Andrew Duhon | Singer Songwriter

7/31/10

Day 3 of 4 with 3

Two days down and day three is burning its way down. Last night I took the trio to a bar in downtown Fairhope and met some friends for a happy hour drink or few. The early night stumbled right into the morning. Friend, and Mobile singer/songwriter, Lisa Mills was playing down the street, so we headed over to see her, and I ended up singing quite a few songs with her as well as drinking a few and spilling a couple glasses of scotch. Skip, a local friend, and man constantly exuding contentedness and genuine appreciation for a simple conversation, offered his guest house for the night. Skip is certainly one of my favorite friends I've made in my travels. His love of music is about appreciating the experience and expression that it takes to make the music. The life of it. And that's what I often find myself talking with him about. He seems to be quite an agreeable soul, and always a joy to run into in Fairhope. We crashed at Skip's, and headed today to Gulf Shores. We'll be playing at Lulu's tonight, and may make it back to Mobile to crash for the night. As the trip moves along, however I am noticing my band mates becoming more susceptible to the persuasions of the wind, so there's no telling where we may find ourselves, I suppose. That's partly the spirit of this thing I think. Finding that steady course between recklessness and spontaneity that starts to make life feel splendidly tactile as it moves by. New friends, new places, new ideas, new growth, all that shit.

PS: This is how we do in Fairhope.

7/30/10

Day 2 of 4 with 3

I am currently killing some afternoon hours at a coffee shop in downtown Mobile AL. Across from me, friend and bass player, Charles Lumar sits reading an Anne Rice novel. The familiar sight of a friend and band-mate sitting across from me feels a bit unfamiliar in this circumstance as I usually come through this way solo, but its been a nice change bringing the band along. This trip I'm traveling with a trio on a 3-show/4-day trip. I'd have had the perfect 4 for 4, but I was informed a couple of weeks ago that our show for tonight in Mobile had to be canceled for a fundraiser. I suppose we can't complain about that. With no show tonight, my role turns from bandleader to ringleader. I think I'll try to show these boys a night out on the small town over in Fairhope. I'm twenty-five years old, and the youngest among this 3-man crew, but still I feel a responsibility of a paternal nature on a trip like this. Its my job to make sure these guys are accounted for, have a place to stay, and of as a finer nuance, shown a good time when we're not playing shows. The positives of playing with a band on the road are not to be ignored. It really is great bringing a bigger production to the folks in these towns that have come to see my earlier solo trips. I must also acknowledge that the trip speaks to me a bit more when no one is riding shotgun.

7/13/10

Back To Gulf Shores

This past Sunday, I got in the car headed east on I-10 toward the all too familiar exit that leads to Gulf Shores. Unfamiliar was the fact that I wasn't headed to play a show, and I wasn't alone, but rather rode with a couple of friends. At least it seemed unfamiliar when I got in the car, but right around Mobile I remembered how many times we used to take that drive headed to the beaches for Spring Break back in college, or to make the best of a long weekend in High School. Still though, this trip to the beach was unfamiliar. There were no beach chairs in the back, no ice chest, and no foreseeable return to the beach we used to find ourselves on every Summer, and the beach I had planned to spend most of this Summer on while I played shows along the coast. This trip we were headed to a benefit concert in Gulf Shores to raise money for the BP Oil Disaster, a bitter consolation in my mind, but a reason to take the drive nonetheless. The concert was fittingly held on the beach, and fittingly hosted by Jimmy Buffet. Instead of the sparse line of beach chairs lined across the surf in front of each hotel, there were 30,000 people comfortably crowding the beach they knew all too well.

I suppose if there was anything familiar about the beach last Sunday, it was the collective camaraderie of strangers who meet strangers on a beach, the friendly "where ya from," and little mention of the frustration of why that benefit needed to be held in the first place. We were 30,000 strong, and helpless to save the beach that weekend. I do believe, however that 30,000 people went home convinced that the beach would be saved. I don't remember when exactly I was convinced that New Orleans would be back after Katrina, but I suppose the feeling is similar. There is still plenty of uncertainty just as there was after Katrina, but the logistics matter less than the day I was convinced that all the people around me loved that place as much as I do.

6/22/10

Pirate's Farewell

I've written about the oasis that is Pirate's Cove before: the stray dog and barefoot man's bayfront bar 45 minutes from Gulf Shores by car or 5 minutes by boat. Pirate's Cove is no doubt one of the best music venues I've ever been to not because the biggest acts play there, but because the realest acts play there. The seclusion of The Cove ensures that there is only one type of person who makes it there. They are the willing people, the free spirited people, the Huck Finn wanderers, the youthful smiles within aging faces. And the dogs. Of course the dogs, who've wandered to the cove and have no reason to leave. Too many friendly pats on the head and an occasional discarded burger keeps the pirates' best friends hanging around.

I'm writing about Pirate's Cove because I ran into The Cove's Manager during my last show in Alabama, and she let me know that the haven might soon be no more. The music may soon be cut, and without music, the cove will certainly lose all that it was. With the encroaching oil, crowds have begun to thin, and the owners are uncertain as to whether music can remain in the budget. No matter what is to come, I've known from the first night I spent at Pirate's Cove that the place would be a memory to keep, a memory of my travels, and of my youth, and the places that I've found that made sense to me. There are plenty of bars easier to get to than Pirate's Cove, and I'm certain many travel those 45 minutes out of their way because they find their youth there waiting for them. I worry that The Cove itself might turn into no more than a memory sooner than it should and with it might slip the last place where so many feel so young.

6/11/10

The Lord's Backyard Minstrels

Lonesome Crows Bassist, and roommate, Charles Lumar and I were booked to play an interesting show last week. Our Landlord signed us up to play during a party he was putting on at his place, so we packed up our instruments and took a walk down the sidewalk to what is essentially our back yard. Our Landlord lives directly behind us, so suffice to say the commute offered little problem. We started inside on a second floor section above the kitchen, which felt a bit like a neuvo-architectural Mid-City New Orleans spin on a choir loft. As the afternoon storm clouds became less threatening, we took the show outside for a backyard show. It was a great time for all I think, but I found it to be especially poignant for me.

I had spent the entire day (and continue to spend my days) researching venues and trying to book shows in the UK and throughout Europe as I am planning a trip in September. Playing in Europe has been on my mind from day one, and the prospect is utterly fascinating to me. Funny how it seems the more I find myself dreaming about the lands far away, the more this city and my very backyard call back to me and I can't help but recognize how inspiring this place can be. Of course the day-to-day routine will desensitize any native to his/her surroundings no matter how relevant, but I think as my plans of escape build, I must remember what I'll be leaving. The older I get, the more unwilling I am to simply give in to the place I am from and settle into my later years, but I admit that perhaps I need to leave simply so that I can miss New Orleans enough to come back and never leave again. Who knows? Perhaps I'll find myself a small town in Europe that will feel like home, or maybe I'll come back, find myself a nice Mid City place with a patio, have some friends over every now and then, and be perfectly happy right in my backyard.

6/01/10

My View

I spent this weekend playing a couple of shows along the Gulf Coast as has been and will be my habit this summer. I made my first trips this way just before last summer, and I recognized that not only was there a tangible affinity for singer/songwriters around here, but also being on the beach wasn't such a shabby gig. The picture above was the view from my first gig, and the picture below was at my second gig while I sat at the bar and wondered if I had sold my soul in another life to deserve getting paid at such a place. These places and these trips bring another thought to mind fairly frequently. It is the thought that perhaps I'd be better suited making my way north to Nashville, or shopping around for bigger shows in bigger markets. I am well aware that these places aren't going to gain me any real foothold with my music, but alas, that isn't really what these trips are about. I'm making a living and actually living at the same time. Although there are plenty of better, more impressive stools to be sitting in, the view from this one is tough to beat. I don't intend to spin my wheels until I am stuck and no longer inspired by this area, but I do intend to savor the view before I look any further.

