It's been a while since the road blog was updated, so here is the next bit.
After the standard morning coffee for most of the band, and breakfast at a fast food joint (being vegetarian in the deep south is very difficult and I had to rely on baked potatoes and apple pie) we hit the road and approached New Orleans several hours later. Drove along a long straight causeway type elevated road with no junction for about 25 miles. Water on both sides, some ramshackle houses built under the road right on the waters edge. We changed radio stations as the one we'd had on had got consistently less appropriate for our surroundings. Songs from 'Grease' do not fit the mournful beauty of the Big Easy skyline. Muddy Waters was howling on another station, so we let him and turned it up.
As usual we had to catch up with Time, as it always seems to get a head start in any journey we make, also we hadn't the foggiest idea where the venue was. Howlin' Wolfs Den, on South Peters Street - see, I can remember it now! Directions procured from a dimly lit, friendly bar got us there and as others worried about food I set off to walk to the Mississippi. My heart raced as I climbed steps towards it anticipating my first glimpse of that famous river. After walking through a colonnade of shops and seafood stalls, there it was, and I realised it was just a river. The water wasn't even brown. However, paddle steamers still ply their trade for tourists, one in particular, the Natchez, still powered by steam rolls up and down the river with a jazz band on the deck.
Later that evening we met the band we had a gig with, The Dirty Bourbon River Show, and made our acquaintance with the gentlemen involved; Noah, Jimmy, Charlie and Bootsy. Be sure to check them out and lose your inhibitions to their grooves Cab Calloway would jive to.
Our show in Howlin' Wolf's was a lot of fun, if quiet audience-wise in our first half. By the time the DBRS had played a set and we were on again, the atmosphere was more electric and several girls had taken most of their clothes off.
A late night out followed, on Frenchman Street where we danced to a fantastic swing band in a venue called the Spotted Cat, and I met a guy called Ben who grew up in the same town as me. Strange...
Meandering our way in giant curves back to the hotel, I marvelled at the curiously European architecture. This appears to have some history, whereas Nashville, although it is fascinating and it's inhabitants are warm and welcoming, feels like it was built recently, in the grand scheme...
Back in the hotel, around 3am, we found to our delight that the outdoor, unheated pool and hot tub were unguarded so spent the early hours jumping from one extreme to the other. This was yet another moment previously described, of lying on my back in the water in a strange city stargazing.
In the morning, determined not to waste a moment I woke up and and wandered off into the backstreets and down the tramlines on the waters edge. I watched the Natchez moan at the sky in a spray of steam and magnificently roll lazily away. I took a streetcar into Main Street and encountered a parade, band, feathers and dancers winding it's way through the centre, and back with the band later on, saw the Hurricane Katrina damage with my own eyes and I realised what a brave, vibrant city this is, and how much of a crime it was by the government to show such a lack of love when it was needed the most.
I was welcomed so warmly in New Orleans - I wish we could have spent more than three days there.
Later that evening we drove to the Circle Bar for our second show, this one with the excellent Revivalists; one of the tightest, groovin', funkin' bands you'll see live.
When the city was flooded, the Circle Bar was fifteen feet underwater. It's a great venue, and it was rammed for our show.
Afterwards we carried on the revelry on the balcony of a bar somewhere else in the city, and since we were leaving in the morning for Nashville, friendships were made and parting was sweet sorrow, with promises to return next year. We got back to the hotel in the back of a friends car, a few of us. A few too many for the car. Four in the middle, some lapriding and me and a new friend in the boot, watching the lights whizz by sideways. Determined to relive the previous nights exploits in the pool, and having talked it up to our female companions, to their amusement, or bemusement, we all stripped and jumped into the hot tub. Apart from Jake, who jumped in with his clothes on. After a few minutes of raucousness the security guard came up to us, didn't say a word, and turned the bubbles off. The nerve! There we were, trying to host a party and he came and spoilt it. We all got out, feigning apologies and faux dejection, apart from Jake, who hid...under the water.
I just doubled up laughing, wondering how long he would last, hiding from a grumpy security guard at the bottom of a jacuzzi. The next hour was spent waiting for him to leave us alone, then all jumping back in again. Mike, usually attempting to keep an eye on our misdemeanours from a safe distance, was in the bar and heard a commotion between security and reception staff. I don't think he needed to ponder for more than three seconds that we may have been the cause.
We really don't act well in civilised society unless we have eaten something. Even then, we're not your picture perfect gentlemen every hour of the day. So breakfast in the morning, then the long highway back to Tennessee. We stopped for dinner at Chillis in Tupelo, the birthplace of Elvis. Just thought I'd mention it as Tony the proprietor was a good guy, he looked after us, and if you're ever there, go and say hello.
