Barbara Lynn – Nice and Easy – Song of the Day
June 5th, 2010
Barbara Lynn, Nice and Easy from the Crazy Cajun collection.
Categories: Audio, Song of the Day | Tags: gulf coast soul, Swamp Pop | No Comments
You Can’t Kill Gulf Coast Soul – Barbara Lynn Show and Dance at the Rock N Bowl, Saturday, June 5th
June 3rd, 2010
Barbara Lynn, the Empress of Gulf Coast Soul, will be performing a show and dance with Lil Buck and the Top Cats on June 5th, 2010 at the Rock N Bowl.
Presented by the Ponderosa Stomp Foundation and the Rock N Bowl.
Barbara Lynn, Oh Baby, We Got A Good Thing Going
Barbara Lynn, The Empress of Gulf Coast Soul
Lil' Buck Sinegal and the Top Cats
Categories: Audio, gulf coast soul, Ponderosa Stomp 2010, Soul, Swamp Pop | Tags: gulf coast soul, Swamp Pop | 5 Comments
Barbara Lynn, You’ll Lose a Good Thing – Video
May 28th, 2010
Barbara Lynn, the Empress of Gulf Coast Soul, will be performing with Lil Buck and the Top Cats on June 5th, 2010 at the Rock N Bowl.
Presented by the Ponderosa Stomp Foundation and the Rock N Bowl.
Categories: Soul, Swamp Pop, Time Machine, video | Tags: gulf coast soul, Swamp Pop | No Comments
Classie Ballou and “his wrecking crew” live
April 29th, 2010
Today were honoring Classie Ballou, the creole rocker from South LA who currently leads his family band out of Waco, Texas. Classie and the family band will be appearing at the Jazz Fest today, and the Stomp’s own Alison Fensterstock profiles Ballou in today’s Times Picayune.
To get you in the mood, here is the smoldering “Classie’s Whip:”
The TP explains the origins:
Ballou moved on to play sessions at J.D. Miller’s legendary studio in Crowley, performing with Cookie Thierry (of Cookie and the Cupcakes), Carol Fran, and on dozens of Excello Records swamp blues, swamp pop and R&B sides. He also recorded on his own, cutting diverse blues, R&B and Latin-inflected tracks such as the wild instrumental rocker “Classie’s Whip” and the genre hybrid “Crazy Mambo.”
“Believe it or not, I’m a mambo freak, ” he said. “I always had a horn section. I just like that kind of rhythm. I like that New Orleans rhythm, too. I’m labeled as a blues band, but I can play everything.”
He proves it on “Crazy Mambo:”
The article goes on to chronicle the Stomp’s modus operandi when it comes to coaxing a musician to play their own classic material:
After Padnos prevailed upon Ballou to switch out chestnuts such as “Mustang Sally” [in his set] for nuggets such as “Classie’s Whip, ” the guitarist decided to roll with it. Fluent as he is in multiple musical languages, he’ll be speaking Classie in the Blues Tent today.
“Ira always tells me, ‘We don’t want to hear no BB King or Muddy Waters or Fats Domino. We want to hear the stuff you recorded when you were 29 years old and 30 in the waist, ‘ ” Ballou said, laughing. –”We don’t want to hear nothing but Classie Ballou.’ ”
“The Jazz Fest didn’t ask me what I was going to play, but I’m gonna follow that train and just be strictly original, more or less.”
Classie is also one of the three featured musicians in the Ponderosa Stomp film where he explains how he came up with “Classie’s Whip.”
