple of elderly drunks, 2 or 3 black kids under their teens, some white women younger than me, all moving together in rhythm, steps more or less the same (some folks giving a little extra special "english" on some moves), a wonderful communal celebration.
Made me proud and happy to be a New Orleanian -- and proud and happy to be Big Man's spouse.
Wednesday, February 18, 2009
First Parades
Friday, February 13 -- Oshun and Pygmalion
Saturday, February 14 -- Pontchartrain, Shangri-La, Sparta, and Pegasus
Sunday, February 15 -- Carrollton, King Arthur, Bards of Bohemia, and Barkus
(whew!)
The parades of the first weekend of Carnival were undeterred by a little rain, and a little rain was all it really turned out to be -- just drizzles that went on and off and weren't nearly enough to cancel anything. The Krewe of Barkus, the doggie parade through the French Quarter, actually had bright blue skies for a time and I got a bit of sun-burn.
Crowds were light and friendly, mainly locals Uptown and mainly visitors Downtown, as always. As a result of the recession, some parades were light on bands as a way of saving money; if any krewes cut corners on throws, you could not prove that by me. (Lots of good throws, including a medallion with LED lights that actually has 9 functions! And some girl in Pegasus threw me a purple-green-and-gold feather boa, which I didn't even want, but felt obliged to run up to the float to get after she gestured right at me. The honor of the thing, y'know.)
Two krewes, Pegasus and Pygmalion, chose "insider-local" themes, honoring all things New Orleans, including some best-loved "ain't dere no mo'" favorites, such as Pontchartrain Beach and K & B drugstore. This is well and good for the natives, who can be expected to reliably go, "Awwww" when they see such things, but must be a mystery to everyone else. Just another example -- as if one were needed -- of how carnival is for US, not something we put on for others.
Big Man experienced a great honor this weekend, as he marched with the Riverside Ramblers as the lead band in the Barkus doggie parade on beautiful Sunday afternoon. To hear Big Man's trumpet blare the familiar and beloved call of the first bars of "Secondline" -- bada-BAH-da! -- and the loud shouted "Hey!" of the gathered multitude was a tremendous thrill. (Don'tcha just HATE when the out-of-towners don't know they're supposed to yell "Hey!" at that moment? Practically spoils the song.)
And so now it's on to the full Carnival madness, 2 and 3 parades a night until the Big Day. Gotta gear up and pace yourself, gotta be ready. More later...
Saturday, February 14 -- Pontchartrain, Shangri-La, Sparta, and Pegasus
Sunday, February 15 -- Carrollton, King Arthur, Bards of Bohemia, and Barkus
(whew!)
The parades of the first weekend of Carnival were undeterred by a little rain, and a little rain was all it really turned out to be -- just drizzles that went on and off and weren't nearly enough to cancel anything. The Krewe of Barkus, the doggie parade through the French Quarter, actually had bright blue skies for a time and I got a bit of sun-burn.
Crowds were light and friendly, mainly locals Uptown and mainly visitors Downtown, as always. As a result of the recession, some parades were light on bands as a way of saving money; if any krewes cut corners on throws, you could not prove that by me. (Lots of good throws, including a medallion with LED lights that actually has 9 functions! And some girl in Pegasus threw me a purple-green-and-gold feather boa, which I didn't even want, but felt obliged to run up to the float to get after she gestured right at me. The honor of the thing, y'know.)
Two krewes, Pegasus and Pygmalion, chose "insider-local" themes, honoring all things New Orleans, including some best-loved "ain't dere no mo'" favorites, such as Pontchartrain Beach and K & B drugstore. This is well and good for the natives, who can be expected to reliably go, "Awwww" when they see such things, but must be a mystery to everyone else. Just another example -- as if one were needed -- of how carnival is for US, not something we put on for others.
Big Man experienced a great honor this weekend, as he marched with the Riverside Ramblers as the lead band in the Barkus doggie parade on beautiful Sunday afternoon. To hear Big Man's trumpet blare the familiar and beloved call of the first bars of "Secondline" -- bada-BAH-da! -- and the loud shouted "Hey!" of the gathered multitude was a tremendous thrill. (Don'tcha just HATE when the out-of-towners don't know they're supposed to yell "Hey!" at that moment? Practically spoils the song.)
