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Taylor Nauta

As children, we’ve all experienced one family member that seemed to have more of an impact on us that the rest. Their words, habits, or tendencies are something we still carry with us to this day. For Taylor Nauta, that person was his grandfather. With his dad at work most of the time and his mother having fallen ill, the two spent much time together. Though their generational gap spanned some fifty-eight years, they connected through music. Taylor’s grandfather was a country music fan and shared this passion with Taylor. The needle would drop onto a record, heavy knobs were turned on a vintage Sony stack unit, and the eyes of a child grew wide. Twangy melodies and rustic notions emanated from wood cabinet speakers, filling Taylor with the tenets of those like Merle Haggart, Johnny Cash, Roger Miller, and Waylon Jennings. These were voices that predated Taylor’s very existence; each with a style all their own. In speaking with Taylor about these moments, I could tell they posed more than a simple child-like fascination. Whether either of them realized it or not, his grandfather instilled in Taylor what became a deep-seeded respect for history and a value in sentiment. Those indoctrinated with this are the ones who dissuade future generations from diluting keystones like societal mores and cultural traditions.

Taylor first picked up a guitar at the age of seven under the direction of his grandfather, who also played. Those vinyl sessions began to take new meaning, as Taylor tried to decipher audio that passed through aged tweed. By fourteen, Taylor was playing constantly and even writing his own songs. But he had gotten all he could out of the guitar he was given. The strings sat far off the neck, making it a challenge to both play and keep in tune. One night, he played a song for his father and grandfather that really impressed them both. It was a Chet Adkins styled piece where he plucked an alternating bassline with his thumb while simultaneously playing the melody with his fingers. As he sang along in a Jimmy Rodgers yodeling manner, both realized that he had become something greater than expected. Soon, they would pitch in and buy him his first really nice guitar, a Takamine F-349. That solid wood top and high-quality tone wood so inspired him to keep learning and growing as a musician. It comes as no surprise that by the age of fifteen, you could find him at school playing tunes like Cannonball Rag, a Merle Travis record from 1952. And you could find the girls passing him by to listen to the emo musician down the hall. After noticing this, Taylor chose country radio stations of the time over his grandfather’s records when searching for inspiration. Moving forward, he would come to realize that material born out of the early 90’s was far superior to the pop style country that would come from the early 2000’s. He stated, “The guitar solos and cool intros were common in 90’s country. And now they’ve just about gutted that stuff out. If there’s a guitar solo at all in today’s country, it’s short; real short, like a lick or two and you’re out of it.” Though he explored his sonic surroundings to sample what was out there, he remained true to his roots when it came to musicianship. He considers himself lucky to have experienced both the solid foundation of his predecessors and the remarkable creativity that was characteristic of early 90’s country music. He shudders to think what he might have become if he grew up during the era of pop infusion.

They say hindsight is 20/20, but at this point Taylor was just a kid trying to find his way. We all can recall moments in our lives when perhaps we didn’t know which way to go. He had an idea of where he wanted to end up. He wanted to sing and play guitar like the stars he’d seen as a child on The Grand Old Opry. Likewise, he knew the caliber of musician he wanted to be but may not have known what things landed him below that mark. At one point, he had the benefit of a few months with an instructor. This taught him things like basic theory and the concepts of scales and modes. Although short lived, this helped him immensely. As he was able to recognize when guitarists articulated pentatonic, major scale and arpeggio methods in songs. At seventeen, he was invited to the studio of James Marsden, a man whom, among other things, held several credits for Disney song production. Taylor was able to perform a few songs for James and hear his thoughts. James expressed reassurances, but pointed out that there was room for improvement. He told Taylor to listen to songs by Rascal Flats or Clint Black and ask himself what gives those artists their signature style. Then try writing songs in the vein of those artists; songs that Taylor thought would be performed by those artists. He also suggested Taylor purchase a metronome or drum machine because he found Taylor to be playing along more with his voice than the rhythm signature. Taylor went out and bought a Digitech FX pedal that came with drum loops. Following James’ advice tidied up his right hand quite a bit, cementing this gift in his mind.

The following year in 2006, he moved from his hometown of Baton Rouge, Louisiana to Nashville to pursue his dreams. He arrived with his acoustic Takamine F-349, a Telecaster, and a duffle bag. He would be living in Franklin, a suburb just south of Nashville, in an apartment with Vickie, a church acquaintance of his aunt.  He had thirty days to find a job and start paying rent. One day, he was at the mall and saw a sign with a job opportunity for a karate instructor. He had taken years of Tang Soo Do as a child, but the sign was for Tae Kwon Do. Still, he sold himself stating that both were Korean martial art styles and was given a job as an instructor at the Yong In Martial Arts Academy. With his financial piece being solved, he began to put together more of the puzzle. Taylor frequented the local clubs and bars to get a taste for what was out there. He spent countless nights waiting in line to perform at writer’s rounds. Very quickly, he realized how small of a fish he had become in such a big pool of talent. But his thirst for success could not be depleted. When not roaming the entertainment district, he would practice in a loft above the gym at Vickie’s apartment complex. One of those evenings, a man poked his head up to talk to Taylor. He complimented Taylor on his music and, handing him a business card, asked if he would come play some songs for him at his place. The stranger turned out to be Walt Aldridge, a member of The Nashville Songwriters Hall of Fame and The Alabama Music Hall of Fame. His repertoire included hits for Travis Tritt, Conway Twitty, Tim McGraw, Reba McEntire, Ronnie Milsap, and Barbara Mandrel (And I’m only scratching the surface here).

The night Taylor went to Walt’s place, Walt handed an old Gibson to him and asked what he thought of it. Though it looked a bit old and worn, Walt explained that the guitar used to belong to Johnny Cash. Taylor was frozen, taking notice of how the buttons on his shirt were touching this holy grail of instruments. After playing a few of his tunes, Walt imparted some insight to Taylor. He told Taylor that he thought his songs were good but admitted he hadn’t heard a hit. He felt Taylor needed to trim the fat. “Genius is when big implications are expressed with fewer words”, he said. Walt critiqued each one of Tayor’s songs individually. He would send Taylor off with homework assignments, directing him to write songs meant for certain artists and critique those as well. With his work cut out for him musically, Taylor was able to inch forward occupationally when Vickie tapped on a church acquaintance to land him a job at Gibson Guitars. His pay jumped from $8 to $12 an hour, which was decent money back in 2006. While there, he befriended an ex-marine by the name of Brian James. Brian was a bit older than Taylor, had nice gear, and had an overall cool image. He played in a rock band in the Marine Corps and had experience playing in a touring band before coming to Gibson. Taylor looked up to him. One day Taylor asked him how he could learn to play like Brian. The first thing Brian wanted to know was who Taylor was listening to. When Taylor started naming named like Merle Haggard and Chris Ledoux, Brian began to shake his head and replied, “No, man, you’re never going to become a great player listening to that stuff. Here’s what you need to listen to.” Brian turned Taylor on to musicians like Joe Bonamassa, Kenny Wayne Shephard, Stevie Ray Vaughn, Albert King, and Buddy Guy. The world of blues-rock was an influence Taylor hadn’t considered before. He crawled through the works of these artists and, by the time he watched Eric Clapton’s Crossroads DVD, he was hooked. He even went out and bought a Stratocaster because he loved the blues sound so much.

Technically speaking, the blues were more attainable to Taylor. The licks weren’t as involved as what he had been playing. Taking in the big picture, I’d say it was just what he needed to push himself further at that time. If you recall, James Marsden recommended he pay more attention to his timing, urging him to get a metronome or a drum machine. And with a groove music like blues, timing is everything. With some hard work, the time he spent with Brian would enable him to improve his repertoire. And with all of the work he put in at Gibson, he was able to move out of Vickie’s apartment and get a place of his own. Things were looking up. But so far, the only exposure he had to performing in front of crowds was at writer’s rounds with his acoustic. A local musician by the name of Dustin Wilkes was performing one night at Tootsie’s Organ Lounge, a place Taylor frequented. The guitarist, Brad Wolf, was someone he followed and respected. Taylor would often hit the guy with a barrage of questions about his gear and his technique. So, it was easy for Brad to surmise that Taylor was an aspiring musician. One night Brad needed a cigarette break. He looked at Taylor, pointed to his guitar, then pointed to him with a quizzical look on his face. Taylor eagerly responded. This would mark the first time a teenaged Taylor was in front of a crowd, with a band, and with an electric guitar. The band started running through songs to see which ones he knew and could play. They arrived at something he was ready to play, “Right Where I need to Be”, by Gary Allen. They followed with “Folsom Prison Blues”, by Johnny Cash and “Can’t You See”, by The Marshall Tucker Band. He was able to sing that night as well. And to top it all off, he got the nod from Dustin Wilkes. Dustin performed on the famed tv show, The Nashville Star. So, his approval meant a lot to Taylor. It also meant scoring his own gig at Tootsie’s, which would, in turn, lead to others.

