Broken Levee Books wants your story for our next anthology.

Whether you are unable to come home or have chosen to leave New Orleans, we want to know what that means. What do you miss about New Orleans? What does it take for you to adjust? What is it like to live elsewhere in America? You may write your own story or agree to be interviewed.

It is time for your story to be told.

Contact David Rutledge: dsr@chinmusicpress.com

And here is a song by and for New Orleanians in exile:

Broken Levee Books, a new imprint from Chin Music Press, wants your story for our next anthology.

Whether you are unable to come home or have chosen to leave New Orleans, we want to know what that means. What do you miss about New Orleans? What does it take for you to adjust? What is it like to live elsewhere in America? You may write your own story or agree to be interviewed.

It is time for your story to be told.

Contact David Rutledge: dsr-at mark-chinmusicpress-dot-com

There is a peach-colored house on St. Anthony Avenue, on the left side as one drives toward the lakefront. This house has caught my attention for the past few years because it displays that brown water line more distinctly than any other structure I have seen. The light peach background provides the perfect background to show off that blunt brown streak.

It caught my attention soon after returning to New Orleans. This house is only a handful of blocks away from the place where the London Ave. canal broke open. The brown water line is just below the roof of this one-story home.

This is a brave neighborhood. They have been rebuilding — gutting, demolishing, and so on — since the storm. The streets were once lined with trailers; now there are only a few. There are plenty of empty lots, where houses once stood. But many people — most, I think — are back. Fighting back. Zimmer’s seafood opened up nearby, long before most other businesses were open in the area. I recommend the boiled shrimp.

But I had never seen a trailer outside of this peach-colored house, never saw people working on it. Then, recently, I saw that it had been elevated. There is that one-story peach house, now towering over its neighbors, with its brown water line higher than ever. At this point, there does not even appear to be a way to get into the house — just a house raised 12 or 15 feet up into the air.

Something about this seems poetic.

OK, enough self-congratulations. Hurray, we really did it right this time. No stranded souls on roof tops. No abandoned citizens outside of the Convention Center. And the levees held. It is so obvious that we learned every necessary lesson from that last disaster. Aren’t we wise?

Nope, folks. Truth is, we got lucky this time. The levees barely held — as you saw on every channel — and this one was only a category two. Was it just me, or did that thin little levee holding back the storm surge look pathetic?

By the way, check out this picture I found of Geraldo saving our city. He’s the little one.

Yes, the evacuation went pretty well, even though everyone I know has some sort of horror story about the pace of traffic. Still, they got the people out this time.

But FEMA still sucks. Don’t ask me why. I just feel it.

As long as FEMA remains some sort of subsidiary of Homeland Security, it will be lost among all the anti-terrorist BS of that department. Just look at the Homeland Security website. Somewhere on that sloppy page you may be able to find FEMA.

There was something about this evacuation — this mass exodus out of southern Louisiana — that was more disturbing than the Katrina evacuation. The simple explanation would be that we all had Katrina and its aftermath in our minds as we evacuated this time. There was that looming question about when we would be able to return. Oh, the anxiety that comes from relying on levees.

But there was more. I have never been a part of any evacuation this large, and I did drive to Houston before Katrina. Many newscasters have been saying that this was the largest evacuation in state history. I kept wondering when it had ever been topped in the nation’s history. We don’t have that many large-scale evacuations to compare this to. One man on CNN (I think) ventured a guess, saying that this was the biggest evacuation since the dust bowl.

There is a point in the evacuation process when each person loses a sense of self and joins in the stream out of town. It is almost as though it is an ego-less process, even though it is clearly done out of self-preservation.

You become part of this seemingly endless stream of automobiles. You no longer have any option. You may even feel like you could lose your mind as you drive 13 miles in one hour (as I did in my first hour) or seven miles in one hour (as I did in my second) or 10 miles (my third). You may feel like you may lose your mind, but there is nowhere to lose it. You could pull over to the side of the road, but you can no longer escape the impersonal process pulling you away from your city.

It is difficult to be part of this flow of traffic — with the endless red brake lights, if you are driving at night — and not think about the larger process. The great temporary migration of people away from the oncoming storm. It is no longer about you.

So, apparently, it turns out that God does hate the Southern Decadence, the big gay celebration that struts its way through the French Quarter on Labor Day weekends.

Or perhaps God has to delegate some of his responsibilities. Perhaps he has placed a secretly anti-gay angel in the job of hurricane management. Heckuva job.

Either way, Gustav or no Gustav, Sunday’s parade promises to be a weak one. In fact, that parade has not really recovered since being blown away by Katrina, as Jen Kuchta pointed out last year.

Before the presence of Gustav, looming into the Gulf, I had planned to write an “anniversary” piece about some of the changes New Orleans has undergone in the past three years. Some of the ways in which the city has changed are as blunt as a demolished house; other changes are more subtle, less easily perceived by the tourist eye.

One way in which the city is changed is that now whenever a hurricane even threatens to threaten we all pay attention. Bobby Jindal was outlining plans for the worst-case scenario as early as Tuesday. I know he wants to be prepared, of course, but too much worst-case-scenario talk over the years prior to Katrina was responsible for some people staying home. They had heard it all before, and nothing ever happened.

Anyhow, I’m going to save my scintillating thoughts on how the city has altered until Gustav blows another direction. Gustav sounds like someone who should be a good friend of Ivan.

Remember Ivan? I wrote a piece about drinking coffee before and after that hurricane. It gets right to the issue of how our city has changed since that time.

So does Amanda Boyden's new novel, Babylon Rolling, which also takes place in the days before Ivan. I’ve heard her read from it twice, and it sounds like a great New Orleans novel. She also has some thoughts about how our city has changed — what we have lost.

But for now we are waiting for Gustav. He may be headed this way. Let’s hope not.

Just in case, behind the cut is a tune to evacuate to:

I was driving to my brother’s house in Seattle today, thinking about what I might put up for Music Friday. I knew I would have time to think about it, as this afternoon is dedicated to Morita: I am waiting for the boxes of books — Curing Japan’s America Addiction — to arrive while my brother and his family are having fun in Oregon. No bitterness.

Anyhow, as I pull up to the house, NPR is reviewing Irma Thomas' latest CD, After the Rain. This is her musical response to the devastation of our most musical city. The review offers some great information — how she graduated from Dillard University in New Orleans at the age of 61, and now, at 67, she has put out a rocking new work, Simply Grand.

So, there was no doubt about who should be featured this week. It landed in my lap. There are plenty of YouTube tunes to choose from for Ms. Thomas, including a scene from Jim Jarmusch's quirky Louisiana film Down by Law.

Behind the cut, a great song from another long-time New Orleans rocker.

The round world of Botero is now showing at NOMA. I tried to get as many O’s as possible into that sentence. The Columbian-born (1932) Fernando Botero is best known for his sculptures and portraits of plump people.

More specifically, his portraits include opulent elbows, pudgy knees, thick fingers, overflowing hips. Even his flowers are fat. In one still life, a mandolin seems to be overenlarged, swollen to three times the normal size.

Early in the show, there are also a couple of big Christ paintings, complete with the crown of thorns that seems barely able to contain Jesus’ thick head.

The style is unmistakable. The meaning of this style, if there is one, is another question. Botero states, “Form is exaltation of nature. Exaltation of volume. Sensual exaltation.”

Somehow that seems good for a start, but it is ultimately unsatisfactory. These oversized versions of the world show something more than just “sensual exaltation.” In fact, through this show, I rarely felt that the purpose of Botero’s style is to exalt the forms of his subject matter. One can see from his earliest work that he is equally interested in the distortions of people, perhaps to show something more unsettling about life.

Did I complain about the heat last week? Sometimes I show my Cleveland roots. For New Orleanians, the weekend between July and August means festival time!

The Satchmo Summerfest will be taking place this weekend all around the Old Mint in the French Quarter (just follow Esplanade to the river).

Click that link to see the schedule of bands — traditional jazz, brass bands, contemporary jazz, a children’s stage. Lots of stuff worth checking out. Soul Rebels, Rebirth, Dr. Michael White. There is something called the New Orleans Helsinki Connection featuring Leroy Jones. Gotta hear that one.

See also, as for all New Orleans fests, the menu. Duck debris poboy, anyone? Don’t worry, fellow Clevelanders, “duck debris” is not what you think it is. Still, I can’t quit my roots: Creole sausage sounds better.

And guess what? The festival is free!

It’ll be hot, but we learn not to mention that too much.

Behind the cut, who else? Going way back to 1926 — Satchmo with “Muskat Ramble.”

It is difficult to hold a thought when the city is this humid. One must pause for a rest and a drink, then move on to the next thought. Especially when Dolly is sending her chin music through the Gulf …

So this week’s Music Friday is a mix of things.

First, a mango. That is refreshing. There are a bunch of Chef Paul videos recently posted on YouTube. Get lost in them for an hour and forget the heat.

It is easy to get lost in YouTube in general. That is something that I have in comment with my 11-year-old niece. It is usually mindless, but not necessarily.

Random time wasting on YouTube led me to this guy: Pierce O'Donnell. Seems like someone New Orleanians should know about. We may like mangoes and cold drinks, but we are still pissed off. This guy is planning to take the Army Corps of Engineers to trial, and he has a number of videos on YouTube that explain his reasoning. They are worth checking out. Here is a good one to start with.

Chin Music will be keeping its eye on Mr. O’Donnell.

Then there is Saints news: we got this guy.

But now it is time for some music. Ever wonder why I have never put Kermit Ruffins up here? It all goes back to the time Kermit went to Washington. No, not that Kermit: this one.

Sorry, Kermit. I just can’t forgive that.

Still, let’s end this on a positive note. Behind the cut, some cooling off music from Sidney Bechet —“Summertime.”

New Orleans has never been much of a baseball town, despite the presence of our Zephyrs, the triple-A team for the Mets.

Despite the heat, their Metairie ballpark is always a good time. Where else will you find a nutria named Boudreaux for a mascot?

You can get a slice of the greasiest pizza on earth. On Thirsty Thursdays you can get a bad beer for a dollar.

But minor league baseball is fun. Is that a fourth Molina catcher that I see on their roster?

I suppose that I will probably be the only one interested to learn that Rick Waits is the new pitching coach for those Zephyrs. Well, I watched him thirty years ago pitching in Cleveland …

Anyhow, this really does lead up to a New Orleans tune — a great version of "Take Me Out to the Ballgame" by Branford Marsalis. I only wish it was longer.

We are going to be a bit more subtle this week. After all, what says subtle if not the Fourth of July? Kaboom!!

For that matter, what says subtle if not the United States under the current King George? Kaboom!!

This week’s video puts the flag to a different use. It is “What Would Jesus Do?” by Chris Thomas King. I have heard that question posed many times, but this may be the first time when the speaker actually seems to be asking the question.

"People were starving for water, for nutrition, for medicine, and all people seemed to care about was: Is somebody guarding the property, guarding the store?" King says, recalling the inspiration for the song from his new home/studio in Prairieville, La., about 40 minutes outside New Orleans. "America had a moral lapse of reason. Instead of sending a life raft, they were in a military and police mind."

That paragraph is from his website — www.christhomasking.com — where you can read more about the home he lost to Katrina, the difficulties he has had trying to rebuild and return to the city, the death of his mother in December of ’05. The man has lived the New Orleans experience these past years.

And in true New Orleans tradition, he takes that experience and puts it to music. Here is a contemporary bluesman. Watch the video, and be sure to listen to the lyrics: “Standing outside the Walgreen’s with a stone in my hand/I ask myself, would Jesus understand?”

Good question.

In downtown New Orleans a parking lot now stands where once there was … a parking lot.

This is the so-called future Trump Tower of New Orleans. Click that link to see just how tacky a website can get. Right now that parking lot has a fence that is decorated with pictures of this supposed tower and with the name and face of Trump.

Nothing could say New Orleans less than the face of Donald Trump.

He says on his website, “New Orleans is truly one of the greatest cities on earth, and I am proud to be part of what keeps it so special.” Good god.

Perhaps some of the powers-that-be in New Orleans feel that they need money from anywhere. I say fuck Trump. At this time when New Orleans is at risk of losing its soul, the last thing we need is this man.

Luckily, that super-sized tower is making no progress. It is probably just more hype from that super self-promoter. If he can get his face somewhere, he will. But I am willing to bet that Trump Tower New Orleans will never exist. That’s good news.

If you would like to read something a little more newsworthy on this topic, here is "Trump Steams Ahead."

If you would rather hear some New Orleans music on this Friday, behind the cut is The Rebirth Brass Band in a very un-Trumpish video.

Kimberly Rivers is amazing. She will tell you this herself, if given a chance. But you do not have to take her word for it: the film Trouble the Water is ample evidence.

Rivers stayed in New Orleans during hurricane Katrina, along with her dogs, some family, friends and a video camera. The footage that she took before and during the storm is chilling. She lived in the Ninth Ward — the Upper Ninth Ward, by the look of it. Her steady hand was able to convey the uncertainty of the day before and the chaos of the encroaching water.

I won’t give too much away here, but there is incredible footage of Kimberly’s brother wading through the flood waters, saving lives. There is footage of the family huddled in the attic, like so many families, as the water rises. Later in the film, FEMA plays its role, of course. When Ms. Rivers shows up to speak with a FEMA official, he asks, “Do you always have a camera crew with you?” She calmly replies, “Yeah, usually.” The expression on the FEMA man’s face is worth the price of admission.

The directors of this film, Carl Deal and Tia Lessin, recently presented the film at the Seattle International Film Festival (SIFF). They said that they had initially gone to Louisiana to make a documentary about soldiers returning from Iraq who had lost their homes to Katrina. As they were working on that project, the National Guard clamped down, telling their loyal soldiers not to give their stories. With that documentary thwarted, Deal and Lessin came across Ms. Rivers, or judging by the footage in the film, Ms. Rivers insisted herself into their presence, letting them know that she had some film and a story that no one had seen.

Much like Spike Lee’s brilliant documentary When the Levees Broke, this film works because it focuses on the real life stories of people who have been neglected and disrespected on so many levels. The film focuses on Rivers, but the stories of those around her are also compelling. Rivers, her husband (future husband, during the film) Scott Roberts, her brother who spent Katrina in the Orleans Parish Penitentiary (OPP), their comrade in exile to Memphis who is a recovering drug addict: the people of this film are not saints. They are straight from the streets of New Orleans, and the film captures many of the difficulties that such a life entails.

First off, here is a link to a good New Orleans music site: ListenGood. Scroll down to find their review of Dr. John’s latest, City that Care Forgot.

And here's what The New York Times had to say about the CD.

That brings us back to last week’s topic: appropriate anger. It appears that Dr. John has a good amount of it. And it appears that he has focused it into a strong musical response to the outrage that is New Orleans.

President Bush came to town with enough lies to light up a cathedral.

That’s my line. The following one comes from Dr. John, quoted in yet another review of the CD, in The Gambit: “Say it's a job well done, say it's a job well done / Then you giggled like a bitch / and hopped back on Air Force One.”

The Internet has not caught up to this music yet. All I could find was this of it, complete with cameos by Ani Difranco, Terence Blanchard, Willie Nelson. Do they really belong in the same sentence? I don’t know, but they are all on this CD, and I am interested in checking it out.

It’s officially here again — hurricane season started on June 1. But I am sure the levees are fine. After all, the Army Corps of Engineers has taken full responsibility for the destruction of New Orleans, right?

Check out this video.

Leaky levees? No problem. Do you trust this man? “We’re getting a little bit of seepage” but “it’s of no concern.” Are we just used to being lied to?

