Louisiana Trip: The Music, Part II

We wound up the live music portion of the trip with the Breaux Bridge Crawfish Festival. It's the first weekend of May, every year. Lots of music, fun, food, and of course, massive amounts of incredible crawfish. (More about that in a forthcoming post devoted solely to the food.)


Every year from spring through fall, little towns throughout Louisiana have their annual festivals. It's their big party that they plan all year, whole worlds unto themselves with local political intrigue, beauty pageant dramas, cookoff controversies, etc. And music and rides and crafts and funnel cake and fascinating peoplewatching. Every place has its festivals and carnivals, but Louisiana's really do seem to have a little extra something special. Where true Americana meets true Acadiana. Rayne has the Frog Festival, Opelousas has the Yambilee, Natchitoches has the Meat Pie Festival, Crowley has the International Rice Festival, and there's a "5,000 Egg Giant Omelette Celebration" every November in Abbeville. And so many, many more. I just never get enough of these cultural microcosms. For more and more communities, they're the last real bastion of genuine local culture. And south Louisiana sure knows how to hold on to cultural identity. They've literally had to fight for it. Authorities tried to actually beat it out of them. Even among sympathizers, it wasn't at all 'cool' until the 1980s.

Along with the annual Crawfish Queen, Junior Crawfish Queen, and Little Miss Pincher (which are pictured above), eleven young Breaux Bridge girls are chosen to be Ecrévettes ("little crawfish"). They seem to be sort of ladies-in-waiting to the Crawfish Queen and roaming goodwill ambassadors. They were also entrusted with getting a couple of crawfish to the crawfish race, so there wasn't time to explain the significance of the costume on the right.


The liveliest expressions of Cajun culture are naturally food and music. Spirited love of life seems to just bubble up through the pots and kegs, maybe even up out of the water and the very ground itself, and streams out through pipes, reeds, strings, drums, voices, dances. Soul and spice and syncopation just hit that primal pleasure center. Young and old, everybody's grooving in their own way. Fussy toddlers suddenly stop and listen, maybe look up at the band if they're close enough. Then start to sway back and forth a little. Then grin. Then they're giggling and stomping all around in unbridled glee. Which is highly contagious. It's just impossible to be angry or depressed around that. (Whether it's the Taliban in the Middle East or the Southern Baptists down the street, how can anyone think feeling this good is unnatural or wrong??)(...and I accidentally typed "feeling this god" at first...)

The festival's music lineup is peerless. Steve Riley & The Mamou Playboys are worth driving any distance. Steve truly is one of the world's best accordion players--and an impressive fiddler. It's very traditional Cajun music, sung in English and French, but somehow ageless. And just feels good. It really says something that in the middle of this festival, between showy fast-paced zydeco bands rocking out with bawdy lyrics and lots of stagecraft, this band simply stepped forward and delivered a very solid, straight set--no flashy moves, no tricks, no overt debauchery--and still left a huge crowd screaming for more. They're just that damn good. That much talent and authenticity really don't need much else. Revered guitarist Sam Broussard played utterly amazing solos, including a searing Cajun blues slide number. And made it look almost matter-of-fact, swaying serenely in his seersucker slacks. (Plus I like a lot of what he has to say on his site. Check it out some time.) The whole band is just impeccable. Even if you don't think traditional Cajun is your thing, go see these guys.

Another musical must-see is Keith Frank and the Soileau Zydeco Band. Keith Frank comes from a family of noted Cajun/zydeco musicians, and the band is a family affair. It's straight-up zydeco with generous helpings of R&B, funk, rock, even gospel and occasionally rap. It's instantly infectious, and the momentum never stops. The music can more than stand on its own, but Keith Frank is also quite a showman. He doesn't do it every minute, but he'll play his accordion under and around his legs, on his back on the floor, jumping up and down, and in coordinated little dances with the rest of the band.

We saw the rubboard player literally get down--shoving the rubboard sideways to crouch real low and extend one leg out along the floor, and then hopping around on the other in sort of a breakdance spin. While keeping up a complicated rhythm with a spoon in each hand. There's a lot of YouTube footage, but with cheapo digital cameras' delayed shutters and limited video capacity, it's hard to capture some of the showier moments. The band wisely uses the big moves as more of an occasional punctuation point. The main focus stays on the music.

