New Orleans Express

I actually met a guy who takes a train called 'the New Orleans', but it runs Carbondale-->Chicago. We're headed the opposite way. Ballin' down I-55 let's you know you're in the deep south with it's dense treeline on either side of the clear-cut highway and a smoky smell which isn't quite campfire, and not quite forest fire. I'm not sure, and definitely don't want to find out what really happens a couple clicks back in deep woods Mississippi.

I've done this drive many times, at least this direction. It's the only way to get to New Orleans, down. Down down down. 'Till you're at sea level, and below, and in the bowels of America's subconscious. You know those colonial re-creation farms? Come on you know, the blacksmith and the live animals, all meant to take you back to that period in history? New Orleans needs no re-creation. A walk through the French Quarter, and I mean several blocks off the succubus that is Bourbon Street, presents the same small shops and offices that would have existed many years ago. Not the same business, per se, but to the exterior observer, a preserved world, all the same.

It's all the same. The immense greenery and flora, an architectural pallet rivaling Europe, the smell of garlic (and occasional fish from either river or restaurant), the slowed bustle of normal city life, retarded to account for the heat and moisture in the air, a slowed inertia.

And why not? Haven't we progressed far too far from community-based living? We are trying so hard for our brains to catch up to modern, technological life, we can't walk down the street and smell a flower, reaping the benefits of such a simple action. New Orleans forces this slowed enjoyment of life. Getting a sandwich is slower, streets are closed because looking at colorful floats (used once a year) is more important than however fast someone may need to get somewhere on that particular day during Mardi Gras.

America IS MacDonald's, Stabucks, and Wal-Mart and you can't refute that because those chains are in EVERY town we tour through. New Orleans has those things but the amount of small eateries, hardware stores and pawn shops, and even outdoor cafes crushes any attempt at corporate takeover. Even Mardi Gras itself, a powerful economic bargaining chip, has never been sold out to a sponsor. The sponsor of Mardi Gras is Mardi Gras, the people of NOLA who dedicate their entire year to that almighty Cycle of Carnival, sewing beads meticulously or crafting grandiose floats with pointed visual themes for pure enjoyment and the resetting of the Great Cycle, for next year.

The musicians in New Orleans are classy individuals, for the most part. New York or LA has nowhere near the access or dependency on their (musical) artist assets. I learned what it meant to play on a stage by rocking out with a smile on my face alongside my favorite players, as well as being berated for making mistakes or letting my ego overstep my musical spirit.


Frogs @ The Maple Leaf - Mardi Gras 2011

Music is a spiritual experience, not an ego-based one. New Orleans allows for that because once your ego gets in the way, a drumstick flies at your head, or you're berated for not recognizing the amazingly accepting, but very tangible, musical hierarchy in the city. We'll arrive there today to accept our place in that hierarchy, and respectfully sweat and jam our asses off to move on up.



*PLEASE VOTE HERE FOR FROGS IN WESTWORD MAGAZINE'S BEST JAMBAND CATEGORY!