That's all for now.
Jaz.
After the standard morning coffee for most of the band, and breakfast at a fast food joint (being vegetarian in the deep south is very difficult and I had to rely on baked potatoes and apple pie) we hit the road and approached New Orleans several hours later. Drove along a long straight causeway type elevated road with no junction for about 25 miles. Water on both sides, some ramshackle houses built under the road right on the waters edge. We changed radio stations as the one we'd had on had got consistently less appropriate for our surroundings. Songs from 'Grease' do not fit the mournful beauty of the Big Easy skyline. Muddy Waters was howling on another station, so we let him and turned it up.
As usual we had to catch up with Time, as it always seems to get a head start in any journey we make, also we hadn't the foggiest idea where the venue was. Howlin' Wolfs Den, on South Peters Street - see, I can remember it now! Directions procured from a dimly lit, friendly bar got us there and as others worried about food I set off to walk to the Mississippi. My heart raced as I climbed steps towards it anticipating my first glimpse of that famous river. After walking through a colonnade of shops and seafood stalls, there it was, and I realised it was just a river. The water wasn't even brown. However, paddle steamers still ply their trade for tourists, one in particular, the Natchez, still powered by steam rolls up and down the river with a jazz band on the deck.
Later that evening we met the band we had a gig with, The Dirty Bourbon River Show, and made our acquaintance with the gentlemen involved; Noah, Jimmy, Charlie and Bootsy. Be sure to check them out and lose your inhibitions to their grooves Cab Calloway would jive to.
Our show in Howlin' Wolf's was a lot of fun, if quiet audience-wise in our first half. By the time the DBRS had played a set and we were on again, the atmosphere was more electric and several girls had taken most of their clothes off.
A late night out followed, on Frenchman Street where we danced to a fantastic swing band in a venue called the Spotted Cat, and I met a guy called Ben who grew up in the same town as me. Strange...
Meandering our way in giant curves back to the hotel, I marvelled at the curiously European architecture. This appears to have some history, whereas Nashville, although it is fascinating and it's inhabitants are warm and welcoming, feels like it was built recently, in the grand scheme...
Back in the hotel, around 3am, we found to our delight that the outdoor, unheated pool and hot tub were unguarded so spent the early hours jumping from one extreme to the other. This was yet another moment previously described, of lying on my back in the water in a strange city stargazing.
In the morning, determined not to waste a moment I woke up and and wandered off into the backstreets and down the tramlines on the waters edge. I watched the Natchez moan at the sky in a spray of steam and magnificently roll lazily away. I took a streetcar into Main Street and encountered a parade, band, feathers and dancers winding it's way through the centre, and back with the band later on, saw the Hurricane Katrina damage with my own eyes and I realised what a brave, vibrant city this is, and how much of a crime it was by the government to show such a lack of love when it was needed the most.
I was welcomed so warmly in New Orleans - I wish we could have spent more than three days there.
Later that evening we drove to the Circle Bar for our second show, this one with the excellent Revivalists; one of the tightest, groovin', funkin' bands you'll see live.
When the city was flooded, the Circle Bar was fifteen feet underwater. It's a great venue, and it was rammed for our show.
Afterwards we carried on the revelry on the balcony of a bar somewhere else in the city, and since we were leaving in the morning for Nashville, friendships were made and parting was sweet sorrow, with promises to return next year. We got back to the hotel in the back of a friends car, a few of us. A few too many for the car. Four in the middle, some lapriding and me and a new friend in the boot, watching the lights whizz by sideways. Determined to relive the previous nights exploits in the pool, and having talked it up to our female companions, to their amusement, or bemusement, we all stripped and jumped into the hot tub. Apart from Jake, who jumped in with his clothes on. After a few minutes of raucousness the security guard came up to us, didn't say a word, and turned the bubbles off. The nerve! There we were, trying to host a party and he came and spoilt it. We all got out, feigning apologies and faux dejection, apart from Jake, who hid...under the water.
I just doubled up laughing, wondering how long he would last, hiding from a grumpy security guard at the bottom of a jacuzzi. The next hour was spent waiting for him to leave us alone, then all jumping back in again. Mike, usually attempting to keep an eye on our misdemeanours from a safe distance, was in the bar and heard a commotion between security and reception staff. I don't think he needed to ponder for more than three seconds that we may have been the cause.
We really don't act well in civilised society unless we have eaten something. Even then, we're not your picture perfect gentlemen every hour of the day. So breakfast in the morning, then the long highway back to Tennessee. We stopped for dinner at Chillis in Tupelo, the birthplace of Elvis. Just thought I'd mention it as Tony the proprietor was a good guy, he looked after us, and if you're ever there, go and say hello.
That's all for now.
Jaz.
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