Besides, one thing about zydeco (and Cajun music as well) is you never fully 'get it' unless you're there. Something in the live shows never quite comes across on a CD. I wonder what a full-length professional DVD would be like. (hint hint)

Another cool thing about zydeco is how it's stayed relevant with the younger crowd but still true to its roots. Besides incorporating occasional rock, hip hop, and rap influences, zydeco can adapt pretty much any song on the planet and still sound great, without selling out or condescending. Keith Frank and Travis Matte and other really good zydeco bands often cover rock, country, '80s one-hit wonders, all kinds of stuff, and it just adds to the party. (The late great Beau Jocque is often credited with starting that.) I think they could even cover Yoko Ono and make me like it.

Um, if you really love your bunny, you take it to see some zydeco.

Speaking of Travis Matte...he and his Zydeco Kingpins took the stage just after sunset, and really kicked the festivities into high gear. They're an unabashed, wild-'n'-woolly party band. Zydeco with a harder rock edge and lyrics that border on dirty limericks. It's no accident they come on after most families go home to tuck in the little ones. They reworked Bryan Adams' "Summer of '69" into an upbeat "Doin' the 69." Which would be eyerolling from a lot of other bands, but these guys get away with it by balancing the swagger with an air of merry mischief. Everyone is having such a blast it's just irresistible. And just when you think they're mostly party boys who aren't that reverent about musical tradition, Lil' Band O' Gold saxophonist Pat Breaux leans in with another wailing solo. Too much fun. They're the ideal closer for the festival.


Coming back from an Acadian music fest is like coming back from the beach--you can still feel the the rock and sway in your legs, still faintly hear it and smell it in the breeze.

This Blogger template is a little unstable when it comes to posting a lot of pictures and captions. Looks just fine in some browsers, goes all wonky in others. So I'll just end with some photos.













Next up: The Louisiana Trip - La Louisianne Studio

They say it comes in threes...

Gotta take a moment aside from the Louisiana merriment to pay some respects. The past few days have been pretty rough on the Austin music community.

On Wednesday, we very suddenly lost Poodie Locke, Willie Nelson's stage manager for over 30 years and owner of the beloved Poodie's Hilltop Bar & Grill out by the lake in Spicewood. More about him here and here. The last time Charlie & I saw Poodie was just several weeks ago, when we stopped in for a green chile Poodie Burger on the way to a nearby party. As always, we were all talking music nerd stuff, and the unassuming-but-highly-knowledgeable guy at Poodie's elbow turned out to be none other than legendary producer Bob Johnston. (He did a little record you might've heard of: Blonde on Blonde. Among many, many others.) That was the cool thing about Poodie and his bar. You just never knew who you'd meet, and Poodie treated us all the same. He was from Waco and was so amused that I'm from Bellmead. Which is, to put it politely, not one of Waco's finer areas. He even brought his sister Cindy over to me later at that same party, just to laugh about that. Even funnier, it turned out she knew some of my more, um, notorious family members back home. As he was leaving that evening, he brushed past me, patted my shoulder, and said, "Bomp-ba-bomp, Bellmead!"

Then yesterday, writer Bud Shrake succumbed to cancer. He was a very talented and prolific novelist, sportswriter, screenwriter, longtime companion of the late Gov. Ann Richards, and also friend to Willie Nelson and many others in Texas music. A true treasure to Texas arts and letters, as well as its people and culture in general. He's being buried next to Ann in the State Cemetery, which seems fitting not only because of his relationship with her, but also his invaluable body of work, which includes Blood Reckoning, Strange Peaches (about the JFK assassination), Willie: An Autobiography, Harvey Penick's Little Red Book, and the movies Songwriter, A Pair of Aces, and Another Pair of Aces.

And then a couple hours ago, we found out the incredibly talented musician and songwriter (and sometime actor) Stephen Bruton passed away this morning after battling cancer. He played with and/or wrote songs for Kris Kristofferson, Bonnie Raitt, Marcia Ball, and Willie Nelson, and so many others. He also sat in at the Saxon Pub every so often with The Resentments.

