Katrina Dreams

Hurricane Katrina made landfall on the Gulf Coast 11 years ago this morning.  Not a surprise, I suppose, that my subconscious hit me with some strange ones last night.   I slept fitfully, waking every 2 hours or so before drifting on to some morphed version of the same dream.

First was feeling endangered in my own home here in North Carolina, thinking a burglar was downstairs.  Upon poking my head out of my bedroom door to investigate, the power went out, and I woke in that fearful, jarring state that only nightmares can bring you to.

Next, I was in my “new home”, an old apartment in a mysterious, nocturnal version of NOLA’s wonderful Audubon Park.  Just out the window was a beautiful swamp, purplish in the nighttime lighting.  My roommate kept leaving the windows cracked, which left me feeling vulnerable to intruders yet again.  As I worked anxiously to close and lock the old, warped, wooden windows, my subconscious shifted again.

This time, I was on the Gulf Coast, in the little hamlet of Clermont Harbor, Mississippi.  It was a family vacation spot for decades, and was largely wiped off the map after Katrina.  I had bought a beautiful, newly-renovated cottage on a square on the waterfront (there are no squares on the Clermont Harbor waterfront, and any building there would have to be “newly renovated”, to say the least).  I was trying to convince my parents, who were both still with me courtesy the magic of dreams, that I had made a good decision.  It was the nicest little house on the coast, and it was a deal!  I could work on my writing and art!  I could start a sideline eco-tourism business, putting my marine biology degree to good use!  I frantically tried to print photos and documents that my father himself had accumulated, trying to show them what a wonderful place it was.

Shift again, to a darker place, as my father was dying.  In reality, my mother died of cancer as a Katrina evacuee in Shreveport, and my father died of Alzheimer’s 10 years later… though he had never really been the same since Katrina and Mom’s passing.  In the dream, he suddenly became weak, and died right in front of me as I was going through the documents.  Then, magically, he “awoke.”  But we knew it was a quirk that sometimes happened after someone would die (in dreams like this), and that he only had a few more minutes to be with us.  He was now more simple-minded, not very communicative, similar to how he eventually became in the real world.  But he tried to communicate to us what was important:  the memories of people and places.  We spent this time, as in the previous incarnation of this dream world, going through old photos.  But this time, it was to assure him that we would preserve the memories.  We comforted him as he was dying (a second time in the dream), setting his mind at ease  that we would hold close and not forget what was important to him.  In this way, his spirit would continue on.

Last night, on the anniversary of Hurricane Katrina, I dreamt of vulnerability, water, loss, and remembrance.  I dreamt of NOLA and Clermont Harbor.  I dreamt of my mother and I dreamt of my father.

Not happy dreams, but not altogether sad either.  Dreams of memories, filtered through a surge of water and emotion.  Appropriate, I suppose.

The City That Care Remembered

The first post I ever made to this blog was about New Orleans, and Katrina, and the Saints.  Hey, they were about to win the Super Bowl!   As I sit here now, late on the eve of the tenth anniversary of Hurricane Katrina, I’m listening to WWOZ, the best radio station on the planet (don't ask me, ask Bob Dylan and Andy Warhol).  And, sacrilegiously, I’m drinking an amber beer that is NOT Abita*, out of my K&B Drugs pint glass.  I'll probably also spend some time seeking out beignets or Popeye’s tomorrow.  I'm pretty sure there's a study published somewhere which found that NOLA ex-pats like myself put forth upwards of 30% of our daily energy expenditure in a constant attempt at recreating what we were taught was “normalcy.”

And of course, as I swelter to the languid grooves of Dr. John and Galactic, my thoughts are on New Orleans.  At the moment, I’m thinking of the night of August 29th, 2005, watching CNN’s coverage from my home just down the coast in Pensacola.  We had experienced twin catastrophes in the prior few months, in the form of two direct hits from Cat 3s (Ivan and Dennis), so my own experiences had left me almost numb to it all.  But I was quickly, painfully, made to feel again, and to realize that what was going on in New Orleans was to be unprecedented. 

I stayed up late, becoming progressively more horrified with each word of correspondent Jeanne Meserve’s emotional, heroic, report, live from the Lower Ninth Ward.  Only able to broadcast audio, she’s choking back tears, and fear, telling of crying and screaming voices... voices calling for help from attics as the waters rise, as she moves through the rooftops in the pitch black, in a small boat.

