New Orleans, Last Night

I can think of no better way to begin a new year than next to my wife during a George Porter, Jr. bass solo. That's extremely fortuitous timing, you know. Couldn't have planned it better if I tried. We ended up at The Howlin' Wolf for an open-bar affair featuring Porter Batiste Stoltz and Ivan Neville's Dumpstaphunk. By the way, they featured TWO bassists - one heavily effected player filling a rhythm guitar role, and the other playing more traditional slap style. Throw in a few dueling bass solos, and you've got a damn fine show. Tres bien, gentlemen.

The night started with some quality people-watching time, a decent Italian dinner followed by a beverage at the R Bar (which almost became a secondary base of operations during our stay) and a quick trip down Frenchman. Instead of a brass band this time, there was a large metal contraption filled with salvaged percussion instruments and other things that made clanging or clinking sounds when banged. Passers-by were invited to create said banging, clanging and clinking, creating one giant rhythmic cacophony echoing for several blocks around. I joined in for a bit, even though this was treading dangerously close to drum circle territory. I limited my exposure by passing the sticks off at quick, regular intervals, thereby managing to avoid contamination and resorting to the use of patchouli.

It's late and I'm sleepy, so more on the new year later. I just wanted to write this down before I went to sleep. Happy happy, everyone.