Category: Books

“When did you become a citizen?”

We celebrated July 4th with a pool party at Alex and Laura’s home.  When I arrived, Kenny and the krewe were quizzing me about when I became a U.S. citizen – I couldn’t immediately recall the month or year, much to the chagrin of Kenny.  I was able to look up a picture of my certificate and report that it was on September 20th, 2022.  Kenny has promised to make sure this date is celebrated every year – fine with me, Kenny.

Once the ribbing about citizenship dates subsided, Thom and I advanced our idea of a monthly gentleman’s lunch.  It’s amazing how much fun the group was able to have establishing rules and bylaws around governing the monthly lunch group.  I’m looking forward to our first outing to Plume in Algiers.  We’ll vote on the group name and logo at this inaugural event, and then pick the location for the following month.  Each attendee is to make presentations on name, logo and next destination.  Here’s what I’ve worked up so far for name and logo:

I think the first meeting on July 18th could be quite good fun.

We met Denny and Anne on Friday for Happy Hour at Chais Delachaisse.  This is perhaps my favourite Happy Hour destination – the food and drink options and prices are so good.  We tried their octopus for the first time – served with some pineapple like Avo, so I suppose that is a more popular thing than I realized.  It was very good as expected.

Again the weekend was pretty quiet as we got ourselves organized for our trip to Scotland.

I started the massive, 900 page opus that is “Southern Man” by Greg Iles this week.  Here’s the online summary:

“A senseless tragedy
When a brawl at a rap festival triggers a bloody mass shooting in Mississippi, Penn Cage finds himself in a country on the brink of eruption. As the stunned cities of Natchez and Bienville reel, antebellum plantation homes are being torched and the deadly attacks are claimed by a Black radical group as historic acts of justice. Panic quickly sweeps through the communities, driving the prosperous Southern towns inexorably toward a race war.

A rising star
But what might have been only a regional sideshow of the 2024 Presidential election explodes into national prominence, thanks to the stunning ascent of Robert E. Lee White on social media, a Southern war hero funded by an eccentric Mississippi billionaire, who seizes the public imagination as a third-party candidate.

A country ready to implode
As his hometown devolves into chaos, Penn Cage tears into Bobby White’s pursuit of the Presidency and ultimately risks a second Civil War to try to expose its motivation to the world, before the America of our Constitution slides into the abyss.”

This story is almost scarily current given all of our election drama of the last few weeks.  I’m almost half way through and am most impressed by Iles’ capability to weave three or four main narrative arcs together in a cohesive way.  More to come in the next few weeks – the book is too heavy for travel.

What an amazingly laid back and subtle guitar riff from the amazing Lee Ritenour.  I have it stuck in my head for over a week:

I always enjoy the guitar tone and vocals of Snowy White:

And finally, the technique and guitar tones of Alvin Lee – beautiful:

Coexist peacefully with kindness and patience for all!

“Culture Week”

Book readings, an Opera concert, and the Paramount Jazz Band – what a lively week of cultural events.

The culture kicked off on Tuesday evening.  Kenny and Kara joined us at the Garden District Book Shop for a reading by Brian Fairbanks, author of “Waylon, Willie, and the Boys”.  Here’s the online summary of the book:

“The tragic and inspiring story of the leaders of Outlaw country and their influence on today’s Alt-County and Americana superstars, tracing a path from Waylon Jennings’ survival on the Day the Music Died through to the Highwaymen and on to the current creative and commercial explosion of Chris Stapleton, Brandi Carlile, Zach Bryan, Jason Isbell, and the Highwomen.”

This was a unique reading, in that Brian enlisted local musician Connor Donohue to perform songs after he read a passage about them from his book.  The event was well attended and the newly opened bar in the shop did a good trade.  A very enjoyable evening.

There was another book reading on Thursday evening – this time at Octavia books.  The shop was recently remodeled, doubling the space, and really nicely done.  The reading was by Jimmy Nolan from his book “Between Dying and Not Dying, I Chose the Guitar – The Pandemic Years in New Orleans.”

The title is somewhat misleading in that Nolan did not learn to play the guitar during lockdown – rather he posits that creative pursuits were the key to making the most of the time alone.

The book attempts to strike a common theme between the three pandemics that Nolan has endured – Polio in his youth, AIDS while living in San Francisco, and the Coronavirus.  The talk started out well – Nolan has led a very varied and interesting life around the world – but quickly bogged down in revisionist history, arguing the efficacy of various approaches to slowing the spread of the virus – six foot distancing, masking etc.  Diana said she would have liked to ask him what three key points he was hoping to share – given the rambling and somewhat disjointed talk.