People were drowning.  People in the neighborhood I was born in.  People in Lakeview, too, the neighborhood my brother lived (and still lives) in.  People by the hundreds.  My people.

I knew then that this was going to be far worse than the spate of hurricanes we in Florida had endured during the prior year.  Worse than Andrew, whose effects in Louisiana I felt first-hand, and whose tremendous Cat 5 devastation I saw weeks later in South Florida.  Worse than Camille, whose 190 mph winds (Cat 6 if there could be one) and 23-foot surge wiped my family’s summer vacation paradise of Clermont Harbor, Mississippi, off the map.  Worse, even, than Betsy, whose surge gave me my very first memories, as traumatic experiences are wont to do.  I can still see the view out the window of the attic we had sought refuge in, onto floodwaters that had engulfed the neighborhood.  I can still remember falling, toddler feet not quite finding purchase on the attic steps, into those same waters, as they took up residence in my home.  Not very long before Alzheimer's would steal such memories from his mind for good, my father told me the story of how we were rescued by a kid in a boat, days after the storm, and taken to high ground at the local school.

Unfortunately, many, many, more first memories (and some last) would be made the night of August 29th, 2005.  And yes, Clermont Harbor was wiped off the map, again. 

Change is inevitable.  Trauma is often a part of it.  Both of them shape what we, and the world, move on to become.  And so catastrophic change has shaped – and is shaping -- what New Orleans will become.  It’s happened before:  from the hurricane in 1722, which spurred adoption of the grid pattern we still see in the Vieux Carré today, four years after the city’s founding, to great fires later that century, to yellow fever in the 1800s, to the influenza epidemic of 1918-1919. 

Perhaps a catastrophe was the only way possible to make real change in a city known, and proudly so, as the one that “care forgot.”  Some have said this change is for the worse, some have said it’s for the better.  I know that the loss of large segments of mostly poor and black NOLA residents has and will continue to negatively impact the culture of New Orleans.  But I also know that there has been a tremendous upsurge in appreciation and conservation of many elements of that same culture.  You can call it Disney-fication.  You can say gentrification has gone overboard.  And there are cases to be made on those points.  But one thing that has been consistently apparent in every one of my many visits back since the storm:  Care has remembered.  

Nothing stays the same, much as we would often like it to.  But now, in New Orleans, people have remembered how to care.  On every issue.  On every side of every issue.  From the upswing in public interest to the influx of young artists and entrepreneurs.  From breaking backs rebuilding homes and neighborhoods to breaking down the doors of public officials.  I love the city that I grew up in.  But this part of NOLA is not like the one I grew up in.  And that is good. 

Another thing on my mind tonight are, well, two things – rather, two groups of people:  the hundreds who lost their lives (in New Orleans and on the Gulf Coast), and the countless thousands who have gone down, and continue to go down, to New Orleans to help rebuild.  From Brad Pitt and his Make It Right Foundation, to Harry Connick, Jr. and Branford Marsalis’ Musician’s Village, to the barista who told me recently that she was about to go on her third trip with her church group to help with recovery. 

While looking through my Katrina-related photos to post for the anniversary, I found the one at the top of this page, which perfectly brings together those two groups of people.  It’s an installation called “Remembrances of Katrina”, by New Orleans artist Mitchell Gaudet.  It was on display some time ago as part of a Katrina-related exhibit at the Presbytere, the New Orleans history museum on Jackson Square.  The artist stated that he wanted visitors to feel as if they were “moving up and out from being underwater.” Each of the 1,600 bottles held a prayer for those who died (in New Orleans), and the glass hands honored the many who came from around the country, and world, to help.  To me, this embodied the yin and yang of Katrina, the very worst and very best of the human experience.  Despite all of the bad things Katrina wrought, it also brought – and continues to bring – some good.

They say we’re made by our experiences.  Perhaps as time goes on, the good from Katrina will start to outgrow the bad, as New Orleans and the Gulf Coast grow beyond this disaster, and become better than they ever were before.  Those there see it, in fits and starts.  It’s a process, for sure.  But it is happening.

