THE MOST FUCKED UP THING I’VE EVER SEEN: Jamie McLean
Apr 08, 2010
New Orleans blues - literally, blue - through the eyes of the songwriter (and former member of the Dirty Dozen Brass Band).
BY JAMIE MCLEAN
I remember sitting in my seat and looking out the window of the plane as we were getting ready to land. The city of New Orleans was blue.
No... not blue like when your girlfriend runs off on you, or blue like you can't pay the rent, or blue like the day Ray Charles died. It wasn't even sky blue or Carolina blue or baby blue. It was that funky, shiny, unnatural, construction site blue that only a million tarps covering every god-damn roof in the Crescent City could project. I'm not talking about a house here and a house there. I'm not talking about a neighborhood here and a neighborhood there. I'm talking about flying into a major city in the United States and seeing the whole fucking place covered in tarps. I vividly remember sitting in a dressing room before a show in New York a few years ago with Anders Osborne. He said "The best city in the world is New York City but the best PLACE in the world is New Orleans." It's hard to argue and I couldn't agree more. Sorry Cleveland. Sorry Tulsa. New Orleans has got its own groove and it'll never be beat.
That's why it was so sad to look out of that plane window and see such an amazingly unique city so down and out. N'awlins has more soul, originality, heritage, vibe, juju, voodoo, essence, funk than anywhere. Its got parades, saints, sinners, Louis Armstrong, brass bands, big bands, rock bands, funk bands, second lines, the best party you've ever been to at a funeral, reds and yellows and pinks and whites for the Mardi Gras Indians, and now its just that fucked up, shiny, unnatural, construction site blue.
The problem is, that isn't the most fucked up thing I've ever seen.
I got my luggage (Fender Stratocaster and a backpack) from baggage claim and waited for a cab in that thick, warm, sticky Louisiana air. I was eager to get back to my place and sort out the life I'd left behind since Hurricane Katrina hit 4 months prior. As we started down Interstate 10 towards the city things looked better than expected. Some of the restaurants and stores had power, signs for the casinos and strip clubs were up and you could smell fried shrimp po boys. "Back in the game!"
But as we got closer to the skyline of the city and the Superdome came into view all I could see were those damn tarps again. This time they were UNDER the I-10 overpass. WTF? These tarps were no longer patching roofs. They had become roofs. Interstate 10 had become a tent village like something out of Slumdog Millionaire. People who had nowhere to go were setting up shop under the highway. This was the same highway the locals were forced to march down by police as they set off for a "safe haven" at the Superdome. Now it was home. The interstate had become a refugee camp and the side roads had become automobile graveyards filled with thousands of abandoned cars that had taken on too much water and sand from Lake Pontchartrain.
The next day I drove around the city with my friend Ian to check out some of the different neighborhoods.
As we headed towards the levees it felt like we were on the set of a movie. NOTHING looks like THIS. Ya know? Dirt and mud were everywhere. Trees were up and out of the ground and had splintered like they were matchsticks. Windows were blown out everywhere you turned. You could drive for miles and never see another person. There were boats on top of houses. There were cars up in the trees. There were waterlines marking each and every house we passed. Some of them were lucky and only got it up around the windows. Some of them weren't as lucky. I know that a few months ago there were Mardi Gras beads and old photographs and saxophones floating in these neighborhoods. Some of those photos were one of a kind shots of Professor Longhair or James Booker. Some of those horns belonged to the Dirty Dozen and the Rebirth and the Hot 8. I know there were bodies floating around these neighborhoods. One of them was probably Irvin Mayfield's father. God bless him and thank God I didn't see any of that.
I asked Ian what the spray paint was all about. There was now spray paint on every house in New Orleans. I'm not talking about hip NYC street art or some ill prepared graffiti. It was very organized and every house had the same tag on it. Well... almost the same tag. Each house we passed had a big X spray painted on the side of it. The kind of X you'd see on a pirate's map marking the spot where the booty was buried. I could tell you one thing. There sure as shit wasn't any treasure buried here.
In each corner of the X was a number. The first group was a date. 9/3 or 9/16 or 9/22. This was the date that the National Guard broke in the front door of the house like Jack Nicholson in The Shining. A second group of numbers labeled which unit came to search the house. Generally these groups of numbers were all pretty similar. The dates and units were all about the same depending on the neighborhood. It was the final number that really got me. Usually it was a 0. People prayed for a 0. Every now and then it was a 1. As you got closer to the levees and the poorer neighborhoods you'd see 2's and 3's and 4's. These were body counts. These were body counts spray painted on the front door of every house in New Orleans. These were body counts spray painted on the sides of every house in a major city in the United States.
Was it fucked up that people had to live under 1-10? Sure. Was it fucked up that Fats Domino had to canoe out of his home while his piano floated away? Amen. Most people saw this on the news and thought about that time they got too shitfaced at Mardi Gras with their buddies and felt bad and maybe gave a buck or two and then turned the channel. But at the end of the day, New Orleans now had boats in the trees, cars on top of houses, major history washed away, abandoned neighborhoods, abandoned citizens, and body counts spray painted on the sides of homes.
To actually get there and see this with my own eyes was far and away the most fucked up thing I've ever seen.
Now the water has finally rolled back and the Saints finally won the Super Bowl and Mardi Gras has a little less blue and whole lot more red and white and yellow and black and gold and pink and orange and green this year. The soul of that city will never die and I'm proud to have been a member of Dirty Dozen Brass Band and to have called New Orleans home. I'd like to think a little bit of that soul, funk, and blues has rubbed off on me and my music.
And I'm not talking about that funky, unnatural, shiny, construction site blue. I'm talking about that when your girlfriend runs off on you blues, that can't pay the rent blues, that ain't got no home blues, that "Do You Know What It Means To Miss New Orleans?" blues, and that day that Ray Charles died blues. Amen.
Jamie McLean was a member of Dirty Dozen Brass Band and has recorded and performed with Dave Matthews, Norah Jones, Elvis Costello, Bonnie Raitt, Widespread Panic, Dr John, North Mississippi Allstars, Blues Traveler, Taj Mahal, Black Crowes and many others. His latest album Completely is released on April 13 although prior to that date you can download the album at www.jamiemcleanband.com and "pay what you want" for the digital version. He kicks off major national tour on April 10 - tour dates at his website.
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