And so now it's on to the full Carnival madness, 2 and 3 parades a night until the Big Day. Gotta gear up and pace yourself, gotta be ready. More later...
Thursday, February 12, 2009
Seen on the Street
Quite literally...
Big Man and I found this spray-painted in bright orange on the sidewalk on Race Street in the (lower) Lower Garden District, near the Mojo Coffee House, just off Magazine Street:
How could you find this, read it, and not get a lump in your throat? In what other American city are the citizens proclaiming their loyalty and love in such an emotional and public way? Of course it has to do, at least partially, with Katrina and its aftermath, but still..
File this under "Only in New Orleans."
Big Man and I found this spray-painted in bright orange on the sidewalk on Race Street in the (lower) Lower Garden District, near the Mojo Coffee House, just off Magazine Street:
My life
My love
My city
My New Orleans
How could you find this, read it, and not get a lump in your throat? In what other American city are the citizens proclaiming their loyalty and love in such an emotional and public way? Of course it has to do, at least partially, with Katrina and its aftermath, but still..
File this under "Only in New Orleans."
Tuesday, February 10, 2009
A Rose in the Winter Time
A song in our hymnal by Carolyn McDade has that as a refrain, "a rose in the winter time." It's a lovely thought, but it's not real meaningful in New Orleans. Roses in the winter time are not special here, they are just what we expect.
It is early February, and New Orleans is filled with flowers. Roses, yes, lots of 'em, in all colors, blooming in yards and parks and gardens. But that's not all. Right now, this very day in the Crescent City, you can see camellias, gardenias, Japanese magnolias (what are called "tulip trees" elsewhere), and even azaleas are in bloom.
Temperatures are warm, 60s to 70s, even high 70s, and the humidity is creeping in. The wind is blowing, almost like March winds, and the clouds scud past, in a hurry to get from here to there.
Big Man and I revel in this weather. On Sunday evening we walked from our house to Aja on Magazine, a shushi place that has changed hands recently. The approximately 20 block walk was comfortable and easy, the weather warm, a light wind blowing. Big Man had on a short-sleeve shirt and I had a light throw on over my short-sleeved dress. We laughed about this being Spring for New Orleanians, while it was still high winter for folks Up North.
For years, when I lived away, I had to struggle with a kind of winter depression that always erupted around Carnival time. My inner clock was convinced that Spring came in February, and it was always so hard to struggle through those "extra" 8 weeks or so of winter weather.
Other places may think of February as depressing and ugly, but here in New Orleans, February is greeted with relief, even with all its changeability. (Weathercasters here refer to a cold front in February as a "late season cold snap.") Beautiful February! Gentle February! We love those roses in the winter time.
It is early February, and New Orleans is filled with flowers. Roses, yes, lots of 'em, in all colors, blooming in yards and parks and gardens. But that's not all. Right now, this very day in the Crescent City, you can see camellias, gardenias, Japanese magnolias (what are called "tulip trees" elsewhere), and even azaleas are in bloom.
Temperatures are warm, 60s to 70s, even high 70s, and the humidity is creeping in. The wind is blowing, almost like March winds, and the clouds scud past, in a hurry to get from here to there.
Big Man and I revel in this weather. On Sunday evening we walked from our house to Aja on Magazine, a shushi place that has changed hands recently. The approximately 20 block walk was comfortable and easy, the weather warm, a light wind blowing. Big Man had on a short-sleeve shirt and I had a light throw on over my short-sleeved dress. We laughed about this being Spring for New Orleanians, while it was still high winter for folks Up North.
For years, when I lived away, I had to struggle with a kind of winter depression that always erupted around Carnival time. My inner clock was convinced that Spring came in February, and it was always so hard to struggle through those "extra" 8 weeks or so of winter weather.
