Anyone who’s witnessed Glen David Andrews on a good night knows he is capable of being the most charismatic performer in New Orleans. Up until now, you had to be there to appreciate his talent, though. His 2004 Dumaine Street Blues demonstrated his capabilities playing traditional jazz and New Orleans street favorites quite well but didn’t distinguish itself from many similar recordings. 2009’s live Walking Through Heaven’s Gate captured GDA’s impressive gospel roots, but technical difficulties made the album a less than perfect medium for his galvanic talents. Finally, Live at Three Muses captures the full force of GDA’s live act for posterity. The Frenchmen Street club decided to record all of its regular acts over the summer of 2011 with the idea of putting together a compilation record. In the process, Andrews managed to condense his peripatetic performance into the perfect live recording.

Andrews can be sprawling from set to set, brilliantly unpredictable and over the top. He takes so many chances that his moves don’t always work, but he adjusts to the moment so it’s always just a short wait until the next spectacular turn. But on this record, he exercised outstanding discipline in charting a program that takes him through the full range of New Orleans styles he excels at without taking a breath.

Andrews starts out with “Basin Street Blues,” a traditional New Orleans jazz vehicle that has been a live staple for over 80 years, but his delivery is straight out of tonight. He uses the song to celebrate the New Orleans music scene as it is right now:

Preservation Hall will be here to greet you
Dr. John will be here to greet you
Charmaine Neville will be here to greet you
Aaron Neville will be here to greet you
Cyril Neville will be here to greet you
And Trombone Shorty will be here to swing you…

John Boutte will be here to greet you
James Andrews will be here to greet you
Glen Andrews will be here to greet you
Terence Blanchard will be here to greet you
Papa Grows Funk will be here to greet you
The music of Mahalia Jackson will be here to greet you
The spirit of Louis Armstrong will be here to greet you

Andrews delivers these lines like a hip-hop MC working up a crowd with neighborhood shout-outs, then moves into a recasting of Boutte’s “Treme Song,” personalizing it with new lyrics and an urgent, double-time arrangement that surges into the Andrews original “Flat Like That (Get That Gator),” a manic dance piece that moves on drummer Jamal Watson’s relentless pulse.

Andrews then breaks it down with a meditative, gospel-influenced take on “At the Foot of Canal Street,” framed by fervent piano accompaniment from Kyle Roussel. This radically transformed version of the song is typical of the way Andrews deconstructs material, basically taking the title and a few phrases and turning it into his own vehicle. It’s another example, along with the frantic pace of his beats, of how contemporary Andrews’ instincts are. Just as hip-hop artists treat preexisting songs as readymades for their own compositions, Andrews appropriates freely, dropping pieces from disparate places into the mix. His genius lies in the fact that he’s never copying other people’s music, but always reimagining it. When he says, “How about it for John Boutte and Paul Sanchez for writing such a beautiful song?” it’s more like a name check than an acknowledgement of the song itself, which is recognizable in Andrews’ version only by the use of the title.

Having given the crowd a breather, GDA launches immediately into the driving riff of “Rock Star (Like Mike),” written with cousin Trombone Shorty and Mike Ballard, which segues to the heavy brass instrumental “Whatever Happened to Peanut,” written with another cousin, trombonist Revert “Peanut” Andrews. The crowd is so hyped by the end of this track that you can hear people screaming out the melody line. Suddenly, we’re into another of GDA’s reimaginings, this time a radical revision of Monk Boudreaux’s “Bury the Hatchet” which becomes a medium for Andrews’ riveting sermon about black-on-black crime in New Orleans.

Professor Longhair’s “Tipitina” gets about the most straightforward rendition of anything on the album, a great medium for both Roussel and Watson. As Roussel plays his solo choruses, Andrews goes into a reverie, sending out a message to a 93-year-old female fan from Chicago with cancer. GDA is in the pulpit, declaring, “I believe someday we’re going to find a cure for cancer,” then asking the audience to “put your hands up for everyone who’s suffered from this horrible disease.” This kind of metaphysical shift seems to occur spontaneously in a GDA show and offers the perfect set- up for a nearly 10-minute-long gospel medley. Andrews is most at home in this medium, and while it lacks the authenticity of Walking Through Heaven’s Gate, this performance employs the crowd- pleasing usefulness of gospel material in a pop context, leading into “Saints” and the “Who Dat” chant. Heading from one old school to another, GDA leads the band into a Brothers Johnson groove based on “I Want You.” This is the real climax of the show, with a Dr. John tribute offered as a little lagniappe: “I will, I will melt your heart like butter.”

