Like a Hurricane – Superbowl Special
Yesterday, Miki and I had the privilege of being in New Orleans for unquestionably the biggest sporting event in that city’s history. We watched the New Orleans Saints take on the Indianapolis Colts on the big screen in the Checkpoint bar, right on the edge of the famous French Quarter. The local weather channel had portrayed it as “Hurricane Saints”, heading out of Louisiana and hitting Miami. This was a big deal, New Orleans had been waiting for 43 years for this. What follows are my impressions, as an NFL virgin, of the game, the presentation, the reaction of the fans,and the aftermath.
Relaxing during one of the many ad breaks
The Americans like to hype pretty much everything, dignifying “The Coin Toss” with its own special segment, sandwiched between adverts. The nature of the game is such that it consists of a series of set plays, and is therefore very stop/start. Coaches seem to have 20 seconds to organize a play, or if they need more time, can request a time out, which gives them two minutes. As soon as a coach requests this, you are assaulted by adverts. This has the effect of taking away the atmosphere built up during the play. The ad situation is beyond amazing. Sometimes, the game restarts for 20 seconds, then cuts to 2 minutes of ads, it’s completely bizarre. I observed the people around me, gradually getting more drunk. Early in the game, I got the impression they were more up for the ‘event’ than the actual game itself. They also seemed unduly courteous to the opposition, indulging in a bit of booing, but not the out and out hostility us Brits save for our rivals. The Quarterback is the iconic figure in American football (I know this because I watched Warren Beatty in Heaven can Wait) Drew Brees holds that role for the Saints, and is something of a talisman for the city, raising money for charities to help the city, and symbolically moving his family into the city too. To add spice, the Colts quarterback is a native of New Orleans!
The half-time show featured The Who, so of course I loved that. The Saints were trailing in the game pretty much from the off, but their coach seemed to have a game plan, starting the third quarter with a short kick that helped the Saints start to edge back into the game. I still have no real clue of the rules. The fans around us cheered like crazy when the Colts made certain mistakes, but I couldn’t really see what the Saints gained in those situations – perhaps the Colts had to fall back a few yards? Not sure. The Saints made history by being the first team in history to score three field goals from over 40 yards out. The real big moment in the game for me was the interception of a Colts throw by Tracy Porter , who then ran like a steam train 74 yards over the line, with time to point at the fans while he was doing it. That moment for me, was the moment the Saints won this Superbowl, and the moment when I finally ‘got’ American Football. The bar erupted, it was a fantastic moment. Within minutes the game was done, and we all spilled out onto the street. No words can describe the next few hours. This was New Orleans’ finest hour, we were high-fiving complete strangers, each drunker or happier, than the next. Random dancing was the order of the day, and a spontaneous parade began along Decatur street, winding its way through the entire French Quarter. People were climbing on cars, diving into other people’s cars, dancing on the roofs, yelling “Who Dat!!!” at each other. For the uninitiated, it is a shortened version of the Saint’s battle cry – “Who dat say they gonna beat dem Saints?” which was being sung from every balcony, every car, every passing bicycle. It is almost impossible to put into words the emotion that welled up from this city last night. Seasoned locals were saying that this surpassed any Mardi Gras celebrations – The Saints win and Mardi Gras were now all rolled into one, and this victory marked the end of the road in a very personal journey for every New Orleans native who had watched their city ripped apart by Hurricane Katrina. This is a proud city, a tough city, and a city that has well and truly bounced back. As we ate our post-match meal in Jimmy Buffet’s Margaritaville, we could almost reach out and touch the joy.
Checkpoint erupts at the final whistle
It took us an age to get back to our hotel, but it was a fun journey peppered with shared greetings and cheers every inch of the way. The city was alive, as one, and rocking. N’awlins will have the mother of all hangovers this morning!
It was all too much for these Saints fans…
We are so lucky to be here for this moment in history – Mardi Gras and the Superbowl all rolled into one. The Saints parade the trophy through the city on Tuesday, and we’re going to do it all again!
Out’n'about in N’awlins – 2 –
A few more shots of our wanderings around this famous southern city….
Miki checks out the Voodoo
Kev misses the boat....
Mikissippi
Kev makes new friends
Old meets new
Do NOT feed the animals....