What a sad week, especially for Willie or what. Our hearts go out to him, the respective families and friends, and to Bonnie Raitt, who was also very close to Stephen and Poodie. (Actually, she once married Poodie briefly, years ago at a party, "until we all sobered up.") Oddly enough, she was scheduled to play a big concert here tomorrow night.

This quote from Stephen in the article above probably goes for all three of them.

“I’ve got no complaints. I get to do what I love. How many people can say that? And that’s worth more than anything. I’d be doing it anyway. And I’ve been very fortunate to do what I do for a long time.”

Louisiana Trip: The Music, Part I

Back from the trip, a little burnt (literally--forgot the sunscreen on the swamp tour), maybe a little heavier, and definitely a lot happier. We did most of the things on the list, although we overslept for the zydeco breakfast and didn't make it out to Floyd's or the Palace. But it was still a great little vacation for much-needed recharging, refocusing, reconnecting, and re-evaluating.

Thursday night was a sidetrip to New Orleans for the Legends of Zydeco show at the Rock 'N' Bowl's new location a couple blocks down Carrollton. (Next to owner John Blancher's other place, Ye Olde College Inn.) I was a bit worried whether the new place could hold up to the vibe and memory of the funky old original Rock 'N' Bowl. But they did a good job. Great care was apparently taken to preserve as much of the original place's layout, decor, and feel. They took a lot of the old stuff with them, including pictures and posters, the Blessed Mother, even the neon bowling pin out front and the red-&-beige "Welcome" sign which has graced the background of so many beloved stage photos. A life-size cutout of Beau Jocque presides over the stage action. The sound seems better, and the lanes have computerized scoring. But all in all it feels mostly the same, only half again bigger, with more open space for dancing. It already feels somewhat lived-in even though it's only been there a matter of weeks. If I hadn't known the place's history, I would've thought this is where it's always been.

While surfing around for some more info on the Rock 'N' Bowl's move, I found this little article about the legendary Beau vs. Boo shows, which sadly I never got to see. That definitely goes on the "time machine" list.



This may or may not be Clinton S.
All that said, the show itself was pretty good, if a bit disjointed and unrehearsed. Various sources listed the showtime at 7:00 or 8:30. It started way after 9. But as our friend and NOLA native Martin reminded us, any stated showtime in Louisiana really just means "at some point on that particular night." The opener was a real-deal, traditional Cajun wailer whose name I didn't catch, but I'm assuming he was the "Clinton S" on the bill since we knew who everyone else was.

Instead of separate sets, people loosely rotated throughout, with Lil' Buck Sinegal and Lee Allen Zeno backing most folks, and Rockin' Dopsie, Jr. on rubboard. Dopsie was celebrating his new CD release. He was of course his usual high-energy self. An ailing but cheery Buckwheat guested very briefly on B-3 organ before turning it over to the very capable hands of C. J. Chenier and Sunpie Barnes. I hadn't seen Sunpie before, but will again. He blends traditional zydeco with more of a world-beat sound. We had to leave a little after 11 to catch our other show of the night: Lil' Band O' Gold's midnight gig at Chickie Wah Wah on Canal St. (OK, I know this blog is in danger of becoming "The Adventures of Lil' Band O' Gold and Lil' Buck Sinegal" since they've been in every post so far, but after they've run their course with the movie and new CD, they probably won't regroup. So I'm seeing them every chance I get.) What a pleasant surprise to walk in there to masterful slide blues from John Mooney, a guy my slide teacher Harry Bodine kept raving about. He's right--this guy knows his stuff. It can be easy to get 'ear fatigue' with Delta slide, especially in a solo set like this, but he kept it fresh by switching around between acoustic and electric, and various tunings, with a bare minimum of effects, and a mic'ed footstomp for rhythm. A soulful, stripped-down set of old-school blues. Even more of a treat when he joined Lil' Band O' Gold to trade some solos a little later. I definitely want to catch him some time with his full band, Bluesiana.

