Returning

I've abandoned you. I'm sorry. But I'm back.

It's been a long time - since Mardi Gras. I have completed my spring semester. I've also embarked on a new path.

In March, I undertook a training program to be a licensed tour guide in the city of New Orleans, through the Friends of the Cabildo, a local historic preservation group. I will be part of their team of guides giving walking tours of the French Quarter. It's fun and it's also challenging.

Right now it is the weekday interim between the two weekends of Jazz Fest - officially called the New Orleans Jazz and Heritage Festival. This is a huge music and cultural blow-out; major national bands alongside local bands and players, food tents and vendors and booths for cultural groups, all arrayed out at the fairgrounds. I'm not a big festival fan, but what I like is how the rest of the city's cultural life is enriched by the presence of so many musicians and music fans during this time.

Yesterday afternoon I was treated to a performance by one of my favorite musicians, singer and songwriter Dayna Kurtz, at Euclid Records, with Robert Mache.

Last night at Vaughan's Lounge, a couple of bands rocked the house - Jamaican Me Breakfast and the Fortifiers.

Tonight is Blood Jet Poetry reading at BJ's Bar, and tomorrow Corey Henry kills it at Vaughan's.

Who knows what Friday will bring?

Having this much fun is exhausting!

Dressed to the dozens

Last night the temperature dipped down into the low 30's (Fahrenheit), and by midnight it was below freezing.

The cold and rain forced a reschedule of the St. Joan of Arc parade to this evening, but the revelry of Twelfth Night went on. Vaughan's Lounge threw its annual costume party. Costumed revelers entered for free, but if you were a costume scofflaw, you had to pay a $20 cover charge.

I wore a combination of odds and ends - a purple wig I bought last year for Mardi Gras, a mod-patterned tunic, black leggings and my witchy boots. At the last minute a friend lent me a mask, which seemed to put the finishing touch on things. I put on make-up for the first time in over a year!

The funny thing about wearing a costume is how well you recognize people you know. Some folks, no matter how crazily dressed they are, are immediately recognizable. Other people, you have no clue.

Last night two people who I see almost every day totally did not recognize me. Yet at the same time, another person immediately knew me. Later I asked him how he knew me when they didn't. He said it was my voice he recognized.

Other time, I had people come up to me and say hello like we were old friends, and I did not know them.

The band is the Storyville Stompers

And it's also an odd costume phenomenon that you can strike up a conversation with a stranger much easier when you're both in costume. Funny!!

I decided it was time to go when the tie-ribbons on my mask began to relax and the thing started slipping down my face, no matter how many times I re-tied them. Also at some point my wig started getting crooked and wonky. I finally plucked the thing off my head and called it a night.

This weekend is yet more revelry, marking the season to come!

I went down to the crossroads

The intersection of US Highway 61 and US Highway 49 in Clarksdale, Mississippi is said to be the legendary crossroads featured in Delta Blues musician Robert Johnson's famous song.

Not a lot is known about Johnson, but it is known that he lived for a time here in Clarksdale, and that  he possessed an extraordinary talent for playing the guitar.

Folks said his talent for playing guitar was so good he must have sold his soul to the devil for it - a notion Johnson encouraged, it being good for his popularity as a musician. Such a bargain would have taken place at a crossroads such as this one.

One Day on Lesseps Street

One of these days I'm going to get it together

Gonna buy a watch gonna get it together

Stop wasting time

One of these days I'm gonna get out of bed

I'm gonna turn off the TV

Gonna raise the dead

Raise the dead

One of these days when I fall in love

It won't fall apart like it always does

One of these days I'll forget about you

Take out the trash that's what I'll do

One of these days and it'll be real soon

I'm gonna kick some ass

Gonna clean my room

Sometime soon

One of these days I'm gonna touch the sky

Like that awful song

"I Believe I Can Fly"

