New Orleans: You Complete Me

Dear Mrs. Easy - or should I call you Mrs. Big? Mrs. Crescent? The Big Crescent, or, perhaps The Big Croissant as an homage to your French heritage. Speaking of French; fries sound really good right about now. Thank you French people for your freedom potatoes and wine and women with hair 'neath their arms. I appreciate it all except for your snooty Maitre'D with the shiny pointy black shoes. He can go to hell. And why do your women like to smoke so much?

That French girl in Inglorious Basterds is hot.

...but what's with the smoking, lady?
Her name is Melanie Laurent and that in itself is sexy.

I like her hat. In fact, I liked the hats that the women in New Orleans were wearing, it reminded me of when I was in France as a young man, searching for love in art galleries and clinging to the notion of having a romantic rendezvous at the top of the awful tower. The really amazing thing about that life changing experience in France is that it never happened because I've never actually been to Europe because I hate Euros -- not the people, the currency. It looks stupid.

faire tomber la pluie
"make it rain"

Honestly, I started this post on July 21st and it's now August 9th. I forgot where I was going with this and what I intended to write about. I have noticed that this is my 4th post about New Orleans and I should probably move on to a new subject. I'd endeavored to give a blow by blow recap of my trip to the birthplace of American music but an adequate use of language to describe what an impact this city had on me is elusive at best.

Ned Sublette is far more eloquent and, uh, published. Read this book:

Musician, musicologist and longtime New York resident, Sublette revisits his Southern roots and recounts a 2004–2005 pre-Katrina research sojourn in New Orleans in this blunt, eloquently humane and musically astute memoir—a worthy companion to his acclaimed The World That Made New Orleans, a music-laden cultural history of the city to 1819. Sublette delves into some quintessential dynamics of modern American popular culture—including racism and poverty as well as restive imagination and invention—through the prism of his childhood in virulently segregated, early rock 'n' rolling Natchitoches, La., and the fraught but idiosyncratic culture he finds in pre-flood New Orleans. If discussions of Elvis, early rock 'n' roll and hip-hop millionaires straight out of New Orleans's projects inevitably rehearse familiar narratives, Sublette carefully marks them out as part of a larger personal and social landscape. Sublette's sensitivity to the precariousness of a system that collapsed completely after he returned to New York is more than mere hindsight; his worldview dovetails movingly with his turbulent and alluring subject and its dogged rebirth.

Think the American Government has the best interests of it's constituents in mind when a national disaster strikes? Love or hate George Dubious Bush? Watch this:

Want an audio escape to the city from anyplace in the world:

http://www.wwoz.org/

Want to know what it's like to happen upon a brass band on Frenchman street? (Hint: An epic dance party erupts in the middle of a busy intersection)


A few random highlights of the trip:

• Walking down Frenchman street (akin to 6th st in Austin, TX; cultural epicenter of concentrated music venues in NOLA) hearing brass and drums pour out of every third door
• Noticing fliers posted for upcoming drum clinics by both Billy Martin and Stanton Moore (with Johnny Vidocavich)
  
  
  
  
• Bumping into Billy Martin (MMW) after watching Mike Clark & The Headhunters perform at The Maison
  

• Meeting Adam Deitch at Billy Martins excellent Drum Clinicli>

• Taking the ferry from Algiers to The Quarter and chatting with Stanton Moore who was on his way to do an interview with WWOZ, an instore performance with Galactic at the incredible Louisiana Music Factory, the drum clinic with Vidocavich, play with his trio at Jazz Fest and a late night show with Will Bernard and Robert Walter. I think he said he had 31 gigs in 7 days
  
  
• Seeing The Roots (with John Legend), Dirty Dozen Brass Band, The Decemberists (surprisingly awesome), Dr. John (best performance of the day) and Tom Jones at Jazz Fest
  
• Eating Beignets and drinking fresh squeezed orange juice at Cafe Du Monde the morning before flying home
  
  
  PAY THE HONOR BOX!
  