As Michael Hurtt describes on the Ballou’s Stomp bio – the family band’s performances are not to be missed:
Ballou’s live shows are the kind of take no prisoners affairs where-unlike so many of his contemporaries–he’s guaranteed to play ‘em all, throwing in his amazing versions of “Jambalaya”, “Mathilda,” “Guitar Rhumbo,” “Honky Tonk” and “Sweet Home Alabama.” Classie’s family band features son Cedric (bass), grandson Cedryl (drums, accordion) and daughter CeChaun (sax, guitar and drums), all of whom have been taught to play by the master, resulting in an old school musical approach crossed with a youthful exuberance that belies the era they grew up in. Thus, when they tackle one of Classie’s old numbers, it sounds exactly like the original record; likewise, if you hear ‘em do “Tutti Frutti” it’ll be injected with every subtle nuance that’s been lost by everyone else in the last forty years. Simply put, Ballou and his wrecking crew are one of the best rock ‘n’ roll bands you’ll EVER see, end of the story.
Categories: Audio, R&B, Rock 'n Roll, Swamp Pop | Tags: Classie Ballou, Crazy Mambo, Swamp Pop | 2 Comments
Scene Report: The Jack Johnson Memorial Dance at the VFW in Starks
September 28th, 2009
I had just purchased six piping-hot, 8-inch rice-and-porkers at the Sausage Link on old U.S. 90 in Sulphur, Looziana, when I glanced down at the newspaper rack by the exit door and spied a surprisingly familiar sight in this almost-alien swampland. Had I drunk too much beer at the Kaw-Liga bar down the road, where I had eavesdropped on the locals debating whether an actual wildcat had killed old man Guidry’s horse? Or was I really seeing what I was seeing?
The cover of the freebie magazine on the rack featured the photo of a man gripping sticks from behind a drum kit, namely “Lightning Mitchell” of Lake Charles, with the headline reading: “He’s Been Jamming With the Legends for Over 60 Years. Now He’s Chilling With Us.” I shamefully did not recall having heard of Mitchell before, but the article informed me that he was the drummer on Phil Phillips’ immortal “Sea of Love” and Boozoo Chavis’ pioneering zydeco landmark, “Paper in My Shoe,” and had played with the likes of Katie Webster and Lil’ Alfred.
But what had made me do my surprised double take was the striking poster on the wall behind Lightning: “Mystic Knights of the Mau-Mau.” It was the Ponderosa Stomp poster for Year #2 (2003), with its roll call of legendary names like Billy “Boy” Arnold, Jody Williams, Henry Gray, and all those usual suspects. You had better bet your ducktails that Lightning Mitchell is a fan of the Ponderosa Stomp—and vice versa.
I was on my way to the VFW Hall in Starks, LA., near the Texas border, for a star-studded and certainly very Stomp-like bill: Warren Storm, Willie “Tee” Trahan, Tommy McLain, TK Hulin, and Charles Mann. The occasion for such an illustrious lineup was the Jack W. Johnson Memorial Dance. Jack had been a trumpet player for Louisiana Express, one of the go-to backing bands used by all the swamp-pop legends, such as those playing this show, as well as Lil’ Alfred, Johnnie Allan, and many others.
I had phoned the promoter a week before to reserve tickets and a table. My call all the way from New Orleans had no doubt jolted the late Jack Johnson’s brother, Don, who was producing the show in Jack’s memory. After all, it’s no hop, skip, and a jump from the Old Gumbo to the Sabine River. I was slightly worried that Don would view my citified status with suspicion, a la that famous scene from “Easy Rider,” when the xenophobic small-town guy in the diner notes disdainfully to his country compatriots: “Check the flag on that bike.”
But at the VFW Hall, after Warren Storm informed me that Don wanted to meet the guy who had come all the way from the Crescent to Calcasieu, my trepidation immediately dissipated. Don took one look at the tricked-out embroidered rooster ballcap on my head, smiled, and held up a hand to reveal a scar running at least 7 inches from his palm up his arm. “Steel-spurred rooster got me 20 years ago,” he revealed with a twinkle in his eye. Pumping his scarred right mitt, I knew then that Don and I were 100% simpatico.