Pardon my paranoia, but New Orleanians have earned their distrust of so-called authority.

Of course, that same goes for the entire Gulf Coast (the entire country, really). Remember this classic moment? "Go fuck yourself, Mr. Cheney." I love the reporter’s follow-up question: “Are you getting a lot of that?”

With this mood in mind — a mood of well-focused anger — enjoy the lyrics to this week’s tune. Behind the cut, The American Free Press.

It is time for a classic. When you hear these guys, you will see that they could step right out of the 1920s and into the Economy Hall or Preservation Hall of today. That, kids, does not mean they are “old”: it means they are timeless. And they jam.

Here’s a little history describing where they played in the French Quarter back the early 1900s (from Edmond Souchon’s "King Oliver: A Very Personal Memoir," found in Robert Gottlieb's Reading Jazz):

The place was twice as long as it was wide. It was a one-story wooden frame building at sidewalk level, lengthwise parallel to the street. There was a bar at the Iberville end, and a sort of dance hall to the rear, nearer Canal Street. Quick glances through the swinging doors showed us that the inside was fairly well lighted. But outside the building there were many deep shadows, and the sputtering carbon arclight on the corner was out more than on. Gutters three feet wide and almost as deep ran alongside the sidewalk. A tall telegraph pole stood just in front of the dance hall, across the gutter. In its shadow we sought refuge until someone discovered us and told us to move on.

How about that? Music that is worth standing in the gutter to hear! And not just any gutter: “three feet wide and almost as deep”! The French Quarter has cleaned up a bit in the last 100 years. A bit, anyway.

We’ll offer two songs today. They are short, made for the 45. Again, kids will need that explained. You will see a picture of one during the first tune.

Also, both of the youtubers who posted these songs have plenty of others worth checking out.

The first one is about Canal St., but by this point King Joe had brought his band — and Louis Armstrong — to Chicago: "Canal Street Blues."

Then, behind the cut, another great one: “Too Late.”

I am glad to see that the Jazz Vipers have a couple of decent videos. When I first posted the Vipers on Music Friday, I had to choose between shaky camera phone videos or dark shots of them playing at the Spotted Cat.

On the earlier post I mentioned that I was a fan way back when they played while crammed into a dark corner of The Abbey, a fun and occasionally grungy bar on Decatur St. I saw them at Jazz Fest this year, jamming in Economy Hall to a full house.

These guys are great, and now if you can’t make it to New Orleans, you can still get a sense of their music. I can also recommend their CDs, three and counting -- buy 'em here. I see that they also have t-shirts.

No, I don’t get a cut. I really am just a fan. Behind the cut, check out “Blue Drag,” with John Rodli on vocals.

Everything
just as it is,
as it is,
as is.
Flowers in bloom.
Nothing to add.

- Robert Aitken, Roshi, “As it is”

To see the difference between New York City and New Orleans one only needs to look to the sidewalk. In NYC the pace is rigorous, ruthless even. I stopped to help a couple of women who asked for some help with a parking meter; the man behind me — who I never saw — said, “Jesus Christ, keep moving.”

After spending six days in that city, my legs have been worn out from walking. You turn on to Fifth Avenue, and it is like being caught in a river. You better keep up with the New York walkers or you will be sunk. You certainly don’t wait at corners for the light to turn your way. There is no pause: this river flows fast. At each corner, you walk into the street, waiting for the moment when you can pass between cars, in front of cars. The drivers will warn you with a loud honk when they are bearing down on you.

In New Orleans, especially in the French Quarter, the walk is slow, even sometimes to a stop. We admire our architecture, our balconies, even if we live here. Tourists, of course, will stop in the middle of a sidewalk, taking their time in framing a picture. Most locals will wait patiently as someone poses on the corner across the street.

New Yorkers seem to be in a frantic state of always getting somewhere — a frenetic state.

New Orleanians rarely seem compelled to get somewhere. I suppose this could be put negatively. One friend who had visited a few times came to the conclusion that New Orleans is where ambitions come to die. I would say, rather, that it is the place where end results take a back seat to a more appreciative pace. Life is better in New Orleans.

I know it is different downtown, where people do need to get to work. The pace also changes, of course, when people are forced to rebuild their homes or to move out of their trailers. But ideally, New Orleanians want to walk in a way that takes in life. We seem to like it here.

In New York, I wanted to look up at the Rockefeller Building. Yes, perhaps I wanted to gawk like a tourist. To do so I had to step to the side, protecting myself with a corner of a building, so as not to be swept away by the relentless rush of the sidewalk. That would never happen in New Orleans. We pause, and enjoy.

Behind the cut, a classic song that compares the pace of nature to the pace of life — a song that captures the flow of our city.

Five dollars for a bus ride. Five dollars. Last year it was only $1.50. Some of you may know that I am talking about Jazz Fest. They call it the Zydeco Express. What a load of …. A simple ride from the fest to the French Quarter — ten minutes — five bucks.

That left a bad taste in my mouth. Jazz Fest and those around it need to make sure that it doesn’t turn into the drain-every-penny-possible-from-tourists fest. Some think it is already there.

At the fest itself, though, I have no complaints (except, perhaps, for four dollar cans of MGD). The music was great (Blanchard, Santana, Steel Pulse, my favorites); the food as always is a huge part of the fest. If you have never had a cochon d’lait po’boy, you must.

The trick, by the way, is to bring in some vodka in a water bottle — they will never check — or to save your drinking for later. Perhaps those folks around the Steel Pulse stage had another trick, judging by the clouds they created.

But the fest is over, and this week’s tune, behind the cut, is from a man who was not at the fest. Has he ever been? Tom Waits, “I Wish I was in New Orleans”:

Such statements are always subjective, but I’m gonna say it anyway: Terence Blanchard is the current master of jazz in New Orleans. Perhaps he is the current master of jazz period. His latest CD is all the evidence needed.

That topic has already been discussed on this blog.

Terence Blanchard has been closely connected to The Thelonious Monk Institute of Jazz and was integral to bringing that institute to New Orleans. Click on that link: they have a very good website, where you can see a nice talk by Blanchard and some tunes by the students.

I know that I run the risk of overlinking this week (and I may have invented a word); nonetheless, here is a great video of Terence Blanchard teaching the jazz students, before the Institute moved to NO.

Mr. Blanchard, of course, is playing Jazz Fest this weekend. This time he will be accompanied by the Louisiana Philharmonic Orchestra. If that sounds odd to you, listen to A Tale of God's Will: A Requiem for Katrina. And click that link, too: the intro to the site is impressive.

I almost didn’t put Blanchard on this week’s Music Friday, because I am worried that too many people will show up at the Jazz Tent (Friday, 5:25). Please, save me a seat if it gets too crowded. Luckily, last week’s Music Friday feature — Stevie Wonder — is playing at the same time.

Behind the cut, a nice sample of our man Terence in concert.

Reviews for the song:

“I think it was a charming, upbeat song! I loved it!” ~Kimi Rutledge (Age 10)

“Um, I thought it was funky, and sensational. Um, um, um.” ~David Rutledge (Age 42)

Thank　you very much, and we at Chin Music Press wish you a happy Jazz Fest!

The above was written by our guest writer, Kimi. I wasn’t going to put such an obvious choice on Music Friday, but this video is so darn good. Stevie plays the Fest on Friday, May 2.

Behind the cut, Sesame Street rocks!!

Santana is coming to town, on the final day of Jazz Fest, Sunday, May 4, on the Acura Stage, right before the return of the Neville Brothers. There should be a huge crowd camped out that afternoon.

The last time he played at Jazz Fest, he declared, “We are the opposite of Bush.” He went on to explain that his group represents harmony, love and so on. A definite crowd pleaser.

Personally, I prefer the smaller stages at Jazz Fest. But I have seen some great stuff on the big stages: Springsteen, Dirty Dozen, Neville Brothers.