I did read another of Nolan’s books this week – more later in the Books section.  We were glad we attended the event – this one even came with complimentary wines.

On Friday, I asked Diana to be ready to leave at 6:30pm for an evening of Italian stuff.  The details on the “stuff” were a closely guarded secret.

An Uber dropped us at the Piazza D ‘Italia for “Opera in the Piazza.”  I had read about this in the Offbeat magazine and thought it sounded like something Diana would enjoy.

We had a very pleasant evening.  Three hours of singing.  Here’s the program:

And a couple of songs:

Diana seemed to have a very good time.  Nor Joe’s was the main food vendor – some very yummy pasta.  These are the guys we used to cater our New Year’s Eve party.

Saturday took us to our regular spot on the grassy neutral ground at the Kingpin dive bar.  The band was a repeat from several weeks ago, the Paramount Jazz Band – the one I describe as French café jazz music.  The clarinet player is the leader of the band and always entertains me.

I enjoyed this video of Irma Thomas backstage with the Rolling Stones at Jazz Fest:

https://www.nola.com/entertainment_life/festivals/see-a-rolling-stones-jazz-fest-rehearsal-with-irma-thomas/article_08a6cb0a-0c9c-11ef-a69e-d75338c94409.html

My first book was “Broken Bayou” by Jennifer Moorehead.  This was one of those free Amazon reads, so I didn’t have very high hopes.  It turned out to be an entertaining murder mystery.

Here’s the online summary:

“In this debut thriller, a troubled child psychologist returns to a small Louisiana town to protect her secrets but winds up having to protect her life.

Dr. Willa Watters is a prominent child psychologist at the height of her career. But when a viral video of a disastrous television interview puts her reputation on the line, Willa retreats to Broken Bayou, the town where she spent most of her childhood summers. There she visits her aunts’ old house and discovers some of her unstable mother’s belongings still languishing in the attic―dusty mementos harboring secrets of her harrowing past.

Willa’s hopes for a respite are quickly crushed, not only by what she finds in that attic but also by what’s been found in the bayou.

With waters dropping due to drought, mysterious barrels containing human remains have surfaced, alongside something else from Willa’s past, something she never thought she’d see again. Divers, police, and media flood the area, including a news reporter gunning for Willa and Travis Arceneaux―a local deputy and old flame.

Willa’s fate seems eerily tied to the murders. And with no one to trust, she must use her wits to stay above water and make it out alive.”

Kenny’s Ninth Ward accent is apparently called “Yat.”  This paragraph made me smile:

“They ask questions all at once about living in a big city and how Mama’s getting along and why I haven’t been back sooner, all in slow rolling accents that sound more Brooklyn than southern gulf.  The Yat dialect, as it’s called in New Orleans.”

This was an entertaining murder mystery that read very quickly.

I did come across the most annoying phrases that I hear daily from entitled millennials – “Let’s grab lunch” or “I’ll do the shrimp salad.”  When did eating together become a “grab” situation rather than time to relax and slow down.  And who on earth “does” a shrimp salad.  I’m on a mission to stamp it out, but like so many other millennial challenges, it’s rampant.

Next, I read one of Jimmy Nolan’s previous books – “Flight Risk.”  This is essentially an autobiography, focused on the various countries and situations that Nolan has had to escape from in his very colourful and rich life.  Here’s the online summary:

“Flight Risk takes off as a page-turning narrative with deep roots and a wide wingspan. James Nolan, a fifth-generation New Orleans native, offers up an intimate portrait both of his insular hometown and his generation’s counterculture. Flight runs as a theme throughout the book, which begins with Nolan’s escape from the gothic mental hospital to which his parents committed the teenaged poet during the tumult of 1968. This breakout is followed by the self-styled revolutionary’s hair-raising flight from a Guatemalan jail, and years later, by the author’s bolt from China, where he ditched his teaching position and collectivist ideals. These Houdini-like feats foreshadow a more recent one, how he dodged biblical floods in a stolen school bus three days after Hurricane Katrina hit New Orleans.

Nolan traces these flight patterns to those of his French ancestors who fled to New Orleans in the mid-nineteenth century, established a tobacco business in the French Quarter, and kept the old country alive in their Creole demimonde. The writer describes the eccentric Seventh Ward menagerie of the extended family in which he grew up, his early flirtation with extremist politics, and a strong bond with his freewheeling grandfather, a gentleman from the Gilded Age. Nolan’s quest for his own freedom takes him to the flower-powered, gender-bending San Francisco of the sixties and seventies, as well as to an expatriate life in Spain during the heady years of that nation’s transition to democracy. Like the prodigal son, he eventually returns home to live in the French Quarter, around the corner from where his grandmother grew up, only to struggle through the aftermath of Katrina and the city’s resurrection.