Out’n'About in N’awlins – 1 -
The sun peeked out on our first full day in The Big Easy, and we went out exploring, from the brightly painted nightclubs to the French Market and the French Quarter, we drunk in deep the sights and sounds of this remarkable city.
Outside Yuki, where a Shamisen player performs nightly
Kev shops for Mardi Gras outfit in the French Market
One of the local eccentrics - He looks even better from the front
In the middle of the French market several bands play outdoors. One three piece were particularly easy on the ear, and we stopped to watch them over a coffee.
Jus' chillin'.....
It still amazes me that down here you can here blues, beautifully executed by great musicians, right here on the street.
"...I'm enjoying this..."
The bass player was playing a beautiful Ibanez semi-acoustic bass and Iwent up to have a look at it. It turned out he’d bought it in Istanbul, Turkey!
Missing my bass..........
They were joined by another of New Orleans colourful characters on flute.
"How high's the water, momma? - It's five feet high and rising...."
Miki joins the offensive line for the Saints
Haiti – biting the hand that feeds – a Kev rant, no apologies
Right, I’ve had enough. Every man and his dog now standing on their head, painting themselves green re-recording “We are the World” (did we really need another version of that??) – all in aid of raising money and awareness for the plight of the people of Haiti.
And what do their government do??? Look, I am no fan of God-botherers or misguided do-gooders, but surely, it is clear that these people currently incarcerated by the morally bankrupt ingrates masquerading as the Haitian government on kidnapping charges are guilty of nothing more than religious fervour-driven foolishness. Remember, all the REAL CRIMINALS in Haiti got out of jail free when the EARTHQUAKE HIT, AND ARE CURRENTLY RAPING, LOOTING, AND YES , CHILD TRAFFICKING with impunity.
It is obscene to rob these Americans of their liberty while the true criminals run free, and millions of dollars in aid pour in from the country of their birth.
The final, terrible irony of course, is that they did all this in God’s name. Your God sure has a sick sense of humour. Disagree? Bring it on.
The Big Easy
“…A come on everybody take a trip with me, well
Down the Mississippi down to New Orleans…”
We crossed theState line into Louisiana and prepared to give ourselves over to the Gods of Jazz and Dixieland. We got a great southern welcome at the visitor centre on the 31st parallel, where we got free coffee and some maps to guide us.
Madman across the water - The Big Easy looms in the distance
Our entry to the city was nothing short of spectacular. Taking the causeway that spans the vast Lake Pontchartrain, we travelled over the water for over 21 miles – it is the longest bridge in the world. The far shoreline was invisible. It was like we were heading into a new world. Then suddenly, out of the mists, we saw the skyline of the city appearing. It was amazing. It truly felt like we were leaving the United States proper. This incredible causeway withstood the worst that Katrina could throw at it, and proved a vital supply line for emergency crews in the wake of the Hurricane.
"Hooray for Hollywoooood...." - at the Earthbound shoot
We were eager to check in and chill for a couple of hours so wew could get on out and explore a little of the city that night. As we drove down Esplanade which borders the French Quarter and parked up, we happened upon the filming of a new movie starring Goldie Hawn’s daughter, Kate Hudson, called Earthbound. The entire movie is being filmed on location here and the streets are full of film gear, lighting trucks and catering wagons. We watched for a while off camera while the two principals filmed a scene outside a club. We’ll be looking for the movie when it comes out!
Author looking suitably engrossed in serious blues @ The Apple Barrel
We headed into Frenchmen street where our friend, New Orleans artist Ted Hebbler had recommended us to visit. He’ll be flying over from Spain and will meet up with us one day this week. We called into the Apple Barrel, a cool little bar/music venue run by his friend Liz, who was actually born in Sheffield, England! There was an authentic sounding blues dude on slide guitar keeping us entertained while we sank a couple of draft beers, and Liz introduced us to a guy called Jack Fine, a fine old chap who’d been playing New Orleans jazz on his trumpet all his life. He’d lived for a time in France, and delighted Miki with his French. He’d played with British jazz legend Chris Barber, and told us he was playing with his bands The Jazz Vipers two doors down at The Spotted Cat. We promised to join him later.
Chatting with Jack
Walking into the Spotted Cat, we were glad we’d taken him up on the invitation. The Jazz Vipers, were authentic, entertaining, and spectacular. True N’awlins jazz, served up hot with no embellishments. They were superb, each indiviually gifted, and each given his chance to shine, we adored them. They play every monday, and make no mistake we’ll be back next week to do it all again. Our first night in New Orleans was all we could have hoped for. -and we still had Mardi Gras and the Super Bowl to go!