Another great Dopsie shot. Buckwheat at the B-3 Sunpie playin' from the heart

Tommy McLain and Richard Comeaux were absent from the LBOG lineup that night. (And there was no more room on the stage, anyway). So David Egan got a few more songs, including "Hallelujah, I'm a Dreamer," which I finally decided is my favorite of his. I understand it will also be on the forthcoming Promised Land soundtrack shortened to "I'm a Dreamer." It was so packed this is the only picture I could manage without heads and hands in the way or being jostled by overzealous dancers still jacked up from the day at Jazz Fest.

They were of course in their usual fine form, Buck especially so, with a much longer set than at the Continental. Including their own memorable take on the Elvis/Chuck Berry hit "Promised Land." And this time they did do "Seven Letters."

Next up: Louisiana Trip - The Music, Part II: Breaux Bridge Crawfish Festival and La Louisianne studio visit

You Don't Know Your Mind

Just a bloggin' fool today, trying to get caught up before the trip so I can jabber all about that.

As mentioned in the inaugural post of this fledgling little blog, pianist/songwriter David Egan was kind enough to give me his new CD You Don't Know Your Mind at the Lil' Band O' Gold crawfish boil/movie premiere last month. He said, "Live with it a little while and let me know what you think."

Well, it's fabulous, and a must-have for anyone who digs that South Louisiana groove. And if you do, chances are you've been groovin' on a lot of David Egan's songs all along. His stuff has been covered by Irma Thomas, Dr. John, Solomon Burke, Marcia Ball, Marc Broussard, Tab Benoit, Percy Sledge, Johnny Adams, Joe Cocker, John Mayall, Filé, of course Lil' Band O' Gold, and many more.

It starts with the moody but funky title track, written with longtime friend/collaborator Buddy Flett (who guests on guitar, as does Lil' Buck Sinegal). "You're Lying Again" is an uptempo feel-good blues about a so-bad woman that I can easily see almost anyone turning into a hit. "If It Is What It Is" is a sweet preWar-sounding duet with Jennifer Niceley. Blues Revue's Tom Hyslop so rightly said it "plays like a lost Louis Armstrong chestnut."

OK, you know it's a really good album when you've just declared, "No, that's my favorite track" at least two or three times already--and you're only on track 4. But "Bourbon in My Cup" really is a standout among these other stellar songs, a straight-up piano blues with lyrics like this:

Whole world drives me crazy--but I just can't get enough
I've been down so long it starts to look like up
I got blues -- I got bourbon in my lil' Dixie cup

And then this verse knocked me flat:

Now when you viewed the ruins from your presidential plane
Made a Hollywood production to portray your grief and pain
Could all of your compassion fill this lil' Dixie cup
I would say the world was so much better
Before you gave that bourbon up

Tell it!

"Love Honor & Obey" is a rockin' little anthem for marital bliss gone awry. Then "Money's Farm," with its funky Cajun beat and harmonica, just showcases how Egan is a master of songwriting's spare yet full snapshots that tell a whole movie's worth of stories. He says so much in just a few lines in a few minutes. I had to stop and play this one again.

The opening to "Small Fry" sounds almost like "Spoonbread" and then turns into the classiest, coolest lullaby ever. Gorgeous slide guitar fills, but not sure by whom--the credits list all the musicians but doesn't break them down track by track. (You also know it's a really good album when you keep saying, "Oh, I've got to stop and play this one again, too...")

And I've got to say it's great to hear his own version of "Sing It!"--still one of the best and most infectious tunes I've ever heard.

Shut your eyes during "Proud Dog" and you're in the coolest bar in the Quarter.

Well, the cat gets nine and you only get one
So you better just have a little doggone fun

The whole album just lives and breathes that unmistakably South Louisiana atmosphere. It somehow pulls off roadhouse vibe with jazzy sophistication. And it was recorded at the venerable La Louisianne studio, which makes my pending visit there even that much more of a pilgrimage.

If I wasn't already heading to Louisiana tomorrow, this record would certainly have me throwin' clothes in the car.

Louisiana bound...

The Louisiana trip is back on! Some of it, anyway. We're leaving tomorrow for six days in and around Lafayette to see some friends and soak up some Cajun culture.