When I saw Paul Simon on the big stage two years ago, he seemed to be sleepwalking through his set, as though he was tired of his own tunes. Dull, dull, dull. Jazz Fest loses its soul when it gets so commercial.

So, generally, it is more fun to check out some band that you never heard of on a smaller stage. That is where the memorable surprises are usually found. The Fais Do Do Stage may be the best, featuring great zydeco and Cajun music. One year Nathan (of Nathan and the Zydeco Cha Chas) invited the entire crowd to his birthday party and gave the date for the event the following fall. Unfortunately, that turned out to be the Katrina-Rita season, so I don’t know if the party went on as planned.

It is that small-stage charm (and the food) that makes Jazz Fest worth attending.

Santana is one exception: a band that is worth the effort of pushing into a crowd. Behind the cut — it might be a good joke if I said something like David Archuletta here — but no: it’s Santana.

It’s Jazz Fest month — the month when the definition of “New Orleans Jazz and Heritage” expands beyond reason. For those not in the know, the official title of our Jazz Fest is the “New Orleans Jazz and Heritage Festival.” In the past, that heritage has somehow involved Sting, Dave Matthews and this year, Billy Joel. It’s an economic thing.

But what the hell, the spirit of Jazz Fest welcomes all. The beauty of it is that those big names can bring in the numbers, while we locals go enjoy some second lines in the Economy Hall Tent, some zydeco at the Fais Do Do Stage or some newer jazz in the Jazz Tent.

Part of the New Orleans heritage is certainly the Caribbean influence. We are closer to Cuba or Jamaica than to much of the USA. This is much more significant than mere geography.

And Jazz Fest always brings in some of the best reggae bands. In addition to the local Revealers, recent years have brought in Jimmy Cliff, Toots and the Maytals, Third World. It is our own mini-Sunsplash.

On Friday, April 25th, Burning Spear will be playing the Congo Square Stage: check 'em out with "Burning Reggae."

Ah … I can almost smell that special scent that smokes through the crowd during so much of Jazz Fest.

But here is the band of the week, one of the greatest reggae bands ever: Steel Pulse. They will be playing at the Congo Square Stage, Saturday, May 3. Last time they played, the sound system was messed up. Disappointing. But I bought their most recent CD — “African Holocaust” — and listened at home. Not disappointing.

Behind the cut, a taste of that CD.

When I first moved to the French Quarter, in the summer of 1999, I heard a local complaining about the tourists. My thought at that time was that no one living in the Quarter can really complain about tourists. They will barf on your sidewalk, they will sing drunkenly at 3 am on a weeknight, they will piss on your bumper, they will howl at all hours. Still, the whole place is about tourists: the Quarter could not survive without them.

Now, after having lived here for over eight years, they do sometimes get on my nerves. They walk too slowly when I am trying to get to Rouses (the former A&P). Really, they just stop in the middle of the sidewalk, wearing shorts, bickering, looking at a map, and they have no idea that someone like myself might actually be walking on that sidewalk for a reason.

Post-K, though, what bugs me the most is that those tourists will come to town, do their usual barf-sing-piss-and-howl routine, and think that everything is fine with New Orleans. I spoke to a man and woman in the Gumbo Shop, visiting from Houston, who said that they did not want to be one of those tourists, and for that reason they went on the disaster tour. Everyone I have spoken to has had the gut feeling that such tours are the lowest form of exploitation. But this couple’s desire to see the city, disaster and all, rather than go home an ignorant visitor, made me reconsider. Could there be something positive about such tours?

The cover of the pamphlet advertising the “Hurricane Katrina Tour” shows a big colorful hurricane about to hit the Gulf Coast and a caption: “Voted Most Creative Tour.” Very tasteful from the start. On the inside, the pamphlet has all the subtlety of a carnival barker. At the top, in catchy purple letters, it states, “America’s Greatest Catastrophe!” Yippee! We are number one!

Thirty-five dollars for adults, $28 for children. So, let’s see, a family of four would pay only $131. The word “Rebirth” can be found on this page twice, once in big letters, but none of this money is going to help rebuild; in fact, wouldn’t economics suggest that those who run this bus tour would prefer to keep the city in its state of disaster? There is no money in driving through boring, rebuilt communities with regular garbage pickup and steady schools.

To say the least, the promotion of this tour is tasteless. I have no interest in paying to find out if the tour is equally tasteless.

The man at the Gumbo Shop also told me that at one point, touring the devastation of the Lower Ninth Ward, a woman in front of her house gave the whole bus the finger. A big ol’ middle finger aimed straight at those tourists. I guess the tour does show something about the city that won’t be found in the French Quarter.

Still on this topic, Music Friday turns into Video Friday today. Behind the cut, something of a disaster tour and a thoughtful response to New Orleans today.

“Reluctant Ambassadors” is not the name of a new band, but perhaps it should be. It is the position that New Orleanians often find themselves in when away from their city. I am not referring to our reading at Get Lost Books, last week in San Francisco, which was small but wonderful. In that case I had volunteered to be a spokesperson for our city, and there was a receptive and interested group. No, I am referring to those times when us folks from New Orleans suddenly find ourselves speaking for a city — in a coffee shop, in a random conversation, while checking into a hotel, maybe even with family — wherever it might be.

I sat in an Irish bar in Sonoma, California, drinking a beer in wine country. A woman asked where I am from, and after hearing the answer she says, “I can’t stand New Orleans.” I was in a good mood, so I didn’t say to her what I felt like saying. Instead, I found myself telling her what is great about the city, explaining that it isn’t all Bourbon Street or what you see on TV. I found myself explaining why the city should fight to survive and why the government should help.

As though any of that needs to be explained. I felt like I was in another country. In truth, I really was, except for accepted boundaries.

At the bar at the hotel in San Francisco (my sister-in-law once asked if all my stories begin with “In a bar …”), I overheard a man talking, in a group of four or five suit-and-tie wearing people. It was clear that he was the only one from New Orleans. They politely listened as he said how great Jazz Fest is, how inspiring it is to see the city come back to life and so on. They were conspicuously silent.

These are the moments when New Orleanians find themselves turned into reluctant ambassadors. We didn’t sign up for this job. We just can’t stand it when people so ignorantly dismiss our city.

Another day, driving across the Golden Gate Bridge (nowhere near a bar, Yuko), a New Orleans tune came on the radio — Ellis Marsalis with Irvin Mayfield, playing a tune that I remember from Spike Lee’s Mo’ Better Blues. I believe it is from a CD soon to be released. Alone with this music, I was reminded of how great our city is. It speaks for itself.

No videos from that one yet, but I am looking forward to that CD. For now, who better for Music Friday than that family of ambassadors, the Marsalis’? Behind the cut is Ellis Marsalis with a couple of his sons, “Surrey with the Fringe on Top,” and trombone fans should keep watching after the song — listen to Branford call the trombone a “crappy instrument” and Delfeayo proving him wrong:

There will (probably) be no Music Friday next week, as there will be a Chin Music Press event in San Francisco. Anyone interesting in hearing a reading (by me) from Do You Know What It Means to Miss New Orleans? just come on by Get Lost Travel Books around 7:00 next Wednesday. Then on Thursday, another Chin Music event will take place: check out the info here.

Meanwhile, back to New Orleans, the homeless are encamped along Clairborne Ave., under the freeway. It is disturbing and disgraceful to see an American city reduced to this. And they are taking care of the housing shortage by doing this.

It is amazing that anyone can live in this city and not be pissed off.

That brings me back to last week’s topic: protest. Here is another great protest song of the Bush-era.

But since you will have to wait two weeks for the next Music Friday posting, let’s double up. Going back two weeks, from an artist who I definitely wanted to put up here at least twice: Nicholas Payton. Behind the cut, the more positive side of our city and the real reason for Music Friday.

“To acquire immunity to eloquence is of the utmost importance to the citizens of a democracy.” – Bertrand Russell, 1938

I guess he would vote for Hillary.