The Jazz Vipers cutting a collective rug
Jackson 2
Okay, it wasn’t all rain in Jackson, we did manage to get out and take a trip around the local reservoir. Here’s a few pics from that day, plus a couple more as yet unpublished.
"After I'd been to IHOP I was THIS wide......"
Musician - alone with his thoughts
"Are you looking at me?"
Risking the wrath of the ducks, Kev balances egg on head.
"So where's this bloody ferry, then?"
Kev outside St.Paul's ..er....I mean, the State Capitol building.
Look Ma, it's a reasonably old tall building!
Jackson
“I’m goin’ to Jackson, I’m gonna mess around,
Yeah, I’m goin’ to Jackson,
Look out Jackson town.”
- Johnny Cash
The author ponders his next piece while jealously cradling his coffee filters....
After the small-town charms of Clarksdale we ate up the highway and headed for the Mississippi State capital, Jackson, named after Andrew Jackson, the 7th. President of the United States. Now, the weather conspired to keep us indoors for most of our visit there, it certainly wasn’t , in the words of Mr. Cash, ‘hotter than a pepper sprout” – more like ‘colder than a penguin’s balls” but I guess that wouldn’t have worked in the song.
Mike and Marty and ...er...Mike and Marty?
We managed to get a night out at Finians Irish bar, where we saw a great band called Mike and Marty. They were a four piece, so I presume there were two of each, or two of them were on the run from the law and preferred to remain nameless. That aside, they served up a very pleasurable mix of country rock, which kept us entertained while we consumed a lot of wings and nachos.
The next day was beyond Arctic, and basically we stayed in the motel. The following day, lured by the promise of blue skies, we went for a walk. Of course, in America the car is king, and so they don’t build sidewalks to discourage healthy activities like walking. Unless you are in the city centre, walking leaves you at the mercy of every Chevy truck and low rider Cadillac on the highway. I can see why the drive-by shooting became popular. It is to cull idiots like us who decide to venture out in sub-zero temperatures in an effort to walk off the effects of American size portions of food, and keep the verges clean.
Our goal was the nearest Starbucks, where we hoped to find a commemorative Jackson mug. When we arrived, not only was there an enormous queue for their exorbitantly-priced coffee, but we discovered Jackson didn’t merit a commemorative mug. Gutted we eased back out into the inclement weather. When I say ‘inclement’, I mean incapable of sustaining human life.
We got about 50 yards before deciding that we needed sustenance to be capable of making the journey back. Luckily, we happened into Bon Ami, a French-themed cafe-restaurant decorated with art, where we were served coffee by a friendly lady called Jackie, who told us she would be down in New Orleans the following week, so we may see her when we get there. Heartened by our welcome and the copious amounts of coffee, we bravely fought the elements and once again retreated into the cocoon of our motel.
Scruffy author and a rather dapper-looking Andrew Jackson
The following day, the blue skies weren’t completely lying, and the temperature reluctantly raised itself a degree or two, and coaxed us out into downtown Jackson so we could have a look around. There were a couple of buildings that actually looked a little bit old, but to be honest, our tongues were hanging out for even the most mundane piece of decorative scrollwork after encountering so many towering glass behemoths, so common to American skylines. Now I know why American tourists scrape their jaws along the pavement when they visit places like Stratford-upon-Avon, or Chartres cathedral.
Their State capitol building was reminiscent of St.Paul’s Cathedral, however, and that had obviously inspired someone to randomly plonk a bright red British telephone box on the sidewalk of the street in front of it. There was no phone in it, and you couldn’t open it. It was just…….there. I tried to imagine the reaction to the installation of a dormant American fire hydrant in Hyde park………
Our very own Liberty "Belle"
We saw one of the 53 copies of the original Liberty Bell, displayed in front of the State Capitol building, and in a curious coincidence, later that evening, I solved the clue in the movie National Treasure, because I had seen the names “Pass and Stow” engraved on the side of it. Funny old world. The reason we were yet again locked in our motel was an aborted attempt to find a music venue on the south side of the city. After an hour of driving round fruitlessly, we gave up, came back and stuck the telly on. It’s not all fun and games, this holiday lark, you know.
