A Brain, A book, and A Ballpoint Day Two - MO Fest and Frenchman St.

When I woke up, though not fully rested, I could not go back to sleep for on the coffee table before my eyes there was a pear or an orange or some kind of citrus fruit bubbling and rotting with the tenants of fruit flies circling above. Thus interrupting my train of sleep, so I got up and we all took turns taking showers. There were six people in their group five band members and one merch girl. So showering took awhile.

We all ate and were on our way downtown to MO Fest where Skerik was playing with Robert Walter (keys in Greyboy All-stars and 20th Congress), and Stanton Moore (Drums in Galactic). They jammed on their respective bands tunes including tunes they wrote together (improvised and un-). One highlight was their rendition of Led Zeppelins Good Times Bad Times in which Skerik switches between the vocal and the guitar melodies on his sax.

Again they started on musician’s time but had the excuse of waiting for the Mayor of Nawlins to introduce them and give a Short Speech. After all this was the Mayor’s Office (MO) Festival. He thanked the local trio for coming out and playing with all the other local musicians. The rest of my Nalgene was being drained of its rum so I proceeded to shout out

"Ain’t that boy from Seattle?"

Turns out Robert Walter just moved to Nawlins so I couldn't yell out any California remarks.

After this trio was done they had a B3 Summit. For those of you who don’t know what a B3 is, it is an organ that most organist use and if they don’t usually salivate in the presence of one. Made by Hammond in the good ol days it has become a staple in the world of Jazz and Blues for decades.

The Summit included a band that backed up the organists and three B3’s set up. They cycled through with Ivan Neville, Robert Walter, Art Neville, Rich Vogel (of Galactic), Willie T, and Dr. John all taking turns at the Helm. After that the Merch girl and I walked around the French Quarter looking for a club to sneak into. The Band went back to nap so they could play their 2 am to 6 am slot at a club. We were standing outside one club called One Eye Jacks when my friend Red walked up. We met in Madison when I was playing down in a little coffee shop called Fruit of the Earth every Sunday - were my musical career began.

"Hey what’s happening?"

I esthetically questioned.

"I’m just working as the road manager for Signal Path. I have work to do though."

"Can you get me in?"

"No, sorry our list is full."

So that club was out. When we made it down the Preservation hall they were selling tickets for $35 and I didn’t want to pay that so I listened outside for a while. The Merch girl decided to head out to the bands gig. After a while Jonathan Freylick and Mark Sutherland walked up, the Bass and Sax players from the Malachy Papers. I chatted with John for a while as I had the night before, though now we could get along with other topics of conversation since we had talked shop already. So after they went in I headed on down towards Frenchman St. where the Austin band was playing and a few other shows were going on. Robert Walter had a gig as well as some members of Galactic and the Naked Orchestra which included a good 20+ Musicians.

I jumped around from the DBA and Café Brazil and settled in at the Austinites show, fighting off slumber as the couches in the Café Brazil were comfortable. Towards the end Brian Jordon (of Karl Denson’s Tiny Universe) and Brian Haas (of Jacob Fred Jazz Odyssey and Dead Kenny G’s) walked in with their girlfriends and watched the music. I chatted with Brian shortly before he settled in on one of the couches.

After the show was over they all packed up, and Robert Walter walked by. We fished the keys to their van out of the drain in which the drummer had dropped them and went back to sneak into the house again.

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.

A Brain, A book, and A Ballpoint Stage Two "Destination Nawlins"

Stage 2 is now complete as I sit back in the train station - Union Station of Chicago. Pope Benedict the ... oh I forget the Roman Numerals behind - Well anyway he is being sworn in on the TV. So now it is time to wonder, what is this man will have to offer the world? Yes I said man; he ain’t Buddha or that son of a virgin, no matter how hard he or any of his predecessors try or has tried.

I picked up my ticket at the window - previously buying it online. The ticket woman knew that Jazz fest is going on and that there was no other reason for a transient such as me to be heading to Nawlins.

Now I just sit here as an orchestra of chatter fills the air of Union Station as all are waiting, some patiently, some hurried. An older woman passes by the gate as the call last call for the Illinois Zephyr. Her son and daughter run in, one you can add the -in-law to being that I can’t figure out which.

"We have three minutes till they lock us out - hurry up."