Taylor was able to form a band, playing bars, parties, and casinos all over town. He would also eventually meet a girl and fall in love. She happened to be the grand daughter of Merle Kilgore, who co-wrote Burning Ring of Fire, managed Hank Williams Jr., and was the president of the Country Music Awards. The two married and had children. But as Taylor put it, “she was too generous with her affections” and the two would divorce. He reached a point where he needed to put some miles between himself and how flawed his personal circumstances had become. It was time for him to leave Nashville. His musical identity had taken a long time to figure out. Comparing and contrasting while in the eyes of a crowd accelerated this process for him while there. So, his time in Nashville was invaluable. Brian James, his co-worker at Gibson, was what he considers to be one of the pivotal moments in his life. I’d say his meetings with James Marsden and Walt Aldridge had meaningful impacts as well. The two echoed the importance of timing and overall song arrangement. The fact that Walt chose to invest time in him was perhaps something he hadn’t considered during that moment. The man’s background towered over Taylor and nervousness was more prevalent. But during these experiences, a young kid was learning and growing, and shoring up his ego bit by bit. Today, with three singles, two albums, and countless hours performing for crowds under his belt, Taylor still remains astute. His diversity and experiences have enabled him to play throughout the gulf south, Tennessee, Kentucky, the Midwest, up and down the west coast, and Canada. And he continues to stand as a creative force in our music community. In March of 2022, he released his debut album, “Walk of Shame Hall of Fame”. They were followed that same year by two singles, “Shittin’ on Company Time” and “Shrimp Boots”. Then, in January of 2023, he released another single titled “Fuck Everything”. And he followed that with a second album in December titled, “Weather the Storm”.  A flood in 2016 spelled the end for that first real guitar his father and grandfather chipped in to buy him. But his wife had it painted, and it now hangs on his wall. This, along with the words and melodies of Merle Haggard, Johnny Cash, Hank Thompson, and other names of old are some of the things that Taylor carries with him to this day. Instilled within him is a deep appreciation for the family and the music from whence he came. And you can hear it in his music today. The solos still ring true, the origins are carried forth, and his spin on those traditions are what he brings to the table. He is the genuine article. 

Author: David Trahan

Neworleansmusicians.com

www.taylornautamusic.com

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Chris Leblanc (pt 1)

Though his life started out in the city, Chris spent the majority of his childhood in the country-side of East Baton Rouge. At the age of ten, the view outside his window transformed from traffic ladened buildings to the serenity of grass and the trees. He was surrounded by friends, and recalls fondly those small-town ball fields, cutting up on dirt bikes and skateboards, and of course, the family gatherings. He was one of twenty-eight grand children in a family that was always together. Spending much time in his father’s rehearsal room, it was his family that started him in music. All his life, Chris’ father was playing bass and singing in a band. And his mother, sisters and uncles all either sang or played an instrument. So, it’s no wonder he found himself alongside others at functions performing for family and friends. This didn’t just acclimate him to being in front of spectators at an early age. As he recalled, it brought to him the idea that there was no “us and them” when it came to the performers and the crowd. A warm feeling came over them all as a young child played bass, belting out old Hank Williams tunes. In fourth grade, Chris was able to join his school band. Though he originally wanted to play alto sax, he opted for the trumpet after seeing his dad’s face wince at the price tag. He took an interest in the saxophone probably because it was the instrument never around at family gatherings. And although he will say the trumpet, in particular, never spoke to him. He points out that music theory and the communication of music on paper was an invaluable gift bestowed upon him through the experience.