Everyone from New Orleans and the Gulf Coast -- even those like me who weren’t living there at the time -- measures the world Pre-K and Post-K.  The question is:  will the Post-K era be better than the Pre-K one?  I hope, I believe, that it will be.

(*So sue me... I couldn’t find Abita Amber this week!  But I’m starting to think the Dos Equis gives me headaches.)

New Orleans Lady

As I've mentioned here before, my goal has always been to use this blog to write about more than just music.  It being Mother's Day -- and almost 10 years since my own Mom died as an evacuee from Hurricane Katrina -- I realized that I've never published the piece I wrote about my Mom here on How Strange It Is...  I've always meant to.  I've written about New Orleans a little, about my son, autism, and my Dad.  Family and New Orleans... those have probably been the two most important things on my life.  This piece pulls them both together.  And of course, it's still a little about music (as it would have to be, given the subject).  Happy Mother's Day Mom, wherever you are.

My mother, Carol Chatelain Guerin, was merely one of countless individuals whose lives were affected when Hurricane Katrina devastated New Orleans.  But my mother’s life in New Orleans was as much a personification of this city as anyone’s.  A Catholic mother of four, she graduated from Mount Carmel High in 1957, worked at D.H. Holmes on Canal Street, and married a Tulane graduate.  Of course, it was music that brought them together.  She was a young piano player, and he was a singer who performed in many a show with his deep baritone.  It was after one of his shows that she introduced herself to him, so impressed was she with his performance.  I seem to also recall hearing of wild post-show parties at the Napoleon House, and dancing on the tables. 

While New Orleans can be a wild city, awash with music and parties, she is also undoubtedly a Lady… a mother and a creator.  My mother took her role as a New Orleans Lady to heart.  She was a masterful creator of food, family, and joie de vivre.  With the rekindling of her Catholic faith, she sometimes worried about her imperfections.  But no one among us is perfect, and imagine how lifeless New Orleans would be without its “imperfections”.  She was, however, so perfect in so many ways.   She was loyal and faithful to a fault, and worked through whatever difficulties life threw at her with grace and strength.  She had a stellar track record as a mom -- going “4 and 0” with her kids -- raising a neurosurgeon, a dentist, a scientist, and a teacher.  Her example has resulted in four wonderful families, and 10 grandchildren who will impact the world in countless positive ways that cannot be underestimated.  They are, rightfully so, her pride and joy. 

In her spare time, Mom used a masterful green thumb to cultivate a menagerie of plants, the likes of which could only thrive under her delicate care and in New Orleans’ steamy clime.  She also thrived in the city’s steamy clime.  If she wasn’t in the garden of her West Bank home, she was tearing up the tennis court, or walking around the French Quarter enjoying some festival or other.  In recent years, just downriver from the Quarter, she had become somewhat of a fixture herself.  She was the Saturday “headliner” in the piano bar of a little Faubourg Marigny establishment, Feelings Café D'Aunoy (my father often providing vocals). 

Before Hurricane Katrina hit, my mother evacuated to safer ground, along with my father, Roland Joseph Guerin, and a million other New Orleanians.  In their case, they traveled up to Shreveport, to take refuge in the loving home of my father’s brother Wilfred, and his wife Wilda (for which I will be eternally grateful). 

Although she was never able to return (except of course in spirit), my mother’s imprint on New Orleans will be felt for generations.  In this small way, she may even help this great city to live on.  It lives on in her children, her children’s children, and the traditions and values that she has passed onto them. They will always remember their deep New Orleans roots, imparted to them by Granny, Papá, and by the sheer scope of family history, which has paralleled the city’s growth from its earliest times.  New Orleans will live on in the memories that her many friends have shared with her there, adding to its magical aura and to their impression of it.  It will live on in the thousands of people throughout the country, if not the world, who retain a memory of that one steamy night, listening to the piano in a beautiful courtyard in the Marigny. 

            In the same way that my mother’s life has added to the anthology of New Orleans traditions and memories, New Orleans will perpetuate her spirit.  When anyone she ever knew sits in a misty garden and hears the rain pattering on leaves, or soaks in the atmosphere of a small bistro, or once again enjoys café au lait and beignets at Café du Monde, she will be there.   No matter where they may end up or what they may do, her children and grandchildren will always remember the New Orleans Lady that was Granny.  They will remember the piano, the crazy Mardi Gras hats and glasses, the toy robots, the grillades, and the turkey gumbo.  They will remember walks through Audubon Zoo, the swamp, and the Quarter.  But mostly, they will remember the love, and the love of life that, like her city, she has always embodied and imparted to others. 

