Eh Toi!

Photo: Rosie Ledet, her awesome guitarist, and her 69-year-old father-in-law on washboard.

Just returned from the first weekend of the New Orleans Jazz & Heritage Festival -- and what a great weekend it was. The weather cooperated: low to upper 80s and no rain all weekend.

Compared to last year, things are a bit different. Most of the watermarks have disappeared. Houses have been repainted or razed. Many buildings are boarded up, but the stinking heaps of detritus that were there last year are gone now. A few FEMA trailers squat in yards or driveways. In the Quarter, more than a few of the places I wandered past last year are now closed.

Music lovers turned out in droves, and the place was packed all three days.

Day One. I arrived at the fairgrounds in time to see the last couple of Eddie Bo's songs, then wandered around, caught an amazing performance by the Creole Wild West Indians, a bit of the Amazones: Women Drummers of Guinea, and grabbed a bite to eat. Caught the last two songs by the Subdudes, and was too lazy to walk all the way across the grounds for Dr. John, so I stayed put at the Gentilly Stage for T-Bone Burnett. What a treat! His band included Marc Ribot on guitar and Jim Keltner on drums. They pretty much tore the place up. Next, I blew off Van Morrison in favor of Lucinda Williams, and didn't regret it one bit. Lucinda's show at the House of Blues in the Quarter the following night was sold out, so I'm glad I got to see her.

Day Two. More wandering around and eating to start, then a few songs by Cajun accordionist Ray Abshire. Hung around the same stage for the New Orleans Klezmer All-Stars. Scampered over the the Blues Tent to catch Tab Benoit, but couldn't even get near the place. Back to the Gentilly Stage for Calexico, and the best performance of the day. Calexico's mariachi-meets-Spaghetti Western sound had thousands smiling and dancing, and if they didn't know them, many new fans. Blew off Rod Stewart (thanks for the tip, Kev!) in favor of Norah Jones, who was mellow but superb. Unfortunately, she reminded me of my ex-wife. She was joined by local 21-year-old genius Trombone Shorty to join her on a song, and finished up with a Tom Waits song as I exited.

Day Three. Caught a couple of songs by local acts JD Hill & the Jammers and Vivaz (both excellent!), then saw Jean Knight & her Knights of Rhythm. Yes, that Jean Knight, who had a hit with "Mr. Big Stuff" back in '71. Then back to the Gentilly Stage for the New Orleans Social Club. The Social Club is a loose affiliation of New Orleans all stars, including keyboardist Ivan Neville (Cyril was a no-show), guitarist Leo Nocentelli, Meters bassist George Porter, Jr., pianist Henry Butler (a-farking-mazing), keyboardist Wilson "Willie Tee" Turbinton, vocalist John Boutte (who sang a blistering version of Annie Lennox's "Why"), and a host of guest stars, including Dr. John, Irma Thomas. Needless to say, this bunch was sizzling. They covered John Fogerty's "Fortunate Son" and the place went wild. Irma Thomas was up next on that stage, but I reluctantly left to get a bite to eat and satisfy my necrophiliac curiosity about Jerry Lee Lewis. The place was jammed, so I only got to see the Killer sing one line of "Whole Lotta Shakin' Going On", then set his bottom on the keyboard, and dodder offstage. Last Man (Barely) Standing, I guess. Hustled back over to the Fais Do Do stage to catch the last couple of Gillian Welch's numbers, which she performed with her partner, David Rawlings (and his 1935 Epiphone gee-tar). Standard Gillian faire (meaning really, really good) until they absolutely scorched the earth with a cover of "Jackson". Woo. Up next: Rosie Ledet & The Zydeco Playboys, and the highlight of the weekend for me. Rosie's a little spitfire who plays accordion, with her husband on bass, her nephew on drums, and her 69-year-old father-in-law on washboard. This guy is only three years younger than Jerry Lee Lewis, but it's obvious who is going to live longer. These guys literally ripped up the place and had the crowd going wild -- well worth missing Bonnie Raitt playing with her band and the New Orleans Social Club.

This morning. Was wandering around the Quarter and saw Keith Streng of the Fleshtones with his wife shopping for souvenirs on Decatur Street. Chaaaa!

Laissez les bon temps rouler

Not to taunt or anything, but I'm off to Nawlins for three days of the Jazz & Heritage Festival.

I hope I make my 5:45 am flight.

