Frolic: jazz, books, food

Jazz, Books, Food, and the Writing Life

Blogging from New Orleans, La

28 October 2004

I feel like an old man. Last night I went down to Twiropa, a warehouse music venue, to hear Ted Leo. The day before yesterday, I’d never hear of Leo, but after downloading a few songs I decided that this was a show worth seeing. We’d been told that the music would start at 10:30, so it was a little sad when at 11:00 fewer than twenty people were milling around as the opening act played.

Turns out everyone else knew that Ted Leo had two opening acts and the man himself wouldn’t take the stage until midnight. The room filled up as the hour got later. Since that was way past my bedtime, we only stayed for thirty minutes of Leo’s set. Too bad, because he writes smart songs bristling with punk energy. If he plays again at an earlier hour, I’ll try to stay until the end.

Posted by Todd at 9:26 am | No Comments

27 October 2004

The Chronicle of Higher Education loves to document the desperate job searches of academics. Yesterday they ran a piece on a couple looking for two jobs at the same institution. That’s a difficult feat to pull off. In this case, one partner is tenured while the other just finished his dissertation. Being at two stages in their respective careers can make the joint appointment even more impossible. On top of that, they are conservative Christians, and you know how the academy is biased against people on the right. Oh yeah, they’re also a gay couple, so religious schools probably won’t give them the time of day.

Are we sure that some bored graduate students didn’t dream up this situation over a few beers?

Posted by Todd at 8:28 am | Comments (2)

25 October 2004

27 bands gathered on five stages last Saturday for 12 hours of songs. VooDoo Music Experience, the six year-old festival of rock and rap, drew nearly 50,000 people from around the country to New Orleans for a near perfect day of music.

Practicing pop music as therapy, Polyphonic Spree brought their rainbow colored robes and happy songs to VooDoo’s main stage. “Cult-like” is the label they can’t escape, but they looked more like earnest undergraduates in an ethnic dance class than brainwashed acolytes about to down their final cup of Kool Aid on this planet. Bouncing back and forth in the early afternoon sun, the army of musicians–I counted twenty-four–sounded like a cross between the Beetle’s Sgt. Pepper and Led Zeppelin at their most operatic. Nothing wrong with being happy, but the Spree’s joy seemed calculated. Too much like a broadway musical and too little like rock and roll.

You should never tell the audience, “I hope we remember these songs, since we haven’t played them in forever.” Despite the inauspicious start, Eisley, four sweet-faced siblings and their good friend, performed a tight set of chiming melodies and close vocal harmony. The music, which will see its major label debut January, had touches of country slides and an occasional edge of low-key menace.

The British boys Gomez, playing at one of the secondary stages, pounded out bluesy pop, propelled by both a drummer and a percussionist. Although they can’t vote in the U.S., like many bands at the festival they made their preference for John Kerry clear by the bumper stickers attached to their equipment. The set had nothing to do with politics, though. Tom Gray, the keyboardist, kept say, “Dance! You’re at a music festival.” As Gomez kept playing high energy tunes, the audience eventually got on their feet.

Back on the main stage, the Killers reminded us why the 80s were so cool. Hailing from Las Vegas, this quartet channels the glamor of Brit pop from the early days of MTV. Their songs are as catchy as Duran Duran or the Smiths, and the band has mastered every glamorous rock star move.

Sonic Youth followed, announcing that their first song was a vote against George W. Bush. After a few verses of mumbled lyrics, they launched into their trademark guitar noise. When the song ended, I heard a guy say, “I was undecided until I heard this.” The band seemed unfocused, and after twenty years their brand of sonic mayhem felt routine. As they swung their guitars in the air, banged them against the amps, and drug the necks across the stage, it felt more rehearsed than reckless.

The reunited Pixies, more popular now than when they were actually recording albums, stepped on stage with complete authority and blew away every band that played earlier in the day. With nothing to prove, they flawlessly rocked through their back catalog. There was no chatter between songs, but every member looked like they were having a blast. On a day when too many acts featured far more than five people, the Pixies’s stripped down quartet felt like a breath of fresh air. The Pixies are selling out shows because their songs are stronger than nearly anything else being written today.

