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November 20th 2012

Treme Episode 9: Musicians Seal the Deals

Most of the musicians on Treme play themselves. Others are given small acting roles, and a very few are actually both musicians and actors playing out storylines that overlap with real history. We saw how slippery that ground can be right at the beginning of Season 3 when Glen David Andrews reenacted his arrest for second-lining in honor of Kerwin James while in real life he was being hauled up on bogus attempted murder charges which were later dropped, but only after his name was smeared all over the front page of the Times-Picayune.

Irvin Mayfield has the most difficult and controversial role of any musician in the show. He was initially portrayed as the musician developers could go to when they wanted a favor from the administration of Ray Nagin immediately after the flood. At that time in real life, Mayfield was indeed promoting a plan for a National Jazz Center that never materialized. This season there’s a new mayor, Mitch Landrieu, and the storyline has developers needing to curry favor with musicians Delmond Lambreaux and his father Big Chief Albert Lambreaux in order to work with Landrieu. But Mayfield is still in the picture, advising the younger Lambreaux on his role. The part is so complex, Mayfield and David Simon sat down to hammer it out between them, and Mayfield’s take on the exchange is fascinating.

Swenson: I’m fascinated by the role you play as a bridge between the developers and the musicians’ community.
Mayfield: As an artist I always thought it’s an interesting lifestyle, working with actors. And I have a lot of actors who are friends because I went to high school with actors, with writers, with visual artists and of course musicians, jazz musicians and classical musicians. We did all of that at the New Orleans Center for Creative Arts. When I’m spending time with folks on a movie set, I just relate to it as just hanging around with a bunch of actors because I’m used to that. I’ve been around that culture, I’ve done a lot of acting, so I understand that and I consider myself an actor. I appreciate it, but you know, it’s like photo sessions and I’ve done more photo sessions than probably anything. To boil this long-winded explanation down to one sentence, I always feel like I’m wasting my damn time when I’m doing it. It’s not my chosen profession. If I spend all day on a movie set, I just feel like I’ve wasted a whole day. It’s just not how I want to spend my time. It’s like if I’m writing a lecture, it never feels like it’s as productive a day as if I’m writing music.

Swenson: One of the things that Treme does so well is articulate the ongoing problems that New Orleans faces. You interface with the business people and show that musicians can do that, that it’s not necessarily an oppositional situation in every case.
Mayfield: I have to challenge you there, John, because realistically the higher up you go, it’s less of an issue. Frank Sinatra didn’t have that issue. Louis Prima didn’t have that issue. Louis Armstrong himself. Here’s a man who owned a Negro league [team], he was a film star, a music person and an ambassador of goodwill. He defended his own ideas as a public persona in a tremendous amount of battles with Charlie Parker and Dizzy Gillespie when they first came out in defense of the old vs. the new. I don’t think the city has had an issue with this. I think what we haven’t done is built the tools that are necessary. Remember we still live in a town that does not have a school named for Louis Armstrong. That’s the problem with New Orleans. You have to stand in defense and fight for that kind of shit.

Swenson: Did you have an exchange with the writers about all of this?
Mayfield: I love David Simon. I like his attitude and his persona and his vibe. And I know a lot of the writers. I know those guys but honestly the difference is, and I’m saying this as gingerly as I can and I think David Simon can appreciate it because he’s kind of a no- bullshit guy: they don’t look at this shit from the perspective I look at it. We may be in a global fight together, but I am in defense of the fight in a different position. I think I have a unique perspective on it, because of where I’m sitting I have to look at it like I play the trumpet and I have to sit back and say, “Damn, there’s another man who played the trumpet who actually was a genius, one of the greatest geniuses of all of American history, and he had to leave his own hometown.”

He was signing his letters “red beans and ricely yours” all these years, yet he didn’t want to be buried here. He didn’t want to come back because of the type of prejudice he faced when he came home. No school named after him. There’s still a fence up now through how many years? There’s still a fence up around Armstrong Park. You like Mitch, great, you like Ray, great, Sidney Barthelemy, fine, but there’s a fence up, man. So when it comes to that kind of shit I just have to sit back and scratch my head. That’s what the time of day it is for me, that’s where the fight is right now. When I sat with David Simon I was more like trying to explain to him what this is about. He said, “What is the deal?” I said, “Let me tell you the irony of this. It’s when people will tell you that they’ve got a problem with you because you volunteered your time on the library board and they’ve got a problem with you because you volunteered your time working for one mayor and then another guy who’s your friend becomes mayor and his team doesn’t like you because you volunteered your time for the library, and then the guy who came before both of those guys, you sit down with his friends and they say, ‘I heard that you aligned yourself with somebody else.’”