Many of these stories are entwined with the commentaries of a wry flâneur, addressing such subjects as the nuances of race in New Orleans, the Disneyfication of the French Quarter, the numbing anomie of digital technology and globalization, the challenges of caring for aging parents, Creole funeral traditions, how to make a soul-searing gumbo, and what it really means to belong.”

Here he talks about tourists on a vampire tour, who are more interested in the sight of someone who actually lives and operates in the French Quarter.  This is after his rant on how suburbs are the “death of society.”  He may not be wrong in my experience.

“But the tourists aren’t starting at the balcony where the bloody ghost supposedly appeared.  Mystified, they are watching me at my gate, juggling a coat on a hanger, a bottle of wine, a bag of tomatoes, mail, and house keys.  I am the real ghost, of how urban Americans used to live.”

A small part of a long rant about the ineptitude of the local and national governments post Katrina:

“The city had at its disposal a fleet of public-transport and school buses, which should have been parked on dry over-rise highways to carry people out of the city in the event of flooding.  I grow impatient with city officials’ excuses about the lack of bonded drivers with chauffeur’s licenses, a cover-up, according to historian David Brinkley in “The Great Deluge”, to the unpardonable bungling that actually occurred: these officials couldn’t find the bus keys.  Impoverished Cuban and Mexican authorities routinely execute bused based evacuation of their populations whenever a dangerous hurricane approaches.  But in the city of New Orleans, the needs of those who fall outside of the able-bodied middle class remained invisible.”

Nolan did evacuate New Orleans three days after the storm, in a bootlegged school bus.

On a last Christmas meal with his mother:

“She wouldn’t be here long, so I’d hung spruce garlands and put on her beloved, scratchy LP of Handle’s Messiah that skipped.  We sang along to the Hallelujah Chorus, which I conducted with a wooden spoon from the kitchen.  As usual, her eyes watered at the solo “I Know That My Redeemer Liveth” as I was bringing in the caramelized yams.  “That’s my favorite part,” she said.  The next week she turned seventy-nine, and two weeks later was gone.”

I’ve heard “I Know That My Redeemer Liveth” in my childhood home many, many times.

Let’s start off with some excellent and funky music from one of Stevie Wonder’s masterpieces, “Talking Book”:

Some beautiful guitar from the very underrated Snowy White:

And finally, the reason that the “Chickie Wah Wah” music club has its name:

Coexist peacefully, with kindness and patience for all!

“Bachelor Week”

My continued bachelor existence started on Monday (Memorial Day holiday) with a walk and jog in the park.  I took a break to watch this entertaining guy trying to position himself for maximum sun exposure.

After the exercise, I joined Kenny on his porch for some lovely Amaretto iced coffee – very refreshing.

Going a bit stir crazy in the empty house on Tuesday, I decided to try Plume in  Algiers for lunch.  This is a very creative Indian place that got a good write up in the paper.  The restaurant is very understated – a house in a residential area just out from under the main bridge over the Mississippi from New Orleans.

I started with the Mushroom Kothu Roti – stir-fried mushrooms and chopped roti bread, goat cheese raita, and tarragon.  It didn’t look like a lot of food and so I ordered the beet fritters as well.  I was pretty full about half way through the mushrooms and only sampled a little of the beet fritter – great leftovers.

I love Plume – will be back soon.  Delicious, creative, great service and a very casual environment.

I was watching the Dallas Mavericks in the NBA playoff game on Tuesday evening, and decided I could nip out and catch an hour of Tom Hook at Dos Jefes and be back in time to watch the conclusion of the game.  Tom Hook is a human jukebox – such a massive repertoire.  Here he is doing Tom Waits and then Ray Charles:

As I entered Dos Jefes, Chris Henry, tennis coach and buddy of all the tennis boys was sitting right at the front table.  He’s a big piano player, and so I joined him and we had a good chat in between the music.  What a pleasant surprise.

Wednesday was sort of a repeat of Tuesday.  I drove over to 1000 figs Mediterranean restaurant by the Fairgrounds (Jazz Fest location) and loved the falafel platter and hibiscus tea that I ordered.  Best I’ve had in New Orleans so far.  The downside is the place is very small and seems to attract the loud sorority college girls.  Maybe better for take out orders.