Chris’ head was constantly in music. Whether it was at school under the guidance of instructors or at home in his room, he would come home after reading sheet music and playing brass at school, slap on a record, and listen to it over and over again. With a bass in hand, he learned every single tune. He wasn’t just processing the notes. This was teaching him song arrangement as well. He was simultaneously immersed in music outside of these avenues. Back in 1976, he attended his first concert with family. Willie Nelson and Waylon Jennings were on the Redheaded Stranger Tour. He recalls it having such an impact on him. “The next show I go see, my uncle takes me to the superdome to go see the Rolling Stones in 1980. And there’s fucking 90,000 people there bra! And I’m like… the Rolling Stones! I’m a kid! I’m eleven years old! I’m probably the youngest kid in the place. And I’m watching the Rolling Stones! I’m like, I’m gonna play rock and roll for the rest of my life! I am going to play music for the rest of my life. I don’t care what it takes.” For the most part, Chris had been in a bubble of sorts up until this point. He knew what it was to play in intimate familial settings. And he had the benefit of symphonic band, marching band, and jazz band through school. But these instances were more or less in traditional genres from older generations. He had now witnessed firsthand the awesome power of a global rock band in an energized stadium. And this occurred during his foray into the multi-genre pop explosion that swept the 80’s. There was blood in the water. And he would constantly look for more. Bob Marley, The Police, The Clash, Duran Duran, Lynyrd Skynyrd; the list went on and on. Previously embracing this sonic world as a student, he found all of this easy to dissect. The discipline of music had finally connected with his passion, all of the pieces fitting together.

High school really opened up his mind. Under a strong band director, Wayne Frazier, he was able to learn and grow enormously. What’s funny is that he approached high school band with the mindset that he would be able to put down the trumpet, play bass in the high school jazz band, and not let on to the director that he could or wanted to play anything else. But Mr. Frazier having other things in mind explained, “I’ve already heard about you. I know who you are. I know you play trumpet. And you’re gonna play trumpet in marching and symphonic. If you wanna play bass in jazz band, you’re going to play in marching and symphonic.” While this may have stopped any other 13-year-old in their tracks, Chris went along with the plan. As a result, he was able to learn coordinated shows in marching band as well as the complexities of symphonic band. Throughout high school, he was completely steeped in music and growing as a musician at an incredible rate. At fourteen, he was playing in his father’s band with grown men. They would hand him the work tape, and before you knew it, he had learned forty songs on his bass. I laughed out loud during the interview when his eyes widened describing the first few times he was handed hundreds of dollars after a gig. By the time he ended his junior year, he had become the drum major of a 200-person marching band and would go on to drum major camp. It was evident in our talks just how much all of this meant to Chris. Not the title, not even the curriculum per se, but the much-needed discipline and the boundaries instilled in him as a musician taught Chris how to focus. On the Monday following a weekend marching band performance, the band would watch tape. This was a revelatory time in his life, one that also further solidified the concept of “there is no us and them”. Because it drew the connection between the band and the crowd. That tape would show everyone, all at once, performing as ants to build the mound. Thus, illustrating to Chris how his and so many others’ parts were perceived. And this, to Chris, was beautiful.

High school ended and he received the Marine Corps Semper Fidelis Musical Excellence Award, recognizing Chris for his musical achievements and leadership, as well as being a role model for other students. It was surprise for me to learn that he didn’t join Tiger Band when he attended LSU that fall. But as he pointed out, at that time in his life he had been in 25-plus bands outside of school and in school, completely saturated in a structured band setting. With the absence of the lifestyle of a “student” of music, Chris was finally able to sit back and ask himself, ‘what is it that I want to do in music?’ He really wanted to front his own band for a change. But he felt as though in order to do that properly he would have to play guitar. Drums, bass, trumpet, and a mic all had passed through his hands. He could strum an acoustic sometimes. But the guitar wasn’t in his hands enough to feel familiar. Back when it was time for him to get his first instrument, he chose brass because it was missing from his eyes and ears. And now, he focused on guitar. Because it too had been missing. There was also this element of exploration that hadn’t played a substantial role in his life. For all the times he found himself with an instrument, there was an agenda. There was sheet music to read. There was a work tape to learn. There were song arrangements to be constructed and deconstructed. He wanted to experience the freeing sensation of exploratory, improvisational bliss. He had seen Jimi Hendrix “ride the wave”.  And without lessening his grip, he longed for the euphoric deliverance he knew an instrument could provide given the right circumstances.

