A Brain, A book, and A Ballpoint Arrival NAWLINS

The train moves an a weary traveler tries to rest in the front seat of his railroad car, and finds his tendency to locate the seat furthest from the entrance - laid in by the school bus factor - has backfired. The furthest point from the entrance to a train car is also the entrance or exit from/to the next car, thus whenever anyone passenger traveling on this train enters or exits your car a door opens and noise enters. Another lesson learned in rail riding (1st bring own alcohol - common sense really). So when 5am came around and a load of elementary school kids hopped on the train this whole enter/exit game came into play and this weary traveler became even wearier. So Sleep took over for most of the ride into Nawlins. Though when the sun was rising from its slumber I took the opportunity to watch it from the lounge car, and then promptly went back to my seat. When we came closer and had about an hour left in the trip I went back to the lounge car to admire the suessesqe landscape of Louisiana, the marshes with strange trees, the houses up on stilts, the rusting cars floating along the river. I found myself back in the lounge car with a familiar face, the man who was sleeping next to me at Union Station. He sits playing with two cell phones, when one cuts out he picks up the other to recall the other end.

When we arrived in NO I collected my belongings and set out on the town. I fight my way through the many taxi drivers and walk my way down the street. The duel phone sleeper has made his way down the street always and figures he has had enough and comes back towards the station as I am leaving,

"You got to watch out for these people, they are crazy."

Though by what I observed on the train, his craziness was very apparent. So I kept on walking heading his warning but not paying too much attention for everybody is a little bit crazy. The weather started in welcoming me with a little drizzle so I found myself ducking into a park shelter until it let up. I kept on walking until I found myself in Louis Armstrong Park, looked at the statue of this man cloth in hand to wipe his brow, trumpet in the other ready to play a tune. Then I head towards downtown and the looks began again as a couple hundred people stared at this traveler with a home attached to his back. Walking through the Quarter, with ears open searching for a park in which MO fest was being held. One reason I found myself at Armstrong Park. When I reached the river I found such a park with music radiating as far as the ear could listen. So I made my way n that direction until the park was visible. It took a few blocks to get out of the buildings and onto the river. Taking a rest half way down the sidewalk I sit at one of the park benches along the river and a short distance from the park so I could take in some scenery before the bombardment of music begins. A familiar face walks by, the owner of Madison’s Barrymore Theater. I never really talked to him so I don’t pipe up, though I have played on his stage. Another being comes to visit though as a caterpillar makes it way across my backpack. Who knows how long I have had this companion on board? I leave him at the nearest tree and make my way down the home stretch the park.

The first was some hip hopers with Soapbox showing his skills over Ladyfingers turntables. Next was The Soul Rebel Brass Band with their traditional background fused in with funk and today’s hip hop. Then while Johnny Sketch played the weather became sketchy and started raining so I found my way to a restaurant to eat and let my shit dry.

Then it was right back out in the rain which became a drizzle, while I search for Old Point Bar on Patterson. I walked around for w while trying to figure out where it was but nobody could tell me. So I continued thru the Quarter somehow the river kept drawing me back. I took a pass through the Casino fighting the urge to lay all my money down on the Texas Hold’em table. I didn’t have the extra money in case my losing streak of the past few weeks kept up.

I walked across the street to a liquor store and asked for a map. It turns out Patterson is in Algiers which is right across the river. Luckily I was only two blocks from the ferry that would get me there. I waited along with a mother and son. Once we were let on the boat they seemed to take no notice of me until we passed a cruise ship which was making its way back to sea.

"See that front panel there?"

Pointing at the ship,

"They ran into a dock in Mexico and had to send all the passengers home so they could fix it. That is why it is here. See that Riverwalk over there? That was hit by an oil freighter last year. Did you hear about that? The news said that they were pulling out bodies, according to eye witnesses, but it turned out to be mannequins from the (insert big name corporate store here)"

Her son would somewhat repeat the ends of her stories with a hint of the want for attention. He then began his own story,

"Wanna hear something funny,"

Without hesitation or an answer,

"This man jumped off the ramp to the ferry on his bike and missed the ferry."