Some complain that GDA merely mines preexisting genres of New Orleans music for narrow focused tourist mongering. I hear a transformational character in New Orleans music, redefining classic works by bringing contemporary elements to them and infusing them with the force of his personality. When you hear a performer say “Somebody scream!” usually you’re getting a rote suggestion devoid of context or imperative. When GDA addresses the crowd, he’s issuing a personal command and he gets a personal response. He’s taken the rote out of the tradition. What you get at a good GDA performance is something akin to the sheer athleticism and unrelenting flow of a Celtics-Lakers NBA final. And finally, thanks to Three Muses and a brilliant engineering job by Michael Seaman, you can bring that experience home with you.

Over the past few years, saxophonist Khris Royal has emerged as one of the most exciting up-and-coming musicians on the New Orleans music scene. He’s one of George Porter, Jr.’s Runnin’ Pardners, and his own funk-fusion outfit, Dark Matter, has been busy establishing itself as one of the city’s most incendiary live acts. On the band’s debut album, Dark Matter, they infuse soul into space funk and jazz into bump-and-grind.

No strangers to stretching jams, shaking booties, or shedding into another dimension, the talented ensemble of Danny Abel (guitar), Kyle Roussel (keys), DJ Raymond (bass), and Terrence Houston (drums) match their captain’s imagination and ambition. Royal, the mastermind behind Dark Matter’s far-reaching endeavors and exotic sound, sets the trajectory. He wrote each of the album’s 11 cuts and played six different instruments. He also covered half of the production duties.

The only thing more palpable than Royal’s prowess on Dark Matter is his passion. An adventurous player with an unyielding spirit, Royal’s most ear-catching attribute is his ability to forge an emotional connection to the music without weighing down the rhythm or overpowering the groove. Early on, his fierce licks and soulful flourishes fuel the fiery “Whyuwanna.” Similarly, his shimmering solos pace the super funky “Foley.” When venerated saxman Donald Harrison steps into the smooth ride of “Big Booty Express,” Royal engages the legend’s urban swing with a shot of street bop. Likewise, he wastes no time revving up the uptown roller “Chicken Dance” before Big Sam caps it off with a hearty trombone solo.

Royal’s use of the EWI, essentially an electronic saxophone, is arguably the album’s most intriguing facet. In addition to shading the spectral hues of the set standout “Kendrick’s World,” its chilling electronic timbre adds a mysterious air to the ominous title track. Though more of an afterthought, the odd closer “Party Starter,” which features Royal on vocoder and verses from emcees M@ Peoples and TheSekondElement, doesn’t necessarily fit the album’s tone. No matter; when not meandering into jamland or reaching for a bridge too far, Khris Royal and Dark Matter possess an inventive sound that often blends the liveliness of vintage-era Grover Washington, Jr. with the dense funk aesthetic of early ‘80s Zapp.

Buy Khris Royal and Dark Matter’s Dark Matter on iTunes

Listen to Khris Royal and Dark Matter’s Dark Matter on Spotify

On Carnivale Electricos, Galactic delivers exactly what the title promises. The funk band turns its attention to Carnival music, and electricity is central to every track. Carnival in New Orleans, Rio and Cajun Country may rely on acoustic instruments, but like From the Corner to the Block and Ya-Ka-May, Carnivale Electricos is the product of the studio, where even Ben Ellman’s sax and Stanton Moore’s drums are looped and/or manipulated. The results sound contemporary without disappearing into techno’s bleeped and blipped future.

As on Ya-Ka-May, texture is everything this time around, and no instrument is sacrosanct, not even voices. The Revivalists’ David Shaw and Big Chief Juan Pardo sound like they’re singing through megaphones on “Hey Na Na” and “Ha Di Ka” respectively. Jeff Raines’ guitar crunches with plenty of distortion, and there’s a never-ending chatter of percussion, whether it’s handclaps, shakers, Casa Samba’s drums or hyperactive cowbells. Like dub, parts enter and exit the mix, but not in trippy ways. Instead, they change the texture of the song, momentarily isolating the heart of the groove before creating a surge as other instruments rejoin the mix.

The spirit of Carnivale Electricos is inclusive, starting with the Carnivals it refers to, but also in the choices of collaborators. Galactic reaches across generations and genres to include Al “Carnival Time” Johnson, who’s on hand to sing on a radical remake of his namesake song, along with Mystikal, Cyril and Ivan Neville, Moyseis Marques, Mannie Fresh and more. Musically, the album addresses Carnival’s many facets, whether it’s the joy of running the streets with friends, the blare of marching bands, or the woozy morning after of Ash Wednesday.

There are those who prefer the way Galactic’s grooves breathe live to their recent studio efforts. I understand the preference, but when the band treats Carnival/Carnivale music the way it does, it passes the crackle of electricity to the celebrations as well, making ages-old, tradition-bound ceremonies seem utterly modern—even post-modern—as well.