  

Go To New Orleans!
Thank you.

NOLA Jazz Fest Pictures

If you happen to be a fan of music, a performer of music, a purchaser of music or, simply a lover of music, you must attend this festival and the city of New Orleans. Oh yeah, the food doesn't suck.





























A plethora of more great pics to come. I'm tired of reminiscing -- I miss it badly!

NOLA Jazz Fest

I dream of earthquakes.

A vivid recreation of my familiar environment, complete with details a conscious brain would omit. Stunning and complex, a movie set created by imagination peppered with a dash of real-life trauma experienced a couple of hours prior. Fire and smoke. Helicopters and children rescuing infants. Extended family introductions. Climbing up and up and up only to find zip lines and explosions.

Thanks to the handy interweb, I was able to enter many of the keywords of the previous semi-paragraph into the Google machine. Upon striking the enter key, I found the meaning of life within .07 seconds (approximately 2.9 millions results).

Dreaming about earthquakes apparently means that I'm about to lose control and that my life is on shaky ground. It may or may not indicate that I'm worried about money issues. Whatevs. I'm never worried about money (I can't believe that I just paid $10 for a damn 20oz beer in the airport -- that's an entire six-pack and a big grab and maybe a tornado roller if they are on sale!) Yada, yada, yada... It goes on to say that I'm about to experience some spiritual upheaval and that I might be sexually frustrated (what?!?!)

Regardless of what lord Google tells me, I think I do have a pretty good idea of why that spectacular dream occurred when it did and what the meaning truly is. I think it means that my life is on shaky ground, and I'm about to experience some spiritual upheaval... and it's been a few minutes since I've had a girlfriend. HA! Take that, so-called dream experts with your crystals and incense and crazy cat lady friends.

I've made a few decisions in my life as of late. In no particular order:

DO STUFF THAT MAKES ME HAPPY.

What, pray tell?

1) Go to New Orleans Jazz and Heritage Festival
2) Spend the summer in Colorado, gigging, recording, being creative and saving coin. Maybe a camping trip here or there and a well deserved seat at Red Rocks for Soundgarden and The Mars Volta.
3) ROAD TRIP---->

4) To California. First stop, Carlsbad for 10 days of surfing, eating incredible Mexican food and spending time with one of my best bros and his soon to be bride.

5) Northward toward San Francisco. Detour to Napa Valley to hang with mom and consume massive quantities of salumi, sour-dough and vino. All al fresco, of course.
6) California Brazil Camp
7.1) Finally learn to read music well enough for a:
7.2) Cruise Ship Gig
8) South America (Peru, Ecuador, Brazil)
8.1) Carnival in Rio De Janeiro
9) KoSA Cuba
10) Resume the pursuit of learning a second language
10.67) Fail miserably
11) File bankruptcy and take a job in a tool and die shop tooling and dying
11.1127) Get mini-van

Ambitious? Yes. Impossible? No. I'm left to my own facilities with this grand plan. All that keeps me from accomplishing my self-made dream drum trip of a lifetime is, well, me. If I had a trust fund or $100,000 sitting in the bank, this all would be relatively easy. Of course I don't and what would be the fun and adventure in that anyway** I think I've figured out how to come across the money to fund my trip. It's simply a matter of winning the lottery and milking a lot of kittens.

I'll post blogs and pics and I'll provide running commentary along the way. I'll make fun of people but never as much as myself and I'll ALWAYS be talking about food -- even though I'm endeavoring to drop some 10-year old lbs before surf camp. Anybody that would like to join me along the way is welcome -- particularly if you are of the female persuasion. I'm not scary but I'm really, really, really uncomfortably creepy and I smell pretty bad most of the time because I think farting is funny.

No pics due to my slow internet connection at Louis Armstrong Airport in New Orleans, LA. Step 1, accomplished.

**If anybody to sponsor Damon's drum trip around the world, please feel free to contact me via pigeon courier. I'll accept cash and cash.

Orevwa