It's Mardi Gras. Here's more from last year about the Crescent City:

It's spanish and french and sicilian and neapolitan and arab and indians and acadian and irish and scots and deepest darkest africa, baby.

Jelly Roll Morton - raggin on yer stride, or stridin' on your rag
Louis Armstrong- where's my laxatives and trumpet?
Louis Prima- the greatest show ever
Dixie Cups- Iko Iko, no t Ikea!
Clifton Chenier- less cowbell- more washboard!

All those Marsalis fellows- a dog in every fight
Professor Longhair- no truth in advertising
Mac Rebbenack the Night Tripper-right place, right time
Alan Touissant- pianny please
Lee Dorsey- The Kid Chocolate, workin' in a coal mine

Little Richard Penniman recorded there with:
Bumps Blackwell - more fun than a bear on the street, with more hair
Rufus and Carla Thomas -gee whiz
Sidney Bechet!- that's how Van Morrison always says it; with an exclamation point

King Floyd - groove me!
Mahalia Jackson- angels take notes
Marcia Ball - I played with her once. Her legs go right to the ground, as unlikely as that seems
We could always drive up the road to Mississippi and find my old friend Albert King, if we got bored.
You wanna know how great New Orleans music is, and was? I bet I forgot 500 people, and it don't matter.
(updated: lohwoman reminds us of: Preservation Hall Jazz Band with Sweet Emma. OK, so we've only forgotten 499 people now.)
3 comments:
Naw, you didn't play with Marcia Ball. You're kidding. But right about those legs. Jeez.
She played at a private party in CT a year or so ago - she is a firecracker. Instant love (on my end).
It was twenty or twenty five years ago. I was part of an undoubtedly substandard opening act for her, I think. Or she sat in with the act we opened for, I can't remember exactly. It was in Providence, Rhode Island of all places.
I can't remember what I had for lunch yesterday.
Of course you can't. You didn't have lunch yesterday.
Post a Comment