Before Hurricane Katrina hit, my mother had been fighting her own storm.  Lung cancer had recurred some months earlier, and had spread to her brain a few weeks before the evacuation.  Shortly after arriving at the sanctuary of my aunt and uncle’s home, her condition worsened, and she moved into a nearby hospice for better care.  My father, family and friends were with her every day.  My brother and his family were there day in and day out, despite their own incredible loss (their home was four houses from the levee breech in Lakeview, and they were forced to relocate to Shreveport as well).  In this hospice, appropriately named Grace Home, my mother lived out her remaining days, as gracious and strong as she always had been throughout her life. 

Carol Chatelain Guerin died in Shreveport, Louisiana, on October 27^th, 2005. 

Some say New Orleans died on August 29^th, 2005.  But New Orleans will live on, through her people and their families.  Perhaps in a different form, sometimes even in a different place… but it will live on.  Likewise, my mother will live on… through her family, and through the city.  She will live on through memories made in this wonderful place, a place made more wonderful by her presence. 

I know that my mother has gone to a better place.  My hope is that New Orleans will end up in a better place as well, and I believe my mother’s life has added to that goal.  I know that she has certainly made the world a better place.  

And the River Rolls On - Essence Fest 2013

I was visiting my hometown, New Orleans, July 4th week, and figured I'd check out some music while in town.  While I did see a great band at the wonderful Spotted Cat in the Marigny, the musical highlight of the week turned out to be more of a family affair.

Essence Fest, for those who don't know, is the largest event celebrating African-American culture and music in the US; sort of a SXSW for the R&B crowd.  To give you an idea, Beyonce headlined at the Superdome this year.  The main concerts are at the 'Dome, but events are held all around town during the week.  Not being too big into R&B, a little into jazz, it was somewhat of a surprise that I'd be watching my nephew, Eliot Guerin, take the stage at Essence Fest.  It was even more of a surprise that he'd be trading keys with a celebrity.

Now, he didn't play the Superdome, of course.  But on July 4th, the festival held a large outdoor "Family Reunion Day" which took up all of Woldenburg Park on the riverfront, and featured its own music:  Biz Markie and Doug E. Fresh among others on the bigger stages.  But there was a smaller stage set up, at which my nephew and some friends had arranged a gig for an impromptu jazz combo they had set up.

I already knew my nephew was a damn good piano player. He studies jazz at NOCCA (New Orleans Center for the Creative Arts), and he gets better every time I see him play.  He's already at least comparable to a young kid named Harry Connick, Jr., whom I saw play at my company's Christmas dinner when he was about Eliot's age (17).  But his bandmates, most current or recent products of the NOCCA jazz department, were each accomplished in their own right - drummer Darryl Staves (18) is going to Berklee College of Music, LaTasha Bundy on trumpet studies jazz at Tulane, Noah Albright (17) was on bass, Jeffery Miller (17) on trombone, and Morgan Guerin (16) on sax.  Morgan is the son of noted NOLA bassist Roland Guerin, who is - as far as I know - no relation to my dad of the exact same name (or Eliot, or me)... but hey, it was Family Reunion Day!  

So listening to great music by a bunch of young jazz cats on the riverfront in NOLA was good enough for me on this steamy July 4th.  But then Davell Crawford showed up. Crawford is known as the Piano Prince of New Orleans, "the embodiment of every New Orleans music legend that has ever lived, from Jelly Roll Morton to Dr. John, from Mahalia and Satchmo, to James Booker and Professor Longhair, all rolled up into one musical ball of fire". 

This kind of thing happens in New Orleans, you understand.  Just the other night (a couple of nights before he played an ampitheater here in the Triangle), Robert Plant showed up and did an impromptu set at BJ's, a local dive in the Big Easy.

