debris

after katrina, even normally genteel people i know were cussing up a storm. typically, it’s “fuck bush,” and frequently, his mama catches some shit too, not that she doesn’t deserve it for saying whatever-the-fuck she said about the “underprivileged”.

the anger is fueled by a sense of disbelief that in 2005, america could be so fucked up, and that things like poverty and racial and class inequality are still very much part of the reality of this country, regardless of the spin by out-of-touch conservatives or wishful-thinking liberals.

in some ways, we have ourselves to blame. in a recent interview in the sunday times, john hope franklin of duke pointed out that:

We have more interest in who won the last football game, and who won the last basketball game, and who's on TV, and who's in Hollywood. It's a fundamental problem of this country today, the lack of critical thinking and judgment on the part of the American citizens.

while i take exception to franklin bad-mouthing pop-culture – just because i’m a trainspotter doesn’t means i don’t think critically – i do agree with his general sentiment about the pervasive lack of critical thinking in our society. in this “faith-based” age, too many people seek simple, convenient, and often superficial black-or-white answers, even when the typical color of truth is grey.

the last time i was in nola i was in the grip of a po'boy sandwich fix. it was extreme tunnel vision bordering on a binge, which drove me to order po'boys everywhere i went with near indiscriminate frenzy, including a flaccid lump with something shrimp-like lurking in a murky, suspect sauce from a hotel room service. what the fuck was i thinking?!

but what finally made up for all that and helped me salvage a shred of self-respect was the ferdi special i got at mother’s. i know mother’s is played for some, but there’s just something about its sandwiches. without taking anything away from the succulent ham and roast beef, or the swampy mix of creole mustard, mayo and pickles, ferdi’s secret weapon was actually the “debris”, those gravy-soaked, flavor-infused bits and pieces of meat found at, if not stuck to, the bottom of the pan, that turned each bite into a semi-religious experience.

my conversion to the bayou sound took a similar course. starting with a handful of more polished recordings like those of etta james, little milton, and johnny adams, i gradually worked my way down to the roots, deeper than the obvious professor longhairs and robert johnsons, to a hash of essential flavors found in the deepest blues.

these songs were chosen more for those essences than any specific physical connection to new orleans. the flavors are hard to describe but can be sampled in memphis-based “blind” mack rhinehart and guitarist brownie stubblefield’s “broke and hungry” (from “deep south blues piano (1935 -1937)”, document, 1994) or sid hemphill’s voodoo-tinged (part of it can pass for a santoria jingle) quills-and-vocals throwdown on “devil’s dream” (from “black appalachia: string bands, songsters and hoedowns”, rounder, 1999).

it’s probably not a coincidence that they are all basically field recordings; the rawness keeps it real. preservationists alan lomax and johnny parth have done an a incredible favor for civilization by capturing for posterity such sublime moments as bottleneck master fred mcdowell’s swaggering fretwork on “61 highway”, an anonymous mississippi chain-gang singing “early in the mornin’”, or nola’s own o.g. and occasional blind mack accomplice kid stormy weather (claimed was in jail for the first time at the age of 15) recalling the “bread and water blues” lifestyle of the pen.

Posted by cellpharmer at October 10, 2005 04:57 PM