Writer's Bane

Writer’s Bane Why does one feel compelled to write – to place words on paper – words they fear to express aloud – words that have hovered in their psyche – words that begged their progenitor for a pardon; a release, if you will – a release that will never come – at least not fully formed, as conceived inside their brains. The transition between head to paper is often a slope to be slipped on, and almost all, find themselves brushing off their derrieres from the predictable fall. Words always squeeze out from under a cluttered mind and assail a skeptical world – a world ever vigilant against one who would assault their sensibilities or attack their long-held prejudices – a world, constant in their vigil against the wrong type of word, or infinitely more damning, the wrong type of thought that they dared scribble on the trunk of a dead tree. There is a modicum of comfort in erecting a shield against the squid-like squirming protoplasm who occupy our planet, and more importantly, have suborned our daily thoughts and turned any originator into a pliable jellyfish, floating through life, afraid to turn on a light in a darkened room and ultimately subsumed into an eternal nova, where all their contributions are forever lost. How many pages of unrecognized geniuses’ words are whirring about in a ubiquitous black hole? None-to-infinite seems reasonable to me. “The pen is mightier than the sword!” is whispered behind closed doors – closed minds, more like it – for all those who smell the miasmic odor that seeps off a writer’s paper will attest to the ineptness of the structure, or thought, or conclusion, no matter how beautiful the words, or how well they flow onto the parchment. They would sheathe the sword and blunt the edge of genius, reducing all to a common denominator; one who is devoid of cogency and totally unwilling to pursue a more placid path to success.

Piano Night

What a wonderful thing it is to live in a city like New Orleans, where nonstop events are de rigueur and like-minded people laugh and cavort to their hearts content. Last evening, WWOZ hosted its annual Piano Night affair at the House of Blues. Known pianists like Marcia Ball, Bob Andrews, David Torkanowsky, and a wonderful addition from Cuba, Jorge Luis Pacheco, plus a host of others delighted a large audience in the three venues within the HOB. I was privileged to be in the Foundation Room again this year, and the evening wound up, where spindly pianist, Brian Coogan soloed and then was accompanied by a flutist and a soulful singer. (It's shame on me, because I do not remember their names.) This old man went to bed very late, but sated. I am looking forward to doing it again next year.

The Dixie Cups

I am constantly amazed that people in this city are mad about Jazz Fest and luke warm about the French Quarter Festival. As far as I'm concerned, the FQF is by far the more pleasurable venue; and it's free. Jazz Fest is expensive, particularly if you factor in that you have to stand several hundred yards away from any main attraction and pay dearly for the privilege. I went last night to the patrons party at Antoine's Restaurant and saw Charmaine Neville and the Dixie Cups. Great food and a great night.This is the second year I've gone and it was always good to see old friends; i.e. Jackie and Buzz Clarkson and their movie star daughter, Patricia Clarkson. Hadn't seen her since she was a little girl. Tempus fugit, my friends. I wanted to insert a picture of the Dixie Cups and me here but I haven't been able to upload it so far.

Wonderful Night at Basin St. Station

What a wonderfully unique place we inhabit. People all over the world know New Orleans for things like Bourbon Street, the Superdome, Cajun food, and Mardi Gras. Every one of those things would not be unique to us, unless they were mixed with music. Traditionally, the music we exported was jazz. Since I have returned to civilization some year and a half ago, I have been privileged to attend several musical events in small venues that I would have

Sharon and me

hoped everyone could have participated.

Last night was another special event that I wish everyone could have seen. It was on the fourth floor in the beautifully restored Basin Street Station, where WWOZ radio station filmed two artists that all New Orleans should treasure.

The first hour swiftly passed as saucy Ms. Sharon Martin, sang songs in her energetic style, with such panache and ease, that before long the room was putty in her hands. At the end of her show, the entire audience rose as one, giving her a well-deserved ovation. I hope to see her again soon, as she is one New Orleans must cherish.

Mario and me

The next and last hour was frenetically used up by the Mario Abney Sextet. This is a style of music New Orleans people haven’t heard lately; if ever. All six musicians were excellent. Mario is a trumpet player and is the leader of his group. His energy pervades the other five members, who are all accomplished solo players in their own right.

I’m glad there wasn’t a third group, as I expended all my energy on the first two.

Welcome

WELCOME HOME ABBIE We all missed you and are elated that you have returned to us.