In the evening, I experimented with the Joe Ashlar Happy Organ Hour at the Maple Leaf Bar.  I wasn’t sure what to expect, but Stanton Moore was on drums, the show began at 6pm, so it had at least two big positives.  As McD said after I shared a video clip with her, “Right up K alley.”  And it was, I really enjoyed the show.  Three excellent musicians playing completely in sync.

I stayed in on Thursday and watched the Mavericks punch their ticket to the NBA Finals.  A very impressive accomplishment given where they were earlier in the season.  Jason Kidd has done an amazing coaching job, and Boston awaits in the finals – that will be a lot of work.

Denny invited me to watch the new Mad Max movie, “Furiosa”, on Friday afternoon at the Broad Theater.  The boys and Alex joined as well.

I enjoyed the first couple of Mad Max movies so many years ago, and this one was just kind of silly and quite a bit too long.  Oh well, I was out of the house and enjoying the company.

We retired to Midway pizza after the movie and Kenny joined us.  Always a good time there.

I did some cleaning, laundry, and shopping on Saturday, prior to picking up Diana at the airport in the evening.  Her flight was delayed a bit, but nothing like the trip out.

Denny and Anne dropped off a gift from St. John on Sunday – a bracelet that comes with a code to download an app and track your sponsored penguin.

We really enjoyed the movie “On the Basis of Sex” – a biography of the early days of Ruth Bader Ginsberg.  What a well done movie – highly recommended.  We sorely miss her presence on the Supreme Court.

I was up late on Sunday and enjoyed “The Boys in the Boat” – a film about the 1936 USA rowing team.  They were the junior team from Washington University, and a huge underdog to even represent the USA – never mind winning the Olympic gold medal.  This was the same gathering where Jesse Owens made such a massive impact.  A bit slow and predictable, but George Clooney did a good job directing.

I don’t have anything to report on the reading front this week – too much time enjoying local music.

The inimitable sound of Mark Knopfler’s guitar.  He keeps turning out great music on a regular basis.

A Tom Waits song that Tom Hook covered at Dos Jefes.  Such great lyrics:

And finally, a Joe Jackson song with all New Orleans musicians, including Stanton Moore on drums:

Coexist peacefully, with patience and kindness for all!

“Birthdays and Graduations”

I dropped Diana at the airport on Tuesday afternoon, so that she could fly to California for Alicia’s graduation ceremony.  She had a very long day with flight delays and missed connections, but ultimately made it late in the evening.

I treated myself to a yummy breakfast sandwich from Gracious bakery, around the corner from our home, to kick off my birthday.  Wonderful fluffy eggs and biscuit.

Meanwhile, in the stadium at San Jose State, Alicia was graduating!

I enjoyed this video of Ben, Lilly, Madison and Petey celebrating:

Kenny and Kara took me to Irene’s in the French Quarter for dinner on Thursday to celebrate my big birthday.  This is a wonderful Italian restaurant, and I enjoyed a delicious drum almandine meuniere.  It was so thoughtful of these guys to take me out to celebrate.

After dinner, we had a cocktail at Peychaud’s and enjoyed their patio.

The evening came with door to door transportation included – always convenient to park at the Fire Station.

How about this birthday gift from Andy?  He’s getting really good with his improvisation:

We had been looking forward to the Bob Dylan birthday tribute on Friday at the Broadside for several weeks.

Sam Price, bass player for the Honey Island Swamp Band, organized the event.  All the folks in the poster played two or three Dylan songs.  This made for a great variety of styles and voices.  John Fohl (guitar), Keiko Komaki (keyboards), Sam Price (bass) and a good drummer who’s name I don’t recall, were the “house band.”  Kenny and Kara joined again, and unfortunately Thom (our biggest Dylan fan) was not able to make it.

Here’s a selection of video clips from the evening:

“I Remember You”:

“Knockin’ on Heaven’s Door:

A tasty John Fohl solo:

“Lay Lady Lay”:

“I Shall Be Released (with Tom Fitzpatrick on sax)”:

“A Simple Twist of Fate”:

What a wonderful evening of music by all those local musicians – it really took some work to pull it off so smoothly.

On Saturday, there was a special Jazz Funeral and Second Line to recognize those that couldn’t have a funeral during the peak of COVID.  I thought it sounded like something worth checking out, and so made my way over to City Park in the heat of the afternoon.

Kenny let me know that evening that I (or at least the rear view of me) was on the local news:

The procession was interesting with marchers followed by the To Be Continued (TBC) Brass Band and a couple of Wild Magnolias Indians.  It started with the jazz dirge (funeral part) and quickly transitioned into the upbeat second line dancing music.

