Frolic: jazz, books, food

Jazz, Books, Food, and the Writing Life

Blogging from New Orleans, La

16 November 2004

Putting underpaid writers in a room with an open bar can be unwise. The Gambit Weekly took this risk last night at the party celebrating their roundup of the city’s 40 most impressive people under the age of forty. I got an invite because I wrote the profile of Maurice Brown, a hot young trumpet player:

“Every time I play, I try to play like it’s my last time playing,” says jazz trumpeter Maurice Brown. With a fiery style that seamlessly meshes the swinging melodies of traditional New Orleans jazz, the avant-garde tendencies of his native Chicago and even the rhythms of hip-hop, Brown has caught the attention of top players, including Wynton Marsalis and Clark Terry, and jazz fans around the world. Brown first came to Louisiana to study with Alvin Batiste at Southern University. While many young jazz musicians head to New York, Brown found himself drawn to New Orleans. Since settling in the city three years ago, he has made it his mission to bring top musicians to New Orleans and let the rest of the world know that “the scene is hot down here.” Hip to Bop, Brown’s first album, features the music he wrote for his jazz quintet, which performs to large crowds every Tuesday at Snug Harbor. Brown financed, produced and distributed the album, which has gotten play on jazz stations around the country and made inroads onto the jazz charts. Several major music labels have courted Brown, but for the moment he prefers to release music on his own label and maintain complete control of the final product. Currently, he is making plans to record his soul and funk group, Soul’d U Out. That album, which will feature some big-name guests singing and rapping, should be available before Jazz Fest. Brown has recently felt the pull of New York, where there are more opportunities to play and jazz reputations are made. He plans to keep his home in New Orleans, while spending a few months a year playing in New York. “I like the pace in New Orleans,” Brown said. “I’m more creative when everything is not so busy. That way my mind can be more busy.”

Maurice is an amazing player. Order an CD from his website.

Posted by Todd at 9:21 pm | No Comments

15 November 2004

Everywhere I went Saturday someone kept handing me a drink. After a lazy morning reading the paper, I cruised down to the farmer’s market just before noon hoping that something worth eating still remained. By that point, I could only find a head of cabbage, a few bundle of greens, and several pounds of satsumas, a local Mandarin orange that’s made me forget about any other variety of citrus fruit. As I edged towards the pasta and veal samples prepared by Andrea Apuzzo, I couldn’t help but taste a few swigs of Louisiana wine and beer. The wine was foul, ranging from tart to syrupy. I knew Louisiana wine was a bad idea, but the woman seemed so enthusiastic about her winery. The beer, Abita’s seasonal Christmas beer, made me want to ask for seconds. Tis the season.

When I got home, it was decided that we should have lunch at the deli at Martin’s Wine Cellar. I prefer stopping by Martin’s on Saturdays, because in addition to the standard samples of wine and cheese they also offer some hard liquor. This weekend they were pouring half shots of 16-year-old Chivas Scotch. No doubt it destroyed my ability to taste the Coppola pinot noir that I tried immediately afterwards.

Andrea wanted to shop at the mall in Metairie, that dreaded suburb of New Orleans. To keep my grousing to a minimum, she suggested that we stop by the Cajun Butcher Block to order our Thanksgiving tukducken, a de-boned duck inside a de-boned chicken inside a de-boned turkey. In case you’re concerned that three birds might be insufficient for our family gathering of five, rest assured that sausage and cornbread stuffing fills out the fowls.

The Cajun Butcher Block sits in the corner of an L shaped strip mall, wedged between Boom Boom’s Lounge and Suzette’s Exotic Clothes and Toys. I don’t know what goes on in those other establishments, but at the Butcher Block they were doing magic with meat. As we ordered, I saw the butchers threading together various beasts and fowl, all sprinkled generously with Cajun seasoning. The most audacious creation involved a de-bonded suckling pig wrapped around several birds. The pig looked like a heavy rug as the butcher pulled it around the other meats. This Thanksgiving will be memorable.