Green Day has emerged as the Las Vegas version of punk rock. The formerly bratty kids have become professional entertainers ready to pull any stunt to please the crowd. They added horns and dressed them in costumes. They played the hits from Dookie. They performed a straight ahead cover of “Shout.” Green Day even pulled members of audience on stage and let them take over their instruments while singer Billy Joe Armstrong strutted around. The band closed with a cover of Queen’s “We Are the Champions,” ending with Mike Dirnt lighting his bass on fire and breaking it in two. Not wanting to disappoint, Billy Joe remained on stage to play a solo version of “Good Riddance (Time of Your Life).” Ever the professional, he struck the last chord at 9:15, exactly when the band was scheduled to end their set.

The Beastie Boys ended the night with a razzle dazzle show that summed up their twenty year career. Perched above the stage, Mix Master Mike flew between the two turntables and his almost unbelievable moves were rebroadcast onto giant televisions set up around the stage. The Beasties began the night in track suits, prowling the stage and inciting the crowd. Midway through the set, the DJ took a break and the group appeared dressed as a wedding band in blue tuxedos to play some soulful funk. After a few songs, the DJ returned and the rap resumed. The Beasties were mixing sights as well as sounds, with live video and snippets of images accompanying each song on video screens. It all ended with the Boys back at the their instruments for a crazed rendetion of “Sabotage.”

That was just the first day of the VooDoo Music Experience. Sunday featured Cowboy Mouth, Velvet Revolver, De La Soul, and Kid Rock. And next year, a whole new line up will be playing in New Orleans.

Posted by Todd at 10:08 am | No Comments

23 October 2004

Everyday I see another wrought iron fence covered in fake cobwebs. Plastic pumpkins are sprouting everywhere. Halloween is fast approaching and I still don’t have a costume. What will I wear on Bourbon Street?

Posted by Todd at 5:17 pm | No Comments

21 October 2004

I walked into a local food shop yesterday looking for a pungent goat cheese. Pulling some grayish rounds from the case, the manager offered an unpasteurized goat that “accidently” arrived from France. Once he realized I was cool, he admitted that he orders the contraband cheese regularly but his supplier will only occasionally take the risk.

“Every since 9/11 it’s been harder to get. They will hold up an entire shipping container if they think it contains even a few rounds of unpasteurized cheese,” he said.

Thank God the government is working hard to keep dangerous cheese away from our shores.

Posted by Todd at 11:14 am | Comments (2)

20 October 2004

The headline announced,“Bunnies take over man’s house.” And that’s exactly what happened to this poor man.

Posted by Todd at 3:36 pm | No Comments

19 October 2004

We took an informal poll on the walk over to the House of Blues, and everyone agreed that Juliette and the Licks, the evening’s entertainment at the VooDoo Experience VIP party, would most definitely suck. It wasn’t a scientific poll, but things weren’t looking good for Ms. Juliette Lewis, the former slightly unhinged actress turned fully unhinged punk rock singer.

I had wrangled some invites to the Southern Comfort party kicking off the two-day VooDoo Fest in New Orleans. We were there mainly for the free booze and the chance to spot a few musicians. Once we arrived we realized that, outside of the Beastie Boys or Frank Black, not one of us could identify today’s pop stars. After surveying the scene, we decided that any young man bold enough to hit on the models from Stuff Magazine, who wore tight, cropped t-shirts over their surgically enhanced breasts and jeans that fit as snug as a rubber glove, must be a member of a band. Guys wearing sunglasses and surround by a posse were also suspected of being famous.

Since Southern Comfort was footing the bill, the free drinks were either a SoCo concoction or an Abita beer. Wanting to be a good guest, I tried a drink made by our host. The last time I had Southern Comfort was in high school, and I remember that it tasted like cough syrup. Then again, at that age a shot of whiskey burned like rubbing alcohol. It turns out, though, that SoCo does taste like cough syrup, and mixing it with Coke can’t hide that. The best I can say for this brand of booze is that it would get you drunk, but not with the stingy servings offered at the party. I wisely bought an Abita with my second free drink coupon.

