2/04/10

Central North American Dreams

I came up to Nashville yesterday to play a at BMI's quarterly showcase. The bill consisted of 4 songwriters including myself, and the room was filled with an unusually captivated mix of young and old music business professionals. Lucky for me and the other performers, these people get it. Not only was everyone completely silent and engaged in the sets, but BMI also knew better than to put us in the traditional Nashville "In The Round" format: everyone on stage at the same time taking turns playing one song at a time some choosing to fake some sort of enthusiasm about the other writers' songs all the while looking painfully artificial while I stare at the ground trying not to draw attention to myself until it is my turn to play. Thank you, BMI for not going that route. I played my set and met some fine folks after the show. Today I went to a meeting with an Executive at DreamCatcher Records. DreamCatcher's primary artist is Kenny Rogers. In fact, Kenny called while I was in the office. Anyway, the Exec' had listened my album and really enjoyed it, especially, he said,"Coming Down Over Here, 3:15 Train, & Scared To Death Of Dying". I told him I don't play "3:15" nearly enough but will start to put it back into the rotation. The rest of the conversation was less about music biz and more about.. life? We spoke of youth, traveling, Karouac, and the art of honesty. It might seem odd for such a busy man to take time out of what was clearly a hectic day for him, and sit and talk of such things with me, but the fact is, these things are exactly what I need to be thinking about. We could have spoken about publishing, licensing, indie labels, yadayadayada until we both felt violated, but the fact is if I am to be a songwriter, a storyteller, then I must live, I must feel, I must see, I must write. We spouted off some of our favorite philosophical cliche's and said our adieu's. I left with a keener sense of the fact that I am truly lucky to be doing what I am doing, to be living this way, to be creating so freely. I am a writer, and this time is my time to live, to see the world, to breathe it in, hold it for a second, and write about it. Nashville teaches me something new each time I visit. This time the lesson seems to be something like a pat on the shoulder as if to say "Well done. Now get the fuck to it." I won't argue with that.

2/01/10

My Craft

I've experienced a bit of an awakening over the past 48 hours or so. It will be interesting to see how these effects, these thoughts will continue, but in this moment Ive come to some conclusions. For a long time I believed myself to be a writer because I wrote and quite often. I was proud of my writings, and was proud to be a writer. I later found the question of Rainer Maria Rilke to be quite pressing: "Must I Write?". To this I answered "I Must," and as he suggested, I have built my life in some semblance of accord with that notion. My days are a mixture of writing, playing, and all things that help me make art my life. My room is my office, my study, my home, and my space to create. To have made myself somewhat sustainable on such a life seems to be a dream come true. Yesterday I received some words that made me think once more about this notion, "I Must Write". The words spoke of mortality, of an artist's duty, and the doubt that hinders the beauty within the self. Though not directly referring to Rilke's sentiment, I find myself thinking of my answer to his question in a much different light. There is no doubt in my mind that I must write, but to admit it is to recognize a binding of my will, an enslaving of myself. "I Must Write" not only because it moves me, but also because it is me. I am not a writer because I write. I write because I am a writer. "I Must". The binding thought has turned the muses and moments of inspiration to goblins of torment constantly tearing at my soul for something of substance. It is as if I have looked over the embrace of my lover to find my wrists forever chained around her. It is as if I have stepped back to look on the whole of this life of writing, art, song, and ease to venture to the outer edge, to the outer railing, to find that I am on a slave ship bound for death. It is an eerie thought, but what else is this life good for? I am, after all, chained to my lover. This is, after all, my voyage, my craft. The chains, the torment of a constant need for substance, only make me yearn to be more enveloped in its embrace. I am chained, but not against my will, because it seems these chains are my will because they are me. "I Must Write". It is part of me, and I feel truly lucky to be chained to such a craft.

1/21/10

CD's Now Available at Bella Brew Coffee In Metairie

A Coffee Shop in Metairie called Bella Brew now has the debut album, "Songs I Wrote Before I Knew You" available for sale. Along with smooth tunes are the smooth roasts and tasty latte's that have made an avid Brew-ster out of my Father. Check them out at 2701 Airline Dr in the same shopping strip as Rouses and McAllister's Deli.