Scenes like this can't help but conjure up the thought of the oil spill still threatening the area. Fortunately for the folks in these areas, the oil hasn't made its way toward these beaches yet, but back home in Louisiana, the marshes haven't been so lucky. As this problem grows with no end in sight, I feel sickened and helpless. These places are as delicate as they are beautiful, and the road ahead for the Gulf Coast is an unsure and cumbersome matter. With little in the way of answers, prognosis, or solutions as of now, the only thing my conscience rests with is hope that we might find a way to fix this. I do look forward to lending my own two hands in this effort as the marshes of Louisiana have been good to me in my youth. Fishing the marshes of Louisiana was one of my favorite things to do as a kid. I certainly hope to take my kids fishing in those marshes one day, and will do whatever I can to make sure that is a possibility.

5/17/10

10 Shows 10 Days

I'm back home after a string of 10 shows in 10 days which started last Thursday in New Orleans. Thanks to all the folks who came to the shows, bought the new EP, and a special thanks to those who showed some of that southern hospitality to a loosianna travelin' man. Though each show was in a different city, all shows were within Louisiana, Mississippi, and Alablama. With short travel time between shows I had plenty of time to get acquainted with people and places from the Mississippi Hill Country, to the beaches of the Florida/Alabama line. By show 10 in Lafayette, I still had a voice, my sanity, and all my equipment in one piece and dare I say I managed to bring a few nice memories back with me as well.

Show 1 D.B.A. New Orleans

Trevor taking my new Gibson archtop for a spin before the show.

Show 2 Carroll County Market Carrollton, MS

Show 3 Fenian's Pub Jackson, MS

Show 4 Callaghan'sMobile, AL

Show 5 Lulu'sGulf Shores, AL

Show 6 OzioDaphne, AL

Show 7 Dr. MusicFairhope, AL

Show 8 The ShedOcean Springs, MS

Show 9 Broadmoor FestNew Orleans, LA

Show 10 The ArtmosphereLafayette, LA

5/05/10

Jazz Fest Interview with Ernie Vincent

photos by Jerry Moran at NativeOrleanian.com

I'd consider myself a seasoned Jazz-Fest goer, but not until last year did I find out about the Allison Miner stage where musicians, authors, and artists give interviews rather than performances. On the last day of Jazz Fest, this past Sunday, I was interviewed along with blues/funk-man, Ernie Vincent, about our separate careers as well as our recent collaborations. Ernie made waves in the 70's in the Funk music world with a cult hit called "Dap Walk" and has seen the world with his band, Ernie Vincent and the Top Notes. Though Ernie's stardom was in funk, his heart always kept close the blues that he grew up with, and in '09 when he decided to record a delta blues album, he asked me to play harmonica on the tracks. Ernie and I come from different angles to arrive at the same point, no doubt about it, but the fact is we are both talking about the same thing when it comes to the blues. We both need those simple blues tunes and we both recognize the sincerity in each other when we play them. I must say, Ernie's initial acceptance of me as blues counterpart was incredibly flattering, and to this day puts a smile on my face. To be validated by someone who lived in the simpler times, who played in the juke-joints, and took his music around the world is truly a feather in the cap for me. Past that, though, it's truly a blessing to have someone to play real blues with, and I believe Ernie and I have let that slip away a bit in the past months, I with my focus on 'Andrew Duhon & The Lonesome Crows' and Ernie with 'Ernie Vincent & The Top Notes'. It is not to say that both bands aren't finding success. On the contrary, both bands have made strides in the past months, but the interview on Sunday reminded me how effective just playing a few verses of blues with Ernie can be. Though all the answers that Ernie and I gave in the interview were hardly news to me, I believe I gained as much from the interview as anyone listening. Ernie and I have fun playing these songs together, and we believe it when we do it. The real success in playing this music is in believing in it, and enjoying it, and I plan on getting together with Ernie much more often to do just that.

photos by Jerry Moran at NativeOrleanian.com

5/04/10

Pictures From The Festival Season

After the whirlwind of Jazz Fest and all that surrounded it, I'm getting back to the good website to put up some pictures from the shows these past weeks. These pictures were provided by two of my favorite music photographers (and I'm not just saying that.) Be sure to check out their websites below.