And as the music started, we were immediately transported back to the late 1950s, when the U.S. dollar was as good as gold and swamp pop was king. The VFW Hall was jammed with booted, cowboy-hatted, and Hawaiian-shirted dudes and their dates, who were dressed to the nines and smelling like perfume factories, drowning out the faint industrial reek of nearby Sulphur and Lake Charles. This was the hottest ticket in town. The only minor disappointment of the night was that our reserved seating at a long row of tables was so packed with Cajun and Texan flesh that we opted to stand for most of the night just offstage near the merchandise table, around which the headliners were seated like so many Cabinet secretaries or heads of the five New York famiglias. So though we mostly stood, we were near enough to touch the hems of their godlike garments.
Tommy McLain
Charles Mann and Warren Storm
TK Hulin
Honoree Jack Johnson's portrait held by his survivors
Warren Storm reads raffle numbers with promoter Don Johnson's wife
What a scintillatingly brilliant night of music it had been, yet there was still one more little divine pot of gold waiting at the end of this rainbow: the Lucky Longhorn motel in Vinton, an arm of the Texas Longhorn Club complex. Part truck stop, part motel, part restaurant, part casino, part laundromat, this cozy little oasis just off I-10 can meet every weary swamp-pop fan’s traveling needs. And with your choice of shower or Jacuzzi, you’ll find more than a little lucky respite there as you lay down to sleep and dream those “Sweet Dreams” of your next magical musical mystery tour. Talk about a happy ending. Yeah you right, baby.
Categories: R&B, Scene Report, Swamp Pop | Tags: Charles Mann, Jack Johnson, Swamp Pop, TK Hulin, Tommy McLain, Warren Storm, Willie Tee, Willie Trahan | 4 Comments
Scene Report: The RBT Band at Mo’s Chalet in Metairie
September 16th, 2009
Metairie is a place often disparaged by those “not from here.” It is especially disparaged by those not from here who seek to cloak themselves and where they came from in all things New Orleans. By disparaging our hinterlands, they strive to make themselves all the more genuinely New Orleans. Ironically, these self-appointed New Orleans experts miss the “tout ensemble” for the trees (or maybe the lack thereof). They fail to discern that there is often more New Orleans buried amid the neon-and-concrete trappings of seemingly bland suburbia than in the city itself these days. Especially musically.
Mo’s Chalet is just such an under-the-radar den of down-home blues. Impresario Morell “Mo” Crane is an important patron of local music, particularly the classic styles such as jazz, rhythm and blues, and swamp pop. Mo brought in his old friend, sax titan Sam Butera, years before the New Orleans JazzFest ever sat up and took notice that the supercharged turbine behind Louie Prima was still jumping, jiving, and wailing like never before, well into his 70s.
But Mo doesn’t just hire the well-known entertainers. Super-talented rank-and-file artists who somehow got lost in the shuffle but are still cranking it out in the musical trenches can find a welcome stage at Mo’s Chalet. Names such as Bobby Lonero, Earl Stanley, Skip Easterling, Eddie Powers, Art SirVan, Allen Collay, Al McCrossen, and Billy Bell. These are just the sort of hidden gems that the Ponderosa Stomp strives to spotlight. And such a roster fits in with Mo’s motto: “GIVE THE PEOPLE WHAT THEY WANT.”
And “the people,” in Mo’s case, fit a certain demographic. They are either members of “the Greatest Generation” or hail from the immediately younger age groups. These are the people who grew up in a still-vibrant New Orleans, attended its grammar and high schools, and bore witness to not only the jazz revival of the late 1940s and early ’50s, but also the birth of rock ‘n’ roll. These are the people who remember Butera and Prima blazing away on Bourbon Street and at the Beverly Club. These are the people who saw Pete Fountain and Al “Jumbo” Hirt trading lightning-bolt licks at Lenfant’s on the lakefront. These are the people who when they hear the name “Dukes of Dixieland” immediately think “Assunto brothers”—you know, those nice neighborhood Italian boys from around the French Market who just happen to have a red-hot family band. These are the people who grew up buying Fats Domino 45s and swaying to Jerry Raines’ “Our Teenage Love” at the CYO dances. They remember serving detention-hall stints with Roland “Stone” LeBlanc at Warren Easton High, or eating cheeseburgers next to a teenage Frankie Ford at Da Wabbit in Gretna after a sock hop at the McDonoghville VFW. These are New Orleans’ salt of the earth, and those who still make it out to Mo’s Chalet are the silver-fox survivors. They’re still boogieing down and drinking up well into their 60s, 70s, and 80s.