The reality is that I joined the library because I live in this town. I think that what we were dealing with was so complex Simon was trying to figure out, “What kind of character do we create?” He asked me what I thought and I said, “At the end of the day it’s all made up. You’re trying to tell a story. So really it doesn’t matter as long as the story is really good.” People won’t remember what board I was on or what I did to create the New Orleans Jazz Orchestra. At the end of the day, no one is going to remember any of that. It doesn’t help me sell any records. I did it because I thought it was important. The things that I put into the music are my spirit, my emotion. My life as a public figure is different. The reason you do these things is not for the roses. You do it because you love the place. I love New Orleans. I live here, I pay my taxes here, this is where I want to be.

Folks think power is in City Hall in those elected offices. I believe the people in the most powerful positions are the artists, because our shit lasts. We’re the sculptors, we’re the painters, we’re the second line, the pot of gumbo. We supersede any political office. Even religious leaders need the arts to communicate the message of god.

In closing, Davis and the R&B Opera

The Davis haters are gloating because the R&B Opera was left off the list of releases on the label he owns with Aunt Mimi. This is supposedly a death blow to Davis, they note with the usual glee at his perceived demise. I love this stuff because these musical carrion crows always end up dining on their own words, and clearly Davis is inspired by the end of the last episode to write the song that inspired the whole Davis part in the first place, “I Quit.” I know this for a fact because I wrote the review that attracted Simon to the Davis character in the first place, and “I Quit,” a great piece of self-affirmation, is what really hooked Simon. This will not be a minor plot angle. My money is still on Davis.

–John Swenson

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The Tags:: Davis Rogan; Irvin Mayfield; treme

November 12th 2012

Treme Recap: Get No Kick Out Of That Modern Jazz

Treme does such a wonderful job representing New Orleans music I find it odd when the music story line hits a clam, but there were bum notes all through last night’s episode (titled “Don’t Leave Me Here”). Going back to season one, I thought the storyline pitting New Orleans jazz against New York jazz was corny and unconvincing. This is 2008 we’re talking about, and serious musicians have long since stopped making jazz critic-type distinctions between genres. Jazz musicians go back and forth between New Orleans and New York like cardinals flying from yard to yard and they all know what makes New Orleans jazz matter. For teleplay writer Tom Piazza of all people to be penning an episode about Antoine Batiste desperately trying to play like J.J. Johnson is a cruel joke. First of all, the distinction later made in the episode by Delmond Lambreaux between New Orleans jazz as something you twirl your umbrella to and something called “modern jazz” that is more serious is a red herring to begin with. “Modern jazz,” as represented in this episode by Thelonious Monk and Eric Dolphy, is about as “modern” as a ’57 Chevy. In fact by virtue of both timeline considerations and the acoustic nature of the music, “modern” jazz and traditional New Orleans jazz are far more closely related than anything young jazz players are doing today.

There are plenty of traditional jazz musicians in New Orleans who play just that because it’s the music they want to play. There are just as many who can do a trad jazz gig one night, a bop gig the next and a session of new improvisational music the night after. I’ve been watching Treme at Buffa’s, a really great experience which I highly recommend. Before each show local musicians featured in Treme perform. Last night it was pianist Tom McDermott and clarinetist Aurora Nealand. Nealand is a perfect example of what I’m talking about. She is a superb traditional New Orleans jazz player who’s recorded a tribute to one of the masters of that genre, Sidney Bechet, but I’ve seen her in duets with new music cellist Helen Gillet where she plays inspired post-Ornette Coleman abstractions, unfettered by any critical niche. So this storyline is bogus, I’m sorry to say.

As usual the music itself is on magnificent display. Annie Tee, whom I have issues with as a singer and bandleader, is superb playing violin on a session with Sonny Landreth. And it’s becoming clear what’s going to go wrong with her too-good-to-be-true manager, played by Michael Cerveris. He wants her to take credit for songs she didn’t write. And then he’ll go after her publishing.

The storyline I do find riveting in season three is the relationship between Chief Lambreaux and LaDonna, two apparently doomed characters who in their own lives represent the fragile soul of a city under siege. Albert, who literally plays the guardian of the Mardi Gras Indian tradition in the Treme storyline, is puking his guts out from his cancer chemotherapy; LaDonna, the free spirit whose tough independence and flirtatious beauty represent the part of New Orleans that always whistled past the graveyard, is being psychologically tortured by her rapists. We know the outcome of these stories without spoilers. Chief’s life, if he survives, will never be the same. LaDonna will be forced to live with the terror being inflicted on her no matter the outcome of her court case. Somehow their star-crossed circumstances pull these unlikely lovers together and they light up the night with their smoldering passion, all the more brilliant for its slow, unrequited burn. And even though they’ve never even kissed they are clearly involved in the kind of platonic romance that makes great fiction. He’s too old for her, of course, but that doesn’t stop her from being drawn to him. And he is no crowing Professor from der blaue Engel; he gets Bogart-level lines of stoic acceptance and wisdom. Earlier this year my favorite was when he told her, “You’re all woman…” pausing to add, “but you’re no Indian.” This time he says something right out of Casablanca. They’re sitting at the table when she gets the menacing call from the rapist. She tries to shake it off but he knows her soul by looking at her. And he gives her the advice about bullies that has been handed out since civilization began:

“You’ve got to show ‘em you’re not afraid.”