I believe I can fly

One of these days you'll be so sorry

Sorry that you let it slip away

One of these days I just won't care

If you're sorry anyway

One of these days I'm gonna get it together

Gonna be on time

I'm gonna get it together

Stop wasting time

One of these days I'll accept the fact

I'm not getting any younger

And I can't go back

Can't go back

One of these days when I fall in love

It won't fall apart like it always does

One of these days I'll forget about you

Take out the trash that's what I'll do

One of these days I'm gonna stop saying one of these days

One of these days I'm gonna stop saying one of these days

One of these days I'm gonna stop saying one of these days

 - Jill Sobule

Listen to the song here:

My Indian Red

The Mardi Gras Indian tradition is an old one, and often overlooked by tourists. This amazing cultural world has usually been hidden away from the glitter and glitz of the big Super-Krewe parades; most of America didn't know it even existed until David Simon's TV series Treme introduced us to the character of Big Chief Albert Lambreaux.

The Mardi Gras Indian tradition is said to date back to the late 19th century, when groups of African-Americans formed both the Social Aid and Pleasure Clubs that still march through New Orleans today, and loosely organized "tribes" that masked in fanciful versions of Indian costumes on Mardi Gras Day. What people often tell you is that these suits resembling the headresses and garb of plains Native American tribes paid tribute to Native American people who sheltered runaway slaves; but scholarly research indicates that it's a little more complicated than that.

Sending them off easy

Last night in the Bywater, the 800 block of Lesseps Street was rocking. When we arrived at Vaughans, on the corner of Lesseps and Dauphine, there was a band playing in the front room. The band was fronted by Butch Trivette, an older man in a wheelchair, playing some serious roots music, country and blues. He was getting a little down and dirty with the tune "Who were you thinking of when we were making love last night?"

The ghost of Ziggy Stardust

Dozens of Ziggy Stardusts on Royal Street

This weekend, a second line parade was organized in the French Quarter to honor the late David Bowie.  It was a short enough parade; beginning at Preservation Hall, it wound a few blocks down to the Mississippi riverbank, then returned to the streets of the quarter to end at the night club One Eyed Jack's,

We were in the Quarter that day for celebration of our own, and to do some frivolous shopping. Mardi Gras is coming up and we need festival attire! It seemed like the perfect thing to do - buy silly stuff to wear, then parade through the streets and end with a drink or two. This time of year, everyone breaks out their best decorations, and the streets are glittering with purple, gold and green.

What a handsome dude!

We checked out the art galleries, and then had some lunch, Then we did more window shopping.

I was thinking of a costume in green, but I happened to have a red dress. So I bought a hat. What do you think?

Then we stopped in for a Pimm's Cup at the Court of the Two Sisters, an old-school Creole restaurant. I remember eating here with my parents the first time I ever came to this city when I was around eight or nine years old.

The Bowie second line parade would pass just outside the restaurant on Royal Street, so we found a place on the sidewalk and watched the gathering crowd.

The crowd began to build. We could hear the music and see the police lights, but it was impossible to see anything but other revelers.

Standing on the corner, we heard the parade pass us by, and never saw a bit of it!! There didn't seem to be a point in following it, so we changed plans.

It was good people-watching, but a French 75 in Antoines Hermes Bar seemed a better idea. Don't you agree?

The man who fell

Rock musician David Bowie passed away January 10, 2016 at the age of 69.

On October 20 and 21, 1972, David Bowie's Ziggy Stardust tour played the Santa Monica Civic Auditorium. Perhaps because the show was in the Los Angeles region, home of the music industry; perhaps because it was live broadcast on FM radio and became a much-coveted bootleg recording; perhaps because Bowie was a dynamic and striking performer; or perhaps because the combination of all these things, this concert in the shambling, crowded 3000-seat beach-side venue and the breeze off the Pacific Ocean, this concert has been noted as one of the most legendary shows in rock music history.

Los Angeles Times Rock critic Robert Hillburn wrote: "[Bowie] is a certified, genuine, guaranteed, blue-ribbon star."