The mall was packed, but no more so than normal. The early Christmas frenzy feels more subdued in New Orleans than in any other American city where I have lived. People also have to focus their attention of a New Year’s costume and start preparations for Mardi Gras. I’m feeling pretty festive myself. Maybe it was the purchase of the turducken. Maybe it was the inflateable Christmas bear who greeted me at the grocery store. Or maybe it’s the fact that the weather has become bitterly cold over the last week. I had to dig in the back of the closet and find a long sleeve shirt to wear. Luckily the mall has an outpost of Café du Monde where I could get a cup of hot chocolate to warm me up.

Posted by Todd at 1:01 pm | No Comments

12 November 2004

A few months ago, handmade signs stating “THIEF” appeared around my neighborhood. I assumed some local vigilante had posted these signs and provided arrows pointing towards our resident offender. I’d read about helpful neighbors xeroxing guides to the homes of local pedophiles. Perhaps someone had adopted the same procedure to rid New Orleans of less serious infractions? The signs pointed in several directions, though, so either we had a large number of criminals or a single thief who was always on the move.

A couple of weeks later, I noticed a collection of signs directing me towards “GLORY ROAD.” New Orleans may have some unusual streets, like Race, Clio, and Desire, but I have yet to find myself driving down a road with such a cheesy name. By this point, though, I’d see enough trucks full of lighting equipment and cameras to guess that these makeshift signs were directing crews to the many movie sets around town.

When I saw signs labeled “FIVE FINGERS” this week, there was no longer an air of mystery. Personally, I was happier when the signs seemed inexplicable. Having lived in many towns, though, I’ve realized that eventually ever place begins to make sense.

Posted by Todd at 1:04 pm | No Comments

11 November 2004

The first few times I carved a chicken, the resulting pieces looked like they had been torn apart by a pack a dogs. I’m now comfortable enough with the task that I prefer butchering my own fowl to buying plastic sealed parts that were hacked apart at a factory. Techniques can always be refined, though, and Gourmet Sleuth illustrated instructions are some of the clearest I’ve seen.

Posted by Todd at 5:02 pm | No Comments

Hank Stuever writers regularly for the Washington Post’s Style section. He learned his trade in New Orleans at Loyola University’s student newspaper. To find out what Stuever thinks of his former home, read my profile of Stuever in this week’s New Orleans Gambit Weekly.

Posted by Todd at 10:02 am | No Comments

My regular readers may have noticed that Frolic has been missing for the last few day. My hosting company, which has always given me great service, has been forced to cease operations. I’m working to get everything moved to a new location, but it may be rough until that happens.

Posted by Todd at 9:54 am | No Comments

8 November 2004

Everyone I know was depressed last week about the election, but Andrea and I are feeling better after a weekend of doing nothing much at all. Saturday night we treated ourselves to an exquisite meal at Herbsaint. Nothing like good wine, oysters, and frog legs to help you forget the sorry state of the nation.

Posted by Todd at 5:09 pm | No Comments

5 November 2004

Björk strips away almost everything on Medúlla. No guitars. Synthisers are rarely heard. Percussion appears on only a few tracks. Instead, we hear a flood of voices. Choirs singing exotic Icelandic words. Rumbling Inuit throat singers. Chirping harmonies. Outer-space doo wop. Human beat boxes. At the center of it all, Björk’s powerful voice conducts the chorus of cacophony.

Björk also abandons the traditional structures of pop music on Medúla. More like the recitative of opera than the tight forms of pop music, the songs on Medúlla follow a dramatic rhythm and seem unconcerned about whether anyone will want to dance. There are melodies you could hum, and moment when you expect a back-beat to enter and catchy pop tune to commence. But Björk resists the obvious at every turn, undermining 4/4 beats with unexpected syncopation and deep layers of vocals.

We expect Björk to be daring, and Medúlla does not disappoint. She has reached a point where her fans will follow her. I wonder, though, if the heavy traffic of bootleg remixes of Björk music has freed the singer to ignore the dictates of the pop format. On various websites, amateur DJs slice apart Björk’s music on their laptops and create a kaleidoscope of dance hall hits. Lawrence Lessig believes that a freer exchange of intellectual property, a loosening of the locks we place on music and images and words, will lead to an outpouring of creative derivative works. Does the existence of these derivative works also free artists to follow their muse just a little farther beyond the mainstream then they might have before. If you know that a dozen kids will create a danceable version of your music, then why bother with it yourself? People may want solid beats and uncluttered hooks, but if the fans can tease them from the tracks then the artist is not obligated to provide them.