One recent Sunday I stopped in to hear vocalist Duke Duplantis front his RBT combo. What a gentleman Duke is—a total man’s man, whose specialty is singing Sinatra and other Rat Pack standards with the perfect measure of gravitas and testosterone. I don’t know who I’d be more afraid to piss off backstage in Vegas in a fight over some mob bimbo: Duke himself, or Ole Blue Eyes backed up by a gang of sycophantic “associates.” Of course, Duke—after setting you straight—would probably suggest a round of 18 holes at the local golf course and even pick up the greens fees just to show you what a stand-up guy he is.
And serving as the smiling bandleader with just a hint of an Elvis sneer to his lip, Richie Ladner brings decades of professional experience to the table, having been a latter-day member of New Orleans’ legendary Jokers. Playing with an almost pornographic joy, he is both a stellar pianist and vocalist, and his baritony rendition of “Take Me Home, Country Roads” melded into a gospel medley still sends chills down my spine. When not amazing you with his melodiousness, Ladner will slay you with his hysterically ribald humor and impeccable comic timing.
A book could be written about saxophonist Johnny Pennino (http://www.johnnypennino.com), but luckily for the local music scene, his story is not yet over. Music aficionadoes have heard of the legendary Papa Joe’s nightclub on Bourbon Street, whose 1960s-era band featured luminaries such as Freddy Fender, Joe Barry, and Skip Easterling. Though not as well-known, Pennino made his musical bones at Papa Joe’s and was in fact that band’s longest-serving member. Fender once said of Pennino: “He blows a tenor sax in such a sweet, pleasant and unforgettable way. Nobody else can come up with anything so unique. Johnny’s sound is romantic. It is magical.” So magical that when Duke Ellington was brought to hear the young Italian stallion play on Bourbon Street in the 1960s, the Duke offered Pennino a job, asking: “Do you read music, son?”
But New Orleans’ pull was too strong on Pennino, and he stayed put, carrying the torches of Jumbo and Butera and continuing to play with an otherworldly fire-and-brimstone ferocity, yet with utter lyricism and beauty on tour-de-force power ballads such as “Europa.” Pennino’s voice on saxophone is completely unique, but then so is his shamefully undershowcased singing. His vocal rendition of Dean Martin’s “Return to Me” is incredibly sensuous, and his Elvis interpretations must have the King himself sitting up in his crypt and taking notice. But Pennino ultimately is a horn player who makes anyone’s band sound better, as evidenced by swamp-pop legend Johnnie Allan turning to me one night at a West Bank hideaway and asking in bewilderment: “WHO IS THAT GUY?” The Cajun icon was simply blown away by Pennino, who had just accompanied Allan on his own set—walking on totally unrehearsed and never having before met.
Injecting some intangible Mo-jo to the mix was John Dauenhauer on baritone sax, who is always a welcome sight wielding that bazooka-like piece of brass, which was key to the classic 1950s riffing ensemble horn sound, but which is rarely employed today—and sadly so. The titanic instrument’s notes are almost imperceptibly heard at first—hitting your gut and injecting a fat-bottomed groove to the wailing sound of the tenor above it. Thanks to Our Lady of Prompt Succor for the presence of John Dauenhauer on bari sax. He’s like a flambeaux carrier in a Mardi Gras parade: Just when you thought the tradition had died out, there he is with his big flame-throwing rig, bringing it all back home again.