I will eat crawfish, étouffée, and pretty much whatever else is placed in front of me. I will get my haircut at that barbershop in the Quarter (if he's still open), and see scads of good music performances, including Eddie Bo, Dr. John, Van Morrison or Lucinda Williams (flip a coin, they are playing at the same damn time), Rod Stewart or Nora Jones (same damn "problem"), Calexico (yessss), Bonnie Raitt or Jill Scott (again, overlapping), Jerry Lee Lewis or Gillian Welch (same deal), some of the Nevilles and dozens of other acts. On Sunday morning, I will be at the Gospel tent in a futile attempt to let Jesus back into my heart.

I have my straw boater to protect my noggin from the sun (weather forecast: low to mid 80s, no rain), some SPF 50, and a pocket full of dead presidents.

I'll try and report when I return, if I return.

Troglodyte

OK, that last post was rather low-forehead knuckle-draggin' and mean-spirited, despite being spot-on.

To atone for my sin, here's a little bit higher-minded faire, worth checking out for legal consciousness-expansion.



If you're really into it, you can find podcasts here (you'll need iTunes). Plus, lectures from UC Berkeley, Yale, Princeton and elsewhere, all for FREE.

Feed your head.

Real cool time

Can i come over tonight?
Can i come over tonight?
What do you think i wanna do?
That's right
Can i come over tonight?
I say we will have a real cool time tonight
-- Real Cool Time

Iggy & the Stooges came over on Sunday night -- to the Congress Theatre in Chicago, that is. And we all had a real cool time.

Mitigating factor? I had a 9 a.m. appointment the next day in Winona, MN, that I couldn't weasel out of. Did it deter me? Uhm, no.

The only deterrence to anyone's Fun Time was that Steve Albini's band Shellac opened. Not that they were horrible, but their minimalist brand of skronk didn't quite fit with what the crowd had in mind for all-out rock 'n' roll. Plus, they said "Three more!" when the crowd was getting antsy and then played like nine more. They got more than a few boos, and the snotty drummer (Minneapolis boy, Todd Trainer, who has a really bad precious black circa-1982 MCAD hair do) lipped off to everyone with "And what's YOUR band called? We're WORLD FAMOUS." I just knew that most of the older guys in black leather jackets around me wanted to take him outside and chain whip him. Plus, the Congress has this really tall cool domed ceiling with a glowy red lozenge at the top, which made it sound like all we could hear was the drummer wailing on his tom, and not Albini's angular Gang of Four-like guitar flangs. It was like being on the Screaming Kid flight ALL the way from ORD to Narita, or having the AA buffoons all wired on coffee and blowing up one firecracker every three seconds right below your bedroom window at 3 am on July 5th when you have to be up at 5 that morning. And then the cops show up, so they quit and get on their Harleys and rap those off for like 20 minutes before peeling out. Anyway. It was really annoying, and not in a rock 'n' roll piss-off-your-parents way.

But before we knew it, the Stooges rocketed onto the stage and began blowing us away. From where I stood, it looked like Iggy had the body of a 25-year old, and he made Mick Jagger look like a cripple. Iggy turns 60 this Saturday (Happy b-day Ig!), and if I have those moves at 60, I'll be pretty darn happy.

They played quite a bit from the first two Stooges albums, and a bunch from their new disc, The Weirdness, which I confess I haven't heard. My faves were "I Wanna Be Your Dog", "1969" (Ron Asheton proved that he is THEE Rock Guitar God of the Universe with that one -- my ears are still going 'WEEEEEEEEEEEE'), "Little Electric Chair" and "TV Eye".

Mike Watt (yeah, from the Minutemen!) has been playing bass with the Stooges. Mike's got a tour diary going here on his hootpage. Miguel? You can be assured that Sunday night you were in the hottest band on the planet. Steve Mackay (who also played on Funhouse) wailed on sax.

Lord See that cat
Yeah I do mean you
See that cat
Yeah I do mean you
She got a TV eye on me
She got a TV eye
She got a TV eye on me, oh

See that cat
Yeah I love her so
see that cat
Yeah I love her so
She got a TV eye on me
She got a TV eye
She got a TV eye on me, oh
Right on, right on, right on
-- TV Eye

*I* want a TV Eye on me!

I'm the type to never recognize a TV Eye when one is on me, though. Maybe I walk too quickly. Maybe I have poor peripheral vision. I never know when I am being checked out. Somehow I miss the obvious (to others) clues.

I wonder about my own TV Eye. I hope it is subtle as I cast it about. I hope it is not scorching that woman's bottom as she strolls by.

So what is a TV Eye?