Chris invested time in people adept on the guitar. He would hang with them at their houses, often accompanying them on performances and open mic nights. All the while, trying to gain some semblance of this new path to sound. One day a buddy of his showed him the E Major scale laid out on a guitar neck. “And so, I started looking at this. And it was like… I broke the matrix! I really did. When you look at the guitar neck and it adds up longways and crossways. It’s like, I feel like I broke the matrix. And knowing that ok cool, I know where these positions are. And then, all of the sudden, it’s just repeating. It’s just a circle of never ending what you can get out of it. And then, that’s when my world opened up. I had this level of confidence that came over me. And I was like, I can do this.” Time flies by in hindsight, as you will find here. The steps Chris took and the people he surrounded himself with would culminate in the formation of his own band in 1991. People thought it odd that he named it simply, “The Chris Leblanc Band”. Noone does that they would say. But honestly, if you think about it, all the greats did. Jimi Hendrix, Santana, Van Halen, Janis Joplin, and Steve Miller all did it. Why couldn’t he? Getting gigs at places like Tipitina’s and Jimmy’s Music Club, and writing blues-rock tunes had him feeling like he had made it. He opened for bands like Sonny Landreth, Jeff Healy, Yellowman, and The Fabulous Thunderbirds. But not having an album always made him feel a little less-than.

Being in the land of no internet under a band name that was just as unknown as any other, having an album was crucial. The concept of branding wasn’t an idea at the forefront of many, if any, independent bands back then. Gigging as much as possible and networking to get those gigs set the bar. “I’ve got no record. We’re out playing. Things are happening. I’ve got these songs and they’re just floating out in fucking space ‘cuz there’s no record. This buddy of ours, Riley Ethridge, and I say buddy. I didn’t know the dude from nobody. He comes and sees us play in a club in Baton Rouge. And he’s like, you’ve got it. I’ve got a studio behind my house. And he goes, I want you to come… I’m offering to you, you come record in my studio and you don’t have to pay me anything up front. You just come and we’ll track your hours. And you need a record. I mean can you imagine? I’ve got nothing! There’s no internet. There’s no computer in somebody’s house. There’s no digital audio workstation, or protools in their house. The only thing people had was a Tascam four-track multi-cassette recorder. And I didn’t have that because my ass was broke. I was driving around in a 1974 Econoline Ford van.” I brought up the idea that at that time, this didn’t constitute a desperate time. Because it WAS the time. People today think one needs all these things to make anything happen. And it just isn’t so. In my eyes, people today don’t realize that a land existed before the internet. And that land is chock-full of success stories. Before this experience with the guy’s home studio, he had never been inside one. But now he’s finally there. He was getting guidance from an engineer friend, Wendell Tilley, focusing for as many takes as it required. Somehow, he would score the opportunity to get his album mastered by Bernie Grundman. Billy Joel and Whitney Houston were just a glimpse into the credits under this man’s belt. This was a godsend for Chris, because at this moment he was nine tunes into eight-thousand dollars in debt. He explained, “Back then I knew, if I wanted to have any kind of legitimacy to what I was gonna do, my record was gonna fall between Lenny Kravitz and Led Zeppelin on the rack at the record store. And it better fucking sound pretty fucking good!” He would follow this turn of events with even greater strides. He booked a night at the Varsity Theater in Baton Rouge to mark the release of his debut album, titled The Chris Leblanc Band, and it sold out. He showed up with 1,000 CDs and sold over 450 CDs in one night, giving him the ability to pay off his record. Bursting with pride, he finally felt as though he was a success. He recalled a time when he played at House of Blues back when they first opened up. They wanted a piece of his CD sales for the night. But this was his baby. Without giving in, and much to the chagrin of the club and some of its performers there, he simply gave away CDs that night.