I enjoyed “A Life Impossible” by Steve Gleason this week.  This is the book I got at the event across the street at the Garden District Book Store a couple of weeks ago.

Here’s an online summary:

“In 2011, three years after leaving the NFL, Steve Gleason was diagnosed with ALS, a terminal disease that takes away the ability to move, talk, and breathe. Doctors gave him three years to live. He was thirty-three years old. As Steve says, he is now ten years past his expiration date.

His memoir is the chronicle of a remarkable life, one filled with optimism and joy, despite the trauma and pain and despair he has experienced. Writing using eye-tracking technology, Gleason covers his pre-ALS life through the highs and lows of his NFL career with the New Orleans Saints, where he made one of the most memorable plays in Saints history, leading to a victory in the first post-Katrina home game, uplifting the city, making him a hero, and reflected in a nine-foot bronze statue outside the Superdome. Then came his heartbreaking diagnosis. Gleason lost all muscle function, he now uses Stephen Hawking-like technology to communicate, and breathes with the help of a ventilator. This book captures Gleason and his wife Michel’s unmatched resilience as they reinvent their lives, refuse to succumb to despair, and face his disease realistically and existentially.

This unsparing portrait argues that a person’s true strength does not reside solely in one’s body but also in the ability to face unfathomable adversity and still be able to love and treasure life.”

I loved this book!  The writing is so brutally honest and direct.  It’s hard to understand the vast hope and support that Team Gleason has provided to ALS patients in the last decade – over $40 million invested in research, and countless appearances at great stress on Gleason’s body.

I revisited “Spirit of Eden” by Talk Talk – what a tremendous and unique record from start to finish:

From that I bounced to “Sketches of Spain” by Miles Davis.  Probably the first time that I’ve listened all the way through and concentrated on the musical details.  Now I see what the fuss if about:

And finally, some Chet Baker, the best trumpet tone ever:

Coexist peacefully, with kindness and patience for all!

“Pre-Birthday Week”

Diana continued my “Birthday Month” celebration with the amazing Stanton Moore trio at the Columns on Monday night.  Three musicians that are at the absolute top of their game, just world class.  Here are a couple of samples:

All of this in a small room of a boutique hotel with great snacks and drinks.  Another Monday in New Orleans.  Thanks Diana!

Torkanowsky announced that there was a legend in the house.  Sitting just behind us was Maria Muldaur, “Midnight at the Oasis” singer.  Here’s some online info on her:

Her first solo album, Maria Muldaur, released in 1973, contained her hit single “Midnight at the Oasis“,^[5] which reached number 6 on the Billboard Hot 100 in 1974. It peaked at number 21 on the UK Singles Chart.^[6] Later that year, she released her second album, Waitress in a Donut Shop.^[5] This included a re-recording of “I’m a Woman“, the Leiber and Stoller number first associated with Peggy Lee and a standout feature from her Jug Band days. Her version of the song peaked at #12 on the Billboard Hot 100, and was her last Hot 100 hit in the U.S. to date. The title of this album is taken from a line in another song on the album, “Sweetheart”, by Ken Burgan.

Around this time, Muldaur established a relationship with the Grateful Dead. Opening for some Grateful Dead shows in the summer of 1974, with John Kahn, bassist of the Jerry Garcia Band, eventually earned her a seat in that group as a backing vocalist in the late 1970s. Around the same time Muldaur met and eventually collaborated with bluegrass icon Peter Rowan. The two became close, and she was chosen to be the godmother of his daughter Amanda Rowan. She appeared on Super Jam (1989).

McD had a good day on Wednesday.  Started with yoga and then pool time with Kara.  Does her face say she’s having a good time?

They took advantage of Merry Lee’s pool for the day.  Looks really busy.

Denny had invited me to a birthday dinner with his family before they left town.  Charlie’s steakhouse was the venue.  I had a great time there on guys night out a year or so ago, and so was really looking forward to it.  I had a haircut at Aidan Gill’s on Friday afternoon, and then put on a suit to dress up for my birthday dinner.

Charlie’s is a classic neighbourhood dive kind of place.  People have been eating here on a regular basis for 30 years.  I had warned Diana that they don’t have menus, they just tell you what they have to offer.  I also coached her that they likely didn’t have a dry, crisp French white wine.  Little did I know that all of that input was unnecessary.  The hostess led us upstairs and I entered a room with all of my best friends.  It was a bit of a shock and also a bit emotional.

The whole krewe (minus Fred and Kelly who were at a daughter’s graduation) were assembled.

I had a lovely time visiting with everyone and received some really thoughtful gifts.  The wait staff was exceptional – following me around with drink and food orders as I moved seats to visit with everyone.  This amazing Dauberge cake made it also:

What an amazing night with such kind and generous friends.  Nicely pulled off Diana!