You can read about it in Please Kill Me, Legs McNeill's history of punk music (a great read, by the way, if you fondly recall the Stooges, Ramones, Blondie, New York Dolls, et al):

Kathy Asheton, younger sister of Stooges members Ron and Scott Asheton, recalls at one point how she came up with the term as shorthand for a term involving a vulgar term for her anatomy: "Twat Vibe Eye."

“TV Eye” was my term. It was girl stuff. My girlfriends and I developed a code. It was a way for us to communicate with each other if we thought some guy was staring at us...

Like, ‘He’s got a TV Eye on you. And if we had it then we’d use “I have...”

Iggy overheard us and thought it was really funny. That’s when he wrote that song “TV Eye.”

Yeah...I want a TV Eye on me.



Photos: (Top) Iggy Pop at Soldier Field, July 18, 1970. (Bottom) Iggy Pop at Congress Theatre, April 15, 2007, during "Real Cool Time."

Oh! And I went over to celebmatch and it says that I am a 98% intellectual match with Mr. Pop. Not sure what that says about either of us...

So it goes.

Back in elementary school, we'd periodically get to order paperback books from Scholastic or some similar paperback book club. We were always excited on the day our books arrived -- we were on a first name basis with the UPS guy (Gus!) who delivered them, and we secretly felt sorry for those kids who didn't get any.

If we ordered enough books as a group, Scholastic (or whoever the company was) would throw in a few free books. Sometimes the freebies were pretty good; other times they were rather odd. In any case, our teacher would put the freebies on the shelf for anyone to read.

When I was in fifth grade, one of the freebies happened to be Slaughterhouse Five.

Now, keep in mind that this was a parochial school, where we had Bible study every day, tons of "memory work" (I can still recite entire Psalms and hymns and even a chapter or twelve from books of the Bible). Class sizes were small, and classrooms were shared by two grades.

So, one day while the teacher was out of the room, some of the naughtier sixth grade boys were huddled near the book shelf, whispering and giggling. Usually when they were doing this, a home-made stink bomb was on the verge of ignition, cleverly manufactured from a ballpoint pen, a farmer's match, and a bobby pin. This time, however, the wicked glee in their eyes was a little different.

One of them had Slaughterhouse Five open, and there was a page that contained reference to a photo of a naked woman, a Shetland pony, and something called deedle-balls. We snickered and then quickly stuffed the book back in the shelf before the teacher returned. If anyone (like our teacher, and hence, parents) ever found out about that book, it would surely be burned. And, we would surely spend eternity sizzling in Hell.

I suspect Slaughterhouse Five became the second-most read book in school that year, after the source of our memory work, of course.

The phrase, "So it goes," appeared in it often. It was used to downplay mortality in the story, in which Mr. Vonnegut had a knack for showing us how we turn the horrifying into the mundane.

A year later, I was scrounging for science fiction books at the public library. I was a geeky kid, and I'd read most of what the library contained already as far as sci fi (I was nearly bitch-slapped once, and corrected that it was properly called SF). I asked the librarian if she knew of anything else that I might like. She pointed me to something called Sirens of Titan. Hmmm...it had won a Hugo award.

I checked it out.

Sirens of Titan turned out to be nothing at all like Bradbury or Heinlein. But there were those Tralfamadorians that I'd read about in Slaughterhouse Five the previous year. Hmm.

I didn't revisit Mr. Vonnegut's writing again until I was 19. The object of my affections that summer was Tanqueray gin. My friends and I would play several hours of Ultimate Frisbee and then go drink Tanqueray & tonics on 2-for-1night for $1.10. One day, I stumbled across a copy of Vonnegut's Breakfast of Champions at a rummage sale, and noticed that the title was a reference to a gin-based beverage. Awesome! I picked it up and took it home.

This time, Mr. Vonnegut's writing had a completely different effect on me. I sought out and read the rest of his output, and eagerly awaited his new novels as they arrived.

Mr. Vonnegut died Wednesday at age 84. He has been called the Mark Twain of our time. News of his death showed up in the "Entertainment" sections of many newspapers, while the death of Anna Nicole Smith made the front page.

So it goes.

My favorite short piece of his is available here.

Go read.

Hotel Haiku VI

Two Crown Royals and
prime rib. Must get up and do
one thousand sit-ups.

Or thereabouts.

Gotta crash.

Photo: There but for the grace of Zeus go I.

Hotel Haiku V

Tomorrow I go
from IN to MI. Crap! Naught but
Jesus radio.

Photo: So that's where they sell them! In Bay City, MI.