After an announcer read through Lewis’ diminishing screen credits, from starring in Natural Born Killers to a small role in Old School, Juliette jumped on stage and asked,”Are you ready to rock, motherfuckers. This is my house.” No word on how the House of Blues Entertainment, Inc., responded to Juliette’s ownership claim, but a lot of people around me giggled.

The band, featuring drummer Patty Schemel from Hole, pounded out accomplished punk metal, while Juliette rehearsed her rock star moves. She whipped her long hair back and forth. Shoved the guitarist. Flexed her muscles. At one point, she licked the sweat off her biceps, making me wonder if she suffered from a sodium deficiency. It was like watching live karaoke.

After a few songs Juliette settled into her role. Her voice is nothing remarkable, but she can keep a solid scream going for an entire set. The music can also be generic and occasionally echoes others tunes (Was one song built on the melody from Bryan Adams’ “Summer of ‘69″?). The band was solid, though. The Licks aren’t making music that will last more than a year, but they put on a better show than anyone expected.

Also posted at Blogcritics.

Posted by Todd at 8:55 am | Comments (1)

15 October 2004

The email account for the blog has attracted a lot of Hebrew spam recently. How odd.

Posted by Todd at 12:56 pm | Comments (1)

14 October 2004

After narrowly escaping hurricane Ivan and watching days of steady rain nearly overflow our pool, I decided that buying flood insurance would be wise.

Although the federal government designated pretty much every inch of New Orleans as a flood plain, we have taken some comfort in our close proximity to the Mississippi River. New Orleans is bowl carved out between the river and lake Pontchatrain. We assumed that the bottom of the bowl, the center of the city, would be most likely to flood.

The insurance agent kindly listened to my theory. “That may be true,” he said, “but when the river overflows all the water will have to run through your apartment to get to the middle of town.”

Posted by Todd at 10:01 am | Comments (1)

12 October 2004

Tony Joe White sings in a deep rumble and favors the low end of his guitar. Best known for his song-writing and as the progenitor of swamp rock, White has an earthy quality and sounds deadly serious when he perform his music, which cuts across country, blues, rock, and soul. On The Heroines (Sanctuary), his latest release, White balances his low rumbling with the voices of females artists, like Lucinda Williams, Emmylou Harris, Shelby Lynne and Jessi Colter, that have worked with him and inspired him in the past.

Every the gentleman, White lets the lady go first. Shelby Lynne, who won a Grammy for Best New Artist in 2001, sings “You Can’t Go Back Home” with a voice as world weary as White’s. They’re like two travelers swapping stories after a long journey. Lucinda William adds sultriness to “Closing in on the Fire,” where one husky voice flirtatious overlaps the other and a punchy horn section creates a sense of urgency. On “Wild Wolf Calling Me,” when White sings about resting on a high mountain and Emmylou Harris recounts her grandmother’s dying words, the simple song gains the gravity of a country gospel number that the Carter Family might sing.

White is least convincing when he tries to relax. It’s hard to believe that anyone who sounds this tightly wound would kick back and “watch the river flow,” as he recommends on “Back Porch Therapy.” White’s duet with his daughter, “Playa del Carmen Nights,” veers dangerously close to a Jimmy Buffet reverie of sun and booze. The female voice makes the memories of a Mexican beach sound too wistful, but when White’s rough voice recalls a “pack of wild dogs” that invaded their party a dark note enters that saves the song. “I think this is good as it’s going to get,” White sings, sounding more resigned than satisfied.

Tony Joe White has written an album of tough material on The Heroines and found collaborators who added an extra dose of gritty soul. These women are at top of their game, and Tony Joe White proves that after thirty years in the music business he’s still a force to be reckoned with.

Also posted at Blogcritics.