LaDonna, of course, has a quick retort:

“That’s easy for you to say.”

And that’s when Chief gets the Bogart line, the three words that carry a lifetime of meaning:

“No, it isn’t.”

– John Swenson

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The Tags:: Aurora Nealand; Delmond Lambreaux; Tom McDermott; treme

October 29th 2012

Voodoo and Treme: We Do What We Need To

Black night is falling. The stars are incredibly close. Jack White is mining the past to an adoring crowd in City Park. The Saints are being crushed in Denver. I’m heading to Buffa’s to watch Treme.

I’m really torn by what I witnessed at the Voodoo Experience. I want to thank Neil Young and Crazy Horse for playing the best or maybe second best show of the twenty-something I’ve seen by them over the years. Only the Madison Square Garden Rust Never Sleeps show was on the level of what happened Friday night. Others of course have their own moments. But those who were obsessed with Young’s age completely missed the point. Neil Young and Crazy Horse put it all on the line Friday night. They gave us everything they had and they have plenty. During “Walk Like A Giant,” Young kept turning to the band and shouting for more, punching both arms emphatically in the air like Charlton Heston in The Ten Commandments parting the Red Sea. He wanted more and he got it. Nothing was left behind when they finished. The grandeur of the coda, where Young got Crazy Horse to mimic the sound of a giant walking in immense, crushing strides for what seemed like 10 minutes, was truly astonishing.

Young was not fooling around. He threw the gauntlet immediately with “Love and Only Love” from the critically undervalued Crazy Horse masterpiece Ragged Glory.

“Love and only love will endure… Hate is everything you think it is.”

The raw, open-hearted emotion that Young can bring to a song is best served in this anthem to unabashed passion, to following your heart at all costs. Call him a hippie and he’ll cop to that with a chip on his shoulder. You got a better solution, Mitt?

And “Fucking Up,” another Ragged Glory track, what a moment. You think this is about drugs? It’s about you fucking up getting the meaning of the song, bro. It’s about me making every mistake in the book. It’s about all the times Neil’s father took him down a notch. And it’s about getting off the floor and trying your best the next time. Let’s all sing along to our folly and move on.

“Ramada Inn” may be the best song Neil’s ever written. It’s simplicity and complexity, redemption and the horror of the abyss, all at once. And of course the saving grace is love. What else do we have, ever? “She loved him so… she did what she had to.”

A close friend told me this set changed her life. Truth.

At other points Voodoo left me wanting to run away screaming. The sound was often so bad, bleeding so intensely from stage to stage. I want to offer a personal apology to anyone who went to see AWOLNATION on my recommendation. I based that pick on recordings, but the band sucked the tailpipe so hard in person I was left aghast. And the abomination of the Red Bull stage was truly appalling. Has Dev gotten here yet? I mean, the Preservation Hall stage ran like the German rail road but it seemed nobody played at Le Plur when they were supposed to. Of course everybody was so jacked on ecstasy they didn’t care as featureless automorons spun aural wallpaper for the stunned denizens. Frank Zappa had an apt description for this. It’s not music, it’s “lifestyle accessory.” And of course it’s the future of pop, of course. Pop is supposed to reflect mass culture, and American culture is becoming so completely homogenized that it’s inevitable it will sound like this for the forseeable future.

As for the future of Voodoo, the sparse crowds indicated that the once vast chasm in booking philosophy between the Jazz and Heritage Festival and Voodoo has dwindled to a razor’s edge. Jack White has played Jazz Fest, as has Young. That leaves Metallica, which isn’t much of an edge. Voodoo still skews younger than Jazz Fest but there’s really not as much variety and when the mainstream rock support acts are as bad as this year’s bunch the edge disappears completely.