Other places may think of February as depressing and ugly, but here in New Orleans, February is greeted with relief, even with all its changeability. (Weathercasters here refer to a cold front in February as a "late season cold snap.") Beautiful February! Gentle February! We love those roses in the winter time.
Wednesday, January 7, 2009
Twelfth Night (and Carnival begins)
It was raining lightly when my sister, her husband, and I arrived at the Canal Street streetcar barn about 6:15-ish pm to witness and participate in the first parade of Carnival, the Phunny Phorty Phellows, who use streetcars as floats. Originally founded way back in 1878, the PPP paraded only 20 years before disbanding. The group was "revived" in 1981 by local Carnival history buffs needing an excuse to party. Who cares? It's great to have this fun, public event to kick off the Carnival season.
A brass band, the Storyville Stompers, was playing swinging trad tunes, and about 100 costumed revelers were milling about, drinking champagne and munching little purple, green, and gold pastries from Sucre on Magazine Street, instead of kingcake. (Ever notice that during Carnival, folks masked and dressed for the season are always described as "costumed revelers"?) Joining the members of PPP were members of the general public, bringing the total number of people under the shelter of the barn to around 150-200. (Thank goodness for the barn, since after we arrived, it began to really pour. Unlike traditional parades with papier maché floats, PPP never has to worry about the weather -- streetcars roll in almost any kind of conditions.)
People were dancing or shimmying to the music, and there was LOTS of kissing -- in New Orleans, we do not air-kiss, we actually KISS on greeting -- folks happily saying, "Happy Carnival!" or even "Happy Mardi Gras!" to each other. (Strictly speaking, it's not correct to say "Mardi Gras" until the actual day, but at this point, it is a distinction without a difference.) Roughly 20 minutes or so after we arrived, there was the "official" ribbon-cutting to symbolize the official start of Carnival; then the wide purple, green, and gold ribbon was cut into 4-inch sections to distribute to the crowd. "Wear it on your Mardi Gras costume to prove you were at the start of it all," advised the PPP member who gave me and my sister our pieces. We nodded solemnly.
After the ribbon-cutting, there was more music, more dancing, more drinking, more milling about and kissing. Another Phellow had a bag of special medallion beads that he was selectively handing out; I'm proud to say that I got one. The medallion pictured the front of a streetcar with a driver and two costumed members of the Phunny Phorty Phellows visible in the front window. Interestingly, the name of the krewe does not appear. I guess you just have to know.
The "theme" of the krewe this year was a tribute to Zulu, which celebrates its 100th anniversary this year -- but you certainly could not tell that from the costumes of the riders, which tended towards the political and the current. We saw several "Mission Accomplished" Bushes in flight suits, and lots of hobos labelled "Wall Street" or "Made-off."
Somewhere in the general neighborhood of 7 pm (the announced start time), the Phellows began boarding the streetcar, which had been heavily decorated, but only on the inside, which was only sensible, given the conditions. It seemed impossible that the whole costumed krewe could fit into the streetcar, but somehow they all did (some had to stand -- I wonder under what rubric a PPP member is designated to sit or stand during the ride?). Beads were flying, hands were waving, the band (ensconced in the aft end of the streetcar) were playing, and they were off, in the rain, undaunted.
And thus Carnival 2009 begins, with revelry, fanfare, joy, music -- and a little rain.
A brass band, the Storyville Stompers, was playing swinging trad tunes, and about 100 costumed revelers were milling about, drinking champagne and munching little purple, green, and gold pastries from Sucre on Magazine Street, instead of kingcake. (Ever notice that during Carnival, folks masked and dressed for the season are always described as "costumed revelers"?) Joining the members of PPP were members of the general public, bringing the total number of people under the shelter of the barn to around 150-200. (Thank goodness for the barn, since after we arrived, it began to really pour. Unlike traditional parades with papier maché floats, PPP never has to worry about the weather -- streetcars roll in almost any kind of conditions.)