But he does have a point. Eloquence wins the debate, but it is no sign that one is actually more insightful. Anyone voting for Obama — and I think that would include me — should imagine his message without the eloquence. How good does he sound then?

Certainly eloquence can be a welcome weapon in any fight for change. If we had more eloquence from our leaders here in New Orleans, we might have gotten more national attention. Our senators are jokes, the former governor was a sap, and the only time the mayor was eloquent was when he was losing it … “Fix this goddamn problem …”

There is also a sad lack of eloquence in those fighting for housing in New Orleans. Too often our protests degenerate into this. I suppose that does have some tribal eloquence.

So, this week’s song is from a guy who has been on here before: Behind the cut, the Boss, with some eloquent protest.

At the end of my piece in Do You Know What it Means to Miss New Orleans?, written while I was in an uncertain evacuation in Seattle, during that time when no one quite knew how much of our city was still standing — most of you know what I am talking about — I wrote, “The first trumpet to return wins.”

Thinking about that sentence two and a half years later, I wasn’t so sure I liked it. It seemed overstated, maybe, and I thought about editing it out when we reprint the book.

Then, looking around for a good Music Friday for this week, I came across this article about the importance of the trumpet to New Orleans.

It made me change my mind again. Plus, I don’t want to change anything that would alter what I really felt at the time of writing that piece.

This article also made it obvious as to who this week’s musician should be — Mr. Nicholas Payton. He will be playing the first Sunday of Jazz Fest in just a couple of months.

Happily, New Orleans now has many trumpets. Behind the cut is Mr. Payton with "Eye of the Hurricane."

Editor's note: In honor of Presidents' Day — yeah, that's the ticket — we bring you Music Friday three days late. Enjoy!

We take requests here at Music Friday. Our most recent request is for a song by Marc Cohn which was inspired — if that is the right word — by the events of Katrina as well as his own experience of being shot in the head. However, my team of research assistants has been unable to find the requested song — “Join the Parade” — anywhere on the Net, except for as a ringtone.

Nonetheless, his album cover certainly does have a nice New Orleans touch. A brass band during some dark days.

So keep those requests coming. I once said something similar on a college radio show, telling the listeners that I would play The Ramones and only The Ramones until someone called in. It took about twenty minutes. I think the song “Weasel Face” did it.

Anyhow — note that “anyhow” is a transition that can take one from anywhere to anywhere — Voices has reported that Dianne Reeves will be performing at Jazz Fest this year. Let’s see her at work, with a nice little New Orleans video and a smooth version of "Do You Know What It Means to Miss New Orleans?" behind the cut.

Everyone who has turned to New Orleans since the levee breaks deserves to take a full four day weekend — maybe five — and celebrate Mardi Gras wherever they are now. John Edwards, David Simon, Brad and Angelina, and all those less famous souls who have helped out — forget Super Tuesday, it is time to break every social rule you can think of and make it into a party.

There is another group who has New Orleans on their minds, The Blind Boys of Alabama, who just put out an album called New Orleans.

Here is a video from that album, with plenty of scenes from our city: "Free at Last."

Happy Mardi Gras!!!

Any time I find a video that shows how New Orleans culture is cultivated by the street, I will show it. Any time I see a video that shows profound protest over the destruction of the projects, I will show it.

Just when I thought that I could not be more disgusted by our country — our governments — here comes HUD. I brought it up last week, and I might bring it up next week: tearing down the projects in New Orleans is tantamount to displacing a population. A step away from genocide.

American style genocide won’t come with jackbooted thugs hauling black people off to concentration camps (unless, of course, you consider the current penitentiaries and the current drug laws). It will come with a lack of health care, a lack of education, and — now — a lack of housing.

Can New Orleans culture survive? I want to say that it is durable — tenacious — and can’t be wiped out by HUD. I want to say that.

Here is a video that suggests that positive view: Grassroots Dancing.

Here is another. Watch this video behind the cut to see more new Orleans than any tourist has ever seen: "Bout it bout it."

They are tearing down the projects in New Orleans. This is not housing that was flooded. It is (was) housing that many people could have been living in. If you think this is housing full of criminals, you should read the book by Ashley Nelson, The Combination. This is a book by a high school student about living in the projects; the title means that those who live in the projects are not all bad or all good — they are a combination.

This is our Trail of Tears, folks. It is the government trying to move a population — a race. Conveniently for those who want that population moved, it already has been moved. This is an attempt to keep people from coming home.

CNN, ABC, FOX and so on, have done a wonderful job of covering this story and looking into the nuances of the situation. Not. They suck, just like the government does. Thank god for YouTube. There the voice of democracy can still be expressed.

Here is one example (also behind the cut), with New Orleans music moving smoothly into protest: Party with a Purpose.

Here is the New Orleans City Council at work: Don't Trust the Government.

Notice how the NOPD are very quick to use tasers and pepper spray, and very bad at locking gates.

That’s my music for the week. Are you listening Obama?

By law, citizens are permitted to play “holiday music” (ie Christmas music) through January first. After that, such music shall be confiscated and the person who plays or sings the music shall be fined a minimum of $50.

So, we are safe to play “Silent Night” this week.

Behind the cut, Wynton Marsalis and Kathleen Battle playing a beautiful version of that tune. If you look closely (during the third minute), you can watch Wynton falling in love.

I mentioned last week that Chuck D. raps on the opening song of the latest Dirty Dozen CD. That got me interested in what the great front man for Public Enemy has been doing lately. It turns out that he and Public Enemy are still putting out some music that has nearly the same energy the band had at its height 15 to 20 years ago.

Rap used to have a bad name for a good reason. Chuck D. knows that the best weapon — the most threatening weapon — is a brain, preferably a brain fueled by books. He makes gangster rap look like a silly cartoon, or a consistently sexist and shallow cartoon.

Of course, since Public Enemy’s great successes, there has been much to be angry about. Check out their “Son of a Bush,” where he keeps referring to our current president as “CIA child.”

The tune “Pump the Music” does not contain Chuck’s poignant lyrics, but the video puts the drowning of New Orleans into a larger context. Behind the cut, enjoy our song of the week, and …

May You Maintain Your Anger Through the Holiday Season!!!

The Dirty Dozen Brass Band’s latest CD, What’s Going On, their version of the music of Marvin Gaye, is a powerful response to the destruction of New Orleans. It may not be quite as profound as Terence Blanchard’s A Tale of God’s Will, which truly transforms the storm into something eloquent, beautiful and heartbreaking. It is that transformation which is most important — we all know what happened. Blanchard turns it into art.

The Dirty Dozen’s response is also strong. It has their typical funky vibe, with an atypical touch of anger. You can see New Orleans culture taking on a new tone in this CD.

This city has every reason to turn into The Big Angry, although it does not seem to be in the nature of this culture. Perhaps that is what we are lacking.

The first song on the CD, "What’s Going On,” comes with the poignant words of Chuck D. More on him next week.

This week is the Dirty Dozen version of "Mercy Mercy Me." Check it out behind the cut.

Today in class, I heard myself saying something about Walt Whitman, then heard it turning into teacherly blabber. “Oh, shut up,” I said. The class laughed, but some students looked at me like I was odd. I explained: “I’ve always wanted to tell a teacher to shut up, teachers who blabber like that. And now I can, because I am the teacher.”

This week’s Music Friday has nothing to do with that little story. It is the great saxophonist Lester Young. I learned in this week’s Gambit, in a story by Jason Berry — Chin Music Press fans will know about Mr. Berry — that Lester Young spent his first eleven years in New Orleans, beginning in 1909.

Perhaps he imbibed this city’s jazz roots; perhaps he breathed it in as a child without knowing what importance it would have for his art. Perhaps simply being in New Orleans at that age can give one a taste for the music.

Perhaps not.

Either way, here he is behind the cut: Lester Young, “Jamming the Blues." (Note an interesting comment below the video: The guitar player is not quite visible so as to avoid showing an integrated group in 1944.)