Over at Buffa’s, sitting in the back room watching Treme with an audience of people who populate the screen in front of you is an experience that offers a stark contrast to the mall of Voodoo. Treme is showing us what is happening to our culture. New Orleans, a city full of creative people — not just musicians and artists but artisans of every stripe, metal workers with soul and street sweepers who are honored in their community — is being remade in the wake of Hurricane Katrina. As Desiree points out incredulously in episode six, “Careless Love,” as she looks at the empty lot where her house once stood, “It’s like they don’t want us to come back.” For Desiree “us” is the African American community, but anyone who lives as an artist is part of what’s endangered here. In Treme the vision of city planners is to institutionalize culture and literally corral it — in Armstrong Park for the proposed jazz center, but also in City Park for Voodoo, at the Fair Grounds (or perhaps City Park in the future) for Jazz Fest, or elsewhere as long as it can be tagged with a dog collar. But definitely not on the streets, at the second lines, in the neighborhoods, or the corner bars where music grew and is still nurtured. All that is under siege. Our future is endangered, and nobody is going to help us except ourselves. If we don’t listen to Neil Young and do what we have to, do what we need to, we’re going to lose everything that matters to us.

–John Swenson

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The Tags:: City Park; Neil Young and Crazy Horse; treme; Vooodoo Music Experience

October 15th 2012

Treme Season 3, Episode 4: Music Is the Message

In last night’s episode of Treme, “The Greatest Love,” Davis McAlary is in Piety Street Studios with producer Mark Bingham, trying to convince him to donate studio time to record his R&B Opera. Davis enlists saxophonist Kidd Jordan, who is also in the room, in support of the project. Davis, Jordan and Bingham go back and forth exchanging superlatives about the album. Davis is dead serious while the other two are mocking him in a clean variation on “doing the dozens.” Instead of trading insults they’re trading adjectives.

“It went on and on. It was hilarious,” said Bingham. “I don’t know how much of it made it into the show but we had a lot of fun with it.”

The moment was particularly auspicious because Davell Crawford was actually in the studio while they talked, singing a gospel song with his grandfather, James “Sugar Boy” Crawford, who passed away only months after the scene was filmed. Like so many other New Orleans music institutions that are no longer with us, Treme documented Crawford for posterity.

Bingham noted that the original script called for Frankie Ford to be in the scene, but something came up and Kidd Jordan was brought it at the last minute. That adds two pertinent footnotes to the episode, one a piece of real history and another relating to the fictive story that runs alongside it. Jordan actually played in Sugar Boy Crawford’s band at one point, creating the kind of historical irony that delights hardcore fans of New Orleans music. And it’s interesting to know that Frankie Ford was supposed to be included among the R&B greats populating the opera. We only find out incidentally who is in and who is not based on Davis’ actions in the show. We know he’s enlisted a few R&B legends, including Al “Carnival Time” Johnson and Clarence “Frogman” Henry, and we know that John Boutte and Sugar Boy Crawford turned him down. Who else might be included in the project? We’re just going to have to keep watching the rest of the season to find out. And here’s another clue. Stay tuned for an announcement about the lineup for OffBeat’s Best of the Beat award show, which takes place January 18, 2013.

McAlary is the most puzzling character in Treme. While every other major character goes through dramatic changes and shows a marked story arc through the first three seasons, Davis is exactly the same guy he was when he jumped out of bed to join a second line in episode one. The show’s writers continually cast him as a buffoon, comic relief against the dreadful landscape of a ruined city. Yet Davis is the one who plays the great music as a DJ, who organizes the outrageous party with a terrific impromptu band, who brings producer Don B into the picture, and who writes so many of the great original songs in the series thanks to his real life avatar Davis Rogan. If Rogan thinks of his songs as his children, he probably views the Treme writing team as child molesters.

Yet who could resist the opportunity to draw as broadly comic a figure as McAlary? This is no Sancho Panza providing the foil for the hero, he’s a freestanding entity who gets to tell the uncomfortable truths, even if they are cloaked in ridiculous garments. What’s with the sombrero he wears as a New Orleans tour guide? McAlary is shaping up like a Shakeapearean fool, the self-effacing apparent nitwit who actually knows more about what’s going down than the rulers of the city do.

And that’s all because Davis McAlary is always focused on the music, which in the end is the only thing that really counts in this drama. It’s his life’s blood, his reason for existence. At the moments when Davis loses his band to the young rapper he nurtured or watches his girl friend achieve the stardom that eludes him, Davis is at his best, approving of and encouraging their success even as he has a hard time hiding his own personal disappointment. Davis knows every failure is something ephemeral because there will always be more music to celebrate behind it, more adventures to pursue. The Treme writers may come up with mocking lines about Davis and his opera, but his intentions remain good and his determination to keep pursuing his idea against all odds has a nobility of its own. I have never rooted harder for Davis than I’m rooting for him now.

—John Swenson

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The Tags:: Clarence "Frogman" Henry; Davell Crawford; Davis McAlary; Davis Rogan; Edward "Kidd" Jordan; Frankie Ford; James "Sugar Boy" Crawford; Kidd Jordan; treme; Treme Season Three

October 8th 2012

Treme Episode Three Recap: The Music of Crickets

Last night’s episode of Treme was a pivotal one, setting up several scenarios to develop throughout the season.