1/15/10

A Good Day

Several of my friends have joked that I should take them on one of my trips out of town as a roadie. Only half-joking, I think as I'm sure these trips have quite the mystique to my 9 to 5 colleagues, and rightly so, in my opinion. These trips give me a good bit of clarity and a sense that I am not wasting away in my mortality, but really living. To be honest, the thought of bringing someone along isn't appealing at all. The solitude of these trips is one of the most important parts, but perhaps as a compromise, I might write about my day so far while I sit at the bar I'll play at tonight. I woke up on the couch of one of my bartender-friends who let me crash at his place. To date I have yet to spend a dime on a hotel room. The expense is intolerable to me, and sleeping in my car isn't the worst thing to befall my plight when I am down to it. If I'm honest, I admit that the mystery of where I might end up from night to night is part of the fun as well. With a wicked hangover and only slightly managed bedhead, I went to a small grocery store and came out with a diet coke, toothpaste, and a banana. I couldn't find the toothpaste I usually leave in my center console so I replaced it. While on the road, a well maintained one-seater bathroom with a lock on the door is gold to me and I make note in each town where I find them. After a quick teeth brushing and some other business, I made my way to the local record shop to peruse the dollar records as I always do when I'm in this particular town. It has become an addiction really, and a great way to find new music. I've bought so many at this point that I am running out of space in my room at home, but who's thinking about that when for one dollar you can purchase "Pablo's Tijuana Christmas"? I bought 7 records including Pablo's Holiday effort, gave the owner, Wade seven dollars, and sat down on a stool that stood on the patron side of the register. Wade is a great guy. Laid back and perfectly happy as I've almost come to expect of the people in this town. I usually exchange a bit of small talk with him, but on this visit I sat down in that stool, and we had a nice long conversation. I suppose the difference between owning a small business in a small town and owning a small business in a big town is that stool. There isn't a stool on the patron side of the register in downtown New Orleans because the person behind you in line is already late to pick up their kid and would prefer that you find your correct change a bit quicker. My conversation with Wade was a fairly effective both at putting me in a good mood and squelching my hangover. I bid farewell and got in my car. There is something quite peaceful about driving around a small town with nothing to do for 5 hours. Book stores, art shops, and parks are targets, but I prefer not to have a target. I find myself pulling over for yard sales or mexican corner stores that I wouldn't have checked out had I an agenda. I've also begun to talk to myself a bit while driving around, usually in an Irish accent, though I've never been to Ireland. I've been to Scotland, though I don't remember the accent, but I digress. I've made my way to the bar I'll be playing at tonight and am enjoying a free meal and a couple of beers before the set. The time doesn't always fly, but I certainly don't feel like I'm wasting it.

1/03/10

A Film with a Heartbeat

I took a chance on a documentary I knew nothing about the other night called "Dear Zachary". The film tells the story of a young man, Andrew Bagby, and his untimely death. A good friend of his and film maker attempts to catalog the thoughts and memories of all those who knew and loved Andrew in order to show Andrew's infant son, Zachary who his father was when Zachary got older. The film was very well done, and truly affecting to me. Some pieces of reality just seem to be more real than others, and in this case, the accounts in this film are as real as any I've seen. I suppose a larger reason the film was 'real' to me was its subject, death. Death is an unfamiliar yet completely capturing reality to me. I've contemplated not only my death, but also the death of my loved ones since I can remember, and yet to this point I have yet to experience the death of anyone truly close to me. Though the loss of a loved one is inevitable, it seems unreal or even impossible until it happens. Mother, Fathers, Sons, Daughters, best friends are so instrumental in our lives that we lose sight of the fact that life is finite and our control over life is minute. Though death permeates the story, the overriding theme is love in the face of death, in the face of heartbreak, in the face of evil. Indeed, it is a love story, but to see it that way is a labor of love in itself.

