Only dbags and/or fools would refuse to wander off Bourbon Street during a 4-day Bachelor Party Bash. Luckily my crew know another side of New Orleans, the incredible live music scene.

Thursday night we made our way to the Bywater for a lengthy couple of sets from Kermit Ruffins, fresh off his feature in the buzz-heavy HBO series Treme. Apparently Kermit has a resident Thursday night gig at dive bar Vaughan’s in which he serves up free red beans and rice, spins between sets under the moniker of DJ Smokes-A-Lot and then winds up the night by selling his own BBQ off the grill (weather permitting). Oh yeah, he also plays a mean trumpet. I have yet to witness the true brilliance of Treme but I did see the scene in which Kermit is challenged by an associate in words to the effect, “man, you could be a big star, all you wanna do is play some club every week, BBQ and smoke weed?” to which Kermit nods his head firmly.

On Saturday we returned to Frenchman Street (on Friday we checked out members of Galactic at DBA; the people who were there got really open, I was either too strung out to enjoy it or I simply confirmed that I can’t stand jam band jazz meanderings in any fashion) to check out Soul Rebels Brass Band at Blue Nile. Now granted my squadron had just spent a lengthy stint at the Bourbon Street Deja Vu, but those of us who managed to fight off the instincts to harass non-strippers for Motorboats, Motorbutts (use your imagination), lap dances, etc., were genuinely impressed by the energy of this six-piece brass ensemble. The first set seemed to lack focus until something clicked and then I instantly realized why everyone there was losing their minds. Heavy on covers but nothing gets a party cracked like a tuba-infused version of Nelly’s “Must Be The Money.” The vocalists are not top-notch song-stylists but they know how to keep the party live. The second set was not quite as strong and some moron frat boys decided to have a sloshy rugby scrum (who the hell gets into fights during such soul-stirring performances? Oh yeah, idiot frat boys) but I’m not mad at The Big Easy at all. Get your funky asses down there before those BP Bums ruin the whole Gulf Coast.

RELATED POSTS:

No related posts.