With this crew of old friends, the show was equal parts hilarity and fine music. It started out with a swinging version of “St. Louis Blues,” with Connick making the best of the small electric keyboard and Marsalis blowing soprano saxophone. Traditional jazz was on the menu with the group offering “Do You Know What It Means To Miss New Orleans” and “Didn’t He Ramble,” punctuated with French’s storytelling about the old days and friendly jibing between the guys. At French’s insistence, Connick did a medley of numbers associated with James Booker, and Connick showed he’s the man on “Sunny Side of the Street,” “Junco Partner” and “Please Send Me Someone To Love.” Troy “Trombone Shorty” Andrews, who is also on the CD, joined in to play some sweet horn fills alongside Marsalis. Then it was time for church with Connick offering up a gospel-drenched rendition of “Just a Closer Walk with Thee” with French acting as the preacher. Everyone was also glad to see pianist Henry Butler, in town to work on his Road Home application, and bassist Richard Moten, both of whom sat in later in the set. Nights like these—oh, and how about Dr. John playing with French on Christmas?—make you know why you’re in New Orleans.

It was recently announced that Cosimo Matassa will receive the National Recording Academy’s prestigious Trustees Award for his contribution as a record producer. He is to be honored at a ceremony to be held in Los Angeles the day before the Grammy Awards ceremony, which will be broadcast February 11. Matassa plans to attend both ceremonies.

Matassa is a casual kind of guy who is usually seen wearing his “uniform” of a sweatshirt, cap and slacks. His relaxed attitude played a significant part in his success in the studio, producing hits from great artists Fats Domino, Little Richard and three nominees for this year’s Grammys: Allen Toussaint, Mac Rebennack and Irma Thomas. That he and these artists are being recognized this year—over 40 years after they stood before the well-placed microphones in his J&M Studios on North Rampart Street—speaks of the significance and endurance of their work.

“It supports what I’ve said all along,” says Matassa. “A lot of great performers have made me look good. You can be the best engineer in the world, but if there’s nobody in the room really performing, what have you got? A great reproduction of a poor performance.”

It’s true that the wealth of musicians in New Orleans was at the heart of this city’s R&B era of the 1950s and ’60s, yet Matassa’s deep appreciation of them and their art and his welcoming attitude in a time of racial turbulence created an atmosphere ripe for creativity. His recording style, which the academy deemed “essential to the development of New Orleans rhythm and blues, rock and soul,” has even been dubbed the “Cosimo sound.”

Matassa, who through the years has won numerous accolades and this month was presented the local Louis Prima Award by 13th Italian-American Association, is in good company with previous Trustees Award honorees including Sam Phillips, Dick Clark and even Walt Disney.

“I’m really proud to get in with that bunch,” Matassa says with a smile mentioning fellow honorees Duke Ellington, Billy Strayhorn and Ahmet Ertegun. “I was really pleased, of course.”

Matassa and his wife will take a train to Los Angeles, finding it a more comfortable means of travel than flying. “The train trip is enjoyable and you get three meals a day plus the scenery. Unfortunately, half of it will be desert,” says Matassa, who is bouncing back from a recent an aortal valve replacement. Rather than an artificial valve, which requires ongoing rejection drugs, a pig’s valve was used. “I tell people

I’m not kosher anymore,” says Matassa, laughing.

He looks forward to seeing his old friends at the Grammy ceremonies though he regrets that Allen Toussaint and Irma Thomas are up against each other in the Contemporary Blues Album category. “It’s unfortunate that New Orleanians are competing against New Orleanans,” says Matassa.

He’s also grateful that the academy is recognizing his work. “It was a great way to make a living!” Matassa says.

Students from his school wore t-shirts declaring Shavers “No. 1 band teacher,” and others raised signs bearing his image. One person, speaking for all of us stunned by the violent crime, waved a placard that simply read, “Enough!”