Ah yes 911 is still ever present in the world of public transportation. A voice comes on over the PA addressing the fact that you should not bring any packages with you on the train if some strange person gave it to you. This makes me wonder what has happened to common sense.

The world today sure has changed as cell phones are fixed to a good number of people waiting here. The other half are glued to the TV news program which isn’t really news just a window into the trends of the day and human interest stories.

This wasn’t the first breakout of the cell phone rash as the bus offered many people trying to escape the monotony of sitting on the Bus.

What people must think of the stranger with a pad and paper scribbling down a shit load of words? They see the guitar case and pray that I pick it up and start playing so the monotony is broken and they can peak into the window of my soul. Or maybe they just want to read the crap I’m writing. Will they? No, these are not the type of people searching for the Neo - Beat - hipster - drug addict - writing from the bottom of his soul. These are the type of looking for the tabloid on the super center aisle, the next New York best seller, that classic Hemingway or the biography of that baseball giant.

An hour and forty minutes till the train leaves, maybe I should talk my way into a crochet lesson from that old lady over there or invite one of those Barbie dolls into doing things that her ken doll would never think of, "Whatever, like oh my god!" Wait strike that, dirty mind gone awry. Loveless lust strikes again and the pursuit of a meaningful relationship thwarted by a girl with too much makeup and time in the tanning booth, equaling the equation of a turn on the bed turn off out of.

Ipods replace the cell phone as the population sink away into their preferred soundscape.

Two Jazz aficionados walk in with the aura of multiple Jazz fest experiences under their belts. With a Thirty Five year tradition underway, wonder when their first was. Oh the waiting has taken hold of another in the form of slumber, again sleep breaks the Monotony. Boredom starved for another stretch of time.

"Have a good Trip, and don’t take no shit,"

The wise words of a conductor as I walk out onto the platform to board my train. I can only guess the weight of this human monstrosity, several thousand tons of metal bolted together to create a mode of transportation able to carry hundreds of people vast distances. It is dim lit as the only lights are around the windows and the faint glow of the stations 40 watt bulbs peering in. This is the only Amtrak train amongst nine visible tracks until the wall on the right and a metro train on the left. One can only imagine the good ol days before airplanes ruled the sky.

T minus 8 minutes till the train kicks into gear and starts the 19 hour ride down south to Nawlins. Ah yes the anticipation is building and my body seeks hibernation for the subconscious has a premeditated conception of the lack of sleep.

A voice comes on the PA, her Self Conscious out ways her courage. Her public speaking days must have been numbered so she took to the rails. She has an apparent accent but I can’t pick it out, when she comes around as she has promised I’ll ask. The students that have spilled over from the next car because of its noise can’t help but take the fodder and use it to their humorous will.

"Ah ha, take your shoes off for you safety,"

Did they miss hear that or did she really say that? Ah here she comes. Her courage comes out a little bit more in person.

Oh it must be an English accent.

"Don’t die, don’t die young, don’t die at all - Peter Pan."

Well read, at least in children stories. Finally moving, riding backward is always unnerving to me unless it’s under the power of my own two feat. Chicago at night is visible as the sun finishes its decent pass the sky line, the city aglow with a million street lights. The conductor takes my ticket and complains about the eight student refugees from the next car.

"We were short one seat so eight of you spilled over, Great, Great."

I take it back the accent has to be Scottish I’ve got to work on that one yet, especially being of that descent. Ah yes, the train is rolling the booze is flowing and the full moon is in bloom, bright orange over the black sky scattered with grey clouds. Johnny Depp is on the TV in the lounge playing his part in "Finding Neverland". Quite proper that this bookend is here in spirit maybe I can channel his loathing other half for the trip. After all this is becoming a "Rum Diary". I’ll have to make a trade for some Vodka that the kids across from me have.

Thank god for baseball, a few years ago I didn’t give a shit but now I can pick up a conversation with a complete stranger about the subject. Neifi Perez hit a home run ball into the glove of the subject of conversation of the last hour as the rum kicked in. Luckily I got to handle the ball before he left, the first such event of my life. It’s a wonder, you go through life with a glimpse of great sportsman but the actual grasp of a ball that has been homered is different. It is a touch of greatness, a feeling of the vibe of someone who has spent their whole life to get where they are, the vibe of a few thousand people cheering as that particular ball flies over one of the oldest parks left standing - Wrigley Field.