New Orleanians search for any way to keep it together, for example, "laughter yoga."

I can’t quite tell if this is positive or insane or both. Somehow it seems to be an appropriate response to life in this city.

Well, I write these Music Fridays on Thursday, of course, and right now I am about to go celebrate the Great American Supersize Holiday, Thanksgiving.

Behind the cut is an excellent tune to keep yourself awake, the anti-tryptophan:

George Lewis, "Running Wild."

“New Orleans may be more tolerant than other places. Perhaps it is the permissiveness offered by the sub-tropical heat; to own a strip-joint and also be a dedicated churchgoer offers little inner contradiction. It is as if people in the Big Easy take it for granted that humankind is a spiritual house of cards built on flimsy, and therefore is full of contradiction and ready to collapse.” — Norman Mailer

That is my brief tribute to the great American writer, a true believer in the novel. (This quotation, however, comes from his nonfiction work — 791 pages — on the life of Lee Harvey Oswald. I bought it at a University of New Orleans book sale today for $1.50.)

Anyhow, this week’s tune will be a little tribute to Mr. Mailer, who I recently heard in an interview from the 1960’s stating that he is not a Christian. I also recently began reading his novel The Gospel According to the Son, which is a retelling of the story of Christ written in first-person. Mailer was a non-Christian who did a great deal of research into the story of Christ. He was something of a contradiction himself, perhaps.

And he got New Orleans right in the above quotation, at least part of New Orleans. What a house of cards we turned out to be.

Anyhow, this week’s tune (the video is behind the cut) is by a man named George Lewis. It is a tune for the non-Christian Mailer who wrote a novel about Christ: George Lewis, "That Rugged Cross." You don’t have to be Christian to like this tune, believe me. I like this guy so much that you might hear him again next week.

I’ve been looking through YouTube, trying to find a new video and song for this week. The Voodoo Fest was in town last weekend — an eclectic music festival at City Park. I thought it might provide something for our Music Friday. After perusing the videos from that festival, I hereby declare a ban on all 30 second music “videos” — like this.

Who is posting this stuff?

So, old man that I am, after watching enough video-phone clips from a rock concert, I decided to go back to some good old music. This week, we will go all the way back to pre-video times. After all, this is music Friday, right?

Here is one of the founders of jazz music, Jelly Roll Morton.

Editor's note: Music Friday makes an appearance very late on Saturday this week, but it still sounds just as good.

Driving to work this morning, I heard on the radio that Bush is going to fly over the damage done by the fires in California. All the expected resentment arose, as I drove past the trailers, gutted neighborhoods and a few houses that have been raised, as if on stilts, a current requirement of insurance companies.

More importantly, I thought of those victims of fire, while looking at these victims of flood, and I sent a silent wish to those who are soon to be visited by our president: May you have the strength to survive this man’s pity.

Driving home from work, I heard the great Terence Blanchard being interviewed on "Fresh Air." It is well worth a listen, and this link will lead to many other links about our brilliant musician.

So I came home and searched for one of Blanchard’s new tunes to put on Music Friday. I came across this clip from Blanchard's performance at Jazz Fest 2007. Musically, it is a fine moment; more importantly, I think I am in it. The guy with the blue baseball hat, toward the center of the frame. I believe that is the back of my head. Settle down, ladies.

It is strange that I am not sure. Would you recognize yourself with only the back of your head? Am I looking at a complete stranger?

Probably more interesting to everyone else in the world is this beautiful tune from Blanchard’s latest work, “A Tale of God’s Will,” based on the score for Spike Lee’s documentary. I’ll dedicate this hauntingly hopeful funeral dirge to those folks suffering from the fires. Check it out behind the cut.

The new jazz funeral requires a police escort. Why? Because otherwise they will shut it down.

Does that sound a little heavy-handed to anyone else?

It may or may not have been the “new residents” of Treme who called for the shut down — do we know for sure that anyone “called” for the shut down? Nonetheless, the result is still the cultural clampdown. The Times-Picayune covered the story.

Combined with the big new Border’s Bookstore all ready to set up like a Goliath on St. Charles Ave., like some monolith ready to stomp on the independents, New Orleanians should know that the culture is at risk.

Corporate interests threatening bookstores; street culture shut down in the name of security — oh my god, we are turning into the United States.

“Harry Lee is proof that in America even the child of Chinese immigrants can grow up to be a redneck.” – Rex Noone

After death, even the most controversial characters turn into pure goodness, or so the local news would have us believe. Harry Lee may have been an engaging personality, but I sure am tired of hearing all of his friends and admirers on TV. Rex Noone’s line is at least a good counterpoint to all of that.

Let us not forget what his armed henchmen did after the levee breaks in New Orleans, preventing citizens from crossing the Mississippi River bridge as they tried to find a way out of the destroyed city. This disgraceful event is clearly explained in Spike Lee's documentary.

So which Lee do you believe, Spike or Harry?

Harry Lee’s funeral procession is today. The procession will cross that bridge, the Crescent City Connection, some time after 3:30. That seems like some strange kind of final commentary.

Life in New Orleans is in constant need of comic relief, so here it is. Warning: this stupid little video is incredibly obnoxious, but I’ll confess that I was simple enough to laugh at it.

Yes, there will be some real music on this Music Friday. Behind the cut, a segment from a Jazz Funeral, along Claiborne Ave. The highway over their heads leads right to that bridge over the Mississippi. Maybe someone in this video was in that group of people who were turned back by the Jefferson Parish gunmen. That is my weak attempt at a little poetic justice.

Do I use the word “jams” every week on Music Friday? It seems like it, but I’m gonna have to use it again.

You will tap your foot during this tune. It is a relatively new one from a member of the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame (which, by the way, is in Cleveland, and has a nice, informative website with, as far as I could tell, no music: click on the following name to check it out) Allen Toussaint.

He’s another Jazz Fest Regular, and once in a while he will pull up to the Parkview Tavern, on North Carrollton, in a very, very nice car. He’ll sip a drink or two, and drive on. Somehow, I think he knows that everyone is talking about him.

Here's another song that resonates in new ways because of the events of the past two years (I can’t stand to say that K-word anymore, and I promise that it isn’t because of “fatigue.”): "Who's Gonna Help Brother Get Further

What the hell, let’s make it two: check out the incredible 2005 video on this website. It starts with Toussaint, followed by Irma Thomas, the Dirty Dozen, Dr. John, and other great stuff. It is worth watching for the music, but watch the whole thing to hear some intense New Orleans stories. Allow yourself 15 to 20 minutes. It is worth a month of Music Fridays.

Last week I wrote a little about the soul of this city. Well, a good chunk of that soul is Fats Domino. The story of his survival after the broken levees is epic.

Apparently there is a tribute album just out, with 30 cuts from all kinds of famous folks playing Fats’ tunes. There’s big time famous, like Neil Young, and some New Orleans famous, like Theresa Anderson and Big Chief Monk Boudreaux.

From these samples, I like the sound of Toots and the Maytals (a band that jammed at Jazz Fest not too long ago).

Follow the link to a great New Orleans tune from Fats himself — there is also an excellent version of this tune, not on the tribute album, by Buckwheat Zydeco — “Walking to New Orleans.” It’s all about returning, folks.

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."

No one in New Orleans suffers from Restless Leg Syndrome. We have the cure — parade in the streets. Even when it is as hot as it is right now (95 degrees, heat index at 111), all one needs to do is connect those legs to a good groove and they will no longer feel so restless.

Even when the music is elegant and indoors, as it is in this week’s Music Friday, one’s legs should find some harmony.

Behind the cut is the elegant New Orleans Jazz Orchestra featuring Irving Mayfield. Forget the medicine advertised on TV and let those legs settle in to the music.