If that wasn’t enough, Diana took me for a much smaller birthday dinner on Saturday night at Wild South.  The tasting menu at this place is very creative and always different.  It’s nice to have such wonderful food and service in a very casual atmosphere.

The first dish was a king trumpet mushroom with a light tempura style batter.  It was so fresh and flavourful.

That was followed by crab stuffed squash blossom – so creative.

Then a nice twist on shrimp and grits- with yummy heirloom grits.

Then a beautifully cooked trout.

And finally a poached peach dessert.

Thanks to Diana for another excellent meal.

My book this week was “Why New Orleans Matters” by Tom Piazza.

This is the best book about New Orleans that I’ve read.  It explains everthing that I love about the city.  It was written shortly after Hurricane Katrina and the loss is evident throughout the book.  Piazza moved here and loves the city deeply, for all the same reasons as I do.  Here he describes the power of Jazz Fest very well:

“Before I lived in New Orleans, Jazz Fest was the gravitational center of my year. I lived through the long, gray New York winter, or the howling, wild Iowa winter, which lasted until the middle of April, and Jazz Fest would loom like a rescue ship on the horizon. If it was a year when I would be lucky enough to attend both weekends and stay the week in between, my only thought was Please don’t let a car hit me between now and the end of April. New Orleans, in fact, is filled with people who came for Jazz Fest and never left. Or who went home and quit their job and came back. I think Jazz Fest teaches them what to love about the city, and how to love it. It is a kind of distillation of the mythology of the city. Jazz Fest constantly underlines the relationship between the music of New Orleans (and Louisiana) and the culture as a whole. The food, the parades, the crafts, are all part of a larger fabric, as they are in the city itself. You won’t find posters advertising individual artists’ appearances at the fairgrounds. Music, the logic seems to run, is bigger than any individual’s music. And, furthermore, culture is bigger than music. Jazz Fest brings this notion into focus, gives it life, better than any other event I know.”

And here he calls out Barbara Bush for her ridiculous commentary on the poor folks who had evacuated to the Astrodome. – one of my deep seated beefs with upper class out of touch behaviour:

“And what about New Orleans? What is the future of the culture that came from all those neighborhoods with their own sense of being, formed over decades and decades, where parents and grandparents and great-grandparents had lived? Former first lady Barbara Bush, visiting the Astrodome, told a radio interviewer, “So many of the people in the arena here, you know, were underprivileged anyway, so this is working very well for them.” How could they possibly miss a place where they were, you know, underprivileged.”

“How could they miss a place where they knew everyone on the block? Or where they could walk to the grocery store and buy food and seasonings out of which they could prepare meals that were unique to that place and which they had eaten since childhood and which made them happy? How could they miss a place where there was music all the time, and where they could sit out in the evening on their front steps talking to people they had known for years, and joking in a way that everyone understood, or where their son had gotten dressed in his high school band uniform that they had saved hard-earned money to buy, and then went out to play in the band for the Mardi Gras parade? How could they miss the place where their granddaughter took her first steps, or their father had kept his uniform from World War Two in a cardboard suitcase lined with newspaper? How could you even say such a thing unless you assumed that people who were—you know—underprivileged had no past, no sense of life, no memories and no feelings—in short, weren’t really people at all, as we know them? That they were incapable of finding dignity and a reason to live even in the teeth of a hostile situation? The “underprivileged” people of New Orleans spun a culture out of their lives—a music, a cuisine, a sense of life—that has been recognized around the world as a transforming spiritual force. Out of those pitifully small incomes and crumbling houses, and hard, long days and nights of work came a staggering Yes, an affirmation of life—their lives, Life Itself—in defiance of a world that told them in as many ways as it could find that they were, you know, dispensable. This may seem obvious to you if you are reading this, but it bears saying over and over again: They are not dispensable. Not to New Orleans, not to America. And any scenario of a rebuilt New Orleans that does not embrace the fact of their centrality to New Orleans, that does not find a way to welcome them back and make jobs and a new life for them, will be an obscenity.”

I have a couple of videos to share this week, rather than Spotify links.  Check out this Allmans performance on Johnny Carson with a young Warren Haynes:

And how about a Jazz Fest moment for the ages:

Coexist peacefully, with kindness and patience for all!

“Phew!”

After the excitement of two weekends of the New Orleans Jazz and Heritage Festival, we were very ready for a quiet and uneventful week.

Diana entertained me with some ” Birthday Month” surprises.  First was a box of Whoppers and a card.  Yes – they’re all gone already.