Ride 'em, Cowboy......
Tell me where did they lay you down? (Originally posted in moore:music)
Tell me where did they lay you down
Tell me where did they lay you down?
Two graves in Mississippi, and nobody knows,
Tell me where did they lay you down?
- “Robert Johnson’s Tombstone, by Thunder
On our way from Clarksdale to Jackson, we went in search of the final resting place of perhaps the most legendary, and certainly the most mysterious of all the Delta bluesmen. There were three sites of interest, though one is simply a memorial stone commemorating his life and work, and though it rests in a churchyard, it has never laid claim to being his final resting place.
Between the other two, however, there is some contention. We set off from the Crossroads memorial (where else?) and made our way down Highway 49 south to Greenwood. Outside of the town, on Money Road, there stands Little Zion Church. At the Roadside there is a blues trail marker. The unassuming little wooden church has a graveyard to the left, and there towards the back under a tree was Robert Johnson’s Grave.
There was a small collection of ‘tribute’ surrounding the headstone, from beer bottles and whisky bottles (toasts, no doubt, drunk to his memory) to CD’s and guitar picks. We added our own, one of Miki’s leaflets and a photo of Christie.
Our next stop was Payne Chapel in Quito to the West. It was originally thought Johnson was buried here due to its proximity to the Juke joint behind Three Forks store where he was allegedly poisoned. There is a small marker in the graveyard there, and we were quickly welcomed by the guy ‘in charge’ of the graveyard who managed to finagle a couple of dollars out of us towards graveyard upkeep. Nice one! In a curious coincidence, his brother is the Pastor at Little Zion church. Looks like a family business…..
Our third and final stop on the Robert Johnson trail was the marker erected in recognition of Robert Johnson’s legacy by the people of Mississippi. It takes the form of a small obelisk, situated in the graveyard of the Zion Church north of Morgan City, and is notable in that it lists every one of his recorded songs on one of its faces.
Walking into Clarksdale – 2 -
Our second day in Clarksdale began with blue skies, and so we decided to explore a little of the surrounding area, heading first out to a town called Friar’s Point on the banks of the Mississippi.
Initially, we couldn’t see the river for the huge levee that protected the town from possible flooding, and there were signs everywhere telling us that the levee was not a public road and warning us no trespassing, so we drove into town, got out and wandered around for a while.
It was really quite eerie. There was an almost total absence of people, and the shops were full of items, yet closed up, shrouded in dust and cobwebs, almost from another time. Even the museum, with the rusting hulks of farm machinery and an old tank standing silent guard outside, looked abandoned.
The Petrol Station looked like it hadn’t pumped gas since the invasion of Kuwait, yet the town sported a shiny Police station and Post Office.
Some of the houses were lovely, yet there was an air of decay about the place. A old lady, driving by, slowed and rolled her window down, greeting us warmly.
“Ya’ll visiting Friar’s Point? Mighty nice to have you here!” – and she proceeded to tell us where to find the church where Conway Twitty would lie in the ditch listening to the gospel music. He was born here apparently, and the lady went on to point out other items of interest, such as the house up by the highway that was destroyed by a recent tornado. This qualifies as an attraction, it seems. I thought it rather more likely to keep people away.
We asked her about the shops. She told us the main shop was closed because the owner had diabetes, and the petrol station closed because the owner had cancer. During this conversation a black guy had wandered up and told the old lady someone had been trying to kill him, gesturing to his head. She took this news with remarkable aplomb, as though he’d been asking her the time. It seemed he was perhaps one bud lite short of a six-pack. We made our excuses, and like the Confederates before us, beat a hasty retreat.
It was telling that no-one had stepped into the breach and re-opened the shop or the petrol station. The town, still bearing the scars of Union shelling from the river, was finally dying.
The lady had told us that we could in fact scale the levee and go on down to the river, so that is what we did, and Miki did a couple of sketches before we left. It was sad to see a town this way, yet moving to talk to someone who was still clearly proud of the place she had lived all her life.
The town had a marker on the blues trail , commemorating Robert Nighthawk, who called this town his home at various times in his life, and also immortalized it in song in 1940. I hope the trail helps to bring visitors back to Friar’s Point and breathes some life back into this proud old town.