First off, I want to state that I heard this song on our 8/29 “anniversary” at noon on the world’s greatest radio station, WWOZ. So I am not taking credit for applying this tune to New Orleans. I just think it is a perfect song for the state of our city two years later. And I’m sick of watching pictures of a flooded city and people suffering outside of the Convention Center. I think that all of us here would agree.

So behind the cut is a song for us, Bob Dylan with a tune that New Orleans can appreciate. Hell, we’d even dance to it.

I ran out of Marsalis’s (Marsalises?). Not true: that family is endless. Actually, I spent the summer in Seattle, just returned this week, and thought that the following song better represented this city.

We might return to that family sometime. For now, Delfeayo has only this, where he is 103 years old.

Anyhow, this version of a New Orleans favorite better fits my sense of the city today. Behind the cut is one of my heroes singing a great New Orleans tune. Catch the Sex Pistols echo at the start.

By the way, this is Joey solo, not Dee Dee, Johnny, Marky, or any other of the many Ramones.

Here is another Marsalis. Those who have been following our Music Friday have seen Wynton with Ellis, then Branford, in the past two weeks. Now we present the drummer of the family: Jason. His website has some good background information about him and some good tunes, although no videos.

By the way, the point I am making with these Marsalis Fridays is that the Marsalis Family is the First Family of American Jazz — which by historical necessity must come from New Orleans. Could there be another one next week? Can anyone say Delfeayo?

Jason plays with one of the hottest and most popular bands in New Orleans: Los Hombres Calientes. Unfortunately, the web — the all-encompassing web — has no videos of the band (except some for sale). C’mon guys, get some self-promotion going. When one does a Google search of “hombres calientes videos,” one gets a lot of options that have no connection to music in any way. When one does a YouTube search, one gets some unexpected stuff like this.

I apologize.

On a more musical note, Jason also plays with the Marcus Roberts Trio. Behind the cut, Mr. Roberts plays piano, Jason drums, in this version of "I Got Rhythm." Those observers in the back, so unnecessary to the tune, are the Berlin Philharmonic. New Orleans musicians continue to leap far beyond our borders – ambassadors for the best of American culture.

Last week was Wynton (plus some Ellis); this week we have Branford. The Marsalis family has taken over Music Friday.

While searching for the best tune for this Friday, I came across a short Spike Lee film made in 1986, starring Branford: "Horn of Plenty."

I saw Branford playing with a trio in Chicago about 15 years ago. One song seemed to be cut in half at the start of the intermission; when the second half of the show started, the three started right back into the middle of the same song, as though no time had elapsed. You would probably have to hear it to know how well that worked.

If you were a fan and you saw him playing on the Jay Leno show, you probably had a sense of a great talent trapped on that set. Clearly, his soul has recovered from that time.

Now for plenty of music behind the cut — Branford with an assortment of songs and players,
in a concert to benefit Musician's Village and Habitat for Humanity, music right from the streets on a cloudy day in New Orleans.

Wynton Marsalis is not just one of the jazz masters of New Orleans. Since Katrina, Wynton has been one of the most eloquent speakers about our city. For example, check out his great speech at the Nation Press Club in October 2005, just after Katrina. We quoted some of this speech in Do You Know What It Means To Miss New Orleans?, and I wanted to quote even more. In fact, I was tempted to put the whole thing in the book.

Mr. Marsalis is a speaker who can express a true passion for the culture of New Orleans while avoiding all of the clichés about the city. Anyone who wonders whether it is worth the effort to save this city — perhaps after reading the current edition of National Geographic — should consider the cultural importance New Orleans has for the country. Another excellent example of Wynton’s eloquence is the speech he gave at Tulane University in early 2006.

Now, of course, this is “music” Friday, so if you are tired of hearing him talk, click through to listen to him play — over in Japan. That’s his father, Ellis, at the piano. Is that Mt. Fuji in the background?

For the next few weeks, Music Friday will feature some New Orleans jazz musicians. We will, by the way, accept requests — just post a comment.

This week is Terence Blanchard, a man who has work closely with Spike Lee, composing soundtracks for some of his feature films, as well as for Mr. Lee’s When the Levees Broke. You might recall the poignant moment in that film when Mr. Blanchard took his mother back to her destroyed home.

Mr. Blanchard has had a couple of inspired performances in the two Jazz Fests since Katrina. In the first one, amid his great music, he surprisingly gave his support for mayoral candidate Landrieu over the incumbent Nagin. For those who don’t know, Jazz Fest is rarely a political event.

This year, Mr. Blanchard came back up on the stage with the Jazz Tent headliner Pharaoh Sanders. Great stuff.

Go here for a great tune featuring Mr. Blanchard’s incredible trumpet skills.

(Note from CMP team: Seems Sony BMG Music Entertainment won't let us embed the video on our site — uptight suits!)

There is a sign at Preservation Hall, right behind the stage, that states:

Traditional Requests $2
Others $ 5
The Saints $10

“The Saints,” of course, is “When the Saints Go Marching In,” the theme song of New Orleans. I imagine that the musician who wrote up that sign was simply sick of playing that tune.

Louis Armstrong, as everyone knows, is the one who made it famous. One can find plenty of examples of Louis doing that tune on YouTube, but that seemed too obvious a choice for our Music Friday.

Our choice is a newer tune that takes the song back to its roots. Here is a little history from Colleen Mondor, from a wonderful book entitled Do You Know What It Means to Miss New Orleans?:
"Before Armstrong presented the song as part of Reverend Satchmo’s 'mock jazz church' in May 1938 for Decca Records, it was known as a gospel tune of unknown origin … Armstrong added some brass and sass and dropped most of the verses. Ultimately he created a challenge to death, an insistence that even when it comes to funerals, the people of New Orleans would sing their way to the graveyards. I think that Armstrong would agree though that in the wake of Hurricane Katrina, his ecstatic version of the song was misplaced in concerts for the city."

That upbeat tune was not the anthem of post-Katrina New Orleans, but it, combined with the earlier version, could create an appropriate version for the city now.

Behind the cut, is a version that replaces some of those verses left out by Armstrong, a version that was played at Jazz Fest 2006, the first fest after Katrina, in a truly triumphant performance — Bruce Springsteen.

We're bringing out our regular Friday music feature a few days early this week to celebrate the 4th of July. We'll be back on our regular schedule from Friday the 13th.

“At the 1958 Newport Jazz Festival, as [Louis] Armstrong concluded a long set with the National Anthem, [James] Baldwin turned to me and said: ‘You know, that’s the first time I’ve liked that song.’” — Dan Morgenstern, Louis Armstrong: An American Genius

There is only one version of “The Spangled Banner” that I have ever enjoyed. You will hear it below (hint: I am in Seattle).

Wynton Marsalis played it before one of the Superdome Superbowls, but I could not find it online.

The real national anthem of New Orleans is, of course, “When the Saints Go Marching In.” Like our other national anthem, it is overplayed and rarely inspiring. There are times, at Jazz Fest, when I will hear that song so many times that I begin to hate it.

I have felt the same about that other anthem, the one played before every ballgame. I would vote for a moratorium on the playing of that anthem, at least until the death toll slows down.

I will return to the topic of “Saints” next week. For now, behind the cut, is Mr. Hendrix and some pictures that still give me chills. Note the good messages at the end.

America needs more zydeco. It should be pumped into the White House, right into the Oval Office. No one could plan a war with this music playing.

“Dick, I think we should tell the American people that WMD’s are hidden in … wait a second, what’s that music?”

The Internet could use some more zydeco as well. After a pretty thorough search, I could only find a few worthwhile videos — the kind that are not just the result of cellphones being pointed into dark corners. One can find a little bit more of the music, just no videos. I recommend that everyone check out the sound of Nathan and the Zydeco Cha Chas.

This week’s Music Friday, though, will feature the first lady of zydeco: Rosie Ledet. Here is a Tipitina’s selection of Rosie’s work. Be sure to click on “You and Me.”

The New Orleans Jazz Vipers are proof that traditional New Orleans jazz is not merely a museum piece. Catch one of their shows, and you will see — and hear — that the tradition is alive and kicking.