Then I was treated to empanadas from Empanola.  They are so good.  The mushroom one was great for lunch.  And then the next day the Argentina Beef was even tastier.  Thanks for spoiling me, Diana.

Next up was an invite to Happy Hour on Friday.  Of course I checked the correct box.

Happy Hour was at Chaise Delachaise, one of my very favourite spots.  They have excellent prices on drinks and snacks and the service is always good.  It is a bit far away – which is probably a good thing.  When I say “a bit far away”, it’s a solid 13 minute drive – funny how our perceptions change.  We would have thought nothing about driving 30 minutes to Happy Hour in Dallas.  There are just so many good places in walking distance here.

The mussels are wonderful – and such a big serving at a very good price.

And the dry, crisp white wine that McD loves is not hard to find here.  Don’t the cheeses sound tempting?

Steve Gleason is a New Orleans hero of the first order. He played for the Saints and blocked a punt to win the first game played in the Superdome after Hurricane Katrina tried to wipe this city off the map.  In 2011 he was diagnosed with ALS, and has been a massive advocate in encouraging folks living with the disease.  At this point all that he can move is his eyes, and he wrote a book using infrared technology that tracks his eye movements.

He did a book event at the Garden District Book Store, just across the street from us.  This was a real tear jerker.  He had recorded a message talking about the book that was so life affirming and heartbreaking at the same time.  His wife, Michel, had a stamp she was using to sign the books.  If you have a box of Kleenex that needs to be used up, watch the movie “Gleason” and you’ll get more of the story.

If you look into Steve’s eyes you will see an indomitable life force shining back at you.

Colleen invited me to join her, Greg, and her brother Hugh, our across the street neighbour, for the Echo and the Bunnymen concert at the Joy theater on Saturday night.  This was a new venue for all of us.  Our tickets were downstairs standing room.    We arrived a little before 8pm, the band advertised to start at 8pm.  The place was packed and we waited for the start, and waited….  The stage was all set and we didn’t understand the delay.

The band finally took the stage at 8:35pm.  Not a big deal – they sounded good and the music was well mixed and produced.  And then, at 9:05pm, a solid 30 minutes into the concert, Ian McCullough, the lead singer, mumbled in an unintelligible northern English accent, that they were taking a 20 minute break.  That was it for me.  Rude and disrespectful of their audience.  Never again.  I hopped in an Uber home.  If the Rolling Stones can play for 2 hours straight at 80, then Echo and the Bunnymen can do more than 30 minutes at 60.

And another thing…what’s with the back lighting only?  We couldn’t see anyone’s face – just their silhouette – again, just rude!

Oh well, lesson learned.  Here’s my favourite of their songs:

I’m back to reading again, finally.  My book was “Listen for the Lie” by Amy Tintera.  I haven’t chuckled as much at a book in a long time.  Wonderfully written.  I suppose when Stephen King is gushing about a book, it’s worth reading.  Here’s some online chatter about the book.

“A world-class whodunit.”
―Stephen King

“An extremely successful high-wire act, balancing between dark comedy and darker thrills.”
―Alex Michaelides, #1 New York Times bestselling author

“Laugh-out-loud funny, thrilling and twisty…”
―Liane Moriarty, #1 New York Times bestselling author

What if you thought you murdered your best friend? And if everyone else thought so too? And what if the truth doesn’t matter?

After Lucy is found wandering the streets, covered in her best friend Savvy’s blood, everyone thinks she is a murderer. Lucy and Savvy were the golden girls of their small Texas town: pretty, smart, and enviable. Lucy married a dream guy with a big ring and an even bigger new home. Savvy was the social butterfly loved by all, and if you believe the rumors, especially popular with the men in town. It’s been years since that horrible night, a night Lucy can’t remember anything about, and she has since moved to LA and started a new life.

But now the phenomenally huge hit true crime podcast “Listen for the Lie,” and its too-good looking host Ben Owens, have decided to investigate Savvy’s murder for the show’s second season. Lucy is forced to return to the place she vowed never to set foot in again to solve her friend’s murder, even if she is the one that did it.

The truth is out there, if we just listen.

Something tasty from the wonderful Robbie Robertson:

Something poignant from Loudon Wainwright (such an amazing songwriter):

Coexist peacefully, with kindness and patience for all!

“French Quarter Fest, and other musical highlights”

Oh no, it happened again.  I’ve fallen behind on these posts.  And now I have a cast on my right hand and struggle to type.  So…the next few posts will be short on words.