On the loosely planned agenda so far:


- Bryan Champagne's boat tour of the Cypress Island swamp (These first two pics are from my 2004 trip. The alligator is named George and thought to be at least 70 years old.)

- Legends of Zydeco showcase featuring Buckwheat Zydeco, Sunpie Barnes, Rockin' Dopsie, Jr., Lil Buck Sinegal, and C.J. Chenier / Clinton S (in the Rock 'N' Bowl's new digs)

- visit to La Louisianne Recording Studio, birthplace of some of my favorite records

- and maybe Floyd's Record Shop in Ville Platte (besides a staggering collection of hard-to-find South Louisiana music, videos, books, etc., their email list sends out interesting articles and Cajun recipes)

- the Breaux Bridge Crawfish Festival

- Zydeco Breakfast at Café des Amis

- general mayhem with great musicians (and friends) Dege and Primo (babbling rave review of Santeria's new CD Year of the Knife coming soon)

- and hopefully some more of the incredible crawfish bisque at the Palace Cafe in Opelousas.

SXSW Blathering Part 2

For the past several years, my favorite SXSW showcase has been the Ponderosa Stomp, a tease for the larger event in New Orleans every April. Named after a Lazy Lester song, it celebrates the (relatively) obscure legends of Southern R&B, soul, blues, garage rock, and more. More about that here.


This year's Austin showcase featured, among others, Lil' Buck Sinegal, who has played with Clifton Chenier, Buckwheat Zydeco, Paul Simon (on Graceland), and of course the aforementioned Lil' Band O' Gold. Charlie and I were fortunate enough to sit by the Continental Club back bar with Buck most of the night during the Ponderosa Stomp showcase. (There's Buck soloing with his teeth that very night.) So much great music and laughter. I'm pleased to report he's a down-to-earth, gracious man with shades of a French Creole accent. He played host almost as if it were his very own bar, and kept several of us talking and drinking and laughing well into the night. Buck is planning a new album that hopefully will do great things for him at long last. Meanwhile, I heartily recommend gearing up for it with The Buck Starts Here and Bad Situation. Also check out his YouTube footage. He is truly a musical treasure who could easily give any bluesman a run for the money.

Another big favorite on the bill was guitarist Classie Ballou. He played with Boozoo Chavis on his first single "Paper In My Shoe." Which is widely regarded as the first real zydeco hit. (And there's a great little anecdote about that session on the Stomp site's Classie page.) I've got to see him more often than I have. Even his first couple of notes just riveted people's attention. He's such a master of tone and heart. And it's impossible not to grin whenever he does.

Beaumont's own Barbara Lynn is always a major Stomp highlight for me. "The Empress of Gulf Coast Soul Blues." She also plays around here a couple other times a year, and I'm usually front-and-center there. I happily forked over $30 for her 1988 Ichiban import LP You Don't Have to Go, one of my "desert island discs." I can't believe she doesn't have a website (hmm...), but here's a pretty good Wikipedia page and her MySpace page). She's well represented on YouTube as well. Barbara had a #1 R&B hit in 1962 with "You'll Lose a Good Thing," which she not only sang, but also wrote, and also played lead guitar--lefthanded, no less. (She also did "Sugar Coated Love" and "We Got a Good Thing Going," which the Stones covered a while back.) She plays very bluesy, soulful, rhythmic up- and downstrokes with a thumbpick and all four fingers. (Which I've tried so many times to duplicate at home. With, shall we say, mixed results.) It was a special treat seeing Barbara this year backed by a terrific horn section featuring Ben Cauley, the sole survivor of Otis Redding's band. Word has it she is about to go into the DapTone studio with the Dap-Kings, who backed Amy Winehouse and Sharon Jones. And in June she's reissuing her 1968 Atlantic album Here Is Barbara Lynn.