It was difficult to count the number of musicians who accompanied the horse-drawn hearse down the street. Almost all of this city’s brass bands were represented with Rebirth picking up the rear. Veterans like clarinetist Dr. Michael White and trumpeter Gregg Stafford stood alongside younger guys from To Be Continued Brass Band and the stalwarts of the New Birth Brass Band.

In many ways, the always-smiling, much-respected Shavers represented a link in the tradition. He had organized Rabouin High School’s first and impressively large at 80 members marching band, and was reportedly excited that it had already been booked for several Mardi Gras parades.

“He was a very energetic person,” says tuba man Benny Pete, the leader of the Hot 8 Brass Band. “He loved to keep busy.” Pete notes that beyond Shavers’ work with the band and teaching, he also had his own car wash. “When he was a kid he used to hustle doing it, so when he got older he made a business out of it.

“He had a good spirit; he had a real good spirit,” Pete continues, remembering that through the group’s often troubled times, Shavers rallied. “He always lifted the band up. Whenever we were down, he would always be the one to say, ‘C’mon man, we got to keep on moving. We’ve got to do this.’”

Shavers’ drum will be heard again on a new Hot 8 album with an anticipated Jazz Fest release. His solid rhythms will drive a single from the disc, tentatively titled, “How You Gonna Cross That Water?”, that will be ready to bounce for Mardi Gras.

Joseph “Big Chief Monk” Boudreaux of the Golden Eagles has been masking Indian since he was a teenager. His father, Raymond, was a member of the Creoles and the Wild Squatoolas Black Indian gangs, so even before Monk built his first suit, he was deeply entrenched in the culture. “I wouldn’t know what to do on Mardi Gras Day if I didn’t run with the Indians,” says the chief.

Boudreaux’s deep roots in the tradition have allowed him to step out into the entertainment world as a noted vocalist. The chief and the Golden Eagles released their first album, Lightning and Thunder in 1988, and he has gone on to record as a leader and with a wide variety of other artists and has performed around the world.

Widely respected among the Indian nation, the social aid and pleasure club community and the music world, Big Chief Monk stands as a link between people of many walks of life. Last year it was Boudreaux, along with Festival Production’s Quint Davis, who spearheaded the initiative to provide Mardi Gras Indians with much-needed materials to make new suits. With money from the Norman Dixon, Sr. Fund, he is at it again this year, making calls and organizing orders of feathers and plumes so that the Indians, who lost so much to Hurricane Katrina, can carry on the tradition.

So are you sewing?

Right now I’m doing some stuff for the second line on Sunday (January 7). I’m designing streamers and fans for the Perfect Gentlemen (Social Aid and Pleasure Club)—they come out this Sunday.

Do you often work for other clubs?

Oh, yeah, for various groups. I did the Young Men Olympian—the first division with the brown and orange. And I did two guys in the Young Men Olympian by themselves; they had light blue and beige.

I know other Mardi Gras Indians are involved with designing for the social aid and pleasure cubs. Big Chief Tootie Montana worked with the Sudan and the Black Men of Labor clubs. Have you done this throughout the years?

I’ve been doing this for 40 years. I used to parade with the Young Men Olympian about 30 years ago. I think I paraded with them for five years, and then I came back and paraded with them again about seven years ago.

So do you just design, or do you actually make the accessories?

They come to me and give me an idea and I sketch it up and they say, “Yeah, that’s what we want.” Some come to me and they don’t have an idea what they want. Sometimes they bring me the materials and I make the pieces, too.

Do you approach this any differently than when you’re creating an Indian suit?

It’s the same, they just don’t use the rhinestones and the beads, but they use the same material. You could take the bottom part of the streamers and use it as an apron. [Streamers are the sashes that drape across the front of the body—think Miss America sashes. At the bottom, they often widen and include the name of the club. An apron is the front flap of a Mardi Gras Indian suit.]

Do you make the baskets too?

