“Every moment must be first known and then savored”
Street jazz in the French Quarter
Arriving in New Orleans was like being shaken awake from a nearly comatose state we existed in throughout Grand Isle. We had shifted away from the isolated island lifestyle where the secret to happiness lay between the crashing waves and warm sand. The Big Easy introduced itself to us with a welcoming spirit that celebrated eccentricity.
Upon our check-in to the Lafayette Hotel, the colorful street lights peaked through the front windows and we felt the floor shake from the grumbling race cars just around the corner. Albeit we were more fitted for a restful night's rest, the excitement of the hustling and bustling city lured us away from our beds towards the commotion. Our eleven-person party raided Canal Street in search of something quick to eat and for the source of all the excitement we were hearing from the hotel rooms. Canal Street resembles the Las Vegas Strip; with weekenders swarming the street, packing the diverse eateries, bars, shops, and showrooms. Neon signs lit up the night sky, luring people in with promises of $5 daiquiris and hot fried chicken. The smells, I will admit, are that of any big city – unpleasant, confusing, and quite honestly, a little rancid. This made me reflect back on the fresh smell of ocean breeze and seaweed in Grand Isle, assuring me that I was far away from the gulf.
As we wandered throughout the area, we eventually stumbled onto Bourbon Street. And within moments we were immediately swarmed by scammers and swindlers as our young faces and heavy backpacks screamed: “We are tourists!” They were mostly older men who were offering business cards, CDs, beads, flowers, free drinks, and asked several questions they had no business knowing the answers to. Also, the men of Bourbon Street wasted no time revealing their “french” flirtatious nature with the women of our group with their unwavering stares and tactless cat calls. The attention was unwanted to say the least, however, in comparison to Grand Isle we were at least being acknowledged.
We had barely walked a couple feet before we were welcomed by a scrappy street jazz group. Their instruments rang down the street, drawing in the crowd of nightcrawlers and drunken bar hoppers. The most surprising aspect about the group was not their energetic performance but the fact that they did not look how I expected a traditional New Orleans jazz band to look. In my mind, I was envisioning a group of older black men, handsomely dressed, and each one with a shiny gold instrument. To my amazement, the members in the band seemed to be no older than we were. They ranged from 10 to 30 years old and were dressed (Key and I agreed) no different than the guys who played pickup basketball around the corner of our houses. The informality of the experience was surprising but made the experience more authentic to the casual, laid back nature of New Orleans natives. We were filled with adrenaline as the stomping, swinging, syncopated beat just made us want to wake up and dance!
For our first morning in the French Quarter we wandered around enjoying the Creole architecture, as Andrew pointed out how French and Spanish influences resonate through them. There was a significant lack of chain stores and restaurants in the quarter, and an obvious community support of small businesses, historical preservation, and artwork expression. Most importantly, we were refreshed to be away from the predominantly white, heavily southern people from Grand Isle, in a city that is majority black.
In the center of the quarter, we came across another jazz band. The way that the music drew in people speaks to the soul and it is written on people's faces. The band members were dancing around with their instruments as if they were parts of them. Connecting with each other without the formality of sheet music and a predictable melody. It was a party.
They used instruments with much wear and in fact used instruments that were not even instruments anymore: There was one boy who was playing his own drum and eventually used his solo time to churn up a beat using the battered “Bourbon Street” road sign just a foot above his head. It reminded me of this quote from Coming Through Slaughter that described Buddy Bolden’s music as having “so little wisdom that you want to clean nearly every note he passed, passed it seemed along the way as if traveling in a car, passed before he even approached it and saw it properly. There was no control except the mood of his power … and it is for this reason it is good you never heard him play on recordings. If you never heard him play some place where the weather for instance could change the next series of notes—then you should never have heard him at all.” This jazz could never be recreated second-hand, it reflects exactly how the artist feels in that moment, and cannot be restricted by a script.
As the night encroached we took on the rumored Frenchmen Street that the locals have recommended for a fun night on the town for Key’s birthday. Once we hopped out of our Uber we saw how the street had transformed from its calm, lazy, quiet, town-like feeling it had during the day. It felt like we had put on a pair of goggles that showed different characters and colors in the same scene we experienced in the morning. An older white lady had gone out of her way to teach us about a New Orleans tradition that is pinning money to a birthday sash for good luck. She had pulled a five dollar bill from her pocket to pin on Key. The small buildings that were squished together down the street were bursting out of their seams with people. The different types of partygoers and music were spilling out from the small front doors. Each one invited a different world for us to explore, making it harder and harder to figure out where we are going to start. The lyrics of the music mix together and become hard to make out. However what resonates the most is the sound of the drums from each place. Our hearts were beating faster to catch up with the drummers.
The first bar we entered was called NOLA 30/90 and before we walked inside the bouncer in front was sweet enough to pin a dollar to Key’s sash. The small wooden bar had been stuffed with people who were all surrounding the main band which consisted of a pianist, a guitarist, an electric guitarist, and a lead singer. The members of the band were obviously laying their souls before the crowd as they got into the music, sweating and banging their heads to the rhythms. I was most obsessed with the lead singer who had a powerful alto voice that could shake the walls. Her passion not only showed on her face but on the faces of the people in the crowd who were being moved by her.
The second bar we entered had a DJ who was playing mainly reggae. This bar had completely different demographics than the first place we went into; the crowd was older and predominantly black. The music had everything to do with rhythm. People were flooding the dance floor to groove to the beat and many people were having fun with the trending Nigerian dance move called butterfly footwork or “happy feet”. The difference between the LA club scene and here was that there was less of the feeling of people picking up other people, less people trying to socialize, and less people trying to get the attention of the DJ. The experience was solely for the enjoyment of the music.
The peak of my musical experience at New Orleans went down in Preservation Hall. The hall is located in the heart of the French Quarter and the venue introduced us to an intimate, traditional jazz concert that had an ensemble of 7 instrumentalists: the piano, the drums, the saxophone, the trombone, the trumpet, the cello, and the clarinet. Their first piece started like a whisper, it seemed like a conversation, like they were just getting to know us. As the pieces went on the personalities of each member of the jazz band shown through. Their several years playing together was evident in the cohesiveness of the performance and with their loving and relaxed demeanor they all maintained throughout the songs. The music had a calming effect on me, it was warming my soul, some parts even bringing me to tears to watch. I would say that New Orleans music is more than moving, it takes over my body, mind and soul. The music allows me to enter the thoughts of the musician, feeling every emotion they feel. New Orleans music is the language that translated the rich culture of the city, allowing me to understand before I savored the moments.