So Crawford shows up, chillin' with blonde mohawk and stars & striped shorts, befitting the day.  He watches the kids for awhile, and then asks to sit in.  The fun begins.  He works the crowd, sings along, and starts trading keys with my nephew!  They take turns, Eliot takes it in, and shows a little of his own stuff.  Davell gives each member a chance to solo and shine.  He's a big benefactor of music education, and has made appearances at various jazz camps around town.  But this was no humdrum school exercise.  It was an on-the-fly jam session, as no doubt Davell often took part in with his elders -- his family -- when he was coming up.  He talked about how this was what jazz was all about, a bunch of people who didn't even know each other, some very young, some older, gettin' together and makin' it happen... just jamming.  

Then, it got really good.  Crawford called out: "Might-aaayy cooty fiyo!"  The opening chant to the Mardi Gras Indian classic Indian Red.  After a mixed response, he called again:

"Might-aaayy cooty fiyo!!"

To which some in the crowd responded (not sure if I'm getting this right, as there are many variations):

"Hey la hey, hey la hey!"

And Crawford continued:

"Here come the Big Chief, Big Chief, 

Big Chief of the Nation

Wild, wild creation

He won't bow down, down to the ground

Oh how I LOVE to hear him call Indian red!"

After the chant, he challenged the band, saying "everybody from NOLA should know how to play this song", then slipped behind the keyboard and dove into the classic, Iko Iko! 

Oh, you know that song.  Even if you're NOT from New Orleans.  

But see, Davell Crawford KNOWS that song.  His grandfather was James "Sugar Boy" Crawford, who was responsible for the classic Jock-A-Mo (aka Iko Iko) in 1954.  So when I say this was an impromptu jam/lesson just like the lessons Crawford probably had growing up, I mean EXACTLY like the lessons he had growing up:  same song, same place, same damned bloodline...  but with new blood.    

And this band of young artists clearly DID knew how to play this song (and everything else they played that day), trading rhythms and solos with a New Orleans jazz great, giving as good as they got.  Davell even gave up his seat to Eliot, letting him close it out on keys!  (video below)

So what I'd expected was a little outing to see family and take in the Quarter on my last day in town.  What I got instead was an improvised melding of old and new, modern and traditional, by a group of very talented musicians doing their thing along the shores of the Mighty Mississippi, among a sea of families, food, culture, and in the sweltering heat.  

Pretty much what's been going on in New Orleans for centuries.  

Tradition continues, right before our eyes, and moves forward.  The vibes and the heart and the soul pass on.  The lifeblood of a nation, generations old, picks up and mixes with the flotsam and jetsam of new generations.  And the river flows downstream.  

On the Anniversary of Katrina, and the Birthday of Isaac

As my hometown New Orleans gets it's most direct hit since "the Thing" (as NOLA Pulitzer Prize-winning NOLA author Chris Rose called Katrina), ironically on that event's 7th anniversary, I find myself contemplating my own history as a hurricane survivor. 

I'm just realizing that I've had direct experience with several of the very worst hurricanes in US history.  I've felt the only two Category 5 hurricanes to ever hit:  Camille from a distance in NOLA as it slammed Mississippi with 190mph winds, and Andrew when it came up to Louisiana, still packing Cat 2 winds at my house in Baton Rouge, 100 miles inland.  I visited both the Mississippi Gulf Coast and Miami days after each of those storms wiped communities off the map.  I still remember the pile of debris in Homestead that seemed 10 stories tall.  I remember driving through Mississippi pine forests -- whole forests -- where every tree was bent at a 45-degree angle... a Seussian nightmare. 

I was rescued by boat from my home in the 9th Ward when I was only 3, by a young boy/guardian angel who took us to the local school.  No, I'm not 10 years old!  I'm talking Cat 4 Betsy, the worst in NOLA until K.  Here are my very earliest memories:  falling down in the stairs from the attic into the floodwater on the first floor, and looking out the attic window at the ocean in our neighborhood.  This is the history that informed who I was to become, as is the case with everyone else from a Gulf Coast town. 

The education continued into adulthood.  My first hospitalization resulted from surgery made necessary by the clearing of tree debris (chunks of giant oaks) that had "settled" onto my front yard after category 3-4 Ivan landed a direct hit to my home of Pensacola.  That was the first time I saw an interstate taken out by a storm, the I-10 bridge blocks from my house (a feat Katrina would repeat in NOLA a year later).  Now, that long, nervous night in the closet will probably serve as my son's earliest memories, informing who he becomes. 