Yeah, I’m making baskets for the Young Men Olympian for this year coming up. They don’t require baskets too much. It’s kind of expensive. Every time I came out, I came out with a basket and a fan.

What brass bands were parading when you were with the Young Men Olympian?

I remember Doc Paulin and the Olympia Brass Band.

How do you see the connection between the Mardi Gras Indians and the second line clubs? I think of it sort of as a shared street culture.

A lot of guys that parade mask Indian also, and a lot of them who parade have masked Indians. It’s the same people, you know, most of them. It’s the same followers. The people that follow Indians follow the second lines, too. They’ve both been out here about the same amount of time. My grandfather used to parade every third Sunday, but they didn’t have a band. They just marched down the street. This was probably in the late 1940s. I was a little kid. They used to march through the city. They had some ladies that dressed out in white and they, too, paraded without a band.

So let’s talk about the Mardi Gras Indians. Are you sewing on your suit?

Yeah, I’m beading on a patch. I’m adding to my suit from last year. I work on it during breaks at work—I parade with the second line band at Harrah’s.

You said something at last year’s Indian Sunday parade that stuck in my head. I mentioned to you that you always look comfortable in your suits and you said, “That’s because I tailor them.”

Yeah, I do. I measure myself across. And I always cut the material too big so I can take some off. If I want a jacket, I just cut it up and then pin it up and I try it on. I keep pinning it and trying it on until it fits and then I sew it up.

Do you think the apparent comfort level has something to do with your personal style of suits—the shorts and jacket? You always look great, but you also look like you can move.

That’s just my style; that’s the way I see it. You’re supposed to be able to move. Why make something you can’t walk in? You make an Indian suit to wear, right? If you can’t wear it, why make it?

You don’t go in for huge crowns either.

No, but I used to like on the Wild Magnolia album cover. You don’t need all of that. I don’t.

I know last year you were very involved with getting feathers to the Indians and that you’re doing it again this year. How is that going, and are there more Indians?

We’ve got our order in. We’re just waiting on them to come in.

There’s a lot more Indians, a lot more. We now have 159 Indians (that have signed up for feathers) and we would have had more except a lot of them didn’t know about it. Some of them are in Texas and I didn’t have any way to contact them. They’ve been calling and they’re still calling. Last year we had maybe close to 100.

I have to call the Indians up and find out their color. All of the plumes come from Africa but we really get them from New York—they have dye houses in New York—and then they’re shipped to Jefferson Variety, where we pick them up.

How many will be in your gang, the Golden Eagles?

Well, that’s something you never can tell. All the kids are going to be there. They’re my grandchildren, there’s six… seven of them. Their mama sews the suits.

I’m coming in gray and leaving from my house on Valence and Magnolia—you never know about the time. About 9 a.m. By the time I get down to Second and Dryades, Zulu will have passed already.

What is your biggest concern about the future of the Mardi Gras Indian tradition particularly with so many people now scattered across the country?

It don’t worry me because I know they’re going to be here. They’re going to come regardless of where they are. They’re going to be here for that day and they’re going to come with their Indians suits, too.

How about in the long run? It’s always been such a neighborhood activity and family activity.

It’s been going on for over 100 years, so they’re not going to stop no matter where they are. They’re going to go back to their neighborhoods regardless whether they’re living there or not. That’s where they’ll be leaving from. Somebody’s going to be in the neighborhood.

How long can they keep it going? I’m concerned about the future with kids growing up elsewhere and not having the tradition as a part of their daily lives.

That time has to come or might not come. We’ll have to wait and see. Everybody I talk to out of town is sewing. They can get the same materials out of town as we get here—and maybe cheaper.

Considering the financial burden it takes to make a suit, I thought that maybe some Indians might opt for smaller, less elaborate suits but that doesn’t seem to be the case.

