Everything changes during Mardi Gras. Having just moved here this fall, I really didn’t have any idea what I was in for, but the mantra is spot on.
Beginning with the flashing lights of the raucous neighborhood block party that is Krewe du Vieux, the air actually did seem to start crackling with excitement, just like everyone had said.
I particularly loved Muses. It ended up being a whirlwind of biking, drinking too-strong Bloody Marys out of a flask, chasing floats to beg for shoes, and being shown around an area of town I hadn’t really seen yet at all. It was really nice to see all the families out and about, and I can only imagine what being a little kid during Mardi Gras would have been like.
Seeing fantastic music in New Orleans is, of course, not unexpected, but there were some particularly excellent shows over the past few weeks.
Photo by Kim Welsh
Big Chief Monk Boudreaux gave a riveting performance at d.b.a. in tribute to his late friend Big Chief Bo Dollis, and Rory Danger and the Danger Dangers put on quite possibly the best show I’ve ever seen at One Eyed Jacks.
The energy in the room was insane. Everyone knew all the words, and nobody ever seemed to stop jumping. I couldn’t stop grinning. My friend tumbled enthusiastically off the steps we were dancing on and acquired some impressive new bruises.
The performance antics were ridiculous, from the sham Mardi Gras-themed Wheel of Fortune game show they had going on (complete with a garishly made-up man playing Vanna White) to Aurora Nealand crowdsurfing as Rory Danger.
At one point, she was somehow standing on the upright bass.
They played a selection of songs from their recent album, The Age of Exploration, as well as captivating versions of “Wicked Games,” “My Baby Shot Me Down,” “Homeward Bound,” and “I Put A Spell on You.” We were hanging onto every word.
After a week of parades, concerts, biking around to neighborhood bars, popping in and out of friends’ gigs, and trying to work, Mardi Gras morning itself was fairly groggy. I’d been warned to not stay out too late on Lundi Gras, but the King James and the Special Men Lundi Gras show at BJs was obviously too good to bail early on.
I was dragged out early for the St. Anne parade, headache and all, but I immediately forgot about my hangover when we reached the throng of costumed people partying around the R Bar. It was like being a kid on Christmas morning again. The giddiness and enthusiasm were contagious.
I’m struck again and again by how New Orleans feels like a small town where everyone is a cherished member of the little neighborhood community. In retrospect, I don’t think I could have moved alone to any other city and be as happy as I’ve been here.
Big Chief Monk Boudreax. Photo by Erika Goldring.
Two weeks after arriving, I was already seeing all the same people at the cafes, in the bars (praise be to the cheap neighborhood bar as an institution), on the curb, in the corner stores, and everywhere else.
Five months in on Mardi Gras morning, there were friendly, familiar faces everywhere. Most of the day was just spent wandering around the French Quarter, Marigny, Bywater, and Treme, cycling in and out of various groups of friends and acquaintances and strangers, following brass bands, admiring the Mardi Gras Indians, being invited into houses and onto porches, and getting the opportunity to really talk to many of the people I always see around. The whole city had open arms.
There were some great bands on Frenchmen – Shotgun Jazz Band, the Treme Brass Band, and the Dana Abbott Band, to name but a few. As the evening wore on, the street became more and more of a glorious mess. I was being led around by Big Red, an instantly-recognizable Marigny/Bywater persona, punk rock expert, and truly wonderful, kind person.
She introduced me to dozens of her (probably infinite) friends and no one considered making us pay a cover charge. Various members of the Iguanas kept showing up in various places. I met Shamarr Allen and apparently we are now engaged. Big Red met another Big Red visiting from Ohio.
The street outside was perpetually full of dancers, and we all devoted a significant amount of energy to swarming those cars ridiculous enough to be driving on Frenchmen Street Mardi Gras evening. Mostly with our awesome dance moves, but occasionally also by pelting them with goldfish crackers.
My evening finally wound down on a neighbor’s porch, surrounded by music and kind, welcoming people, drinking tea, and once again infinitely grateful to have ended up in New Orleans.