I met Barbara briefly just as she was leaving. When my husband walked up, she asked him, "Oh, is this your wife? I wish I'd known. I've been sitting right by her all night!" When she'd pulled up earlier, Charlie was outside with Buck, and had told her she's a big inspiration to my playing (such as it is!). So she turned to me and said, "You play?" (I just nodded.) "You sing?" "A little." At that point I managed to regain enough composure to say something about trying to sorta play her rhythmic soulful style along with some slide. And that I hoped we might be able to visit a little longer some time. She said yes, and seemed to mean it. Her eyes and smile were genuine and open and supportive. How many guitar heroes can you really say that about? (OK, Hubert Sumlin, Buck Sinegal, Sonny Landreth, Scrappy Jud Newcomb. Not sure there are many more...) Another wonderful thing about Barbara is that she's always played such smokin' blues without ever being a diva or a hoochie or a trainwreck. She's always been her real own self, and always a class act. She doesn't even smoke or drink. Barbara Lynn is a much-needed reminder that it's still plenty rockin' cool to be a lady.

After that came the Atomic Fireball himself--another perennial Stomper, Roy Head. He's an old-school "blue-eyed soul" shouter best known for his 1965 hit "Treat Her Right." He's still got the pipes and the swagger, and his stage moves are not to be missed. (Just keep an eye out for that wildly swinging microphone!) Roy's also about to go back into the studio, possibly with his son (Sundance from American Idol). Now that technology is making the typical music business model obsolete, maybe artists like Roy (and Barbara and Buck and so many others) will stand a better chance of making their own albums their own way, and actually getting them out to people who 'get it.' We certainly deserve a lot more of all these fine, soulful, superbly talented survivors who've paid their dues and then some, and a lot less of all these cute, sanitized, carefully packaged--and utterly empty--Hollywood kids who've never played a single shitty club gig.

It was another great Stomp showcase, once again making me want to work out a way to the big show in NOLA. It was also my annual moment of forgiveness for SXSW turning a big break for unsigned bands into Spring Break for industry snobs. Like the other showcase I babbled about, the industry people there did seem to appreciate what they were seeing. Now if they'll just do something about it.
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Updated to fix the Ponderosa Stomp link and add a much better pic of Roy Head. Joseph A. Rowen just captured him perfectly or what.

Also couldn't pass up this portrait of Buck at the 2008 Ponderosa Stomp at the House of Blues. It's not credited, but sure looks like one of Jacob Blickenstaff's many great photos of that show.

"Eight members, 25 egos, 6 livers"

Well, it's only fitting that the first post here is about South by Southwest. And I promise future posts won't be so long...

Every serious music buff has at least one or two bands they'll never get over. Bands they couldn't bear to see split up or fade away. Bands they still pimp to their friends and anyone else who will listen. Any whiff of a reunion rumor is a hit of purest oxygen for that loyal fan torch. For me, it's The Faces and Lil' Band O' Gold. Both bands were rumored to have surprise reunion shows at SXSW this year. But of course that would've been too good to be true, even in a perfect and just world.

So I'd been a little down about that and cancelling the big planned Louisiana trip this year--the Ponderosa Stomp in New Orleans, the Breaux Bridge Crawfish Fest, etc. Then came the news that the SXSW Film Festival was premiering The Promised Land--the long-languishing documentary about Lil' Band O' Gold.

It's hard to explain the significance of Lil' Band O' Gold to someone who's not way into Gulf Coast music. This is one of the few bands who can get away with the label "supergroup." Each of the eight members is an accomplished, revered Louisiana musician bringing his own top-drawer talent to this smokin' mix of Cajun, blues, swamp pop, and rock. Here's their MySpace page. Shameless indulgent gush: They were one of my favorite bands to see live. I've driven across half of Texas and Louisiana to catch them, even with $3/gallon gas, and consider it well worth every penny and every mile. In 2007, my husband Charlie and I took a day off work to drive out for a benefit for their ailing emcee. (We'll always love and miss you, 'Uncle Donald'...)

Steve Riley rockin' the accordion

Their music led me to more about swamp pop and obscure old Louisiana R&B and the Ponderosa Stomp showcase, as well as the music scene around Lafayette and a deepening fondness for Acadiana in general. (All of which I plan to expound upon here soon. Paying it forward.) It's a lot of what's made south Louisiana my first choice for a quick cheap getaway to recharge my batteries. It's the kind of music and spirited live show that makes me feel what I wish I felt in church. Maybe this is my church. Maybe theirs, too.

