Hellzapoppin

I alway hated musicals when I was a kid. I didn’t understand the concept of a song breaking out in the middle of what had been a sober sort of scene up until then. It was traditional for the Sound of Music to be played on television yearly –Easter, I think — and I always rooted for the Nazis, hoping to stop the singing.

You have to cultivate a taste for many sophisticated things. Civilization is not foregone conclusion. There are a great many cultural references that go into anything but the most basic of entertainments, for instance.

They were always showing us the wrong sorts of entertainments, anyway, if they wanted to get us interested. It’s fine to be suave and debonair, but you can just as easily have plenty of power displayed. And the yoking of power to finesse is the hallmark of a robust civilization, isn’t it? Too much finesse, and you get the Von Trapps. Too much power, and you get people in arm bands watching The Ring cycle.

I understand opera now. Musical theater holds no terrors for me. I’m down to hating just dancing now. I wouldn’t, if it was like this more often:

America in 1941. Hellzapoppin’ indeed. Now, as if this film didn’t have enough charms in it already, according to imdb, Shemp Howard is in it. Case closed.

America the way I like it. Light on its feet. Lots of fun. Strong as whiskey. Tough as nails.

Fais Do Do Redux Deluxe

Oh, you don’t know me if you think I’m finished with New Orleans. Because New Orleans is the home of all sorts of the greatest american music, which means the greatest music anywhere.

It’s spanish and french and sicilian and neapolitan and arab and indians and acadian and irish and scots and deepest darkest africa, baby.

I’m going to do this from memory:

Jelly Roll Morton – raggin on yer stride, or stridin’ on your rag
Louis Armstrong- where’s my laxatives and trumpet?
Louis Prima- the greatest show ever
Dixie Cups- Iko Iko, no t Ikea!
Clifton Chenier- less cowbell- more washboard!

Meters- words optional
All those Marsalis fellows- a dog in every fight
Professor Longhair- no truth in advertising
Mac Rebbenack the Night Tripper-right place, right time
Alan Touissant- pianny please
Lee Dorsey- The Kid Chocolate, workin’ in a coal mine
Fats Domino- still there
Little Richard Penniman recorded there with:
Bumps Blackwell – more fun than a bear on the street, with more hair
Rufus and Carla Thomas -gee whiz
Sidney Bechet!- that’s how Van Morrison always says it; with an exclamation point
Lloyd Price -too black for American Bandstand. Just right for me.
King Floyd – groove me!
Mahalia Jackson- angels take notes
Marcia Ball – I played with her once. Her legs go right to the ground, as unlikely as that seems

We could always drive up the road to Mississippi and find my old friend Albert King, if we got bored.

You wanna know how great New Orleans music is, and was? I bet I forgot 500 people, and it don’t matter.

(updated: lohwoman reminds us of: Preservation Hall Jazz Band with Sweet Emma. OK, so we’ve only forgotten 499 people now.)

New Orleans. Redux?

[Editor’s Note:We got to talking about New Orleans over at my blogfriend Althouse yesterday, and we didn’t solve anybody’s problems there I’m afraid. Talking generally doesn’t. But it can’t hurt to remember what it was that we’re jawing about saving. It’s Mardi Gras there. Here’s a rerun for our friends in New Orleans.]
{Author’s Note: There is no editor.}

Riding on the City of New Orleans,
Illinois Central Monday morning rail
Fifteen cars and fifteen restless riders,
Three conductors and twenty-five sacks of mail.

All along the southbound odyssey
The train pulls out at Kankakee
Rolls along past houses, farms and fields.
Passin’ trains that have no names,
Freight yards full of old black men
And the graveyards of the rusted automobiles.

Good morning America how are you?
Don’t you know me I’m your native son,
I’m the train they call The City of New Orleans,
I’ll be gone five hundred miles when the day is done.

Dealin’ card games with the old men in the club car.
Penny a point ain’t no one keepin’ score.
Pass the paper bag that holds the bottle
Feel the wheels rumblin’ ‘neath the floor.
And the sons of pullman porters
And the sons of engineers
Ride their father’s magic carpets made of steel.
Mothers with their babes asleep,
Are rockin’ to the gentle beat
And the rhythm of the rails is all they feel.
Nighttime on The City of New Orleans,
Changing cars in Memphis, Tennessee.
Half way home, we’ll be there by morning
Through the Mississippi darkness Rolling down to the sea.

And all the towns and people seem To fade into a bad dream
And the steel rails still ain’t heard the news.
The conductor sings his song again,
The passengers will please refrain
This train’s got the disappearing railroad blues.

Good night, America, how are you?
Don’t you know me I’m your native son,
I’m the train they call The City of New Orleans,
I’ll be gone five hundred miles when the day is done.

lyrics: The City of New Orleans by Steve Goodman ©1970, 1971 EMI U Catalogue, Inc and Turnpike Tom Music (ASCAP)

Fat Saturday

This Tuesday is Mardi Gras. I think that New Orleans is the most important place in the United States for music. Which is to say: In the whole wide world.

Yes, I know all about Vienna. La Scala ain’t in Rhode Island, though there’s plenty of Italians at hand. Heard of Liverpool. Detroit? New York? Los Angeles? Whatever…

It’s “whatever”, because it’s not really whatever in any of those other places. They’e known for one, or maybe a few things. But the fusion, without the loss of any of its component parts, is what I’m talking about. And there has never been a place like New Orleans in the world for that. Louis Prima and Mahalia Jackson are both from there. Everything in between, too.

This fellow from Surrey England came to make his obeisance with the local New Orleans shaman, Mac Rebbenack, for instance. Louis Armstrong made that old traditional song famous, and identified it forever with the Crescent City. But the original St. James Infirmary was likely an ancient Irish/British folk song about a hospital in London.

You can discover yourself in New Orleans music. You’re already in there.