World Travel Guide Online

The Music Of New Orleans
Louisiana

–>

CAPTION

It was late September. The renowned Mardi Gras had been and gone. The tourists had finished their holiday season, yet the magic of New Orleans was all still there. I caught the Streetcar to Marquettte House, the name of my hostel.

From the Greyhound station, a short walk up Howard Street took me to the streetcar line that runs up St. Charles Avenue. I stayed on the streetcar for 13 blocks, where an adjacent road called Carondelet housed the international hostel. The ride highlighted certain differences in standards of living. On one side of the street were the grand houses of the ‘garden district,’ while just over the road were ‘the ghettos’ of New Orleans, where standards of living were visibly poorer.

–>

CAPTION

Inside was more of the same story: a dimly lit room with dirty windows and crumbling walls hanging dusty pictures. No microphones to be seen or heard, just a dented upturned tin for tips in front of a piano, drums and a few chairs. The performers, casual and interspersed, wandered in and started to warm up their instruments. The musicians sat around one side of the small room. A few benches seated the small audience on the other. I sat on the floor, a foot in front of the band, to make space for others to sit.

Jazz began, the most proficient I have ever heard. The music that followed was not only breathtaking but also unbelievable: truly an amazing sound and sight. The laid-back attitude of the musicians, all over 50, highlighted the skill and proficiency with which they played. The small audience was suitably enthralled by the performance, the tin for tips overflowed and all the requests were played. There is a board on the wall with some classic tracks that are always requested; beside each track name is a price which is the minimal tip that should be given for a certain track to be played. The track requiring the biggest tip was ‘When The Saints Go Marching In’. All the requests were paid for, then played. Sort of like an old fashioned Juke box. I spent a few hours in awe of the skill some people have and purchased a CD for my Uncle who loves Jazz.

He recommended a trip to Preservation Hall in the first place, having been several times himself in the 50s. I wandered on.

The next remarkable thing that happened came after watching two musicians play the blues for a couple of hours in the middle of a lonely side street.