Standing in the ticket-purchase line for the premiere like the no-pass/no-wristband losers we are, we wound up right where their van pulled up. Most of the band got out, and some of them even recognized us and stopped to say hi. A nice surprise, since it's been almost two years and they've all been busy. It's true that the real rock stars, the real legends, never act like it. Only the posers think they're too good for anyone.

The film doesn't have a distribution or DVD deal (yet), but the production company, Room 609, has a great little trailer here to get us by in the meantime. That does the film more justice than I can here, but suffice to say it's got a lot of heart and soul. Just like the band, of course. Even the misspelled quote attributions lent a certain scrappy charm. The film conveys the spirit and feel of the band, framed neatly in the context of their proud Cajun heritage.

I went to that Tuesday night premiere in case I couldn't make it to the even bigger showing the next day. Workwise, the timing couldn't have been much worse. Massive overtime, crazy projects, irate clients, and being more short-staffed than usual. I was almost physically sick when I heard about the second showing, complete with crawfish boil and a short set from the band. At 3 p.m. on Wednesday. How in the hell was I gonna make that? So I leveraged some overtime into a few hours off that afternoon, with the help of a sympathetic co-worker. After losing this trip, almost losing Charlie last June to illness, once again shelving my artistic stuff for The Day Job That Ate My Life (But Pays My Bills), and that crazy week, among other stuff, well, dammit, I needed this.

I'd always heard legendary things about LBOG sax player Dickie Landry's cooking. But I never dreamed I'd actually get to taste any. So, much to my additional delight, they were serving not only fresh boiled crawfish, but Dickie's own sumptuous crawfish etouffee. Most etouffee I've had in restaurants (here and in Louisiana) has been rather bland. Something safe for the tourists. I'd usually just sample a spoonful from a friend's order, then shrug and go back to my gumbo. Or boudin, bisque, crab, etc. Pretty much anything but etouffee. But Dickie's etouffee was unmistakably the real deal. It was richer, the spices a bit more complex, and it even had a nice little afterburn. People's eyes were fluttering shut after nearly every bite. It was the perfect companion to the festivities, eliciting the same reaction as their music: ah yes, this is what it's supposed to be like...and isn't it great to be alive in the South...

Is it fair to be an incredible world-class saxophone player and an amazing cook?

In bohemian arthouse fashion, they projected the film on a large bedsheet duct-taped in front of the stage. As the end credits rolled, someone yanked down the sheet, and the band roared to life. (I think it was "Shirley.") They were in their usual exceptional form. They wowed with a bunch of their favorites like "7 Nights 2 Rock" and "Cajun Twist" and others. With the notable omission of "Seven Letters," but that's OK. Mostly. I'll get over it.

They also scored big with new stuff from a forthcoming CD. The Godfather of Swamp Pop himself, Warren Storm, top notch as ever, sang a wrenching cover of Bobby Charles' "I Don't Want to Know," and the de facto single (featured prominently in the movie and site) has got to be the catchy "Spoonbread," by their own keyboardist and songwriting secret weapon David Egan. (Who, by the way, is also promoting his own new CD, You Don't Know Your Mind. Which he was kind enough to give me even without knowing I could/would do anything to promote it. "There's an email in there," he said, tapping the jewel case. "So live with it a little while and let me know what you think." Well, it's really good. More about that very soon to come.)

This being SXSW, a certain influential music business person was spotted off to the side. Charlie knew him from a while back, so he chatted him up and directed him to the remaining crawfish, which he hadn't known about and delightedly ate an impressive mound. (Who knew?) Later he was seen heading toward a side room with them for a talk. So between Charlie easing that and me catching a falling mic during the set, maybe we had a small hand in helping them along that night. Here's hoping they finally get the broader audience and acclaim (and money!) they so deserve. And now more than ever, the rest of the music industry needs to be reminded what the real thing sounds and feels like. At least on this night a bunch of them seemed to get it.

Next up: the annual SXSW 'sampler' showcase of the Ponderosa Stomp that Friday. Now that I'm learning how to drive this thing.