I first heard this band a few years ago, playing in a back corner of the Abbey Bar, on Decatur St. They packed people into that place, cranked out the tunes, and passed around a hat. Occasionally one of the band members would imbibe a bit too much, as often happens at the Abbey. Nonetheless, even then they were one of the funnest bands around.

Now they are playing such venues as the Economy Hall tent at Jazz Fest, always one of the most enjoyable stages at the Fest. They have a bi-weekly gig at The Spotted Cat, on Frenchman St. — only a few blocks from The Abbey, but a world away. Their latest CD is Hope You're Comin’ Back, featuring the song “I Hope You're Comin’ Back to New Orleans.” How appropriate.

Behind the cut, the Vipers at Donna’s Bar, on Rampart St., one of New Orleans’ great music spots. Donna’s, like the Vipers, gives the sense of New Orleans music coming right from the street.

For this Music Friday we will go all the way back to the first recording of “Do You Know What It Means To Miss New Orleans?” (By the way, there is a great book out with that title.) This recording is from the 1947 movie, New Orleans, featuring Louis Armstrong and Billie Holliday. I would be interested to hear from anyone who is familiar with this film. Is it worth watching?

Behind the cut, two jazz greats sing "Do You Know What It Means to Miss New Orleans?" Plus, a little lagniappe this week.

When our president visited New Orleans last week, he stated that the government had written the check for the recovery of our city. The money has been sent to Louisiana, but has gotten stuck somewhere in Baton Rouge. There is undoubtedly some truth to this, although he gave the sense that after sending that money, the whole problem is now out of his hands. Not my problem anymore, he seemed to suggest. The idea of sending manpower to help us rebuild apparently has not occurred to him. If New Orleans were as important as Iraq, our city would be back on its feet by now.

Meanwhile our governor acts as though writing checks is against her best interests. We have an election coming up in October, and I am willing to bet that the money will start flowing more easily as that election approaches. Watch that money start coming our way in August and September. Meanwhile, somebody is sitting on our billions.

Howard Zinn was on C-SPAN a couple of weeks ago, and he made the point that the interests of the government are not the same as the interests of the people. This thought helped me to understand what is happening (or not happening) to our city. The interests of our government are certainly not the same as the interests of the people who once lived in the housing projects or in the Lower Ninth Ward. The interests of the government are certainly not the same as the interests of working people and homeowners. I can only come to the horrifying conclusion that to the government a major American city might be expendable if they think that it is not in their interest to protect it.

I do not simply mean that the government is short-sighted or corrupt. What I mean is that the people are of secondary importance to the government, secondary at best.

It is difficult for an American to except this idea. We are raised and trained on the idea that the government is of the people, by the people, and so on. But the idea that the government — even the state government — only acts in its own interest makes the situation of this city much more understandable. It may also help one to understand why this government can tolerate the death and wounding of so many Americans to protect oil interests and the monarchy of Saudi Arabia.

Every bar has its purpose. I have found that hotel bars are best suited to the contemplation of the aftermath of Mardi Gras.

Recently, I spent an hour or so in the Sheraton lobby bar, a nice circular bar in the center of a huge lobby. This is the big high-rise hotel right on Canal Street, Mardi Gras Central.

In the aftermath, I watched as people checked out of the hotel, returning to their lives; I watched some fraternity boys from Boston acting as if Mardi Gras could continue indefinitely through pure alcoholic momentum; I saw a man with huge eyebrows eating dinner at the bar. He seemed to have missed the whole thing. Some people wore beads as they checked out. Somehow, a day later, those beads seemed sad.

There, in that hotel lobby, as in all the hotel lobbies of New Orleans, was a microcosm of the comings and goings of life.

That last sentence seems a bit pretentious, but I’ll leave it. There is some truth to it.

After being away for four weeks, I came back to New Orleans to see the same damage, the same broken houses. The only difference was a few more empty plots of land, where houses had been removed.

It is hard not to be depressed in this city. Many of us have found anger to be a positive alternative. Then, as everyone knows, came the Saints, and there was an injection of optimism into the city.

The Saints were more than just an escape for this city, more than a diversion from more serious matters. That’s what football does in a normal situation.

In fact, it is not possible to “escape” in this city, as long as one’s eyes are open and one is willing to leave the French Quarter. To put it simply, the Saints represent how something can really suck for a long time, and then achieve success. That’s just the message this city needed.

When I left the Mid-City bar last Sunday, where I watched the Saints lose to the Bears, I looked across the street and saw waterlines on some of the houses, at about the height of a man’s head. One cannot really “escape” in this city. But one can have hope. Some of those houses had been repainted.

The first Saints game that I attended was in 1999, during the brief Ditka era. One quarterback, Bobby Joe, was so bad that he was taken out to a chorus of BOOO's. Another quarterback, Billy Joe, was brought in and received that same chorus — BOOO — before he played a down. At that point, I understood the Saints.

One thing I understood, is that these fans are not indifferent. They are as passionate with these winners as they were when they had bags on their heads. This is not L.A., where it takes a cattle prod to produce some emotion in the sports fans. Here we care. The boos can quickly change to cheers.

Maybe God felt sorry for us and gave us this season’s New Orleans Saints. After all, he did destroy our city because of all of its sin. Either way, this week, after the loss, it has been interesting to listen to people talk about the Saints. That negativity is gone. Now the talk is all about exactly what this city needs: Hope.

New Orleans is not a cynical city. When the Superdome reopened last week, no one grumbled that this will mean more money in the pocket of mean Mr. Benson, the man who threatened to move his team to San Antonio not so long ago. No one complained that football is not relevant when so many people are unable to return to their homes. No one mentioned that the Green Day/U2 mix seemed to be missing some harmony. Perhaps that lack of harmony was meant to match the rebuilding process.

New Orleans is not a naïve city, either. We know when we are being distracted. New Orleans, more than any other city, revels in its distractions, and nowadays those distractions are welcomed like a rare gift.

So we embraced our Monday night at the dome, welcomed any music that was offered, even cheered a George Bush. Everyone knew that it was only one day, so they decided to make it a loud one.

Spike Lee may have explained it best when he said that people deserve to be distracted for a few hours from the fact that “their ass is living in a FEMA trailer.”

I was asked recently if I have seen progress in New Orleans. The question made me think of the intersection of Elysian Fields Ave. and Robert E. Lee Blvd.

One of the greatest natural disasters in American history, perhaps the greatest, has not registered in the national consciousness. The loss — yes, “loss” — of one of America’s most unique cities has not caused the reaction that one might expect from this country. Why?

One reason is that people do not know how to think about this disaster. There is nothing for people to latch onto. There were no toppling towers. No great symbols of the destruction. The date does not resonate. August 29 — 8/29. Plus, that is not even the date of most of the destruction. The levees broke, the city sank, and the houses sat and soaked for days after that. There were no great leaders, not even leaders who were great for a day.

New Orleans was wiped out, and nothing about it was poetic.

The nation simply does not know how to think about this disaster.

In addition, there is no way for people to comprehend the weight of it, the size of it. No word is adequate. No pictures can capture it. Even TV, with those spanning cameras or those helicopter shots over parts of the city, never quite captured the feel of destroyed New Orleans. It takes a great artist, like Spike Lee, to convey a sense of this horror. His amazing film put some form to the chaos of the past year.

“New Orleans in the house!” Spike Lee shouted to the crowd at the New Orleans Arena Wednesday night, at the debut of his HBO documentary, When the Levees Broke: A Requiem in Four Acts. “New Orleans in the hiz-ouse!”

That line earned the first laugh of the evening. In this Requiem in Four Acts, all four of which were shown Wednesday night, totaling just over four hours, there were plenty of laughs. They tended to be artfully interspersed in this necessarily heavy documentary. And yet, more importantly, these laughs showed something about the strength of the New Orleans character. This great h