Halfway through the set with its flashing strobes and glitz-rocking drama, Bowie brought it down, for an acoustic performance of "Space Oddity," followed by a cover of Jacques Brel's "My Death."

My death waits like an old roue'
So confident, I'll go his way
Whistle to him and the passing time

My death waits like a Bible truth
At the funeral of my youth
Are we proud for that and the passing time?

My death waits like a witch at night
As surely as our love is right
Let's not think about the passing time

But whatever lies behind the door
There is nothing much to do
Angel or devil, I don't care
For in front of that door there is you

My death waits like a beggar blind
Who sees the world through an unlit mind
Throw him a dime for the passing time

My death waits there between your thighs
Your cool fingers will close my eyes
Let's think of that and the passing time

My death waits to allow my friends
A few good times before it ends
So let's think of that and the passing time

For whatever lies behind the door
There is nothing much to do
Angel or devil, I don't care
For in front of that door there is you

My death waits there among the leaves
In magician's mysterious sleeves
Rabbits and dogs and the passing time

My death waits there among the flowers
Where the blackest shadows, blackest shadows cowers
Let's pick lilacs for the passing time

My death waits there in a double bed
Sails of oblivion and my head
So pull up your sheets against the passing time

But whatever lies behind the door
There is nothing much to do
Angel or devil, I don't care
For in front of that door there is, Thank You

Perfect Gentlemen take to the streets

Click any photo to "embiggen"

Today was the 25th annual Second Line parade by the Social and Pleasure club Perfect Gentlemen, accompanied by Sisters of Change, Extraordinary Gentlemen and Ladies, and the King of Kings.

It was a cold and grey Sunday, and the crowd was assembled at the corner of Canal and Rampart Streets, just across the street from the historic Saenger Theatre.

Bring in the new

Click any photo to "embiggen"

Happy New Year, everyone!

Last night The Heart Attack played at Vaughan's Lounge, scheduled to go on at 10:00 pm but really they didn't start up until after 10:45. No matter - everyone was having a good time. There were red beans and rice in the back room, and the drinks were flowing.

Katie May at the bar

We bailed out of there before midnight, and zipped up our jackets against the cold wind. All through the neighborhood, you could hear firecrackers and cherry bombs going off. Clutching our plastic go-cups from the bar, we walked to the Mazant Street Wharf on the Mississippi River.

 There was a crowd there already - neighborhood folks mostly, but also a couple of tour buses full of tourists, or maybe party buses. We clustered up to the edge of the wharf and looked toward the city lights upriver. The paddle-wheeler Creole Queen rolled by, its lights amber in the night.

At midnight, the fireworks started, bursting in the air and reflected in the water.

There on the pavement stood a huge champagne bottle - was it a Jeraboam? A Nebuchadnezzer? a Salamanzar? I don't know, but a man in a white linen jacket offered me some, hefting the thing up to pour into my plastic cup. It was real champagne, and awfully good, too.

(My son says the guy who brought the champagne "was on the party bus. And he was definitely on the party bus.")

Happy New Year!

Study hall

Taken with my Microsoft Surface-Pro

I'm settling in to the habit of school. Thursdays, after my first class ends at 12:15, I have lunch and then set up my little computer at a table in the casual bar-room of the Student Center. I can work here until my next class starts at 4:30.

The only draw-back to this has been the Muzak - they play a Pandora station with current, pop music that is so trite and repetitious it can drive you mad.  It's also so loud you can barely tune it out.

Today, however, it sounds like someone of my generation has commandeered the music. It's not deafening (thank you!), and it's a mix of late '80s early '90s metal grunge with a few classic British punk tunes (think the Clash, think Talking Heads.)

Bravo, kind sir, whoever you are!

Dancing in the Streets

 A second line parade is a uniquely New Orleans experience. I'm not sure anything like it exists elsewhere. One occasion for a parade is to close out a celebration, whether a solemn funeral or a joyous wedding, when, after the ceremony musicians and revelers alike pour out into the street. Another equally common occasion is the annual celebration of one of the many Social Aid and Pleasure Clubs, or Benevolent Organizations formed in local communities.