In 1998 after years of gigging, selling CDs and T-shirts, and saving money, he was able to record a second album. One that would be in the same blues/ rock vein, but with more pop sensibility. His sophomore effort would be titled The Chris Leblanc Band: Talent Show. This time, his engineer friend Wendell Tilley had his own studio, one with a great big cutting room. And Bernie Grundman would master his work. The record release party for this record would sell out as well. And at that performance, a rep from RCA would meet Chris and offer to fly him and his band out to Los Angeles to showcase for the company. Things were looking up. And to be honest, they had been even before that moment. During his come-uppance, he had bought a house, he had bought cars, and he had built a home studio. And with a growing comfort in a studio setting came studio gigs. He would record on other musicians’ albums and even do voice-over work for commercials. The courting process between him and RCA seemed like the next logical step. But as that was happening, Chris found out he was going to be a father. It caused him to really take stock in the prospect of this record deal. RCA was ready to sign him after that showcase. A move to Los Angeles would be in order directly. But to himself, he felt as though things were going great as they were. The guarantee of the present felt more secure than RCA’s promise of his future. And ultimately, he opted to decline their offer. Fatherhood would now take center-stage. And the trappings of even a studio regiment would have to wait. But this would not be the end of Chris Leblanc as a musician. Still gigging, and after some time in his new position as a father, Chris would realize his next accomplishment. By this time technology had raced forward. Laptops and Protools meant that studio settings were smaller and most importantly, mobile. His appeal as a performing musician had not waned in the eyes of his fans and friends. And many would hint at the idea of his next album being just that, a stripped-down performance record. He never stopped writing during the pregnancy and following the birth. So, he had some songs to offer. This all would culminate in a proposition from a friend that involved a local chapel, Chris’ recorded songs, and his presence being captured in the most intimate way possible. I spent much time writing and rewriting this. Partly because, in reading back over what I wrote, it felt drab, and less-than. After several attempts, and much thought, I realized why. Several hours over the course of two days were expended talking with Chris and getting to know who he is. And I believe it was hard to capture here because he’s a simple man. He’s simple yet incredible. He has such an immeasurable depth of feeling and he has gone through a lot. Yet he always seemed to put his best foot forward. I think this is what it takes to be a great musician; an intensive sense of emotion, an intuitive good will, and raw talent. I hope to see you all back here in two weeks to read about the road Chris travelled following his child’s birth. At times, our discussion during the second installment parted ways with the tangible and aligned more closely with the ethereal. There was a lot of open honesty, at times even to the detriment of his own confidence. But Chris Leblanc was and is human in its truest form. I applaud him for it. And I know you will too.

Author: David Trahan

Neworleansmusicians.com

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Okay, Boomhauer

One of three children, Conner Graham was born St. Amant in Ascension Parish, Louisiana. Where, according to him, disco and Swamp Pop never died. “At our middle school dances, they were playing Wilson Pickett. Yeah, they might do the Bunny Hop. They might have cranked some DMX in 2002. But then the very next song was Land of a Thousand Dances. It was very strange looking back. But we didn’t know it was weird at the time” His start as a musician began at just five years old on the piano. Before long though, he was turned off by it because of the urgings from his music teacher. She wanted him to play Beauty and the Beast. But he wanted to play Dr. John and Elton John. According to Conner, she took one look at material from Elton John and saw the title Jesus Freaks Out in the Streets and instantly objected. She countered with Be Our Guest from Beauty and the Beast. And so began a path away from the keys. His familiarity at an early age with his preferred genre came by way of his mother. She was a radio DJ in the 70’s for 102.5 WFMF, “Baton Rouge’s #1 Hit Music Station”. Her record collection at home was both a testament to her tastes in music and a big influence on Conner’s early musical experiences. It’s how he knew of bands like the Beatles, Crosby, Stills & Nash, Jonathan Edwards, and the Eagles.