French Quarter Fest 2010

Pictures by Erika Goldring

Check out Erika Goldring's Photography at ErikaGoldring.com

One Eyed Jack's

Photos by Jerry Moran

Guest appearance by great New Orleans sax player, Jimmy Carpenter

Check out Jerry Moran's Photography at NativeOrleanian.com

Jazz Fest 2010

Photos by Jerry Moran

Check out Jerry Moran's photography at NativeOrleanian.com

4/14/10

Sneak a Peak!
New EP, Dreaming When You Leave will Be Released April 24th

The new EP, Dreaming When You Leave, by Andrew Duhon & The Lonesome Crows is well on its way. It was recorded at Dockside Studios with the help of Producer and Professor, John Snyder, recorded, mixed, and mastered by David Farrell, and is now in the hands of the duplication company. The album will be released, God, disaster, unforeseen circumstance willing, on April 24th at our Jazz Fest show. We're definitely looking forward to the show at Jazz Fest as it is not only our CD release, but also our maiden voyage as performers at New Orleans' premiere music festival. Get your tickets for Jazz Fest, and make sure you pick up a copy of the new EP, Dreaming When You Leave, at the fest on April 24th. Can't make it to the fest? Don't worry! I'll be performing at Bacchanal Fine Wines in the Bywater on April 30th, and the EP will be available there as well! Not from New Orleans? Ok, ok.. let me think.. aha! The EP will be available on Itunes, Rhapsody, Lala, Amazon, and all of your familiar internet music stores.

3/23/10

Lions and Tigers and Stray Dogs

____My friend and drummer, Eric Heigle and I have found ourselves in quite the sweet gig as of the last 5 months. Mobile AL songwriter, Lisa Mills has taken us on board as her backing band, a gig both Eric and I have enjoy immensely. Lisa is a soulful blues/soul/rock musician, and with Eric on drums and myself on guitar/backing vocals, the sets have become something to look forward to every time.
Eric and I were making our way to the most recent Lisa Mills gig this past Saturday at a bar in Josephine, Alabama called Pirate's Cove. It was Eric's first time to Pirate's Cove, but I'd played there a few times, and was really looking forward to Eric getting a taste of the Cove. In all of my traveling from venue to venue playing anything from a smelly dive to an upscale bistro, Pirate's Cove has certainly found a humid, cozy place in my heart. In the summer, boats pull right up to the shore only yards away from the deck where the band plays, and stray dogs far outnumber the pairs of shoes. Pirate's Cove is something like a 15 minute boat ride from Mobile, but by car, it 45 to an hour drive. Its just that kind of place. I told Eric of the magical, gritty treasure that awaited him at Pirate's Cove, but little did I know, a treasure would find us before we had even made the turn down the country highway toward Josephine. I can't take credit, really. Eric spotted it, and told me that if we had time we should really turn around and go check it out. So we did.. It was a museum, likely erected by the same man whom the museum pays tribute. It's called.. Let me get this right.. " Gene Morris - THE GREATEST LIVING SPEAR HUNTER IN THE WORLD" Oh were we in for a treat! What treasures do await the wanderer who finds himself in Alabama. So we made our way in, toured the corridors of heads, hides, and horns, and even held the sleek instruments of death which Gene uses to do his grizzly work. In the end, the childish mystique of 'world's best spear hunter' was completely tarnished by the fact that the more impressive animals were actually killed by bullets, hatchets, and hammers after initially being speared with a less than fatal blow. Eric and I took pictures with the Man, the Myth, the legend, his spears, and a few of his kills, and made our way. It was a laugh, I guess and well worth the trip, but the ride from the museum toward Pirate's Cove was a bit quiet, perhaps giving a moment of silence to the animals arguably killed in less than a sporting fashion. PETA has a field day with that place I'm sure, but I'll leave that to PETA.
Lisa's show at Pirate's Cove was really great. She released her brand new recording, on which Eric played drums, and we all had a blast. I'll be bringing The Lonesome Crows to Pirate's Cove in June, and Eric and I were toying with the idea of putting the gear in his boat and taking the 15 minute boat ride to the Cove, rather than the drive. That's like Pirate-y Rock n' Roll!! Showing up to the gig by boat!? Amazing!! I look forward to heading back to Pirate's Cove every time, but I may skip Gene Morris's Museum next time, and just give the stray dogs at the Cove a few extra pats on the head.