People were dancing or shimmying to the music, and there was LOTS of kissing -- in New Orleans, we do not air-kiss, we actually KISS on greeting -- folks happily saying, "Happy Carnival!" or even "Happy Mardi Gras!" to each other. (Strictly speaking, it's not correct to say "Mardi Gras" until the actual day, but at this point, it is a distinction without a difference.) Roughly 20 minutes or so after we arrived, there was the "official" ribbon-cutting to symbolize the official start of Carnival; then the wide purple, green, and gold ribbon was cut into 4-inch sections to distribute to the crowd. "Wear it on your Mardi Gras costume to prove you were at the start of it all," advised the PPP member who gave me and my sister our pieces. We nodded solemnly.
After the ribbon-cutting, there was more music, more dancing, more drinking, more milling about and kissing. Another Phellow had a bag of special medallion beads that he was selectively handing out; I'm proud to say that I got one. The medallion pictured the front of a streetcar with a driver and two costumed members of the Phunny Phorty Phellows visible in the front window. Interestingly, the name of the krewe does not appear. I guess you just have to know.
The "theme" of the krewe this year was a tribute to Zulu, which celebrates its 100th anniversary this year -- but you certainly could not tell that from the costumes of the riders, which tended towards the political and the current. We saw several "Mission Accomplished" Bushes in flight suits, and lots of hobos labelled "Wall Street" or "Made-off."
Somewhere in the general neighborhood of 7 pm (the announced start time), the Phellows began boarding the streetcar, which had been heavily decorated, but only on the inside, which was only sensible, given the conditions. It seemed impossible that the whole costumed krewe could fit into the streetcar, but somehow they all did (some had to stand -- I wonder under what rubric a PPP member is designated to sit or stand during the ride?). Beads were flying, hands were waving, the band (ensconced in the aft end of the streetcar) were playing, and they were off, in the rain, undaunted.
And thus Carnival 2009 begins, with revelry, fanfare, joy, music -- and a little rain.
Monday, December 29, 2008
Christmas with Aaron Neville
(I meant to post this soon after the concert, but with a couple of pastoral emergencies in my congregation, all the details of the Christmas Eve service to take care of, and preparing for the Holiday Open House Party Big Man and I were throwing for the church and family, I ended up without a free 5 minutes to string thoughts together until right now.)
Sunday night, December 21, 2008
Along with about 998 of Aaron Neville's biggest fans, Big Man and I squeezed ourselves into the House of Blues Sunday night for a rare live concert. "Standing room only" does not do justice to the size of the enthusiastic crowd -- it was like Mardi Gras, or one of the big stages at Jazz Fest, folks were packed together so close that when you raised your arm to take a sip of your drink, you perforce brushed against another person, or possibly several. Until the concert began, you could clearly hear every word of conversations said in a normal tone of voice by the people immediately around you. Enforced intimacy.
Normally, I'd say I've outgrown this sort of thing. At my age and stage of decrepitude, I need more personal space and the occasional chair or bar stool to drop into to rest my poor busted-never-to-properly-heal left ankle. But this was AARON, who's performed about 3 times in the city since Katrina, and we had (or thought we had) free tickets from 'OZ, and I wouldn't have missed this for the world. So I strapped on a serious ankle brace, gritted my teeth, and went.
Turned out there was some kind of snafu between House of Blues and WWOZ about those free tickets. Somehow, word didn't get from the station to HOB, and we were not the only disappointed couple in the box office area. The girl behind the ticket window showed me that my name didn't appear on her comp list, and told me that House of Blues had not heard *anything* from WWOZ, and that the concert (of course!) was totally sold out. We trudged back to the car, and I phoned the station from the warmth. (One of the reasons I won the tickets in the first place is because I have 'OZ programmed into my cell phone. What? You mean *you* don't??) The harried volunteer alone at the station that night for her shift on the air knew from nothing, and couldn't help me; she said she had already said as much to the first couple who called. I was disappointed, and a little mad at 'OZ, but I was undeterred. There had to be a way.