See, the thing is you don’t do it all the time. You have a whole year to prepare. You just put a little bit on the side—and you pay your bills. Now, when it gets close to Mardi Gras you may not pay your light bill. A long time ago, Indians’ lights used to get cut off and we used to go help them get their lights back on. It’s a thing that has to be done. It’s not like you’re coming out of your pocket with $4,000 or $5,000 right off the bat. That’s why you start right after Mardi Gras. You spend as much money as you can afford. We don’t sit down and figure out how much we spent because that’s gone. No sense worrying about it because it’s gone. I don’t keep receipts.

I haven’t seen you listed much performing in the clubs with your group.

It’s been kind of slow. I have a gig next Saturday and I was out for New Year’s with Papa Mali and Galactic at Tip’s. I have a CD that’s supposed to be coming out that I recorded last year in California—I think it will be released at Jazz Fest. It’s with John Lisi and Delta Funk. I wrote almost all of the material for that. I’m creative—when I get into the studio, it just comes naturally for me.

A lot of Indians are singing about the storm in their chants.

They tell the stories of what they see and that’s what Indians songs are about—what goes on. So Hurricane Katrina came along and there they go; they’ve got a song. They pick up whatever and they go with it.

Music is music. I do Indian songs and other songs and it’s all how I feel. It’s still just a feeling.

What keeps the Indians going so strong despite all the hardships they are facing right now?

They were born with it—most of them. Like my dad did it before me and I followed his footsteps. My dad stopped masking after about 20 years and a man stayed across the street and I used to go watch him. It was already in me. His name was William Bell and he was with the White Eagles. The White Eagles was a big gang. I started out with the White Eagles with Big Chief Fletcher when I was a little boy.

You are always so optimistic. How do you account for that especially these days?

I guess I was just born that way. I don’t let nothing worry me. Because if people worry, they’re always going to take it out on somebody else. Worrying ain’t good for you.

The words “The Future of Our Past” printed on the upper right cover of Harold Battiste’s sheet music/workbook, The Silverbook, speak volumes about the musician and the man. Generally, when a Lifetime Achievement Award honor is bestowed, it is a time to reflect.

Certainly Battiste has earned great accolades for his accomplishments through his 50-plus years as a musician, producer, composer and educator. But as far as jazz is concerned, Battiste has always also been about today and tomorrow. He continues his quest to keep New Orleans music alive and make sure its purveyors are recognized.

Two books, The Silverbook and his recently completed, yet unpublished Unfinished Blues—Life Memories of a New Orleans Musician, conceived and written to that aim, sit on his dining room table in his neatly appointed apartment in The Park Esplanade at City Park. Along with pianist Jesse McBride, his former student at University of New Orleans and supporter in Battiste’s many endeavors, we talk not of his landmarks like founding the still vital A.F.O. label over 40 years ago, becoming the musical director of The Sonny & Cher Show or producing the three albums—Gris-Gris, Babylon and Gumbo—that transformed Mac Rebennack into Dr. John. Instead, it’s the young cats on the local jazz scene and the documentation of jazz’s modern era, what he refers to as the “next 50 years of New Orleans jazz,” that stirs his soul.

“Per capita, New Orleans still has more musicians of national reputation that were born and raised here than any other city in this country or probably the world,” declares Battiste, who was born here on October 28, 1931.

“High quality product,” adds McBride, who leads the band, the Next Generation that was founded by Battiste three decades ago to perform the works from New Orleans’ first generation of modern jazz players such as himself, pianist Ellis Marsalis, drummer James Black and others. This month, the Next Generation will record material found in The Silverbook that, thus far, only existed on paper or was heard live. The repertoire includes Battiste gems like his 1974 composition “Beautiful Old Ladies” and 1964’s “J.B. Jazz.”

“To be still alive and hear what these young cats do with these old tunes is marvelous,” Battiste says with a touch of wistfulness. “This is old stuff and they bring it to life. That’s the miracle of it for me. There’s always enough left for whatever a next generation is that they can (musically) say what they want to say about it.”