I find my way to the downstairs of the lounge car to get another cup of ice to mix the two liquids in the two bottles I have together. At the table directly in front of the stairs sits one of the students with the vodka talking to three other students. She notices me and asks,

"What ya drinking?"

"Oh the same thing as these guys,"

As I hold up my Nalgene bottle and refer to the fifth of Captain Morgan sitting prominently on the Table.

"You have a Nalgene full of rum?" She exclaimed.

"I was going to drink it hobo style."

"Then you saw me walk back with a cup of ice." She finishes my sentance.

Indeed she had led me to the Ice of salvation; rum is nice by itself but not warm. I sat down at a near by table. Across from me was a student from Carbondale who had his laptop out.

"I am surprised they ended the movies so quickly." I noted after the second movie Spanglish had ended.

"Would you like to watch another?" He answered with the displaying of Napoleon Dynamite on his screen.

The Scottish conductor came down to our level to check on us all and was obviously in the same state as us, Tipsy and conversationally abundant. She began telling the story of McSomethingRather who had two families neither having any inclination of the other existing until the death of said father McSomethingRather.

The movie was cut short by the arrival at Carbondale; the party was winding down so I found my way back to my seat. My body finally received its request for sleep.

A Brain, A book, and A Ballpoint Stage One "Destination Nawlins"

Ah yes, stage one complete in the journey of a brain, book, and a ballpoint. One wonders why a perfectly good human being would stuff a portion of his belongings into a backpack hop into his car, drive to a random street in Madison WI, park, walk down to the union with a rather heavy pack on his back, and jump on a bus that arrives at a train station in Chicago that in turn has a train slated to leave said former city and arrive and the later city of New Orleans, LA or hereafter referred to as NAWLINS.

One might take into account the possibilities that

a) He packed to much shit and his shoulders will be aching for the next week or two.

b) Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad if he had brought a small paperback instead of the hardback book in scripted with the words "don’t panic".

c) Maybe if I just drink all this rum down the bag will be lighter, the shoulders won’t feel pain, and a shitload of obscene jester’s will come out on the written page.

Oh yes, then there is that final and absolute point of

d) Which indicates that once in Nawlins I will be bombarded with so much music, that points a) b) and c) won’t hold much weight.

The agenda is getting thick; so far I drove my car to Madison, partied all night in a room full of friends. Taking part in the suitable substances and the drinkable legal addiction:

"Uncle Sam is a stick in the mud! He says that we cannot smoke, drink, or fight over the seats,"

Sorry the Bus driver interrupted my story which didn’t concluded with more than a buzz and a conversation of data junkies talking about the torrents that they had downloaded. Both collections had included a 2 DVD set of Hunter S. Thompson interviews.

When I passed out I found myself waking up in the middle of the night to pizza and a Michel Moore film. Odd it was few days after a six year anniversary of Columbine. After passing out again I woke up to the final time with a view of Monona Lake out the window unobstructed by anything but a tree that made it even more scenic. Then came the moment of truth, I got in my car, went to get the proper diet for a man trying to save all his cash for an art-if-I-shall-e induced week of music: PB and J with a loaf of bread. Next I found the perfect street to abandon my vehicle. Luckily they don’t enforce the "NO Parking" on "this side" of the road on "Fridays" "May 1st – Nov. 1" with my travels ending on May 3rd that gave me plenty of time in which to reclaim my vehicle.

I grabbed all my belongings and headed towards downtown Madison. This is when the moment of realization kicked in and all the weight currently resting on my shoulders rang in and said,

"We’re part of your being for the next week and a half, for it is now too late to turn back."

I have exactly 15 minutes to get to the bus that will lead me to Chicago and not enough time to tread back and leave any unnecessary items in the car.

Note to self: buy a lighter tent and sleeping bag for the next expedition.

I reached the bus in time as everyone was lining up to get on, but not before getting the first of what I assume will not be the last of strange looks in my way as an urban explorer makes his way across the country with a load of shit on his back.

I paid for my ticket and settled in the middle of the bus. It was somewhat closer to the back but experience has lead me to stear clear of my school boy urge of sitting in the back few rows, due to heavy traffic and sometimes the unwanted smell of human waste lurking its way out of the bathroom.

What is it about a moving vehicle that brings on the irresistible urge to sleep? Every time I look up I get a glimpse of a partially opened mouth, a nose, and two eyelids shielding two eyes form the outside world and doubling as a movie screen for her dreams. That PB and J is calling my name.