This Saturday was the second line of the Black Men of Labor. It convened at Sweet Lorraine's bar on St. Claude Avenue. We got there at the beginning, when the group was posing for photos in front of a huge backdrop. Dressed all in matching festive attire, the group was in fine form.

Misadventures in parking

We're still learning our way around, and learning what are the best ways to go where you want to go. Last night we learned a big lesson.

We were going to a club to hear some music in the French Quarter. The listing said the show started at 9:00. "Is the set really starting at nine, or is that when doors open?" I wondered, but we decided to try to get there by 8:45 just in case.

We drove our car from the Bywater to the Quarter, and got into a slow-moving jam on Decatur Street. It took about thirty minutes to go a few blocks. Unlike in Santa Monica, at least the street life around us was interesting to watch. Earlier that day had been the annual Red Dress Run - there were lots of revelers of both genders roaming around in their red dresses.

The parking lot was by the river at Toulouse Street. At the self-service machine we prepaid $25.00 for four hours - we knew it would be expensive, but this was an eye-opener. Still, it was close to the club, just a short walk.

On Bartholomew Street

Unlike past mornings, today the sky is overcast, with thunderclouds to the southeast. The dog and I have already been around the block, and are turning the corner at Bartholomew Street and Royal to head home when I see this person striding down the sidewalk waving her arms.

I stop, thinking she’s talking to me. “What’s he giving away on the corner? Is that scaffolding?” she says.

Listening to music again

 

It's a warm April night and I'm sitting on a vinyl-upholstered bar stool, wearing pajama pants, an Eileen Fisher camisole top, sneakers, and a cheap sweater from Target, sipping a mai-tai from a plastic cup.

At the Allways Lounge down on St. Claude Avenue in the Bywater neighborhood of New Orleans, it's nearly eleven, and we're partway through the first set. It's a CD release party for Dayna Kurtz's new album, and everyone in the place is transfixed by her voice as she sings.

Night out

Last night after work, I braved Los Angeles traffic for two hours and ended up at Walt Disney Concert Hall downtown.

I had a ticket for a Los Angeles Philharmonic concert - I actually had two tickets, but at the last minute [The Man I Love] was unable to attend, so I went alone. It may seem odd to do that, but I've decided not to let inconvenience keep me from doing things I want to do.

Farewell, Stranger

Musician Charlie Haden died this past week, on July 11th. His music has been a comfort to me, at times of loss of people I cared about.



It's only appropriate to listen to his version of "Wayfaring Stranger," to commemorate him.

Christmas tradition

The posting of my top favorite Christmas song has become something of a tradition at this blog. It's my favorite Christmas song. Ever. You can listen, and you can read the story that the song inspired me to write.

Christmas songs

Heard this song on the radio, while we were on the road to spend the afternoon with my husband's mother, my son's grandma. 



Merry Christmas, everyone!  I think grandma would have liked it.

Our hearts were singing

It felt like Christmas time.

Another favorite Christmas song of mine is The Pretender's "2000 Miles."

He's gone,
2000 miles,
Is very far.
The snows falling down.
It's colder day by day.
I miss you.
The children were singing,
He'll be back at Christmas time.
And these frozen and silent nights,
Sometimes in a dream,
You appear.
Outside under the purple sky,
Diamonds in the snow,
Sparkle.
Our hearts were singing,
It felt like Christmas time.
2000 miles.
Is very far through the snow
I'll think of you
Wherever you go.
He's gone,
2000 miles,
Is very far.
The snows falling down,
It's colder day by day.
I miss you.
I can hear people singing,
It must be Christmas time.
I hear people singing,
It must be Christmas time.

When I first heard this song, I thought it was about family and loved ones being far away during the holidays. But there is more to this song than that. The song is one of remembrance for deceased band guitarist James Honeyman-Scott, lost too young at age 25 in 1982. Another one of rock's lost.