I sat in the car and thought, and then rallied Big Man back to the box office. I spoke again to the girl at the window, telling her I was sure it would all be straightened out on Monday morning, so how about letting us in, getting our contact info as a kind of surety? She explained again that the show was not only sold out, but there was a capacity issue (like someone had called the Fire Marshall maybe?). I asked to speak to a Manager, and she said he was on the phone with the Marketing department, trying to straighten this all out, and I said we'd wait. When he came to the window, he was somewhat apologetic, and seemingly wanted to head off any tears on my part. (Believe you me, I certainly was ready to cry.) He said he was waiting to hear from the head of Marketing about our tickets, and invited us to stand near the box office.
Big Man was dubious about the whole thing, but he agreed to wait (glowering like a bear). A short while later, a reporter came by and got his free tickets for the concert, and noticed us there. We briefly recapped our situation, and he said, "Well, I've got 2 and only need one, so take this, and then you'll only need one more." We thanked him profusely. One down, one to go. We continued to wait. Another guy came by, and picked up his will-call tickets. He also noted our forlorn presence, and asked if we were waiting for tickets. We went over what had happened as quickly as we could, and he said, "I've paid for 2, but only need one -- I'll sell you one for $20, even though they cost me $35, plus the Ticketmaster charge." We hastily agreed to that, and walked to the front door with 2 tickets clutched in our hands. I tried to think of plausible circumstances where a man could ask a date to go to Aaron's Christmas concert and the date would not show. Bad break-up? Surely the other person would've waited til after the concert. Maybe they were coming in from out of town and got snowed in? That seemed more likely.
On our way in the door, we bumped (almost literally) into Jason Neville, Aaron's son, all dressed up. Jason greeted Eric and they exchanged a few words. (Big Man has worked with Jason on Russell Batiste gigs.) We then pushed our way (quite literally) into the concert room at House of Blues. Big Man bought us drinks, and we wound our way to a patch of floor that had good sight lines and could *almost* fit us. (Like I say, enforced intimacy with strangers.) The room buzzed with anticipation.
Around 8:40 pm, the musicians came onstage, Charles and Aaron, a drummer, a bassist, a keyboard, and another one of those totally amazing Japanese guitarists that New Orleans seems chock-full of. Aaron was in a tight-fitting T-shirt and jeans and sported a backwards Saints cap. He looked buff as usual, but his face seemed to have new lines, indicators of pain, maybe. As the crowd just screamed and screamed their welcome, Aaron stepped to the mike and said quietly, "For Joel," and the band swung into something like a retrospective of Aaron's solo career, beautifully arranged, astoundingly well played by the musicians, and Aaron's voice a gift of tenderness, passion, and sadness. I wasn't the only one there wiping away tears.
There were Neville Brothers hits, done Aaron's way, and new covers I hadn't heard before. Charles had some absolutely amazing solos, especially the trading off between him and the Japanese guitarist on "Yellow Moon." (Charles also did a knock-your-socks-off version of "Besame Mucho," a favorite for both Big Man and me.) That guitarist was so tremendous, in fact, that a couple of times, Aaron was moved to do air guitar -- something I had never seen him do in all the years I've been his avid fan. They did a group of Christmas songs, with the audience singing along on the chorus of "Let It Snow." Artie came out, moving slowly and with the aid of stagehands, to play keys and sing on a few numbers, the brothers grinning at each other. (Charles seemed to be in an exceptionally good mood, smiling wide, and at one point, so gracefully signing song lyrics in ASL that it looked like dancing.)
Then Artie left and Jason came on, and Big Man and I hollered his name, delighted to see him up there with his dad. (Jason's behavior and substance abuse had caused a rift between them in the past, and Aaron's calling him up to the stage that night seemed a validation if not a reconciliation.) They did a killer version of Bill Withers' "Use Me" (Aaron *loves* Bill Withers), and we hollered some more. A young couple near us was like, "Who is that guy?" and we were glad to fill them in that Jason was Aaron's son. We were so proud, you'd've thought that *we* were related.
