NOLA: Distilling the essence
Born on a bayou, emerging out of a swamp, frequently in the eye of a hurricane, situated between the mighty Mississippi River and Lake Pontchartrain, largely lying at or below the natural water table, wondering when the levees will break… (there are quite a few ideas for songs here already!). But, why would anyone visit, let alone live, in a place like New Orleans?
The French came here and lay…
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Preservation Hall Jazz Band at Tipitina's - What Could Go Wrong?
As Paula and I drove towards New Orleans for a week-long music safari, I discovered that the Preservation Hall Jazz Band was going to be playing at Tipitina's on Friday, February 3 . . . that was last night. I was over the moon. I couldn't buy the tickets fast enough. I've seen the Preservation Hall band half a dozen times, from a little room in New Iberia, LA, to The Apollo in Harlem, each show greater than the last. They're my favorites! This was going to be like seeing the Grateful Dead at Winterland, or the Red Sox at Fenway, or Dolly at the Opry. It was definitely going to be the climax of our NOLA sojourn. I couldn't wait. What could go wrong? . . . ?? . . . ???
And so . . . last night we arrived about fifteen minutes before doors, and stood on the sidewalk with a dozen other couples in excited anticipation. At 7:00 PM they let us into a big, empty room with not a chair in sight. We're not young anymore. After a couple of hours on my feet, I'm thinking about my back, no matter how good the music is. One of the employees told us there were chairs upstairs, so we beat it up there. No chairs anywhere. But there was a good view and a balcony rail to lean on. We chatted with fellow Preservation Hall fans on our left and right. I was eager to hear the band, and curious about the double drum kit setup.
At 8:00 PM one tall guy sauntered on stage . . . no applause . . . and started messing around with some boxes and lights. There were pops and clicks and thuds vaguely timed to this fellow's hand motions. The volume increased until we could not talk with our neighbors. And the volume increased more. And more. The noises got a vague rhythm, and got louder. Then it got louder. Now there was a rhythm, a pounding bass that sounded like an intense headache, only worse. And then it got worse. And louder. I couldn't figure out what this noise had to do with New Orleans jazz, if anything.
I looked at my watch. It was 8:25. Tipitina's main floor below was a wall-to-wall shoulder-to-shoulder mass of about 400 maskless, aerosol-emitting humans. Only about four people were moving to the cranium-splitting beat. They were probably on molly. The rest of us simply endured.
"This has to end at 8:30, right?" I thought. But 8:30 came and went, and the noises went from headache to nausea, but louder, and worse. I leaned over and shouted, "If this doesn't end in a few minutes, let's go!" I REALLY wanted to hear the Preservation Hall Jazz Band. I didn't want to leave. I've gone to other continents to hear great music. I've paid thousands in air fares and taxis and hotels. Surely I could last another five minutes. I looked at the time. 8:35. Surely I could last another five minutes. 8:40. Grit my teeth. "This has to end at 8:45, right?" I thought. When 8:45 came I'd had enough. Let's go, I yelled, and started to move towards the door.
As we broke out of Tipitina's into the relative silence, I was furious. "What bullshit!" I said to nobody in particular.
A fellow with an official looking jersey was standing on the corner. "I'm sorry you're leaving," he said.
"I don't see what that noise has to do with New Orleans jazz," I replied. I may have used a few more adjectives and expletives. "I'm not going to argue with you," he replied, but, he said, they did advertise the DJ opener on their Web site. He was nice, and the smoke coming out of my ears diminished to a wispy curl. He offered to put us on the guest list for Sunday's show with another band. We accepted, but I don't think I'm going.
Bottom line: What was to have been the climax of our trip was replaced by one of the most unpleasant experiences I've ever had in the pursuit of music. An expensive night of skull-splitting headache, backache, endurance, and anger.
Message to Ben Jaffe @pres_hall_ben and the Preservation Hall Jazz Band: The DJ last night had NOTHING to do with tradition, New Orleans, jazz, joy, improvisation, counterpoint or anything else I associate with Preservation Hall or the PHJB. I feel betrayed and abandoned. What were you thinking?
cc: @preshallben-blog @preshallfound @preshall
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when you die, i will make sure to put your brain in a little jar and put it in a museum because the next generations not being able to witness your genius is quite frankly a bigger crime than them not being able to witness the melting icebergs of the north pole. you are simply too smart to let go of so easily
this is so??? im like???? this is just so unbelievably nice i want to cry and throw up.... u think too highly of me but thank u for thinking so it makes my life better... hugs and kisses and smoochies
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