Seven Hours is a World Away: A New Orleans Journal

So we pulled into New Orleans at 11pm Friday night. Despite the provisions packed carefully that afternoon, we still stopped for food on the road. Oh well. Good intentions and all that. After a slight delay at the home of our accomodating hosts (I'll spare you the details, but suffice it to say Kirk D. and Red Chuck were fast friends after surviving said ordeal), Chuck and I lit out for a drink at the Columns Hotel (as pictured above).


It was only a matter of minutes before we met new friends from Hattiesburg, MS. Soon we were all accosted by a man Red Chuck later described as "the Right Wing Kerry Supporter." Needless to say, his drunken, racist, leftwing rant was muy entertaining and the perfect end to our first night in New Orleans. We declined the invitation from our Hattiesburg friends to share a "very nice bottle of port" back at their downtown hotel.

Day two began with us sneaking out of our digs very quietly (again, the reader is spared ugly details) for lunch at the Camelia Grill. Everyone was happy. Time to head to the festival.

We decided the high ticket prices and $10 shuttle fees for the Voodoo Music Fest could only be sold to a thirtysomethingjobhaving audience, and that explained the line up of headliners Saturday: Sonic Youth, The Pixies, and the Beastie Boys. Armed with press passes (thank you Oxford American), we skipped the overpriced shuttle and took a cab to the fest.


As reported earlier, Red Chuck had a rather intimate encounter with Thurston Moore. I believe he and Kirk D were both equally moved by Kim Gordon. Chuck and I tried to find Jim O'Rourke backstage to no avail. Lucky for Jim.


The Pixies lived up to the high anticipation. In fact, I was expecting disappointment after so many years and so much hype, but they were really great.

I had no idea I liked Green Day until I sat through most of their set. And the Beastie Boys. . . . What can I say? I remember in detail sneaking License to Ill on headphones in Junior High. Good times.

Out of the festival, back in the cab, back to the Fauburg Marigny. Red Chuck finds himself in a pool contest at Coops with a guy our age with all gold teeth. Kirk D. and I find the jukebox that takes plastic and has a relatively unlimited downloadable catalog of songs. Oddly, I play Love and Rockets, R.E.M. and David Bowie. Whatever.

The night ends with the Pleasure Club at a great little club on Toulouse called One Eyed Jacks. I'm not nearly awake or clever enough to review the Pleasure Club show. But the first time Indy met Michael Jerome (the drummer) when he was out playing with Richard Thompson about 5 years ago, she said "When I fire my drummer and leave my husband I'm calling you!" Good thing she didn't see this or I'd be in trouble: