Doom takes a break

It was with great pleasure that I had the opportunity to meet another Llamedos (and former latoc) member: "Bones" this weekend. This young man drove in from California with soul searching wisdom beyond his years and a shiny trombone. He had just driven in from Austin, Texas having had spent some time with Dignity of struggle. Not much money, but a soul that was priceless, he embarked on seeing New Orleans for the first time. He did this after a night by the fire pit drinking beer and smoking a cigar while ruminating on life's deepest questions and great mysteries. Michelle from Latoc once remarked, "every doomer when meeting for the first time must have the talk." How was it this man was still in his twenties, I wondered? We had ours while the haloed moon was high overhead and a biting chill gripped the darkness as a dog barked and howled across the distant swamp. Like two doom shamans we compared notes and took turns at the podium preaching our particular view of "dust in the wind." Only thing missing was a peace pipe and some bear fat.

The next morning I showed him all my old haunts - or nearly all of them - down in the french quarter where I grew up, and he was able to fulfill his personal wish in coming to New Orleans; that is, to play with a real honest to goodness local New Orleans jazz band. Bones is a very good trombone player, and most interesting, I as well. Though I had not touched my instrument since the great Katrina hit in 2005 and not really played with any interest since 1990. Embarrassed I pulled the forty year old corroded horn out of the attic and displayed it to him. Finding my old mouth piece we made it sing once more despite the dents, holes, and blackened patina. Maybe there was some hope for the old antique after all, and I as well.

After filling up with some scrambled eggs we made our way across the marshes of Lake Catherine and forts of old to find our rhythm and blues. Bones had longer legs than I and a heart beating a decade and half younger easily outpaced me as we made our way to Jackson Square. He sought the most ideal spot to pop open the horn case and play under grey skies. It may have been grey and chilly, but the atmosphere was alive and breathing. After passing up a blind trumpet player on the levee, the kite graveyard, and the canon topped moonwalk, he chose a spot right in front of the St. Louis Cathedral. If you're going to do it, might as well go to the heart of the matter. If you ever had any social anxiety or stage fright, the moment Bones took the horn to task would have been difficult for both species as people turned all attention on the man from St. Louie (Bones is originally from St. Louis, MO).

Let's just say that I was impressed with the talent on display - this boy could play. Bones was able to make his memory and add to life's tapestry. The moment only detracted briefly by a nearby artist, whose lousy paintings adorned the fence, warning him that cops don't take kindly to musicians playing towards the church as the sound carries in the hollowed interior. The tourists didn't seem to mind, and the locals wondered why this young man wasn't playing for thrown dollar or coin....but was in fact doing it "just for fun." Hope wasn't lost as Bones spied a even better location nearby. A middle aged heavy set black man who was wearing a Santa hat sat holding a well worn tuba covered in stickers. After coming over for a chat the jazz and moment was on. He managed to attract a very large crowd of tourist I might add too.

So let's say that I was uplifted and renewed with the music, the beat of hambone-hambone have you heard and the bluesy soul that played out at the ole place de'la arms that we call "Jackson Square." The Jazz tuba player who was playing for a meager living was more than happy to have the man from St. Louie at his side while giving Bones some local tips playing New Orleans style. The brassy notes brought out the most interesting of characters from the Cabildo, that old 18th century jail for pirates.

 Bones remarked that New Orleans was a city that "still had a pulse." From the fine food to the artists that hung their hand crafted crafts from the fence, old America was still faintly alive in a country now filled with box stores and chained restaurants.

Bones and I relished on some beignets and chicory laced coffee at the old cafe de Monde on Decatur while escaping the unusual chill that was blowing in from Dumaine before pondering the crafts on display down at the famous french market.

I myself picked up a hand carved skull bracelet from a voodoo priestess and Bones swapped notes with a trumpeter who was shot in the head. I also introduced him to another member who owned a shop for witches on Decatur before showing him my old elementary school "Mcdonald 15."

 All in all a fabulous day that rewarded us with sore feet and full belly's. Bones spent the evening galloping in and out of the Bourbon st jazz clubs while I spent time chasing my nephews and nieces under the twinkly lights of "Christmas in the Oaks."

Sometimes all the doom takes a break when friends visit from afar.