Toni goes after a bad apple in the NOPD in a very public way and anticipates the repercussions, warning Sofia to keep her nose clean and not make herself a target.

Antoine introduces Delmond to LaDonna, who agrees to offer up Gigi’s for Sunday night rehearsals for Albert and his Guardians of the Flame.

Albert gets grave news about his health, and he and Delmond grow closer.

Annie and Janette take the next steps in their careers, signing with a manager and a restaurant financier, respectively. Janette moves back to New Orleans. Annie hits the road with her Bayou Cadillac band more.

Nelson insinuates himself into the NOAH home remediation program, crossing paths with an increasingly alarmed Desiree in the process.

Antoine cheats while gigging out of town, Sonny and Linh take to the backseat after her father finally leaves them alone, LaDonna and Larry have a date night and retire to her hotel (where she’s been staying since leaving the in-laws’ house).

Davis presses forward with his Katrina opera and snares Aunt Mimi to help produce a teaser CD to benefit New Orleans music legends denied their royalties.

Terry investigates hairdresser Jay’s murder, while Everett talks to the family of shopping mall shooting victim Henry.

To varying degrees the above plot points coax into motion the third season’s intertwining arcs, but in preparing a recap I stumbled upon an old review from the L.A. Times that really stuck in my craw.

Back in June 2010 Times writer Randall Roberts griped, “New Orleans is a setting, not a plot. Music – supposedly a ‘character’ in the show – isn’t plot, it’s … music. We’ve got a lot of little storylines going on and a few big ones unfolding, but I can’t for the life of me tell you what this show is about the way that I could tell you what Breaking Bad is about. Yes, it’s about rebuilding New Orleans and the realities of that endeavor; it’s about music; it’s about people. But what’s the story exactly?”

The singular beauty of Treme, for its numerous inconsistencies and flaws, is precisely what Roberts doesn’t get, and what episodes like last night’s exemplify: Music is as much a character – no “supposedly” there – as is New Orleans, and as is New Orleans, yes, a plot in and of itself. They may not all weigh in with equal importance at any given time, they may meander, may lose their footing or focus, but they’re all a part of the gumbo (or, to reference last night’s show, the No. 2 at Bud’s Broiler).

What isn’t a story here exactly? And what’s got you on the hook most so far? For me, it remains the masterfully portrayed relationship between Delmond and Big Chief Albert. Watching Rob Brown and Clarke Peters feel their way around tradition and family is a quiet joy, and watching Delmond get owned by Miss LaD last night was drolly epic. Electric stuff, that — and this line from his dad, musing about the silence after the storm, when it was “quiet as death,” and the fall evening return of crickets chirping on the front porch.

“So now, when I hear those bugs rubbing their legs together like they do, I feel fortunate, Delmond.”

Exactly, Mr. Roberts.

–Amanda Schurr

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The Tags:: Big Chief Albert Lambreaux; Katrina; treme

October 8th 2012

Treme Episode Three: Don’t Let the Water Wash Us Away

“Me Donkey Want Water,” the title of Episode 3, Season 3 of Treme, is also the title of one of Monk Boudreaux’s compositions on Tab Benoit’s Voice of the Wetlands album, one of the most important pieces of music in Louisiana history.

The record, recorded in January 2005 at Piety Street, warned of the catastrophe that in fact took place on Aug. 29th of that year when a storm surge took out the levee system protecting New Orleans. The near-total destruction of the city that followed is the back story that informs Treme. The album’s opening track, “Don’t Let the Water Wash Us Away” still has an eerie resonance today.

In this week’s episode, the VOW All-Stars play “Me Donkey…” as well as the Benoit/Anders Osborne composition “We Make a Good Gumbo” at the Howlin’ Wolf. It’s a great example of how Treme employs music to advance plot details while promoting the music in real time. The sequence affords Antoine Batiste an opportunity to indulge the bad boy side of his personality as he uses a road trip with VOW as an excuse to get laid and allows Delmond Lambreaux to point out that there are more R&B gigs in New Orleans than modern jazz opportunities, an observation that was more accurate a generation ago than it is today.

More importantly, the episode airs during the week leading up to Benoit’s ninth annual Voice of the Wetlands festival in Houma. Treme implicitly draws attention to this significant local event, which is designed to raise consciousness about the threat the ongoing destruction of the wetlands poses to the Gulf coast in general and New Orleans in particular.

Treme may be sacrificing some of its dramatic impact to make points like promoting the VOW agenda in the long run, but it’s doing a tremendous public service in the here and now. If more people demonstrated the creative courage David Simon and his staff bring to exposing the issues underlying Treme — corruption, crime and the abrogation of responsibility on the part of political leaders and the corporate interests that finance them — the world wouldn’t be in as much trouble as it is today.