12/16/09

Faded Brilliance

I bought a carousel slide projector yesterday from an elderly couple in Metairie, and I spent my night in my dark bedroom casting images on the wall of old kodachrome picture slides of my mother's side, left in a cabinet underneath newer belongings . I sipped on eggnog and brandy (tis the season), listened to Simon & Garfunkel (tis the era), and had myself an experience. What an amazing little machine that little kodak carousel is. An image of a time that died before I was born is cast in an illuminating faded brilliance. I press the button on the remote, a moment of complete darkness, a moment of anticipation, a sound of plastic mechanization, then another foreign era, foreign image, a memory foreign to me. I have seen some of these babies before. Not as babies, but as my aging aunts and uncles. I see the image of my grandmother and grandfather I've never met not much older than I am now, and I wonder as I gaze at the classic cars and atrocious living room decor: What new age might I know before I die? What will times be when I am an aging uncle? When I am gone, will my time be interesting when illuminated on a bedroom wall? Will my time be illuminated at all? There is no more Kodachrome. Images that were set in slide for a later cinematic effort and relatively expensive to produce have yielded to camera phone pictures and digital overabundance. No longer inconvenient, no longer sincere. No more dashing young men in baseball uniforms, school uniforms, first communion suits, with chests out ready to receive the camera's immortality. When the carousel has finished and no more images show, rather than turn it off, I simply switch my thumb from "next" to "prev" on the remote and watch them all go by again.

12/15/09

Christmas Gifts You Don't Need to Include the Receipt With..

It has come time in my mind, for my conscience, and for my sanity, to mention a few things about Christmas shopping that I'm sure we all know. Of course we do, yet apparently we forget when time comes to go shopping for presents. First, lets map out a few simple facts that are getting swept under the carpet about our friends and loved one's.

Number one, they/we all have things they/we want, but the fact is they/we are of means to attain them ourselves not long after they/we want them. Perhaps that is not the case, and we are not of means to get them. Perhaps the gift is too expensive, but in that case, the gift is likely too expensive for the gift giver as well. The next simple fact is, perhaps not as often recognized and perhaps not as often agreed with, but think about it:
Little Billy tells Santa EXACTLY what he wants. Santa brings little Billy EXACTLY what he wants.. The thought that counts? Pish Tosh!! There was no thought there. That's not a present, that's a delivery. No thought of our loved ones is involved in simply making a call to find out what they want, where we can get it, and just going to make the scoop. I'm not trying to be a Scrooge here, dear friends. I have a suggestion. Since we all attain the reasonable things we want not long after we want them, there is a relatively small window in which to happen to know what our loved one might want or need, and surprise them with our thoughtful purchase. Moreover, the attempt to purchase material things someone might want is usually unused, or returned to the store. Where's the harm in that, you ask? The thought that counts, right? Agreed.. BUT what if we throw material things out of the realm of possibility. What if we were able to add an experience to our loved ones life. An event, an outing with the giver, an idea to try something they probably never would have tried on their own. I'm not telling you to get Aunt Gilda skydiving lessons, but what about Dancing lessons? What about Sewing lessons? Ok, perhaps I don't know your Aunt Gilda that well, but are you following? Opera Tickets maybe? The best, most thoughtful, and truly rewarding Christmas gift for a loved one is a gift that pulls the person out of their routine and puts a smile on their face. Aunt Gilda a bit conservative, you say? No problem, I have a solution!
Another truly thoughtful and rewarding gift is one that mandates time spent between the gift giver and give-ee. If this person truly is a loved one or friend, and like I said, they have attained about everything they want, what more could they want than a little more time spent with you? After all, how many times have you taken Aunt Gilda to brunch, just you and her? How much does Aunt Gilda really know about you? Well I hope I've put an idea in someone's head this year. Unfortunately I can't divulge some of my ideas for these type of gifts quite yet as I would be sabotaging my own list, but if you think along those lines, you're sure to find something truly memorable. Mom, Dad, Sis, Cuz, Aunt Gilda, your friends; they all wouldn't mind an eye opening experience, or just a little more time with you, so wrap it up and give it to them. Happy Holidays, folks