Outside of the original Mardi Gras in New Orleans that appeared in the mid-1970s and 2000’s Mardi Gras Essentials, this CD is no better but no worse than the plethora of Mardi Gras CDs currently available. What does set Meet Me at Mardi Gras apart is that it probably has the longest time span of any of the compilations on the market, including tracks from the early 1950s to the almost-present day.

The earliest track, “Goin’ Back to New Orleans,” was recorded by a West Coast artist, Roy Milton, and it’s been a favorite of many for over a half-century. The most recent tracks, the Nightcrawlers’ “Funky Lisa” and The Soul Rebels’ “Say Na Hey,” are marginally Carnival songs, but they definitely flaunt the New Orleans second-line street beat. A couple of Cajun offerings are included here as Zachary Richard and Steve Riley join the party. So does Marcia Ball with “Big Shot.” Of the vintage material, Larry Williams contributes “Jockamo,” and while it doesn’t surpass Sugarboy’s original, it’s an A-1 rendering. Not surprisingly, there are a couple of Carnival classics in the mix—Al Johnson’s “Carnival Time” and Professor Longhair’s classic “Go to the Mardi Gras.” As great as it is to hear the latter, I’ve always wondered why the original Longhair version of this song has never made it onto a Mardi Gras CD, nor has Fats Domino’s mid-’50s classic cover, which is combination of New Orleans R&B and ska.

There’s really not a bad track on here, so if you’re looking for something different to listen to for this year’s Carnival, this should fit the bill.

Buy Meet Me at Mardi Gras on iTunes

Listen to Meet Me at Mardi Gras on Spotify

As much fun as Rock City Morgue is, there are times when I’ve wanted to hear former White Zombie bassist Sean Yseult play something with more sonic weight. Her new project, Star and Dagger, is that heavier band based on the three songs released on the limited edition vinyl EP, In My Blood. She teams with Donna She Wolf from Cycle Sluts from Hell and Marcy von Hesseling for fuzz-drenched hard rock, and the riffs are as relentless as they are engaging. The title track is metal hard, while “Stories” is more of a wash of cymbals and chugging fuzz behind von Hesseling, who sings like she has many secrets.

Lyrically and sonically, In My Blood conveys an air of seductive, psychedelic danger without articulating anything too clearly. Over an album’s length, that might make the words seem like nothing but words—not the worst problem in rock ‘n’ roll—but by not committing too much to a persona here, Star and Dagger is an intriguing proposition.

Attention musicians: For those thinking they need to rush their product out with sub-par material and inferior packaging for that nifty festival gig, take note of Gina Forsyth. The New Orleans singer-songwriter/roots musician never releases anything before it’s damn good and ready—and then some—thanks to Katrina and other life interruptions. Her solo sophomore effort is loaded with thought-provoking content and incisive humor, the song’s real message revealed in layers. Along the way, facets of Forsyth’s personality are unveiled, such as her exemplary Cajun musicianship on “Belle,” a tricky 5/4 ballad from the Lomax Archive that’s richly rendered here on voice and acoustic guitar.

The album’s theme revolves around America, from its supposedly idealistic beginnings to today’s frightening reality where human-to-human communication has become a lost art (“4th of July”). It’s a value paramount to Forsyth, as expressed in “Christmas in China,” where mankind and memories of others, not inconsequential gifts, are the only true gifts. On “What I Did On Mardi Gras Day, “she strums a fiddle as if it were a Middle Eastern instrument and comments about the local music industry: “So now you play until you hit the floor / and when you hit the floor, they don’t miss a beat. / They sweep you to the end of Bourbon Street.” She’s hilarious commenting on her native, beloved South (“Sweet & Sunny South”) when she sings, “We love our musicians and our fascist politicians,” then questions the South’s provincial view on gay rights. It’s hard to say if there will ever be a promised land that fulfills every expectation, but when it comes to Forsyth’s songwriting, there are no promises, just truths.

Despite the personnel changes over its eight-year existence, the Lafayette Rhythm Devils still manage to find new grooves to mount its formidable dancehall attack. As evidenced on its first disc in five years, credit newest member Blake Miller for part of the spark. Besides his loose, innovative attitude in the studio, the talented accordionist never lacked for that creative lick that only helped fuel the Devils’ fire. Miller aside, it’s still a veteran band that cruises like a well-oiled machine. Fiddler Chris Segura burns many an impressive solo with deep, gorgeous tones while Yvette Landry anchors the low frequencies with her fat, propulsive bass lines. The Devils’ sonic demeanor still revolves around guitarist Randy Vidrine, one of the most distinct vocalists in Cajun music. His pipes are not the weepy, plaintive variety of generations ago, nor are they the oft-heard pleasant-sounding, modern type. Instead, there’s a certain swagger about Vidrine’s high crooning, an uncanny ability to stretch notes to their fullest and crescendo them with power.