–John Swenson

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The Tags:: Katrina; treme; Voice of the Wetlands

September 26th 2012

Treme Ep. Two Preview: Spencer Bohren and “The Long Black Line”

One of the best musical moments in Episode 2 of Treme, airing this Sunday, September 30, comes when Spencer Bohren, OffBeat’s October cover subject, plays his signature song “The Long Black Line” at Chickie Wah Wah. The song is generally acknowledged as the best of the “Katrina” songs documenting the flooding of New Orleans in 2005.

Bohren talks here about his Treme appearance.

Spencer Bohren guest stars on this Sunday's new episode of Treme.

“That was a pure pleasure, working with Eric Overmyer and Blake Leyh. At the time I hadn’t even seen Treme, but I knew it was cool. I was eating at Liuzza’s one afternoon with some people from my guitar workshop and this guy came over and leaned down and started talking to me. I noticed that all my guitar workshop guys were going ‘oooh.’ I didn’t know what they were staring at. The guy leans down and says,‘My name is Eric Overmyer and I produce the show Treme.’ I said, ‘I’ve heard great things about you.’ He says, ‘There are two things I want to tell you. The first thing is we love Andre.’ Our son’s band (Johnny Sketch and the Dirty Notes) had already been in several episodes. ‘We love having him around,’ he says, ‘we really enjoy him,’ which was a great thing to say, I immediately loved this guy Eric. That’s a really deep thing to do to somebody to tell them that you like their kid. The other thing he said is ‘You have been on our radar since before we ever started this thing. The problem we’ve had is your songs aren’t the kind of thing we do usually, the music is part of the backdrop, but your song demands more than that. So we’re trying to figure out a way to present it where it’s honored the way it should be.’ What can I say? What a great thing to say. And that wasn’t bullshit; they really did find a way to get it in there.

“They presented me with a script. It was fun, they set everything up and Eric comes in and I say, ‘Do you need me yet?” and he says, ‘No, they’ll be setting the lighting for another hour because it’s all about the lighting. So they got it all set up and they told me what to do, they wanted I think the first verse and the last verse of the song so I did what I was supposed to do and it was, ‘Cut! That was fantastic, that was perfect, we loved it.’ So I said, ‘Are we done?’ and it was, ‘Oh, no, we’re gonna change all the lights and we’re gonna do what you just did about five or six times. You’re gonna do exactly what you did.’ Although it does change, a song is not a script. I’m sure I created some editing problems for them. They’re making movies, they’re not making music. The other song they put in there was ‘Born in a Biscayne’ and all they got I think is just the first part of the head, I don’t think there’s even a verse.”

The Long Black Line

everywhere you look
everywhere you go
you read it like a book
it’s the only way to know
how high the water got
august twenty-nine
that hurricane last summer
left a long black line
sometimes it’s to your ankles
sometimes to your knees
sometimes it’s to your chest or head
or up above the eaves
water filled with chemicals
water filled with gas
water spillin’ everywhere
a city under glass
water laced with poison
god knows, of every kind
you don’t want to know
what’s in the long black line

you can go to church
confessin’ all your sins
you can tell your brothers
’bout the shape this world is in
you could tell your sisters
judgment day is come
he’s dealin’ with the devil
he’s thinnin’ out the scum
this one it was water
fire comes next time
all of this is written
in the long black line

I will never leave this place
you hear some people say
then there’s the ones
who just can’t hardly wait to get away
lots of others have no choice
they’re livin’ in a void
their house is wrecked, their job is gone
their lives have been destroyed
the people comin’ back
no tellin’ what they’ll find
one thing will be waitin’ there
the long black line

drivin’ on the highway
you go too fast to tell
but get down in the lower nine
it’s like a walk through hell
out along the curb
it’s everything we own
we sacrificed our every lives
to this mighty storm
beautiful new orleans
oh, she was so fine
now everywhere you go
there’s just the long black line

the long black line
the long black line
the long black line
the long black line

some people say the sinners
brought it on themselves
others say the climate change
will send us all to hell
some people blame the government
they speak of genocide
there’s some that don’t say anything
they just want to hide
even strong men fall apart
they break down and cry
mother mary pray for us
the long black line

every single minute
every single day
you wonder are you doin’ right
you wonder should i stay
‘cuz everything is broken
all the lines are down
confusion walks down every street
there’s rumors all around
the media is black and white
politicians whine
everything is broken
except the long black line

the long black line
the long black line
the long black line
the long black line

god help the lower nine
the long black line

—John Swenson

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September 23rd 2012

Treme Returns Tonight For Season Three

The third season of Treme starts as in so many episodes, with Antoine Batiste (Wendell Pierce) in a cab, debating the details with a driver and volleying for a pass, or in this case straight up arguing the geometry of the Crescent City triangle. Just over two years since Katrina, it’s a friendly welcome back to viewers – local or not – who have watched the HBO series since day one.