We hit the road again and explored a little of Highway 1, discovering a lake off the beaten track and a house where a guy had made a fence around his property entirely out of kiddies’ tricycles! Being hugely influenced by American horror movies, I couldn’t help but think the guy had abducted about 100 innocently-pedalling children in order to get his free fence! -or perhaps his wife had been inordinately fertile……
We spied a general store by the side of the highway and popped in for a look. We received the warmest of welcomes, enjoying a burger, some complimentary snacks, great coffee and conversation with the locals. Great Southern hospitality!
That evening, after resting up at the motel, it was time to pay a visit to Ground Zero, the club owned by actor Morgan Freeman. As we pulled up outside, it looked like nothing more than a dilapidated old warehouse, with a porch out front sporting a couple of old sofas. The only clue that it was a venue was the glowing neon sign sporting the Ground Zero logo. But walk through the doors and you were stepping into the coolest blues club around. The place had an amazing atmosphere, and graffitti, primarily visitors signatures, covered almost every square inch of the walls, and in some cases, the ceilings. This was Blues Mecca.
Big Dave throws some shapes at Ground Zero
On stage was Big Dave and the Evol Love band, and we ordered a couple of beers and sat down. With BBQ wings and Potato Skins to die for, we were in seventh heaven!
When Dave took to the stage for his third set, he invited me up on stage. And so another ambition was realized, as I sang and played “Spinning Wheel Blues” in downtown Clarksdale Mississippi. Does it get any better than this?
Walking into Clarksdale – 1 -
We headed back across the Mississippi from Helena and continued south on Highway 61, until we reached Clarksdale, immortalized by Robert Plant and Jimmy Page on their post-Zeppelin project. We pulled into town, and there, at the junction between Highways 61 and 49, there stands a guitar monument. For this is the Crossroads – given legendary status in blues folklore by arguably the greatest bluesman of them all, Robert Johnson. But more about the Crossroads, and Mr. Johnson in a later post.
We checked into our motel and went for a wander through the streets of this old town, epicentre of the blues. Birthplace of Sam Cooke, and the town where Bessie Smith died after an automobile accident out on Highway 61. She died in what became the Riverside Hotel, it had previously been a Negroes-only hospital, and legend has it that she died due to being turmed away from the better equipped white hospital. The sad reality however, is that an ambulance wouldn’t have prioritized her in the first place, regardless of which hospital she was taken.
The Riverside...Bessie Smith's last stop
We found the site of the house where WC Handy lived for some two years, cataloging blues music, and we found a beautifully restored Greyhound bus station, which now housed the Clarksdale visitor centre. We met a jovial pair of guys in there, who gave us the lowdown on the town, and where to head that evening.
So later that night, at their suggestion, we set off for the Hambone gallery, where artist and musician Sam Street exhibited and created his paintings. Tonight it was playing host to a young lady who had just been up in Memphis taking part in the Blues challenge as a solo performer. The gallery had a lovely ambience, helped no doubt by the wood burning stove and big comfy sofas! Miki and I settled down with a couple of beers and enjoyed a great evening of music.
Accompanying herself on guitar, she had a great voice, reminiscent of Bonnie Raitt, and lovely soft touch when playing lead. Courtesy of a small sampling box, she was able to cleverly play a verse into it, then seemlessly press it to play back in time, so she could solo over the top. Simple, but very effective. I’m ashamed to say, I didn’t catch her name. If anyone reads this who was there, please let me know!
Heading back to the motel, we were well pleased with our first afternoon and evening in Clarksdale, and looked forward to the following day.
About Café Crem
Hello Boys & Girls from around the World!
Fancy a coffee with us?
Café Crem was created by Miki and Kev Moore in 2007 with the intention of gathering like-minded artists, writers and musicians together around the coffee table to discuss and share thoughts, ideas, art, etc.
This initial desire has surpassed our wildest dreams with a myriad of collaborations taking place between the various members, creating pieces of work that simply would not exist without Café Crem.
Have a wander though in our different rooms:
“Cafe Literati”, the Literary Room
“Café L’Arte”, the Art Gallery
“Ca’ Puccini”, the Music Studio
and, last but not least,
“The MiniBar”, our creative space for our kids and teens!
You are all welcome.
Contact Miki at miki@goodaboom.com if you want to participate!
————————————
Cafe Crem’s Video of The Month
“A Round With Miki”, by Miki and Kev Moore
Download Kev’s solo album FOR FREE!!
-
Recent Comments
Visitors