He would move onto trumpet, eventually playing in band at school. During this time, another one of his hobbies was playing Guitar Hero with friends. He actually became quite good at it and recalls watching an episode of South Park. Where, in reference to the game, Stan’s mom declared, “If they would spend half as much time learning a real instrument, they would be onto something!” He thought to himself, is that true? He knew his mom had an old guitar sitting in a closet somewhere. So, in the summer before his senior year, he asked her if he could start lessons. During his senior year of high school, his mother took him to his first Jazz Fest. She wanted to see folk artist James Taylor, and he wanted to see the alt-rock band Wilco. But halfway through Wilco’s set, he wandered off and was drawn to blues-rock artist Johnny Winters. People sometimes speak of the timeless quality music had in the 70’s. And even though Conner was born in ’91, that 70’s sound had him hooked. To his liking, there was not a lot of synthesizers, and that gated reverb snare hadn’t taken over yet, nor had auto tune. Rounding out his tastes was the influence from his older brother, who was into Pearl Jam, the Foo Fighters, Nirvana, and other 90’s grunge. Through his older brother, Conner was also able to witness the camaraderie that came with being in a band. Because his brother was in a band and would have the same close-knit group of friends over all the time. He wanted that for himself. So, between regular lessons and persistent after school practicing, he stuck close to playing guitar. Eventually he would form his own band; or try to, at least. Conner and three of his friends would assemble in his garage for practice. But this was short lived. Directly following graduation in 2009, two of his friends shipped off to the armed forces and one of them moved away. Conner himself would move on to college at LSU and join the Tiger Band playing trumpet. While this may have kept Conner in touch with music, it was always a highly regimented and scheduled out event. Playing trumpet in a school band, he felt boxed in. But with guitar, he was able truly be creative. And this is what fed his soul. He did try out for a couple of bands during his time in college. Being that he enjoyed karaoke, he tried out for a pop-punk band that needed a singer. And another was a bizarre reggae rap-metal band that needed a trumpet player. Though he felt himself veering away from the trumpet somewhat, it was the only one of the two bands that called back. But he stuck with the reggae band for a while. He also took gigs on the side, all with his trumpet. And all the while his affinity for guitar grew more and more.

At the end of 2014, Conner would be reunited with high school friends for a bonfire. As luck would have it all three had moved back into town. It wouldn’t take long for the four of them to put the band back together. And in just four months they had written ten songs, calling themselves Bayou Bullets. Over the next four years the group would see changes in their line-up, a five song EP studio recorded album by the name of Five in the Chamber, and the addition of a singer, Jovin Webb. Which allowed Conner to focus on playing. But the group had yet to find its true identity. Conner recalls, “If you listen to the album, it sounds like three very different bands playing five different songs.” Pop-punk, blues, 70’s folk acoustic, and rock had somehow all found a way into their initial attempt. Though Conner’s preference leaned somewhat toward pop punk, an affinity reignited by his 2018 Warped Tour attendance, the future for this band would be shaped, in part, by two factors. One of the previous changes in the line-up was the addition of a guitarist that was heavy into 80’s metal. And their new singer, Jovin, had a voice that dwelled in that soulful grit. The territory where these factors would intersect, and where the band would ultimately settle, would be in 70’s blues rock. The coming years would be spent exploring this identity on stage and culminating in their sophomore effort titled New Lie. Parts of 2019 and 2020 were spent trying to get this album down, as it was fraught with its fair share of hurdles. Jovin had been picked up by American Idol that year. And his efforts would land him in the top ten on that show. But a seeming positive would often present itself as a negative when it came to scheduling time for the band’s album. A song he had written, After the Rain, was one that left a hole Conner kept scrambling to fill. And the fact that it was written as a duet didn’t help things. At one time Chloe from Alabaster Stack was supposed to accompany Jovin on the song. After that fell through, Maria from Riarosa was slated to fill the spot and had to cancel. Also, Covid had reared its ugly head which brought production at the studio to a halt. Suddenly, Conner found himself at a low point in his life. The album release would eventually see the light of day. But for now, it was botched. Depression was setting in and writer’s block was beginning to take hold.