Posted by Todd at 9:14 am | No Comments

11 October 2004

If you’re in New Orleans, pick up a copy of the Gambit Weekly. It has the new restaurant guide, to which I contributed over 100 blurbs. If you’re not in New Orleans, here are a few examples of my handy work:

Tucker’s Tavern A regular burger wasn’t good enough for Tucker’s Tavern, so the kitchen stuffed the hamburger patty, battered the bun, tossed it all into the deep-fryer and became the “Home of the Stuffed Deep-Fried Burger.” Diners particularly enjoy The Big Tuck, a deep-fried burger filled with pepper Jack cheese and bacon and then topped with barbecue sauce and cheddar cheese.
Zydeque Zydeque smokes its Cajun, dry-rubbed barbecue over hickory and pecan right in the heart of the French Quarter. Plates piled high with Memphis-style ribs accompanied by boudin balls and Southern Comfort mashed sweet potatoes sell well all day long.

I had lunch today with the entertainment editor of the Gambit, and it looks like I’ll be doing some longer assignments for them soon.

Posted by Todd at 3:47 pm | No Comments

10 October 2004

Andrea wanted a burger Friday night, so we cruised over to the Port of Call, located on the edge of the French Quarter. I hadn’t been yet, but everyone claims that their hamburger, with patties ground on the premise, is the best in town. The wait for a table, unfortunately, was forty-five minutes. That would be fine most nights, but we wanted to get home for round two of Kerry vs. Bush.

Through the magic of Google’s instant messaging service, I got the number for Coop’s Place, a French Quarter bar a few blocks away, and confirmed that they had tables open.

Coop’s Place is nothing fancy, just a bar with food. The food, though, happens to be some of the best jambalaya in New Orleans. The big bowls of rice, tomatoes, diced bell peppers, and meat have an earthy red color and a deep smoky taste. Coop’s loads up the standard jambalaya with sausage and rabbit.

For a few extra nickels, you can upgrade to jambalaya supreme, which adds crawfish, shrimp, and tasso. It’s an option you should take. Coop’s smokes their own tasso, a cured, heavily seasoned pork, right in their patio.

This bar has become the place in New Orleans for jambalaya, and I’m willing to bet that the gumbo would be fine as well. The menu has some other items, burgers, pasta, sandwiches, but if you ask for dessert the waiter will probably suggest another beer.

Saturday we headed to the Camilla Grill, on the other side of town, and finally satisfied Andrea’s craving for a burger. The waiters wear black bowties, but there’s nothing fancy about the Camilla Grill. Vinyl benches line the pink walls, where people wait for a stool at the counter that snakes across the restaurant.

The burgers, served on a standard white bun, would have been generous in the days before super-sizing. Add some cheese and grilled onions and you’ve got something special. The grill and the deep fryer sit just across the counter, and the waiters sling the hot plates of fries and steaming burgers in front of you the second they’re done.

The freezes, ice cream blended with ice, are legendary, but we opted for a slice of chocolate pecan pie a la mode. Camilla grill bakes the pies every morning. Ask them to warm it up your slice on the grill. As our waiter said, “That makes all the goo rise to top.” It also makes the heap of ice cream melt deliciously into the pie.

Also posted at Too Many Chefs.

Posted by Todd at 10:32 pm | No Comments

At the moment, the police have our block surrounded. No idea what’s going on, but we’re keeping the doors locked.

Update: A little later, the police had a canine sniffing around our courtyard. We still have no idea what happened.

Posted by Todd at 10:03 pm | Comments (2)

Who wouldn’t want to live in city where you can walk down the street and pick up a $6 soft-shelled crab sandwich? They battered and deep-fried it while I waited.

Posted by Todd at 2:10 pm | No Comments

8 October 2004

To do list:

See The Barbarian Invasions at the New Orleans Film Festival.
Learn how sound is added to films at Swelltone Labs.
Eat some oysters at Casamento’s.

Posted by Todd at 3:40 pm | No Comments

I can’t say why, but I’m always charmed by the light-bulbs lining the ceiling of the New Orleans streetcars. They’re normal sixty-watt bulbs without any shade or cover. At odd intervals, they turn on and off.

Posted by Todd at 12:37 pm | No Comments