Also posted at Blogcritics.

Posted by Todd at 5:24 pm | Comments (2)

Little known independent candidate and frequent blogger Adam Felber eloquently concedes the election:

I concede that I overestimated the intelligence of the American people. Though the people disagree with the President on almost every issue, you saw fit to vote for him. I never saw that coming. That’s really special. And I mean “special” in the sense that we use it to describe those kids who ride the short school bus and find ways to injure themselves while eating pudding with rubber spoons. That kind of special.

It’s a moving speech, so read the whole thing. [Thanks Poor Man]

Posted by Todd at 10:27 am | Comments (2)

4 November 2004

Two
cars collided on the Red line of the Washington metro. This happened on line I used to ride everyday to work.

While the street cars in New Orleans may smash the occasional car or unexpectedly lose power, they would never suffer this kind of accident.

Posted by Todd at 9:26 am | No Comments

3 November 2004

I really didn’t see that coming. Early yesterday evening it looked like Kerry would win. Around 9:00 p.m. I left an election watch party to hear Maurice Brown play and to forget about the election. When I came out of the concert, Bush looked almost certain to win. A majority of the United States validated the policies of Bush, and I realized that I don’t really know my country.

Posted by Todd at 8:54 pm | Comments (2)

2 November 2004

Did you vote today? We went to the polls at 7:00 am this morning. It was a slow process, since an old white woman checking the rolls wanted every newly registered voter to cast a provisional ballet. Luckily, a middle aged black woman monitoring the process kept yelling, “If they have a voter registration card, let them vote!” The old woman seemed a little scared, and this sped our entry into the voting booth.

Posted by Todd at 10:41 am | No Comments

1 November 2004

When you live in a tourist destination, people are always visiting. Carol, an old friend of mine, was in New Orleans this week for work, but she managed to wrap things up Friday and slip away for a long lunch at the Bon Ton Cafe. It’s a businessman’s lunch spot with small touches of elegance, like the way the waitress plated the crawfish gratin table-side. It reminds me of European service. I chose the eggplant etouffé, a rich dish of seafood made creamier by the eggplant. The lunch special includes wine, salad, coffee, dessert, so we finished the meal with a brick of bread pudding with bourbon sauce.

Carol used to live near New Orleans and wanted to visit her favorite haunt, Pat O’Brien’s. It’s always overrun with tourists, but the drinks are strong and the patio is pleasant. After wandering around the Quarter for a few hours, Carol and I met up with Andrea. It was a nice night, so we decided to try to snag a table at the Columns, an elegant old hotel with a bar that occupies most of the first floor.

Russ, a friend from high school, was also in town for an academic conference, so we added him to our group and drove Uptown to the the Columns. Russ had never been to New Orleans before, so I was glad we were able to show him something beyond the French Quarter. Too many people visit New Orleans and go home believing the whole city smells like vomit. Really, it’s just a few blocks downtown with that odor.

Carol’s rental car reservations got fouled up, which meant that we had time to take her to Casamento’s for dinner. Often described as a looking like a bathtub, the green tiled restaurant has been frying oysters with the best of them in town since 1919.

Saturday wasn’t really Halloween, but it was close enough for those of us with jobs Monday morning (I don’t count myself in this group). We stopped by a party, where the costumes were quite elaborate. I felt a little lame in my off the rack ER scrubs, although splashing blood across outfit added a nice touch. Andrea, who always goes as a pig, decided to be a bat this year. Other members of our group included a pirate, a Raisin from South Park, Bill O’Reilly with his loufa, and Martha Stewart in prison garb.

For the second day in a row, I found myself back in the French Quarter. There was much mayhem on Bourbon Street, but I was surprised by the number of people out of costume. Maybe they were waiting for the actual day of Halloween. We all bought Hand Grenades, a potent drink the color of toilet bowl cleaner. Somehow we ended at Pat O’Brien’s. Some people managed to follow their Hand Grenades with Hurricanes, but that was more than I could handle.

Posted by Todd at 4:06 pm | No Comments