12/10/09
Lafayette felt like home last night. Perhaps no real wonder. My Father grew up in Erath, a small town outside of Lafayette. "Duhon" is a familiar surname in these parts. It's the only place where the proper Cajun French pronunciation, "Du-yaw" still prevails. I made a couple of French friends at the bar before the show. No, not Cajun French. From France French. The two were on their way through the States in an Astro Van just seeing the sights. They talked about running into some old fella's in downtown Lafayette who were thrilled to find out they were from France, and they had a conversation in Cajun French. Its unfortunate that the younger generations aren't picking up the language, and I mark myself as a guilty party. I remember Christmas visits to Erath in my youth. When the dinner was through and the women were cleaning in the kitchen, the old men would sit around the table and speak in a pleasant dialect that I didn't understand a word of, but I do remember the sound of their conversation being so distinctly Louisianian to me. These days most of those old men aren't around, and the ones who are don't have anyone to speak the language to. I suppose I found myself sitting across from that French fellow last night feeling a bit ashamed that I couldn't speak a lick of the Cajun tongue that I remember so fondly from my father's side of the family. It was no real sweat off his back though as he ended up staying for the entire show and shouting something that sounded like "Bravo" between songs, which he later informed me translated to something like "take your clothes off". I think they had a good time.
Not only was the room full last night, it was full of the right kind of people. Some who had come to see me, driven 3 hours even..what?? I didn't even drive 3 hours to get here. Others stumbled into a show that they enjoyed enough to stick around for. Perhaps all that seems simple enough, but suffice to say that shows aren't always like that. I'm grabbing some lunch before heading to Baton Rouge. I've got a feeling the show tonight might have a familiarity to it as well, but not quite like last night.

12/09/09

12/9/09

I've got about 5 hours, I'd say, until I need to head to Lafayette to play a solo show at The Artmosphere tonight. It will be a short trip. Lafayette, Baton Rouge, then back to New Orleans. These trips seem like an old, familiar, and much welcomed friend as I'm feeling quite in the middle of things in good ways and bad. I feel like I need to spend a sleepless week or two ironing out this Biz sometimes. The pull of my desk chair waxes and wanes in its intensity while the subtle but constant pull of anywhere else always flicks at the tender part of my ear. Subtlety wins today, but only because the desk chair won 2 months ago when I booked these shows. It's a futile balancing act of emails, calls, emails, bookings on one end, and my balcony chair, that though I just had, the song I'd love to write, those three books I swored I'd have been through with a week ago. Its a bunch of tiny pixelated promises to myself that make this picture. Here's another: I need to get ready to head to Lafayette

11/16/09

Some Fresh Voodoo Snaps by Julia Pretus

Check Out Julia's Blog Here

11/13/09

Live Interview by NewOrleansPartying.com

11/13/09

11/04/09

VAVA-VOODOO VAVA-VIDEOS

11/03/09

11/03/09

10/28/09

Voodoo Article about Andrew Duhon & The Lonesome Crows in Baton Rouge's TIGER WEEKLY

10/20/09

New Live Tracks from The Crescent City Blues and BBQ Fest

Been So Long Blues (Live)

04 Been So Long Blues (Live at The Crescent City Blues and BBQ Fest) by andrewduhon

1's 2's 3's (Live)

06 1's, 2's, 3's by andrewduhon

Man On The Corner (Live)

Man On Corner Live at Blues and BBQ by andrewduhon

10/13/09

Check out the WWOZ spot featuring Andrew Duhon to promote the upcoming New Orleans Voodoo Experience

WWOZ 90.7 interview for Voodoo Experience by andrewduhon

10/12/09

Loblolly Festival A Great End to a Long Tour

I played at the Loblolly Festival in Laurel Mississippi. Heard of it? Neither had I, but it was the type of show I'd like to find more often. Downtown Laurel is a perfectly quaint collection of 50's facade's changed only to accommodate the new businesses. The weather felt centrally air conditioned, the folks were pleasant and receiving as small town folks often seem to be, and the set was effortless due to the crowd's enthusiasm. It was certainly an appreciated end to the last three weeks which consisted of 18 shows in 21 days. Time to head back home with a belly full of corn dog, and a comparably mellow October on the horizon. Looking forward to playing some local shows next month

10/06/09

Andrew Is Currently the Jazz and Heritage Talent Exchange Site's "Featured Artist" as well as "Popular Artist". Visti them at Jazz and Heritage Talent Exchange