Aaron did "Sarah Smile" in a particularly soulful and emotional way (we learned later from the Times-Picayune that Aaron is now engaged to famous New York music and sports-figure photographer Sarah A. Friedman, and all I can say is, she better damn well make him happy, and be happy living with him where he belongs, in New Orleans). He did "Ariane" which I hadn't heard him do in years and years, by that time I'm pretty sure all the women in the audience were melting into little pools of Aaron-adoration. (I know I was.)
Then it was over, and the crowd went nuts, screaming and stomping and pounding our hands together til the palms were tingly and bright red. We waved our hands in the air, making the ASL sign for "I love you" and hollered "We love you!" for good measure. They left the stage (doing the necessaries, getting bottles of water, whatever) and then came back out, to more screams, whistles, clapping, stomping, and so on. Aaron sang "Amazing Grace" and it was better than church and then "Good night" and then, for kicks, just like the Brothers used to do to end a night at Tipitina's back in the day, they sang a goofily soulful "Mickey Mouse Club Theme." More screaming, pounding, stamping of feet, waving of hands, and the night was over.
Big Man and I talked about our favorite bits all the way home, and in the days that followed. A wonderfully memorable night, that we'll always remember and treasure. One of our best Christmas gifts.
Sunday night, December 21, 2008
Along with about 998 of Aaron Neville's biggest fans, Big Man and I squeezed ourselves into the House of Blues Sunday night for a rare live concert. "Standing room only" does not do justice to the size of the enthusiastic crowd -- it was like Mardi Gras, or one of the big stages at Jazz Fest, folks were packed together so close that when you raised your arm to take a sip of your drink, you perforce brushed against another person, or possibly several. Until the concert began, you could clearly hear every word of conversations said in a normal tone of voice by the people immediately around you. Enforced intimacy.
Normally, I'd say I've outgrown this sort of thing. At my age and stage of decrepitude, I need more personal space and the occasional chair or bar stool to drop into to rest my poor busted-never-to-properly-heal left ankle. But this was AARON, who's performed about 3 times in the city since Katrina, and we had (or thought we had) free tickets from 'OZ, and I wouldn't have missed this for the world. So I strapped on a serious ankle brace, gritted my teeth, and went.
Turned out there was some kind of snafu between House of Blues and WWOZ about those free tickets. Somehow, word didn't get from the station to HOB, and we were not the only disappointed couple in the box office area. The girl behind the ticket window showed me that my name didn't appear on her comp list, and told me that House of Blues had not heard *anything* from WWOZ, and that the concert (of course!) was totally sold out. We trudged back to the car, and I phoned the station from the warmth. (One of the reasons I won the tickets in the first place is because I have 'OZ programmed into my cell phone. What? You mean *you* don't??) The harried volunteer alone at the station that night for her shift on the air knew from nothing, and couldn't help me; she said she had already said as much to the first couple who called. I was disappointed, and a little mad at 'OZ, but I was undeterred. There had to be a way.
I sat in the car and thought, and then rallied Big Man back to the box office. I spoke again to the girl at the window, telling her I was sure it would all be straightened out on Monday morning, so how about letting us in, getting our contact info as a kind of surety? She explained again that the show was not only sold out, but there was a capacity issue (like someone had called the Fire Marshall maybe?). I asked to speak to a Manager, and she said he was on the phone with the Marketing department, trying to straighten this all out, and I said we'd wait. When he came to the window, he was somewhat apologetic, and seemingly wanted to head off any tears on my part. (Believe you me, I certainly was ready to cry.) He said he was waiting to hear from the head of Marketing about our tickets, and invited us to stand near the box office.
Big Man was dubious about the whole thing, but he agreed to wait (glowering like a bear). A short while later, a reporter came by and got his free tickets for the concert, and noticed us there. We briefly recapped our situation, and he said, "Well, I've got 2 and only need one, so take this, and then you'll only need one more." We thanked him profusely. One down, one to go. We continued to wait. Another guy came by, and picked up his will-call tickets. He also noted our forlorn presence, and asked if we were waiting for tickets. We went over what had happened as quickly as we could, and he said, "I've paid for 2, but only need one -- I'll sell you one for $20, even though they cost me $35, plus the Ticketmaster charge." We hastily agreed to that, and walked to the front door with 2 tickets clutched in our hands. I tried to think of plausible circumstances where a man could ask a date to go to Aaron's Christmas concert and the date would not show. Bad break-up? Surely the other person would've waited til after the concert. Maybe they were coming in from out of town and got snowed in? That seemed more likely.
