“One chord is fine. Two chords are pushing it. Three chords and you’re into jazz.”
A Jazz musician playing 'Itsy Bitsy" to a baby in Jackson Square!
Festivity. Livelihood. Celebration.
All nouns which paint the atmosphere of the heart of the city as I strolled around, surrounded by the entrancing sounds of jazz. The moment I set foot in Jackson Square, feeling deeply welcomed by the joyous grooves, a ripple of appreciation rushes over me. Though this appreciation stayed unwavering for the most part, I couldn’t help but ponder the origin of this beautiful art form the longer I stuck around. I pondered and pondered until I came to the conclusion that jazz is a balance between chaos and order. It is the music of the soul, yes, but it is one which veils the screams of its people as they endured the tyranny that was subjected to them in the past. It was the voice of the people when words could not be uttered; it was their sense of identity when their individuality was stripped away; and it was their greatest passion when their thoughts and emotions were oppressed. Simply put, jazz is one with a big personality and a deeper history behind it.
Accompanying the syncopation and swing feel of these improvised blue notes was the rest of the French Quarter which included entertainments that are quite distinctive to that of the city. From the few smaller stands of psychic and tarot readings that were occupying the center of the Square to the footsteps and conversations of both tourists and locals blending in with the sounds of saxophone, I was seeing everything and everyone from all places coming together to create such a raw and unparalleled atmosphere. To some, this could be quite overstimulating and rather appalling; to me, it was just… beautiful.
In the midst of it all, there stands the St. Louis Cathedral, too. By the time I got to this point of the tour, the scorching heat had gotten me a bit weary. Everything seemed to pass right through me, and all I could feel was the grumbling of my stomach and the stinging of the sun on my skin. Regardless, I proceeded to head inside the cathedral. Perhaps it was the cooling breeze that blew across the church, or the serenity that embraced the holy place—either way, I immediately felt so much sprightlier.
As I made my way further inside, the resounding noises that filled the streets around Jackson Square gradually shifted to a soft whisper, and then an utter stillness. I took a couple photographs of the breathtaking view of the altar and ceiling before walking down the nave to take a seat on the side aisle. Having been faced with the chaos of my everyday life as per usual, I took some moments to ground myself, to really take in the quietude of the room and redirect it to the mind. I found myself wishing to be alone in the cathedral so as to be more at peace with myself and one with the place. For the first few minutes or so, I also found myself not being able to stop staring at the sanctuary—the exquisite paintings covering the interior walls and depicting scenes out of scriptures, the colorful stained glass adding vibrance and serving as theological teachers, and the towering arcades resting on columns and delivering more characters to the cathedral. I really could have sat there for the remaining time of the day if it wasn’t for the time constraint that followed our itinerary.
At some point as I was deep in my absorbing of the cathedral’s tranquility, I came to the realization that I was exactly where Louis, from Anne Rice’s Interview with the Vampire, was when he met with the priest for a confessional. The priest had called him a devil, and for that, Louis went on to kill him. There is this clear paradox that comes with this occurrence of a vampire visiting a cathedral to confess, and yet ending with his killing of yet another being. It seems preposterous for a vampire to yearn so desperately for the existence of a God and to be so in touch with his morality to begin with, though it is simultaneously quite rational given that vampires are basically the living dead. To me, personally, the irony that trails this part of the novel beautifully embodies the city of New Orleans.
“Don’t be a fool for the Devil, darling.”
Why are all things horror as vampires and voodoo often retraced back to this offbeat city? Perhaps it is the century-old architectures, the nightlife, the indulgence in luxuries and antiques, or even the above ground cemeteries that permeate the city. Whatever the reason may be, this parallel paradoxically coexists with the standing of the St. Louis Cathedral precisely in the center of the heart of the city—just a holy presence in the midst of all the horror and dark elements sprinkled everywhere else around it.
Even as I continued on with my exploration of the French Quarter that day, I noticed not one, not two, not even three, but so many more voodoo shops and haunted history ghost tours occupying each block of the streets with no exceptions. Aside from the cute, little, aesthetic cafés and high-end restaurants, all the other stores are all things horror. For someone who has been quite a fan of horror movies for as long as I can remember, this is just perfect for me! For others who are more horrified by superstitions and the concept of fantasy horror, though, this may not necessarily be their cup of tea. So, when walking in groups, I've come to note the possibility of having to split up at some point because a couple of us may not be too comfortable being inside voodoo shops or going on ghost tours—they are indeed quite an acquired taste. In any case, New Orleans is a city with tons to offer, and thus has little bits of everything for everyone, so it should never be a worry!
I haven’t been back to the Quarter since that day. We have just been incredibly busy exploring neighboring districts, and frankly, it is quite the distance from our hotel. While I do enjoy being in other parts of town that are more authentic and true to the locals, I do wish to go back to the Quarter sometime soon to engross myself in more of its essence. I want to become more acquainted with its character, and exploit the rare charm of this part of the city as much as I can.
Yet although this city of New Orleans is one that is unlike any other, beware—it still does not stray from its darker personality.
Chilling. Unsettling. Spine-tingling.