We were smart and left for Dennis, which graciously provided us with a second direct hit from a Cat 3 in less than 10 months.  No one remembers Dennis, since he was so small, but CNN repeatedly re-broadcast Anderson Cooper watching the sign at my neighborhood Holiday Inn collapsing in front of him.  Then, just a month and a half later, came Katrina.  I felt in in Pensacola, but nothing like my family and countless others just to the west.  My brother lived -- still lives -- 4 houses from the big levee breech in Lakeview.  Luckily, they evacuated, as did the vast majority of New Orleanians.  But a flash flood made its home in their living room, and relegated them to the impromptu diaspora of scattered WhoDats, only to return to the comforts of a FEMA trailer after months in exile.  I resumed my tree removal service weeks after the storm, for my father, as he moved back to NOLA a widower.  My mother had died as an evacuee in Shreveport, never able to return to her beloved home.  We couldn't hold a proper funeral for her.  We held a memorial service many months later, when the city was safe and most had returned, and interred her ashes at historic St. Louis Cemetery No. 2.  Literally and figuratively, she now rests as part of New Orleans' history.

It is with no sense of narcissism that I relate these events.  That horrible fall 7 years ago, hundreds of thousands went through worse than the sum total of my experiences.  If anything, this is simply a cheap therapy for what is a sort of "barometrically-induced PTSD".  But these experiences have fostered in me an even greater appreciation for the capriciousness of life, and the awesomeness of nature, which I already had.  While they were a source of some excitement in my youth, they have since since revealed their true faces to me: tragedy and history and resilience.  This night, as little Isaac continues to batter NOLA with high winds and rain (and taking its good ole' damned time about it, I might add!), those in the path are calm, collected, and even better prepared than the last time.  And contrary to some opinion, they were very prepared for Katrina, and handled one of the worst man-made* catastrophes in US history with fierce determination and self-sufficience. 

Tonight, those in New Orleans are steeling themselves, protecting their children, rolling with the punches, and planning to pick up the pieces.  I guess that really sums up how we should all live our lives.  Perhaps that's what my own hurricane experiences have taught me. 

(photos by Mario Tama)

* Yes, man-made, not natural.  Most of the flooding has been unequivocally shown to be the result of catastrophic design failure of the floodwalls, a fact to which the Army Corps of Engineers has admitted.  To those who say "But why live below sea level?"  I would respond "Why live in the air?  Engineers design and build skyscrapers so that you can.  If they fall, you don't blame gravity."

Crystal Bright and the Silver Hands / Dirty Bourbon River Show (Motorco Garage Bar, Durham, 1/13/12)

I love it when you go to see a band -- this time, my hometown compatriots Dirty Bourbon River Show -- and in the process discover something entirely new and unexpected. In this case, as is often the case, it was the opening band. But it's more than just the musical excitement that comes with finding a new band. It's the more general revelation, yet again, that there are... simply... still... entirely new and unexpected things to discover in the world. Even after, personally speaking, a rough year or two. Even after a jaded life of way too many live shows and bands.

I enjoyed DBRS immensely, and there's more on them below. But I had listened to and read a good bit about them already. However, I had only just heard of the opener, reading about the show earlier in the day. Crystal Bright and the Silver Hands are from Greensboro, NC, and led by (again, as I had just read) "multi-instrumentalist" and "ethnomusicologist" Crystal Bright. So I expected something rather interesting, maybe a little staid, a pleasant warm-up to the raucousness that is DBRS.

Crystal started by teaching the crowd, then asking us to join in singing, a simple, falling, melody. It was the opening melody for "Especially Your Mother" (from the upcoming release, "Muses and Bones"), which the band promptly kicked into as everyone sang. So we were literally made a part of the performance from the very beginning. What a wonderful way to engage the audience! This instantly set the tone for a friendly, comfortable, fun night.

Her bio rattled off a plethora of instruments to be expected -- accordion, musical saw, a Ugandan harp called an adungu, piano, various percussive instruments -- with the concomitant international influences. But what was unexpected was her main instrument: her voice. And WHAT a voice!


