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Saint was comparing our music scene to other cities. I don't remember his full name because no one ever uses it. Everyone just calls him Saint. "Those are two of the best drummers in the city on the same stage. We paid five bucks to get in here. In LA we would have had to pay at least thirty bucks, and that's after they decided whether to let us in." He was right, it was a pretty good show. The New Orleans rock and roll scene doesn't get enough credit in my opinion. Everyone talks about the Jazz clubs, but honestly I'm not much of a Jazz Fan. Rock and Roll is my thing. And lately I have noticed that there is in fact a good amount of quality rock and roll to be had in good ol' New Orleans. Howling Wolf often has good music. I have seen the Lords of Acid, Crash Worship, and many other quality shows there. I have seen Naked girls with megaphones and firemen's hats, I have seen fire eaters run through the crowd and spit fire at people, I have seen an insane naked man writhe on the ground in a puddle of spilt beer and foot dirt. All of this at the Howling Wolf. I like the Howling Wolf. A couple of years ago during Mardi Gras I saw a show there. I walked up to the side bar to order a drink. I glanced at the girl next to me. She had a very pretty face. I turned and looked at the band. A visual grenade went off in my head and I did a double take on the girl. She was completely naked. She was ordering a drink and completely devoid of clothes. Such surreal and wonderful things did not happen on the night of this particular photo, but it was certainly a splendid time for all. Permalink to this post. |
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But I have slowly warmed up to the J A double Z. I think what turned me off to jazz for so long is what I refer to as "musical masturbation". For years I have said that the worst music on earth is music written for musicians. This "music" is devoid of everything that makes music enjoyable. It is strictly an exercise in technical prowress. As I said: it is masturbation. Much modern jazz falls into this category. But there is another species of jazz. There is a type of jazz that is played in smoky clubs by ad hoc bands of unlikely geniuses. It is played by barbacks and busboys. It is played by old black men in retirement teamed up with skinny white kids in college. It is played by people who have no reason to play other than pleasure. These people charge up a room. When I hear these people I understand why jazz exists. I heard one of these bands at the DBA. DBA is on Frenchman street at the edge of the quarter. I really like the Frenchman scene, but due to my poor sense of direction I never previously went there alone. Recently I realized that if you follow eastbound Decatur to the end it naturally curves up to Frenchman and straight to DBA. Due to this revelation I was able to snap this candid photo for you, my friends. The crowd here is somewhat uptown-ish. It is as if someone airlifted the crowd from St. Joes into the French Quarter. It is amazing to see what a difference one block makes in the relative concentration of tattoos vs. slacks. Not to say that the crowd is entirely homogeneous. Like I said, it is a question of relative concentration. One of the delighful things about this city (as opposed to my homeland of Metry) is the ease with which radically different castes of people mingle. Permalink to this post. |
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No description of this place would be complete without a mention of the owners. It is my understanding that Sean Yseult, the former bass player from White Zombie, and one of the members of Supagroup are the owners. It's funny, after doing my Google Image Search, I realize that I see Sean at the Saint fairly often, and that I saw her play bass the same night of the Black Mountain show. It turns out that there are two brothers who look very much alike in Supagroup, one of which is the bartender at the Saint. Every time I would talk to the bartender at the Saint, he would seem to recognize me much better than he would when I saw him out. In fact, when I saw him out he didn't seem to know me at all. I just thought he had a very bad memory. I kept telling him, "I see you all of the time!". Of course, after I have made a fool of myself I find out that there are in fact two separate people. I have noticed a couple of other people freaking out at how alike they look, so I don't feel too terribly bad. This picture is one of my favorites from the Saint. It is a photo of the infamous inverted flaming doctor pepper adventure in which I was a key player. (All of those beers got a shot of 151 and splash of amaretto instead of the other way around). *shudder* Permalink to this post. |
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Snake and Jake's is an extremely dark bar adorned with dim Christmas lights. Snake and Jake's is as seedy as Tweety Bird's shit. I generally view it as a bad thing to be scared in a bar. If something happens to make me nervous when I'm supposed to be relaxing and having fun then it kind of defeats the purpose of the outing. Once or twice can be forgiven. People often drink too much in bars, and even nice places have an occasional skirmish or two. The occasional drunken tourist will invade even the most low key hangout. But having tension just below the surface on every visit to a place is too much for me. Snake and Jake's is never my idea. I don't like the people who loiter outside of the bar. I don't like the people inside of the bar. I don't like the bathrooms and I don't like the bar. Permalink to this post. |
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