[Dixielandjazz] NY TIMES MARDI GRAS REPORT - DAY 2

[Steve Barbone]

Let the good times roll.

Cheers,
Steve Barbone

Mardi Gras Journal - NY TIMES
Jon Pareles at Mardi Gras

DAY 2 | 02.17 3:27 P.M.
Exorcising on the Dance Floor

New Orleans' troubles are never far from the surface of the Mardi Gras
celebration. Mardi Gras parades mounted by krewes with long histories of
satire -- including Muses and the Krewe d'Etat -- mercilessly mocked local
politicians, national indifference and New Orleans residents alike. The Krew
d'Etat's floats, punning on television shows, included "America-con Idle,"
showing the mayor of New Orleans, Ray Nagin, and Uncle Sam both snoozing
under a though balloon that read "Maybe next year we'll deal with this,"
while "Blunder Woman," depicted the governor of Louisiana, Kathleen Bianco.

More informal krewes are groups of friends that get together in costume and
make their own parades, followed by a party. The Krewe of Oak -- it stands
for Outrageous and Kinky -- booked their after-party with music that showed
New Orleans traditions joined at the hips by second-line rhythms: a brass
band (Coolbone) and Mardi Gras Indians (from the Golden Eages, the Black
Eagles, the Golden Arrows and others), some in full feathered and beaded
suits. The audience was costumed, too: flappers, plutocrats, princesses,
Indians, cats. It was all dance music, most of it familiar New Orleans
oldies revved up by multiple tambourines and mixed drinks.

But in the late set, Big Chief Jerome of the Black Eagles took the
microphone, set the band onto a funk riff and started a new Mardi Gras
chant. Over scrubbing guitars, a busy tapping cowbell and crackling
second-line snare-drum syncopations, he sang, "I'm so sick and tired of all
that murder in my town," belting it in harmony with the other Mardi Gras
Indians onstage " "Just look over my back yard, and the town is burning
down," he sang. "I can't go to the store/I've got to look over my shoulder."

Near the end of the set, he slowed down the band for the tradition of the
Indian prayer, asking the audience to bow their heads. "We can't keep crying
about, Katrina did this, Katrina did that," he intoned. "We've got to put
our head and stand tall say `It happened. Now it's time to move on.'" He
added, "We survived. We've got to wash it away." And then he thanked the
band. It was New Orleans tradition, exorcising trouble on the dance floor.