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Concert
Review by Nick Morgan |
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CONCERT
REVIEW by Nick Morgan
THE REBIRTH BRASS BAND - yo MAMA'S FAT BOOTY BAND
Tipitina’s, New Orleans, September 10th 2006 |
| It’s
Saturday night in New Orleans and outside our restaurant
the street is bustling, partly due to the three-piece
Cajun band who are playing on the pavement, sorry,
sidewalk. It’s a pleasing contrast to the
almost deserted streets we’ve encountered
for most of the day (the bustling boozy and blowsy
Bourbon Street notwithstanding); a still mostly
boarded-up Canal Street, a desolate river front,
a tourist paddle steamer that was busy enough to
rival the Marie Celeste, and just beyond the Quarter
the devastated suburbs of the Lower Ninth and St
Bernard, still waiting for around 80 per cent of
their populations to return. But our dinner is wonderful,
and the band take ten minutes to tour the restaurant,
and tell the story of how Hank Williams stole the
tune for Jambalaya from a French Cajun song about
emigrating to Texas (which is ironically where much
of the City’s population are now). Musicology,
no requests for tips, and echoing everyone we spoke
to, a heartfelt ‘thanks for coming down here
folks’. As someone told us a few days later,
“Well, we’re back on our feet, but we’re
still stumblin’” |
| No
one is stumbling at the world famous Tipitina’s
(well, not when we arrive), the club founded by
Professor Longhair, named after his 1953 chart success.
It’s a barn of a place, with a high ceiling
and balcony overlooking a capacious stage. But the
place fills up quickly with a mostly youngish, mostly
local, mostly polite and friendly and mostly white
crowd. First on stage are Yo
Mama’s Big Fat Booty Band, from
Asheville in North Carolina, a versatile seven-piece
band who are for the most part far more entertaining
than their name might suggest (yes, I know it’s
ironic, but I was once told that Americans ‘don’t
do ironic’). It’s their first time in
New Orleans and they’re as pleased to be here
as we are. Actually there are almost eight of them
as they have an occasional singer, Suzanna Baum,
who I guess might be somebody’s girlfriend,
but who, to be frank, adds little to the action
on stage. |
|
Greg
Hollowell and Derrick Johnson ( yo Mama’s
Big Fat Booty Band) |
| Far
more interesting is Lowell George school guitarist
John Paul Miller, the Bootsy Collins-obsessed bass
and trombone player Al Al Ingram (nice hat Al Al!)
and the accomplished two man brass section of trombonist
Derrick Johnson and saxophonist Greg Hollowell,
who looked as though he was bunking off from accountancy
school and was worried he might get found out. Miller,
Ingram, guitarist Grady Gilbert and percussionist,
vocalist and guitarist Josh Phillips (a dead ringer
for John Belushi in his sloppy beach pants and ‘California’
hat) swap instruments at a bewildering rate and
display a serious proficiency on everything they
play – despite appearances to the contrary
this is sophisticated stuff. The result is apparently
‘Bounce Music’ – now it may be
lacking in substance (just how many songs about
‘Booty’ can you have?), but it’s
fierce, funky, infectious and fun. Apparently they’ve
been working for three years with only a home-made
live album to show for it – well compared
to much of the dross we get served up on plastic
these days they deserve better – and should
you get the chance, well go and see them. |
| You
might have thought that the
Rebirth Brass Band had been named to
capture this particular moment in the City’s
history – in fact they were founded in 1983
by still present tuba player Philip Frazier, whose
solid playing gives the band the firm foundation
on which it builds a remarkably pulsating and funky
(sorry – but it is New Orleans) groove. Think
the Dirty Dozen Brass Band with a bit more attitude,
a little bit more aggression. Apparently all of
the band were forced to leave the city after the
storm and floods but they’ve slowly drifted
back – and I’ve no doubt their name
now has added meaning for them all. They take the
stage ponderously in ones and twos – we have
the eight man version of the band - weaving their
way through a forest of microphones before, about
ten minutes later, they’re all finally in
place. Tuba, bass and snare drum to the rear, two
trombones, two trumpets and saxophone. Quite why
they needed the mikes I don’t know –
it’s the sort of loud that would make Motorhead’s
Lemmy weep with delight, and my ears are ringing
brass band the following morning. |
I
wouldn’t even begin to concoct a set list
– it was almost too noisy to hear –
but I did recognise ‘It’s all over now’,
“I feel like funkin’ it up’, ‘You
don’t want to go to war’ and ‘Fever’
– but don’t quote me on that. This was
less about knowing the tunes than feeling the music,
which was hard not to do with such a pulsating rhythm
section and monstrously visceral playing, particularly
from trumpeters Glen Andrews and the showboating
Derrick Shezbie (who apparently joined the band
when he was only ten). Party music, party time.
The crowd loved it.
Our taxi driver was happy to see us too. He reckoned
there were only about fifteen per cent of the city’s
cabs in operation – and not too much business
to go after. He’d gone to his brother’s
place in New York but returned to fix up his home
and work. He was angry too – although it wasn’t
quite clear who with, maybe everyone – the
Mayor, the Governor, the President, the insurance
companies, drug dealers and prostitutes. But he
showed a stoic defiance, not least to the police
car that he nearly hit after riding a red light
– “Fuck you, fuck you” he shouted
at the top of his voice (waking half the cab up).
Maybe that’s what the city needs. - Nick
Morgan (photographs by Kate) |
Derrick Shezbie
(The Rebirth Brass Band) |
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