Look at New Orleans, barely hanging on to the mainland US, way down there by the Gulf, with football fields of grasslands slipping away every day and threatening the city. And so many Americans sit complacently by, unconcerned. They wave the flag on 9/11, but fail to notice 8/29.

New Orleans not only supplies the oil, sugar, bananas and all the other produce that needs our great river to get there; we also have the best music and the best food in the country. We are this nation’s soul. No wonder so many Americans would rather not think about us. So many good citizens would be more comfortable without their souls — that bothersome little thing that keeps itching for a creative outlet.

It makes perfect sense that those DC bureaucrats fail to hear us during the day; they only hear us as a little whisper during the night, when their nearly lifeless souls are begging for some attention. George W. Bush jumps out of his bed, deep into the night, screaming, “Red Beans and Rice! Jambalaya!”

The soul sometimes breathes at night, even for those who can shut it off during the day, or so I hope.

Well, in this city the soul is encouraged. I would say it is this city’s best export, but that is too businesslike, too un-New Orleanian. Too American.

There is just something in the air and the soil here that grows the best musicians. Did I say “soil”? I meant soul.

This week we have Mr. Leroy Jones — another local master. You might catch him at Preservation Hall or at Donna’s. In fact, when I first moved here I was chatting with him at Donna’s before I knew who he was.

I would say more about Mr. Jones, but all you need to do is click the “more” button to the side of the video — there you will get a whole lot of info about him.

Behind the cut: another jam from the city with so much soul that we can make it an export: Leroy Jones, "On Bourbon Street."