“When I hear these tunes, they sound like him. They sound like his personality,” says McBride who is dedicated to keeping the material before audiences.

In May 2006, Battiste retired from his position as a professor in the University of New Orleans’ Jazz Studies Program that he held since the program’s conception in 1989.

“I was told I should use the word re-focus rather than retire,” Battiste offers with a laugh. “I’m working more now, but it’s just on what I want to work on. I’m trying to cut down but things keep jumping at me. I wake up and think, ‘What am I supposed to do today? What needs to be done? How do I get rid of stuff and not throw it away?’”

That final question has been resolved. His material will be archived at the Amistad Research Center. While it’s doubtful the bag of hotel keys that he gathered from his many travels that sits under the table will be stored for prosperity, he continues to sort out material from a lifetime of music, which includes papers, manuscripts, scores, photos and historical information on the A.F.O. (All for One) label and foundation.

“The main thing is to make it available for people who want to research it,” says Battiste, whose documentation of modern jazz declares that the musical revolution that began with the likes of trumpeter Buddy Bolden and was brought to the world by Louis Armstrong continued and continues in New Orleans.

While his work shouts for attention, Battiste remains a serene man whose warm personality made him a favorite among his students.

“He was one of the only professors that you could go and just talk to and it didn’t have to be about music or the university,” says McBride, who is now a member of Dillard University’s adjunct faculty. “I started hanging out in the office and he never kicked me out,” he adds, calling Battiste his guru. McBride encourages Battiste to blow his saxophone with the Next Generation, but physical limitations due to a stroke have limited Battiste’s dexterity.

“I’m perplexed about my horn,” Battiste confides, saying that his hand remains “a couple of ticks behind. I’m thinking if I had a decent horn, I might play some more.”

McBride and I turn to each other and agree that hearing Battiste’s soulful saxophone remains a great pleasure. Hearing more from this wonderful keeper of the flame would even be better.

The prolific Harry Connick, Jr. enjoys many interests and always has lots of irons in the fire. So it makes sense that the pianist, vocalist, composer, arranger and actor records for two very different and distinctive labels, Columbia Records and friend and fellow musician, saxophonist Branford Marsalis’ Marsalis Music. He has been signed to Columbia since 1987, and his releases for that label feature Connick the crooner backed by either a combo or his big band. His first album on the record giant, a self-titled disc produced by Delfeayo Marsalis, was his last all-instrumental release until his 2003 debut on Marsalis Music, Other Hours. Last time out, he and Branford successfully teamed up playing modern jazz in a duo setting on Occasion.

Connick is behind the piano but not the microphone again for this, his third Marsalis Music release, which jumps with a traditional flavor. It’s New Orleanians trumpeter Leroy Jones and trombonist Lucien Barbarin who step out of Connick’s impressive 17-piece big band to add their vocals to “Bourbon Street Parade” and the pianist’s original “Luscious,” respectively.

The album opens wonderfully with Harry playing the spare melody of Louis Armstrong’s “Someday You’ll Be Sorry.” The horns make a striking entrance, crisply punctuating the tune with dramatic effect. A band full of talented, modern players hip to the tradition makes this tune and others including “Fidgety Feet” leap into the big band era while staying true to its contemporary roots. The approach is similar to that of trumpeter Nicholas Payton on his album Dear Louis. Most importantly, the music is simply flawlessly executed and swings like crazy.

Connick is extremely generous with solo time for his gifted band members, which might be considered a flaw for those who want to hear more from his piano. He does offer a beautiful introduction to Sidney Bechet’s “Petite Fleur” before the sax takes over the melody most often heard on clarinet. His piano is upfront on Hoagy Carmichael’s “New Orleans.” He again keeps things simple—single notes runs, a few trills—and the tune’s moodiness is emphasized by the low notes of the trombone and baritone saxophone. By the end, though, Connick has the keys dancing.