Drummer Wally Rabalais is another unsung local veteran, having set a splendidly percussive tone with countless bands and frontmen like Bobby Lonero; Al Dressel and the Fugowees; and Midnight Streetcar. Rabalais is a rock-solid timekeeper but also surprises audiences with his own singing voice. For one second at Mo’s I thought Clarence “Frogman” Henry was in the house, exclaiming out of nowhere that he sang like a frog and had no home. Turns out it was Rabalais doing his dead-on Frogman impression from behind the drum kit. The legendary Frogman was hopefully enjoying some well-deserved relaxation on his front porch in Algiers, content to let his disciples do the singing.
The band entertained that Sunday with every genre of music, from cocktail-lounge warhorses to country two-steps, from Smiley Lewis’ “Someday” to Lloyd Price’s “Stagger Lee,” from Roland Stone’s “Just a Moment” to the classic 1950s doo-wop “We Belong Together.” And in true New Orleans fashion, a second-line erupted. Not a stomping parade of gator-popping buck-jumpers, but a procession of guest singers who stepped up to add their own unique spices to the mix. Owner Mo Crane’s brother Rene—a kindly venerable figure with billowy snow-white hair and a blood-red guayabera shirt—took a turn at a couple of chestnuts, and then Mo himself—a man whose infectious lust for life is positively Viagra-like—stepped up to the microphone, shucking and jiving to Al Jolson and a totally romping version of “Gentle On My Mind.”
Mo’s Chalet: A musical oasis in Metairie that really delivers on its promise to “give the people what they want.”
Categories: New Orleans, R&B, Rock 'n Roll, Scene Report | Tags: Earl Stanley, Metairie, New Orleans, R&B, Swamp Pop, yat | 2 Comments
PS Time Machine: September 14, 1955
September 14th, 2009
“A wop bop a loo mop, a good goddam!”
Fifty-four years ago today, per Bumps Blackwell’s recommendation, Little Richard Penniman (seen above with Jet Harris, Gene Vincent and Sam Cooke) joined forces with Fats Domino’s band — which included the late Earl Palmer, drummer extraordinaire who performed at the 1st annual Ponderosa Stomp and served as Master of Ceremonies for Stomp #4 — at Cosimo Matassa’s J&M Recording Studio.
Their collective goal was to lay down tracks for Art Rupe’s Specialty label. As legend has it, nothing much happened, though, until the group broke for lunch. Then, in true recording studio mythology (see Elvis’ inaugural Sun session, or the story behind Isaac Hayes and David Porter’s “Hold On, I’m Comin’”), Little Richard sat down at the piano and began banging out a high voltage tune that he’d woodshedded in gay bars:
“Tutti Frutti, good booty
If it don’t fit, don’t force it
You can grease it, make it easy.”
Blackwell called in Dorothy LaBostrie to clean up the lyrics, and, after rolling tape for a record 15 minutes, one of the most iconic songs ever recorded in Orleans Parish was complete.
Mac Rebennack just happened to be standing outside J&M when the magic happened — and I got to quiz him about it 50 years later, for an article published in MOJO magazine:
“I was always hanging out there during Specialty sessions, trying to sell Art Rupe some songs. I remember telling my older sister, ‘This guy Little Richard is doing a session at the studio,’ and she replied, ‘Oh, I used to see him at Panama City.’ So Richard was already doing his thing as a solo act. He came out of those revues, where he had to really know his shit. Some people say he bummed his act from Esquerita, but to me, Eskew was more gospel sounding, and Richard was straight up hip. Sure, he sang kinda gospel but he played that ratty shit on the piano, with Earl Palmer following on the cymbals. His style was a revelation, a really good sound that could rock the house without fail.
Richard was a totally original cat – everything about him was off the hook. He was a little flamboyant, sure, but it went with that turf. Seeing him and Eskew hanging out wearing men’s suits, topped off with lipstick, that high hair, and women’s shades, would catch people off guard – they’d give them the once over two or three times, even though in New Orleans, we were used to the drag queen revues and traditions like that.