The song selection is also very much Vidrine with tenderly rendered selections from Shirley Bergeron and Adam Hebert as well as ripping songs from past bands Charivari and Mouton Noir. New originals would have been nice, but with all the covers that proliferate in Cajun music, it only makes sense to reprise your own material, especially when it holds up well against the test of time. Yet, nothing is more touching than the story behind “John Stoute’s Medley,” an inspired pair of Dennis McGee fiddle tunes that were favorites of Stoute, an avid fan stricken with cancer. Before any of this was officially a project, the band recorded the medley and presented it to Stoute days before he passed, hence giving credence to the notion that sometimes Devils can be angels.

Intended as the companion to 2010’s Chamber Music Society, Esperanza Spalding’s latest release explores pop and its power on radio. For an artist whose credentials are questioned by various jazz cops, this is a rather frank way to tackle the question of “crossover.” If the previous album was uploaded by the mainstream through whatever mechanisms scan for likeable outliers, Radio Music Society takes more direct aim.

Among the many moving parts here welcome echoes of Minnie Ripperton and (I’m telling you) Sun Ra; adventurous songwriting; the continued evolution of Spalding’s bass style; a smartly chosen cover of Stevie Wonder’s “I Can’t Help It”; and a Banana Republic-commissioned ode to Portland. This isn’t the retail jazz of lesser talents, but a sophisticated investigation of likeability. She might’ve taken safer turns, say Neo-Soul or twee balladry; instead, we get 12 loosely unified tracks that, weak spots included, are radio-ready without sacrificing the originality of Spalding’s artistic voice.

It does not hurt to have Joe Lovano in your horn section, Jack DeJohnette, Terri Lyne Carrington, and Billy Hart as drummers, and Q-Tip involved in production on two tracks, performing on one. Interestingly, the strength of the musicians actually removes any traces of nostalgia, that lubricant for crossover. While this may prevent the album from real Starbucks breakthrough, it bodes well for followers of Spalding and the chances jazz might take in coming years.

In the early 1980s, prog rock guitarist Robert Fripp routinely railed against the evils of bootlegging, not for monetary or proprietary reasons but because in his mind, live recordings rarely do what they implicitly aspire to do. They document the band’s live performance but not the way it struck an audience. They don’t have the same impact because the listener isn’t in the same place among the same people with the same amount of beer in him/her feeling the excitement of being in the hall for his/her favorite band. The performance may be preserved, but it’s less impressive when heard out of its moment. I experienced what Fripp was talking about when I heard a tape of a Flamin’ Groovies show that I remembered fondly, only to discover maddening tuning efforts between songs that my memory and beer-driven excitement edited out. The tape wasn’t bad, but it wasn’t the thrill- a-minute set I remembered.

Live at Three Muses brings these thoughts to mind. The album is a representative sampler of the music offered in the Frenchmen Street venue, but hearing these tracks by Glen David Andrews, the Palmetto Bug Stompers, Luke Winslow-King, the Hot Club of New Orleans and more at home is a very different experience from being in a cool club with good food and the musicians 10 to 15 feet away. Without the intimate experience that the club offers, the songs are fine and likeable, but rarely more.

Still, the album’s a solid calling card for Three Muses and articulates a clear, coherent aesthetic. The influence of gypsy jazz is very much in evidence, and everybody swings, largely on acoustic instruments. Live at Three Muses makes a stronger case for the venue as a valuable addition to the Frenchmen Street scene than it does for the artists on it.

What most people don’t realize about Cajun music is that it was a family tradition long before it was played professionally. Such is the case here with John and Jane Vidrine (of Magnolia Sisters fame), whose charming collection of traditional Cajun fare and three originals resemble a sonic family photo album. The tradition that the Vidrines started as a couple has been carried forth by offspring Emilie and Joseph (now young adults) who sing and play bass respectively on the CD. But as with any family album, good friends are usually spotted among its pages, and that applies here with fiddlers David Greely and Ed Poullard and drummer Steve Riley rounding out a solid, in-the-pocket dance band for most of these proceedings.

Archival tracks Jane taped at various rehearsals and jams throughout the years are the album’s coup de gras. Three tracks feature fiddlers Eric and Clay Chapman, grandsons of fiddler Sady Courville and great nephews of Courville’s lifetime duet partner Dennis McGee. The Chapmans were weaned on the McGee-Courville style, which is exemplified by the rendition of “Gilbeau Pelican-Berzas Reel.”

The Vidrine-Chapman Family Band played for nearly a decade that included appearances at four Festivals Acadiens and various out-of-state festivals. For years, Cajun music zealots waited with cautious optimism for some type of Chapman recording. Sadly, those hopes disappeared when Clay unexpectedly passed away in 2008. To date, these are the only publicly available tracks from a family album that seamlessly spans decades while celebrating the essential joie de vivre spirit.