New Orleans native Wendell Pierce stars as Antoine Batiste in HBO's Treme.

Batiste’s path to Adultsville is among the anchors of the third season, which, as has been generalized/hyped, focuses on the post-Katrina return of money and “business” (season 1 being about the return of the city’s residents, season two about the return of its crime). Newly stable – relatively speaking – as a middle school band teacher, Antoine makes overtures not fathomable when he was just the guy doggy-styling a girl in a FEMA trailer barely into season one before going home to his baby mama Desiree (the always stellar Phyllis Montana LeBlanc, who can deliver a line without affect and own an entire scene in the process).

Along with Batiste’s character arc, the highlight of this season is without a doubt the interaction between Delmond Lambreaux (Rob Brown) and his father, “Big Chief” Albert (Clarke Peters), fresh off their generations-spanning musical collaboration and brought together by circumstances to be divulged shortly.

Without giving away spoilers, there are glances, the slightest of gestures that are absolutely electric. They’re proof of how Treme, in its finest moments, excels with a minimum of dialogue. As with Pierce, David Morse (increasingly weary police lieutenant Terry Colson), and the incomparable Khandi Alexander (LaDonna), a raised brow says more than any patronizing exposition could attempt. Kudos to creators/lead writers Eric Overmyer and David Simon for staying true to that restraint, and their commitment to the story of New Orleans – every sound, taste, smell, outrage and joyful noise.

It’s a good, if not terrific season. Annie Tee, as lovely and winning as she is as a fiddle player – and by extension, Lucia Micarelli as a naturally gifted actress — should not be singing. Her voice is strained, to the point of grating, and she’s not believable as a frontwoman. Worse yet, there’s absolutely no soul. She sounds like she’s singing from the back of her throat, not the gut of a city, not the anima of a character still devastated by the loss of her close friend Harley (Steve Earle). As a diehard fan of the series from the get-go, I’m hesitant to say such, but with every episode, I buy it – her character – less.

As for the others, it’s interesting, if uneven, to watch their individual journeys progress. Sonny (Michiel Huisman) is committed to sobriety but struggling with the familial dynamics of his Vietnamese girlfriend. Davis (ever hammy but endearing Steve Zahn) mounts a Katrina-focused opera and in turn gives the series an excuse to pack every hour full of New Orleans’ musical legends — from Clarence ‘Frogman’ Henry to the now late James ‘Sugar Boy’ Crawford. (Davis’ latest project is also an excuse to feature the scene-stealing Elizabeth Ashley as his martini-loving aunt and partner-in-recording-crime Mimi).

The mighty Ms. LaDonna also struggles with kin (in-laws, natch) but fights back in much appreciated – though not at all contrived – comic relief. Newly Yank-ified chef Janette Desautel (Kim Dickens) fights her urge to return to her roots and her native palate. And crusading single mother Toni Bernette (Melissa Leo) is sussing out the latest injustice, joined by a young reporter, while trying to get a glimpse of teenage daughter Sofia’s new, older beau.

I find it interesting in writing this preview that the last three characters mentioned were women, brilliantly portrayed by all. Among Treme’s greatest strengths is that, looking back on three years of ace storytelling, its female roles are uncompromisingly outstanding. Characters like LaDonna, Janette, Toni are so magnificently and thoroughly enveloped by their actresses that they’re taken for granted. Certainly I have erred in not acknowledging them earlier.

Perhaps that’s why the progression of Annie’s character, as well as she is portrayed by Ms. Micarelli, does nothing for me, in fact detracts from the show at this point. The characterization is not remotely in their league, and is not helped by how it is afforded center stage every episode.

That said, the music has never been more bountiful, nor the food. Other daily realities creep up, keeping in tune with the return of business/money: newly shut-out Nelson Hidalgo’s latest carpetbagging angle; formaldehyde in the federally-provided trailers; the anti-blight ~~shitshow~~ efforts; several civic, governmental and neighborhood powers-that-be on the take; preposterous and insulting city crackdowns on live music. Episode 1 bears witness to it all, though not in the fashion you’d expect. Ultimately, this season, as with life in New Orleans, is about the moments, the fleeting instances that convey there’s nowhere else but here. It’s far from perfect, let alone consistent, but it’s home, and for that, we should be glad Treme is back.

Season Three of Treme premiere tonight at 9 p.m. on HBO.