This is what made Richard special: As Fats Domino told me, ‘I couldn’t tell you what’s the difference between rock and roll and R&B.’ But Richard changed something in the New Orleans groove. Instead of a shuffle, he could play that eighth note thing on the piano, which set him apart from the rest of us. He used it from that first record on, and a lot of other people started using that shit. They still use it in rock and roll today.”
As Cosimo explained to writer Todd Mouton in the pages of Offbeat a while back, “If you transmit an emotion to the listener, it’s a good record. It’s gonna be a successful record. Now, having said that, how you measure it, I don’t know. How you predict it, I have not a clue. Because it happens, and everybody’s aware of it, you know, it’s fundamental. And yet totally evasive.”
Rebennack: “Back then, though, we didn’t really appreciate it. Everybody in New Orleans had so much to do, so many sessions to play on, that Tutti Frutti was just a little chunk of their lives. They didn’t have time to think much about it. I remember someone asking Red Tyler and Earl Palmer, ‘What do you remember about playing on it?’ and they both said, without batting an eye, ‘Very little.’”
Of course, like any million-selling single, there’s been an argument over the songwriting credits ever since.
LaBostrie, from Jeff Hannusch’s I Hear You Knocking: The Sound of New Orleans Rhythm and Blues:
“Little Richard didn’t write none ‘Tutti Fruitti.’ I’ll tell you exactly how I came to write that. I used to live on Galvez Street and my girlfriend and I liked to go down to the drug store and buy ice cream. One day we went in and saw this new flavor, Tutti Fruitti. Right away I thought, ‘Boy, that’s a great idea for a song.’ So I kept it in the back of my mind until I got to the studio that day. I also wrote the flip side of ‘Tutti Fruitti,’ ‘I’m Just a Lonely Guy,’ and a spiritual, ‘Blessed Mother,’ all in the same day.”
Blackwell, quoted in Charles White’s biography of Little Richard:
“I Knew that the lyrics were too lewd and suggestive to record. It would never have got played on air. So I got hold of Dorothy La Bostrie, who had come over to see how the recording of her song [I'm Just A Lonely Guy?] was going. I brought her to the Dew Drop. I said to her: ‘Look. You come and write some lyrics to this, ’cause I can’t use the lyrics Richard’s got.’ Richard turned to face the wall and sang the song two ot three times and Dorothy listened. Break time was over, and we went back to the studio to finish the session, leaving Dorothy to write the words. Fifteen minutes before the session was to end, the chick comes in and puts these little trite lyrics in front of me.”
And Penniman himself, again from White’s book:
“I’d been singing ‘Tutti Frutti’ for years, but it never struck me as a song you’d record. I didn’t go to New Orleans to record no ‘Tutti Frutti.’ Sure, it used to crack the crowds up when I sang it in the clubs, with those risqué lyrics. But I never thought it would be a hit, even with the lyrics cleaned up.”
I’ll let Mac close it out:
“Of course, the idea for Tutti Frutti was probably already floating around New Orleans. I bet Richard heard something like it from Eddie Bo. Considering who actually wrote this sucker – Dorothy LaBostrie, who wrote Johnny Adams’ and Irma Thomas’ first hit records – I’m sure the song came straight up out of the dozens. ‘A gal named Sue/She knows just what to do’ – that shit was nasty! Some New Orleans songs, like Tee-Nah-Nah, are Creole. You know, your tee-nah-nah is your ass cheeks, and your tee-nah-noo is your asshole. But Tutti Frutti isn’t Creole, and I don’t think it went with the ice cream flavor. You know what a fruit is, right? I think it had more to do with that shit. But did you ever hear Pat fucking Boone singing that crap? I don’t know if he got it and fucked it up, or if he didn’t get it, and fucked it up. Either way, it was pretty fucked up, but we didn’t pay no attention to that crap!”