Fortunately, Conner had the presence of mind at the time to seek outside help from a therapist. In these sessions it was revealed to him that the pressures of coordinating practices and gigs, and fighting to get this album out had placed him in a position where his creative outlet had become a job. The solution was to start another project where “making it” was not the goal, effectively freeing him from the constricts of all those elements that muddy the waters of inspiration. In this new project he would not even play an instrument. He would front this band as its singer, it would be a cover band in his preferred vein of pop-punk, and their name would be Okay, Boomhauer. Though Covid would wreak havoc on this band’s ability to practice and function, he was still able to reclaim a broken block from his previous project, Bayou Bullets. Reexamining that material through the alternative lens of his new band’s genre, a song stood out to him. It spoke to him in the form of an emo ballad. He felt so strongly about this that he would eventually record it as such. Five songs would accompany it on an album that was to be his solution to the isolation and stagnation that Covid instilled in us all. Paired with just an audio engineer, Conner wrote and recorded an album under the name Okay, Boomhauer. Progress was finally being made. As for Bayou Bullets, a pivot in their business model would be the answer to the pandemic. They realized that if they steered clear of major cities they could circumvent restrictions in place at the time. Together they hit every honky-tonk and dive bar along the gulf south. Being that their mainstay was in covers this was an easy sell, and a lucrative one to boot.

Finally, Conner felt as though he had some breathing room. Bayou Bullets was gigging consistently, restrictions began to ease, and Okay, Boomhauer began to practice. Conner let them hear what he recorded and the band really took a liking to the material. The revelation would expand the band into originals and would accompany a catalog of about thirty cover songs. Then one night while performing with Bayou Bullets in the college town of Starkville, MS, he contracted Covid. And it nearly killed him. “It was literally weeks and months of rehab to get back to the point that I could perform or anything like that. Heck, it took three weeks before I was able to walk more than a block down the street. But in that time of working through all that, we also had that hurricane (Ida) that hit in August. And that wiped the calendar for Bayou Bullets away. Which provided the opening for a couple of the members who had been waffling on leaving or not to decide, you know what, it’s not going to be putting them out if I leave now.” Conner’s health would eventually be restored. And his focus would then shift to Okay, Boomhauer.

This new endeavor has found Conner and his band scheduled to perform from Dallas to Mobile. He has already written an entire album for the band to record in between shows and is currently writing the following album. They are going into the studio to release a single this spring, with another to follow toward the end of this year. It’s been a cathartic experience for him. He’s proud of how his own EP turned out ultimately being played by Okay, Boomhauer. Seeing results, his vision is no longer obscured by the familiar doldrums of years prior. He’s started investing time and money in an editing process that will enhance the band’s following on social media. And he is able to delve into the mechanics of a far-reaching band without feeling bogged down. “I have targeted a list of cities that are all between eight and twelve hours away from here to start building that network of cities that we can we can tour to, to get to the cities that really give a shit about this music.” In due time, after some replacement recruiting, his other project Bayou Bullets will reemerge redubbed as The Black Smokes. We talked more in depth about his journey throughout. And we went on to examine the findings of research he has put into elevating Okay, Boomhauer to the next level. You can hear all of it on our recent podcast episode titled by the band’s name. Thanks so much for reading and remember, support for these musicians and this site comes as easily as sharing our work.

Author: David Trahan

For Neworleansmusicians.com

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Music Journalist Search

Top o’ the morning to the powers that be, as well as the common folk. I, Lingo Starr, have been tasked with finding an “additional” journalist for Neworleansmusicians.com. And I use quotes because, as I am told, this is not my replacement. “Lingo, we’re not looking to replace you. We just think that David (the owner) is writing more articles than need be at the moment. And we think you could use a hand with expediting finished works.” This, as per second in command. So, without further ado, and in good faith, the facts are as follows. Neworleansmusicians.com is searching for a journalist interested in covering the music scene in Louisiana. Specifically, we need someone to both draw from material we give you, as well as from your own findings (research, interactions, and otherwise). If you would like to establish a catalog of published works and get involved with a website that supports Louisiana musicians, contact me at lingo_starr@yahoo.com. I’m going to go through applicants myself. Please send example(s) of your work, and feel free to include any questions. We do perform within deadlines here, so expect that. We do not, however, (thank God) report to an office, so that’s a perk. You can check out examples of NOM’s subject matter here https://neworleansmusicians.com/blog/. I look forward to hearing from, and working with, all of you!

Author: Lingo Starr

Neworleansmusicians.com