(On that note, Overmyer and Simon announced Saturday that HBO has greenlit a final, albeit shorter fourth season. At a premiere party at the Joy Theater, they dubbed the forthcoming half-season “Treme 3.5.” Stay tuned for more details to follow this new batch of 10 episodes.)

–Amanda Schurr

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The Tags:: HBO; Katrina; treme

September 19th 2012

Sneak Peek: Exclusive Preview from HBO’s Treme, Season Three (video)

At the outset of Season 3 of the HBO series Treme Antoine Batiste is rushing to attend a second line in memory of New Birth Brass Band tuba player Kerwin James in 2007, a little more than two years after Katrina. He arrives in the Treme neighborhood to find Glen David Andrews leading a vast array of brass band musicians in the funeral march standard “I’ll Fly Away” when police cars surround the celebrants and tell them to disperse. It’s a chilling moment in New Orleans history that actually occurred. The police tell Andrews that there are noise complaints, and he immediately lowers his trombone and continues singing “I’ll Fly Away,” getting right in the cop’s face. His anger and defiance is real beyond anything an actor can produce. It’s the look of a man fighting to defend his family and friends against a final insult so total as to nullify his very existence, something beyond even death. Finally Andrews is dragged off by the cops and the scene ends.

The moment is so packed with historic significance and raw emotion it could have swamped the entire season before it began, making anything else that followed it seem trivial by comparison. It’s a tribute to the skilled writing of the Treme team (episode one was penned by the A squad of series creator David Simon and staff ace Anthony Bourdain) that Batiste’s comic strengths as a character interceded to prevent the reality of the moment from getting too real. Later in the episode lawyer Toni Bernette sees that the police have released both Andrews and Derrick Tabb, who were the players actually arrested in the incident. Everyone is laughing. “You shamed the police out of making a bad arrest?” asks an incredulous Bernette. Then, shaking her head she says “Glen, you’d make a hell of a lawyer.”

The stupendous irony of this statement will be played out in November when Andrews, who has undergone several months of drug rehab, returns to New Orleans to face trumped up charges of attempted murder brought by a D.A.’s office with a clear grudge against the musician. The defiant Andrews of the Treme shoot is a different man today, humbled and eager to return to his hometown both to accept responsibility for the bad choices he’s made in his life up until now and to clear his name.

The change in Andrews’ demeanor demonstrates the tremendous risk Treme takes in using real-life New Orleans musicians alongside actors playing musicians who interact with them. For the most part, the musicians simply play themselves as musicians, and the actors play out the life changes that musicians actually go through, but in Andrews’ case the risks that some of the musicians might actually change their lives comes into play.

Those kind of risks are what makes Treme such good drama. The presence of real people doing real things against the backdrop of a thoroughgoing tragedy like the destruction of a major American city brings these stories to life in a palpable, flesh-and-blood way. When the actors fall in and out of love, trade sexual partners, undergo bitter personal tragedies and discover the severe dangers in getting what you wish for, there’s a verisimilitude that goes far beyond soap opera because they’re acting out the themes that the real life characters alongside them endure in their own existence.

Such nuances may not attract audiences the way those sexy vampire shows and mobster revenge fantasies that dominate televised entertainment do, but they provide enduring drama that will live well past its first run. Treme shares the dramatic resonance that Simon’s other masterpiece, The Wire, achieved. Amid the comic relief and stock tales of success and failure, the discerning viewer is confronted with harsh truths about a contemporary world steeped in corruption and moral relativism where heroes and villians are not always easily identifiable and chance circumstances often play a deciding factor in the outcome. One person’s search for the truth is another’s recognition of its absolute futility in the face of a world where the odds will always be stacked against you. The noblest and sweetest of characters are also the easiest victims. The actual protagonists end up being the characters willing to lose everything and walk away knowing they still are true to themselves. Season three begs for these stories to be continued.

— John Swenson

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The Tags:: Anthony Bourdain; David Simon; Derrick Tabb; Glen David Andrews; HBO's Treme; Kerwin James; New Birth Brass Band; treme; Treme Season Three; Wendell Pierce

May 25th 2012

Treme: The End of Shooting Season Three

On David Simon’s blog, he reflected on the wrap of shooting for season three of Treme with a tally sheet. Here are a few of the highlights:

Number of episodes filmed: 10

Number of shooting days: 113 for first unit, plus 10 days of second unit or splinter unit shooting.

Number of New Orleans restaurants featured: 27

Number of New Orleans bars featured: 40

Number of New Orleans musicians filmed: 371

Number of songs performed live: 106

There are more, including the number of No Parking signs posted (the one negative by-product for those of us who work on Frenchmen Street on shooting days, with parking already pinched by the condo-izing of the building that once housed The Iron Rail) and his last thoughts on shooting.

—Alex Rawls

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