"Be quiet,"

Putting her hand over his mouth,

"That was not funny, that man died. He was a cook in the Quarter and died because he didn’t want to miss the last ferry home to Algiers. Well we are here, have a good time in Nawlins."

I walked around lost again, being brought up in spirits by the stories of tragedy - funny how that works - the at least I’m no them theory. I stopped in at a bar - had to be buzzed in. When the Bartender opened the door I asked,

"Where is Old Point?"

"Go down to Olivia and take a right, it’ll be on the corna."

I walked until I found Olivier Street remembering how the French pronounce things. When I got close I heard the rumblings of

"Skerik doesn’t like that."

And I knew I was in the right place. These people were unloading musical equipment out of pickup trucks, vans - with trailers attached and then Skerik drives in a car, with sax in tow. Mike D with all his timpani, Vibes, drum kit, and marimba was on pick-up driver and Brian Haas was the van and trailer guy - Making the Dead Kenny G’s.

When I walked up a group was standing outside and opened the door for me.

"How are you doing?"

One asked after I had dropped all my belongings inside.

"Sore I replied."

"Sore?"

They questioned with the feeling that implied the wrong connotation.

"Yea, from carrying around that bag all day."

"Oh, you hungry, we’re cooking up some beans and rice."

"Sure."

We all got to know each other with the gift of gab, during the meal of red beans and rice with the cast of musical patrons being fed by this improv group from Austin. They all had a day off of their tour and decided to learn from some top musicians. Girl from Venice Beach and I had some mutual acquaints in a film co-op out there.

Then an Irishman walked up and talked to the group. When the Austinites talked about the fact that they were in a band the Irishman noted that they,

"Should play some Irish music."

"You mean Celtic music?"

"You actually know how to say it, seems like everyone in this country says Seltic."

I chimed in,

"It’s those damn Boston Basketball fans that ruined it for y’all."

Now the music started on time for musicians but 45 minutes late for those tide to the preconception of time. Its and organ, sax, percussion/vibraphone trio, probably three of the hottest players around, in my opinion Skerik is the best saxophonist alive.

The bar is mostly a straight shot rectangle with the stage in the back left from the front door. If you are looking at the stage the bar is to the right taking up the whole wall until it reaches the bathrooms which are parallel with the stage. If you go past the bathroom and stage there is a pool table in an elevated (2stair) room. Now on the opposite end of from the stage (where the front door is) is two windows that open out onto the street where dinner was so kindly served. I sat in the window with my back towards the outside and the Irishman was behind me taking to two of the Ausinites. The Irishman called out, and I didn’t hear him until he said,

"Hey Alpine,"

Referring to the brand name on my jacket though making me second guess his psychic abilities and referring to Alpine Valley were I had been busted a few years before. Then he said,

"I’m sorry it just…"

I cut him off with a

"Yea whatever Seltic man,"

Which set him off into a fit of laughter being a good fifteen minutes past the Celtic conversation.

He proceeded to talk about Moterhead and how,

"Lemi plays a black and white? Come on now what is it?"

Being a bass player and a non Moterhead fan I at least knew he played bass.

So I said,

"Bass"

"Yes, but what kind?"

"Uh, err,"

Multiple uttering and brand names were shouted but he ended our guessing with Rickenbacker.

The band played for a while, towards midnight or so, a few other musicians joined the Dead Kenny G’s including Dr. Eugene Chadbourne on Guitar, Mark Sutherland on Sax, and Jonathan Freylick on Bass then it slowly morphed into The Malachy Papers as Skerik and Brian Haas left the stage leaving Mike D with his other band.

The night wore on, the music played on, and luckily after it was all over the kids from Austin had a 15 passenger van and a place to stay for the last ferry was at 11:45 and I didn’t have a place to stay. So we all snuck into this house after finding our way through the streets of Nawlins. Including an almost pull over when we needed to make an illegal U-turn and the driver asked,

"Does anybody see a cop."

Another replied

"Yes"

even though he was joking, a cop appeared hanging out just out of sight. We then all made our way to our respective couches and fell asleep.