After the show, she told me she was just finding, or had only recently found, her voice. Are you kidding me? Despite all of the interesting, complex, novel things going on with this band, Crystal's voice was clearly the focus. Think Kate Bush with an earthier, less artsy, and more worldly bent. Like Bush, she has range and demonstrates it. Also like Bush (but unlike many female vocalists with range), she uses it creatively in ways that don't sound like she's just showing off. Crystal's voice is captivating and mysterious.


Meanwhile, she was usually cranking on the accordion, or bowing the saw, to danceable Eastern European, cabaret, or Spanish-flavored melodies, or to dark fairy/folk tales. Also meanwhile, the "Silver Hands" were being just that. Diego Diaz playsed electric slide and an excellent guitar, notably on the long Spanish traditional song, "Malagueña Salerosa". On other songs, such as "Toy Hammer" (see video below, tuba player from DBRS sitting in), he played the slide like a theremin, and its eerie sound harmonized with Crystal's vocals, adding to the effect. The standup bass and percussion were great as well. I've seldom heard a bass make so many different sounds, from high "electric" tinklings to tuba-lows.


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Crystal Bright and the Silver Hands' show was a warm, welcoming, circus-like atmosphere, with a bit of a dark edge. Which could just as easily describe Dirty Bourbon River Show's performance immediately following... after adding a lot of brass (and a little drunken debauchery) to the mix.


Both bands had the circus/cabaret thing going, with DBRS sounding perhaps a bit more vaudevillian. Both bands reminded me at times of Paris Combo -- who, like Crystal Bright, also mix Eastern and Western European sounds in the blender. But DBRS brought that down-home jazzy soul that I miss so much from my home. They mixed older styles with New Orleans funk, soul, and brass to get the crowd on their feet.


The multiple singers' vocals ranged from downright operatic to a soulful sound remininding me of Tom Waits or NOLA's Alex McMurray (ex-Royal Fingerbowl, now Tin Men). A full brass contingent complemented sometimes multiple guitars, turning the night into more of a "rock/revival" show, not unlike those of NC's Holy Ghost Tent Revival, with whom they have been known share a stage or two (and, I'm sure, a tailor).



Their songs were often of women, and drink, and deals with the Devil... subjects so intertwined in that any one can, of course, lead to the other two. Late in the show, they encouraged a little audience participation of their own (though in a way more befitting their style). They quickly stomped out, then asked the audience to stomp along, to the thunderous intro beat to "Train Is Gone" (see video). We all happily complied. Near the end, their version of "Iko Iko" had me back home again.

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That's what both of these bands did for me, and the crowd... they took us to other times and other places, some real and some surreal. It was a great, somewhat unexpected, show to start the new year. While each band has released excellent CDs, you're really not getting the full experience unless you see them live. I'm not sure when DBRS will be up in these parts next, but Crystal Bright will be performing with dancers (a performance art piece of some sort) in early March, at FlowJo in Carrboro.

Holy Ghost Tent Revival - Local 506, 1/21/11

I'm finally starting to appreciate the local music around here a bit more. And by "local", I don't mean the locally grown indie/punk/post-punk/post-wave/whatever-catchphrase bands that are always integral to a local scene (and that I have always supported). But I'm talking about the local indigenous music.

Where I come from, that's jazz, and funk, and brass, and blues, etc. (I'm from New Orleans). There's no problem getting into that. It's the roots of everything. But so far, the "roots" music from these parts, either played in the purist way or melded with new sounds, hasn't caught my ear. At least not a specific act.

That was until I caught Holy Ghost Tent Revival.

Their show at Local 506 last week was a barn-burner. And the loyal (and packed) crowd proved it wasn't the first. This Greensboro combo bring all the elements of a good ole', well, tent revival!, to a rawk show. The tenor of their show reminded of days of yore catching local psychobilly punks Dash Rip Rock at their earliet hows in Baton Rouge... where so many broken bottles were danced and stomped upon that the floor ended up like sand. Smokin' hot roots music, with an ear to the past but blazing a path to the future. Banjo, horns, keyboards, plus the usual, melded punk, bluegrass, 1920s jazz, all into a downright hoe-down. They had the crowd in their hands, and sang along with them, to tunes like the rollicking "Getting Over Your Love" and the anthem of dysfunction "Alcohol"(see video below).

Stephen Murray acted the quintessential frontman, crooning wildly into the mic and switching between banjo, guitar and trumpet. Trombone and main trumpet filled out what bordered on Dixieland at times (especially when all 3 horns kicked in). The keyboardist was apparently an ex-member from long ago, filled in admirably due to the regular guy's illness. The band danced and jumped all over the place, along with the crowd (in what little room there was... I've seldom seen the 506 so packed).

In New Orleans, ever since the long-forgotten NOLA band All That first melded brass band and hip-hop to make "Brass-Hop" -- which Coolbone also promoted -- I have been a fan of such cross-decade (-century!?) hybrid bands. Galactic are perhaps the masters of that now, melding among other things, hip hop, Mardi Gras Indian, and straight jazz music into a funk-a-licious brew. But (apologies to the late Squirrel Nut Zippers) HGTR are the first NC band I've caught that are doing the same thing w/ the "local" music up in these parts.

More pictures, and video, below.

Never Forget: Hurricane Katrina, Five Years Ago Today

Five years ago today. I'll never forget hearing Jeanne Meserve's emotional report on CNN the night the storm hit, letting many people know for the first time just how bad things were. They were heroes, along with a handful of State Widlife and Fisheries personnel, local police, and firefighters, out there rescuing the few they could while thousands were stranded and hundreds drowned.

I'll never forget listening to my hometown drowned. And I'll never forgive the lack of federal response. These CNN reporters, and me, and anyone who was listening, knew then that many thousands were in immediate need of the most dire kind. They were DROWNING! I knew this. Anyone watching CNN knew this. (http://www.dailykos.com/story/2005/9/12/221834/305)

But apparently, Brownie, Chertoff, and yes Bush, were otherwise occupied. Can't blame them, right? They had TIVO. They could catch it later.

Yes, there was incompetence on the state and local level to a degree. Yes, they should have used their grant money and gotten radios that worked. Blah blah blah. But the newly written (after 9-11) National Response Plan explicitly provided for the Dept. of Homeland Security to take over all rescue and relief activity the moment they decided that it was an Incident of National Significance (triggering the Catastrophic Incident Annex to the plan), the moment it was clear that state and local authorities were swamped. I think we can all agree that state and local authorities were swamped. (http://www.firedupamerica.com/incident_of_national_significance (the link to the actual plan as written then no longer exists, as it's been re-written since; I thoroughly read it then and it DID say everything in this post).

So Bush stonewalling and trying to lay it on Blanco, saying she didn't formally request them to take over, trying to get her to sign over control of the LA National Guard: TOTAL BS! And I will go to my grave defending the evacuation (all other incompetence of Ray Nagin aside). It was much more efficient than FEMA predicted it ever could have been in a study done just a year earlier, and was the likely most thorough evacuation of a major city in the history of the United States.

The Republican-controlled congress at the time issued a report entitled "A Failure of Initiative" (http://www.gpoaccess.gov/serialset/creports/katrina.html) that, as anyone who was paying attention at the time would have, concluded that Chertoff should have declared an Incident of National Significance days before -- the Saturday before the storm hit as a matter of fact. This was the day Katrina ramped up to Cat 3 and the projection shifted to hit NOLA as a Cat 4 or 5. This was the day that National Guard General Russell Honore is on record as saying they were ready to move out and deploy IN New Orleans. This was the morning I called my parents to make sure they were getting outta Dodge.

If those in charge, at the federal level, had been at all competent and paying attention, hundreds who drowned could very possibly have been saved. It would not have been up to a few local officials (who had also lost their homes), and news reporters, and scattered New Orleanians who could get to their boats, to save thousands. Tens of thousands would not have sunk into anarchy and despair as the city flooded throughout the subsequent days.

And I won't even bring in the poorly (and federally) designed levee system.

Along with all of the victims, my brothers home was being deluged, as well as those of many friends and relatives, and my mother was evacuated, never to return, from her beloved New Orleans.

I will never forget this, or forgive this.

But I am so proud of the renewed civic pride in New Orleans, and of the way my hometown is rebuilding. It's not what it was. Of course in some ways, it's worse. But in many ways, it's better. I would urge anyone who can to visit, spend time there, and realize what we as a country almost lost.

(photo from Wikimedia Commons: http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/9/9f/KatrinaNewOrleansFlooded.jpg)