9/23/09

Article in Gulf Shores "Pelican" MAGAZINE

ANDREW DUHON ARTICLE

9/22/09

Article in Baton Rouge magazine, TIGER WEEKLY

ANDREW DUHON TIGER WEEKLY ARTICLE

9/14/09

9/09/09

New Song From Tipitina's Solo Show

Check out a new song, "In Birmingham" recorded live at the Tipitina's show August 13th

BE SURE TO TURN THE ALBUM PLAYER OFF ON THE RIGHT OF YOUR SCREEN

In Birmingham (live at Tip's) by andrewduhon

9/03/09

House of Blues Show Reviewed by Groovescapes.com

Check it out at http://groovescapes.com/os/

9/03/09

8/22/09

From Jan's to Martin's

Ok!! So last night's show in Jackson was about the best response I've had in some time. Really a great night. I opened for my buddy, Taylor Hilldebran's band, Passenger Jones. They are up my alley I'd say as style is concerned, which probably had something to do with their crowd buying into my set. By the time Taylor and his band started sound checking, it was already fairly crowded. After they played through half a song to check levels, it was my turn, and my job to not kill the mood. It was loud, it was crowded, and I suppose one way to try and win that battle is just to be louder, but I prefer to be as quiet as possible and see if I can get them to shut up. Mission accomplished. After just enough songs to leave them wanting, I surrendered the stage to Passenger Jones and proceeded to sell the most CD's I've sold in one night on the road, and had far more people complement the set in one night than any show I've played. All that, and I've failed to mention that Taylor is one of the most agreeable human beings I've met. Truly an excellent gig all around. Once again, Martin's in Jackson proves to be the most receiving venue I've played on the road. Looking forward to next time. On my way to Hattiesburg tonight, then back to New Orleans.

8/21/09

An Evening With Jan

So Jan of Jan's Tavern in Columbia Louisiana was everything I hoped she'd be, a sweet little lady with a little bar on the side of the highway. I didn't call Jan's Tavern in Columbia Louisiana, Jan called me. With her inviting North Louisiana twang, she told me she wanted to set up a show at her bar, so of course, I accepted. Every gig is different, but in this case, I had a good feeling about what I was in for, and was more than willing, so after a four and a half hour drive, I pulled up to a Sign that read
"Jan's Tavern"
"Andrew Dujon THURS"

Ahh.. Another name butchering. Hadn't seen a "J" before. Happens all the time though. I walked into a bar made of four walls and southern hospitality with a couple of pool tables, an old school jukebox, and a rebel flag on the wall for some flare. The night ended up being exceptionally slow, but Jan and I took it with a smile, a bud light, and some jello shots delivered through syringes.



On my set breaks I pulled up a bar chair next to the jars of pickles, pickled eggs, and pickled sausage, and listened to Jan tell me about how my Jim Croce cover reminded her of the time old Jim Croce himself came to her high school and played. When my set was over, Jan flipped on the Jukebox and the country standards started moseying on by. During "Don't Close Your Eyes" by, I believe, Randy Travis, Jan asked "You slow dance?" Why sure I slow dance. So Jan and I sauntered around the concrete dance floor and talked about just doing what you love no matter the pay. Her with her bar, and me with my guitar, we were happy right where we were. Now, I do have some other gigs this way. I'm in Jackson MS tonight, and Hattiesburg tomorrow night, but I'm glad I was able to stop by Jan's on the way, and I'm glad Jan turned out to be just as pleasant as she sounded when she first called me to play Jan's Tavern in Columbia Louisiana.

8/14/09

Tipitina's Slows it Down

Last night's show was moody in all the right ways. I joined two of my fellow New Orleans songwriters, John Michael Rouchell and Micah McKee, for a show at Tipitina's. Tip's is normally a spot for bands and touring acts, but last night the club put out chairs and the 3 of us folkies each played a solo set. Definitely my kind of night. Don't get me wrong. I love playing with the band, but there's no doubt that the more pieces you add, the tougher it is to hear the words. Both of my colleagues for the show head rock bands in the city, and it was really great to see them put on a show as writers. It can get lost in the distortion, and understandably so, that these guys can really write a song and tell a story. Thanks to everyone that came out to the show. Looking forward to the next time we put the chairs out.

8/13/09