This is an open-ended blog ranging from news about my latest gigs and publications
to ruminations about politics, world affairs, culture and whatever piques my interest—or ire.

Monday, November 11, 2013


Photo © 2013 by Sébastien Chaillot
Memorable night at Preservation Hall on Sunday. The place was packed with crowds so exuberant (or drunk) that the whooping and hooting from the front row sounded at times like a pep rally at a high school football game. The band, led by Lars Edegran, was in especially good form. Personnel included Ronell "Who Dat" Johnson on trombone, Clive Wilson on trumpet, Walter Harris on drums, Richard Moten on bass, and yours truly on clarinet. Among the numbers we played: There'll be some Changes Made, Who's Sorry Now?, China Boy, Sweetheart of Sigma Chi, High Society, Song of the Wanderer, Basin Street, Poor Butterfly, and, Ronell's specialty, Make Me a Pallet on the Floor. Things got really wild during the last set when members of the Kinfolk Brass Band showed up and jammed with us on a window-rattling rendition of The Saints. Quite appropriate, considering what was happening down in the Superdome last night.
Torn between my musical obligations and my devotion to the Saints, I kept ducking out during the breaks to watch the Saints-Cowboys game in the bar across the street. Every time I poked my hear in there, Drew Brees had thrown another touchdown pass. When I went over there after the last set, I couldn't believe the final score of 49-17. I got a little Saints lagniappe on my drive home: at the corner of Magazine and Napoleon, I spotted the Saints' silver-locked defensive coordinator Rob Ryan heading into the door of Ms Mae's all-night bar. Apparently this has become a ritual for Ryan after Saints home games. May he continue to have cause to celebrate.

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