3/15/10

Andrew Duhon & The Lonesome Crows tracking EP

With the invaluable help of Grammy Winning producer and Loyola University professor, John Snyder, The band and I were able to spend a weekend at Dockside Studios in Maurice, LA tracking a new EP. With some fleet feet and a little luck, I am hoping to get this record out for our Jazz Fest show April 24th. Check out some pictures from the session below taken by photographer, Julia Pretus!.

3/04/10

Another Palette

Check out the article in this month's OffBeat Magazine about my culinary dabblings, Fresh Mex Fajitas.
Pick up a copy in one of your local New Orleans shops, or Check it out online at:

OffBeat Magazine

2/21/10

Missing Heroes

This weekend last year I was at a music conference in Memphis feeling lost in a crowd and not feeling particularly inspired by said crowd. This year I opted to forgo another trip to said conference. Instead I found myself on a late night drive home with my friend and drummer, Eric Heigle on our way back from a gig in Mobile, Alabama. Eric's experience in the world of music is far more seasoned than mine having worked as music engineer, producer, musician, you name it, which makes him an excellent person to take a long car ride with. Among the subjects of our meandering car ride conversation was a songwriter he had worked with and a new found hero of mine, Bobby Charles. Charles's songs are simple genius, and from Eric's stories, Bobby's character was just the same with a bit of unapologetic cynicism mixed in. Eric recounted Charles-ism after Charles-ism from his trips to Bobby's double-wide to smoke and listen to his stories, then told me the news that Bobby Charles had passed away only a few weeks ago. the new hero of mine who seemed not so far away was now gone though it felt inevitable that our paths would have crossed in the not too distant future. It brought me back to another regretful bit of news that New Orleans Blues man, Snooks Eaglin had passed just as I had become enamored with his music and couldn't wait to see him play. I received the news about Snooks from an old man in Memphis. In fact, it was during the conference in Memphis exactly a year ago.

Funny how a person can affect you so deeply then leave just before you've realized just how much they've given to you, or is it the leaving that makes you realize? Funny too how so many heroes die in the gutter, or in their double-wide rather than the throne that the art they leave behind seems to deserve. It is the reoccurring hymn of the simple man to find a truth and document it only to die long before his art is ever exalted. A glance at the gutters of the French Quarter finds those who fling themselves to meager plight in hopes that the ends create the means, but I find this to be a shameful misinterpretation. I believe the heroes of the past wrote because they had to, and the consequence of little compensation for their passion did nothing to thwart them. I find myself closer and closer to the life I wish to live, and to those I wish to live it with, but still, over and over again my heroes are gravestones. I was close to meeting Bobby, and the near miss certainly leaves me wondering which heroes in my life, artists or not, I should pay a visit.

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

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11/13/09

Live Interview by NewOrleansPartying.com

11/13/09

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11/04/09

VAVA-VOODOO VAVA-VIDEOS

11/03/09

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11/03/09

10/28/09

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

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