While he might not take the spotlight often on piano, Connick looms large all over this album as bandleader, composer and arranger. It’s his intricate arrangement of “Panama” that frees the soloists—with a chorus of horns cascading around them—and brings new life to the chestnut. It’s his hand that moves the burning “That’s a Plenty” to another, very lively level.

Mixed among the familiar are three new Connick compositions. A favorite is the aforementioned “Luscious” with vocals by Lucien Barbarin. The blending of jazz, swing, and humor with a touch of R&B is somewhat reminiscent of Roy Brown’s style. “Ash Wednesday” creates a mood almost like a movie soundtrack rather than relying heavily on a strongly stated melody. Connick creates a slow and softly dreamy aura for the title cut that sways like Spanish moss on a summer night.

Chanson du Vieux Carre was recorded in May 2003, long before floodwaters devastated his hometown. Now more than ever, his tribute demonstrates the durability of New Orleans’ music and musicians. It looks back and brings the music forward swinging all the way. Harry Connick, Jr. has created his own big band sound, and it is the sound of New Orleans.

Sirens wail and the shout goes out, “Who Dat Called Da Police.” The New Birth Brass Band gets the party rolling with this street favorite. The popular response, “Dem ho’s called the police!” was left out for the sake of radio airplay, but this opening tune has all the exuberance of a Sunday afternoon second line and that, most will agree, is hard to capture on recordings. The song is one of four fresh tunes on New Orleans Second Line! mixed with material from the New Birth Family and Get the Hump Out Yo Back albums.

All of the unreleased tunes except for Kool & the Gang’s hit, “Apache” come from the very prolific pen of bass drummer/leader Tanio Hingle and are already well know to brass band followers. “Show Me That Dance Called the Second Line,” which includes its signature “whooo, whooo, whooo” hook starts out straight up hot brass. Then saxophonist Frederick “Shep” Sheppard (man, do we miss him on the scene) lets loose with some outside blowin’ as the rest of the horns riff behind him. The other original is the instrumental, “Here We Go.” Running almost seven minutes, this tune is a celebration in itself. As when the New Birth rolls on “the line,” the band continually changes the intensity of its delivery. The quieter moments when somebody is digging into a solo calm a crowd before building it up again.

Though the sparse liner notes don’t even include personnel, kudos do go out for the eye-catching, illustrated cover by Mark Andersen. It would be difficult to walk by a rack and not check out this disc.

It seems that the Helsinki-based Spirit of New Orleans (SONO), saved the best for last on its sophomore release. The group boasts trombonist Katja Toivola and as a special guest, her husband, trumpeter Leroy Brown, and it does a good job on traditional material like “Tin Roof Blues.” Things get much more interesting, though, when the band ventures into original material. Toivola’s “Montego Bounce” rocks steady with a Jamaican flair that is reminiscent of material favored by the legendary Skatalites. It’s the perfect vehicle to show off her growing prowess on the trombone. All of musicians sound more relaxed and together in the groove than on the title cut, which never gets into the swing. Perhaps stepping away from classic jazz offered the Finnish musicians a greater sense of freedom.

Jones is always at the top of his game, whatever the genre. His Latin-tinged offering, “KT & Me” continues the tropical mood, and a tune from Finish composer Oskar Merikanto, “Thou Tune of My Mourning,” also gets a thumbs up. It’s a more modern, finger-snapping number that demonstrates that, indeed, SONO can swing. The ensemble beautifully states the catchy and memorable melody, and each of the musicians takes a tasty solo. It’s a good lead into the closer, “Chicken ‘N’ Dumplins.” This tune, along with “Woodchopper’s Ball,” jumps with a modern flair that sure beats yet another uninspired version of “Bourbon Street Parade” here with vocals by guest Eeppi Ursin. Hmmm, maybe these Finish musicians are really modern jazzers with a love for tradition. I’ll go for that.