Categories: New Orleans, R&B, Rock 'n Roll, Time Machine | Tags: bumps blackwell, cosimo matassa, earl palmer, fats domino, little richard, New Orleans, specialty records, sun records, Swamp Pop | 1 Comment
“Yea, Yea, Daddy Let’s Go for a Ride” – Roy Perkins “Drop Top” on Gogurt Commercial
August 28th, 2009
Poetic justice on a grand scale as the infectious strains of Roy Perkins’ “Drop Top” is currently getting massive airplay in a new Gogurt commercial on kiddy cable tv. I’ve seen several different kids repeat it after just one viewing- “BA DA BA DA DAAAAA – DROP TOP!” All hail ROY!
Categories: Rock 'n Roll, Swamp Pop | Tags: drop top, poetic justice, Swamp Pop | 1 Comment
Top Ten Swamp Pop Songs – Billy Delle’s Records from the Crypt
August 28th, 2009
Yat raconteur and one of the last great WWOZ dj’s – Billy Delle, recently counted down his top ten Swamp Pop records on his radio show. I grabbed a stack of post its and commenced to a writing.
Starting it off with his own freewheeling scat interpretations of iconic New Orleans R&B hits Delle segued into what defined the Swamp Pop sound and what the genre and each song meant to him personally. The following is his list:
Top Ten Swamp Pop Songs
- Elton Anderson – Shed So Many Tears
- Big Walter Price – Shirley Jean
- King Karl – Irene
- Tommy Mclain – Sweet Dreams
- Roy Perkins – You’re on My Mind
- Joe Barry – Fool to Care
- Rod Bernard – This Should Go on Forever
- Jivin’ Gene – Breaking Up is Hard to Do
- Phil Phillips – Sea of Love
- Cookie and the Cupcakes – Mathilda
Categories: Swamp Pop | Tags: Swamp Pop, wwoz, yat | 1 Comment
Scene Report: Pee Wee Guidry & the Country Boys featuring Joe Timmons
August 28th, 2009
I had been seeing these guys’ names in the paper for awhile now, playing in Kenner and Metairie, and have been intrigued: Pee Wee Guidry & the Country Boys featuring Joe Timmons.
I saw where Pee Wee has played with pianist/singer Kenny “L” Lachney, according to Kenny L’s bio page for the West Bank Musicians Hall of Fame induction class of 2007. Kenny L ain’t perfect, but he can be a welcome oasis these days in the dying world of classic local R&B/swamp pop, and I’d seen him countless times backing Bobby Lonero during Lonero’s yearlong stint at the Third Rock Tavern in Kenner in 2006-07.
So with that association, I finally went and checked them out in Kenner at Dolly’s Bar on Williams Boulevard. Walked in to the strains of “Matilda.” They also did “Fool to Care,” “Sweet Dreams,” and other tunes of that ilk. A four-piece group: bass, drums, 2 guitars. Lead singer (Timmons) had the George Jones widow’s peak hairstyle going, diminished somewhat by a receding hairline. Guidry had the Charlie Daniels-style cowboy hat with a few lucky charms in the band–a feather or piece of animal fur or something.
Pretty competent musicians. They “swung” a little bit more than your average swampers like Treater. It’s a tiny setting with no cover, so the expectations weren’t high. I’d go see them again.
I must be getting old: Kenner is a lot easier to get to these days than the West Bank–and the Old Scorpio (now named Memories) has been kicking it lately (with Junior Lacrosse on Thursdays, for one, and Gary T just there last Saturday), and the Old Firemen’s Hall has reopened in Westwego, but I haven’t made it out there recently. Marrero is scary these days, and The Man is on the lookout for drunks like me–easier to deal with than the swarthier restless natives …
Categories: New Orleans, Scene Report | Tags: New Orleans, Swamp Pop, west bank | 6 Comments