On our way in the door, we bumped (almost literally) into Jason Neville, Aaron's son, all dressed up. Jason greeted Eric and they exchanged a few words. (Big Man has worked with Jason on Russell Batiste gigs.) We then pushed our way (quite literally) into the concert room at House of Blues. Big Man bought us drinks, and we wound our way to a patch of floor that had good sight lines and could *almost* fit us. (Like I say, enforced intimacy with strangers.) The room buzzed with anticipation.
Around 8:40 pm, the musicians came onstage, Charles and Aaron, a drummer, a bassist, a keyboard, and another one of those totally amazing Japanese guitarists that New Orleans seems chock-full of. Aaron was in a tight-fitting T-shirt and jeans and sported a backwards Saints cap. He looked buff as usual, but his face seemed to have new lines, indicators of pain, maybe. As the crowd just screamed and screamed their welcome, Aaron stepped to the mike and said quietly, "For Joel," and the band swung into something like a retrospective of Aaron's solo career, beautifully arranged, astoundingly well played by the musicians, and Aaron's voice a gift of tenderness, passion, and sadness. I wasn't the only one there wiping away tears.
There were Neville Brothers hits, done Aaron's way, and new covers I hadn't heard before. Charles had some absolutely amazing solos, especially the trading off between him and the Japanese guitarist on "Yellow Moon." (Charles also did a knock-your-socks-off version of "Besame Mucho," a favorite for both Big Man and me.) That guitarist was so tremendous, in fact, that a couple of times, Aaron was moved to do air guitar -- something I had never seen him do in all the years I've been his avid fan. They did a group of Christmas songs, with the audience singing along on the chorus of "Let It Snow." Artie came out, moving slowly and with the aid of stagehands, to play keys and sing on a few numbers, the brothers grinning at each other. (Charles seemed to be in an exceptionally good mood, smiling wide, and at one point, so gracefully signing song lyrics in ASL that it looked like dancing.)
Then Artie left and Jason came on, and Big Man and I hollered his name, delighted to see him up there with his dad. (Jason's behavior and substance abuse had caused a rift between them in the past, and Aaron's calling him up to the stage that night seemed a validation if not a reconciliation.) They did a killer version of Bill Withers' "Use Me" (Aaron *loves* Bill Withers), and we hollered some more. A young couple near us was like, "Who is that guy?" and we were glad to fill them in that Jason was Aaron's son. We were so proud, you'd've thought that *we* were related.
Aaron did "Sarah Smile" in a particularly soulful and emotional way (we learned later from the Times-Picayune that Aaron is now engaged to famous New York music and sports-figure photographer Sarah A. Friedman, and all I can say is, she better damn well make him happy, and be happy living with him where he belongs, in New Orleans). He did "Ariane" which I hadn't heard him do in years and years, by that time I'm pretty sure all the women in the audience were melting into little pools of Aaron-adoration. (I know I was.)
Then it was over, and the crowd went nuts, screaming and stomping and pounding our hands together til the palms were tingly and bright red. We waved our hands in the air, making the ASL sign for "I love you" and hollered "We love you!" for good measure. They left the stage (doing the necessaries, getting bottles of water, whatever) and then came back out, to more screams, whistles, clapping, stomping, and so on. Aaron sang "Amazing Grace" and it was better than church and then "Good night" and then, for kicks, just like the Brothers used to do to end a night at Tipitina's back in the day, they sang a goofily soulful "Mickey Mouse Club Theme." More screaming, pounding, stamping of feet, waving of hands, and the night was over.
Big Man and I talked about our favorite bits all the way home, and in the days that followed. A wonderfully memorable night, that we'll always remember and treasure. One of our best Christmas gifts.
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