Our flight attendant friend, Amy, was in town on Tuesday for a layover.  We met up for a delicious dinner at Kingfish, and then a cocktail in the lovely Peychaud’s patio.

We experienced a large storm on Wednesday – tornadoes doing a lot of damage in nearby towns.  Our only casualty was the jasmine plant on the side wall – blown down by high winds.

The weather improved significantly on Thursday, and we enjoyed French Quarter Festival – a free music and food festival with stages around the Quarter.

We started with Lena Prima at Jackson Square.  She’s the daughter of Louis Prima, a famous singer from the 50s and 60s.

Her Tom Jones medley was a crowd pleaser.

We walked over to a river front stage and saw Alex McMurray put on a great show:

That was followed by the Cuban Latin fusion of Los Guiros.  Such a great variety of music:

Chris Thomas King’s blues skills were the last offering we caught at that stage:

We moved to the large stage and caught fun sets from Bonerama (4 trombones) and Ivan Neville and friends with a fun Talking Heads cover:

We spent a bit of time at the festival again on Friday, catching the wonderful New Orleans Suspects:

Diana attended our neighbour, Augie’s, 3rd birthday on Friday afternoon.

Kenny and Kara joined us at the Maple Leaf on Friday night for the South Austin Moonlighters.  A very talented band from Austin.  Their guitars and harmonies were awesome:

What an amazing few days of enjoyable and varied music.  One of the big reasons that we live here.

Saturday was a rest day, and then we met the Krewe to celebrate Denny’s birthday and watch the Pelicans basketball.

My book was “The Comedians” by Graham Greene.  Here’s an online summary:

“Haiti, under the rule of Papa Doc and his menacing paramilitary, the Tontons Macoute, has long been abandoned by tourists. Now it is home to corrupt capitalists, foreign ambassadors and their lonely wives—and a small group of enterprising strangers rocking into port on the Dutch cargo ship, Medea: a well-meaning pair of Americans claiming to bring vegetarianism to the natives; a former jungle fighter in World War II Burma and current confidence man; and an English hotelier returning home to the Trianon, an unsalable shell of an establishment on the hills above the capital. Each is embroiled in a charade. But when they’re unsuspectingly bound together in this nightmare republic of squalid poverty, torrid love affairs, and impending violence, their masks will be stripped away.”

I really do enjoy some of the descriptions very much:

“Mr. Smith, who wore a shabby raincoat turned up to guard his large innocent hairy ears, was pacing the deck behind us, one lock of white hair standing up like a television aerial in the wind, and a travelling-rug carried over his arm.”

An exchange that reminded me of all the hassle associated with Louisiana and the Napoleonic law structure:

“Then he ought to be brought before a magistrate and put on bail.  i will stand bail for any reasonable amount.”

“Bail?” the Minister said.  “Bail?” He turned to me with a gesture of appeal from his cigar.  “What is bail?”

“A kind of gift to the state if a prisoner should not return for trial.  It can be quite a substantial amount.”  I added.

“You’ve heard of Habeas Corpus, I suppose,” Mr. Smith said.

“Yes.  Yes.  Of course.  But I have forgotten so much of my Latin.  Virgil.  Homer.  I regret that I no longer have time to study.”

I said to Mr. Smith, “The basis of the law here is supposed to be the Code Napoleon.”

“The Code Napoleon?”

“There are certain differences from the Anglo-Saxon law.  Habeas Corpus is one of them.”

“A man has to be charged surely.”

The origin of the title:

“There’s something about him I don’t believe, not altogether.  I was reminded, when I talked to him, of a time when I was young and I persuaded a London restaurant to take me on because I could talk French – I said I’d been a waiter at Fouquet’s.  I was expecting all the time that someone would call my bluff, but no one did.  I made a quick sale of myself, like a reject with the price-label stuck over the flaw.  And again, not so long ago, I sold myself just as successfully as an art expert – no one called my bluff then either.  I wonder sometimes whether Jones isn’t playing the same game.  I remember looking at him one night on the boat from America – it was after the ship’s concert – and wondering, are you and I both comedians?”

The ambassador said, “Come on, cheer up, let us all be comedians together.  Take one of my cigars.  Help yourself at the bar.  My Scotch is good.  Perhaps even Papa Doc is a comedian.”

“The ambassador said, “We mustn’t complain too much of being comedians – it’s an honourable profession.  If only we could be good ones the world might gain at least a sense of style.  We have failed – that’s all.  We are bad comedians, we aren’t bad men.”

I always enjoy Greene’s work, and this one is pretty relevant now, given the disaster that is Haiti.

No more music this week.

Coexist peacefully, with patience and compassion for all!