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2023 Year in Review

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My journey this year has paralleled that of many musicians, in that I put forth my all in pursuit of an ideal that only exists in my mind. Not knowing what to expect has surrendered the foreground long ago. My focus and intent is on doing Louisiana’s music community justice. Being completely self-funded, Neworleansmusicians.com’s greatest challenge has been getting the word out without the benefit of an advertising budget. Just as venues often do, I rely on my members to promote their own appearances on the site, on the blog, on the podcast, and on the Youtube Channel. Word-of-mouth is more powerful than most people realize. And for someone like me, a simple mention means everything. But no matter the amount of exposure, I have always been gifted with the ability to look back on the catalog of work I have generated and be proud. To your friend or family member in a band, I know I am able to add value to their musical efforts. Bringing artists together and introducing opportunity has been the fire that fuels me.

In the back of my mind, I have always gone back and forth between the “I” and the “we”. I’ve never been one to pander to image. And I suppose one could say humility plays a role in this as well. But frequently, the impression one leaves with another can open a few doors down the road. Throughout 2023, I have found myself erasing the “we” in communications online and replacing it with “I”. I have found myself reminding… myself that I am doing these things. That I don’t have a staff. I have myself, a freelance programmer, and the occasional article contributed by those interested. Conversely, I do believe there is always a bit of “we” at play. By that, I mean the musicians, music businesses, and fans that decide to join, the people that read the articles, watch the videos, and listen to the podcasts, and all those who simply mention the site to another, make up this sector. Despite my hours on the phone, on the road to interviews, and behind this keyboard, those supporters may very well be the tipping point for this website’s success. And once again, like a musician, a little bit of blind faith comes into play. At any rate, in an effort to remain transparent as well as hold myself accountable, I have committed to publishing a “year in review” article every year. I do hope this also serves to demonstrate merit and possibly garner the interest (and membership) of more people.

In year two of being in business, I have onboarded forty-nine new members, bringing the total to one-hundred and four. New members included forty-one bands, a music label, two recording studios, an online music magazine, and four fans. Yes, a little-known feature on the site is that fans can register for free as well. Their benefits for joining include store discounts, the ability to list in the classifieds, and the ability to message bands. I published twenty-three podcast episodes, twenty-seven articles, and fifty-four videos. Instead of commercials in the middle of those podcast episodes, I pick a new member, talk about their band, and play the audience a snip of their work. The statistics I see tell me that thousands of people have been exposed to the artists in those features. Fun fact: some of the interview subjects requested the art I generated from their interview promotions. I gladly furnished them the designs and they were able to use it for their own projects. I also added to Neworleansmusicians.com’s playlists. I have professional accounts on sixteen platforms. Each contains eighteen playlists named by genre. And the number of tracks from my members that I added is literally too many to count. More often than not, I have added their whole catalog. I know that this has lead to more exposure for my members.

Aside from these advances, I also enjoyed a bit of publicity this year. I was a guest on the Getting to Know You podcast where I spoke about my life as a Captain and a president of a music network. I was also a guest on the Music of America podcast. This one was special to me because I was able to select three site members to talk about on that show. I was also able to play their music. And I know this brought them to a new and far-reaching audience. I was featured in an article in The American Press which described what Neworleansmusicians.com is doing for musicians in Louisiana. And I was also featured in CanvasRebel, an online entrepreneurial magazine. I look back on all these instances with dignity. But what stood out to me was that, in each feature, I described my mission in different ways. They all contained the same message. But all too often you see a mission statement from a company that reads the same across all fronts. Sometimes it makes me question the authenticity of those words. Regardless, my guest appearances, my articles, my videos, and my podcast have all contributed to the traffic that frequents Neworleansmusicians.com. This has been my way of bringing value to the site and its members.

The time I spent interviewing Vinnie Labella was probably the moment that I was closest to someone that had not only performed in front of hundreds of thousands of people, but had honestly revolutionized the world of thrash music. I’ll always say the interview I did with Vinnie was the worst recording of the best interview I’ve done to date. That was the day one of my lav mics decided to start shorting out. And audio editing for that podcast episode became a Macgyver act that even I am surprised I pulled off.  But I felt as though we really connected. And because of that, I was able to bring the most comprehensive look at his life to my audience and his fans. In all his years touring the seven continents and sitting before countless reporters, this had never been done before. Not to mention, it was revealed that Phil Anselmo (Pantera, Down, Superjoint Ritual, etc) was actually a member of Exhorder at one point. Which had not been known to anyone. I was the only person he agreed to talk to since his split from Exhorder three years preceding. And he was approached by many distinguished magazines to get that story. It was an important moment in music history.

I think the interview that held the most cultural importance was the one I did with Wayne Kahn. His altruistic intent for the historical audio and video he has come into possession of is reassuring. The contributions to the Smithsonian Folkways and his current plans to immortalize the chronicles of one of America’s founding families in zydeco music is commendable, to say the least. He was able to illustrate the importance of the Carrier family to my audience, regardless of their preference or unawareness of zydeco music. After publishing, I watched the statistics and social interactions on his interview closely. And I was able to connect him with a prominent music documentarian.

The interview that I believe held the most importance for the musical heritage of New Orleans would be the Chris Beary interview. Together, with Grammy Associate Director Reid Wick and a board of national and local influential members of the music community, the Louisiana Music and Heritage Experience will soon become the most important music heritage museum in the state. I was able to bring the news of this massive music museum to my audience. Also, I was able to line up one of my members, Pocket Chocolate, with Chris who then booked them for the Funky Uncle Live 8-Night Jam. They were able to share the stage with musicians like Grammy Award winner Leo Nocentelli, and both Leo and Russel Batiste.

Something else happened that I thought was really cool. Someone I interviewed in 2022 was featured in an article on Nola.com in 2023. The article contained a video segment of my interview with him. I always feature music from members in my video intros. They are often-times from a member other than the one I am interviewing. I include a full screen credit with album art for the musician whose music I use. So, as a result of that, the musician in the intro got a spot in a prominent website article just for being a member. I did observe traffic and watch-time increase on that video. So, I know his music gained exposure through that inclusion.

Looking ahead into 2024, I hope to continue to onboard musicians and music industry professionals throughout Louisiana to Neworleansmusicians.com as well as keep pace with my current rate of publications on the podcast, the Youtube Channel, and the blog. I cannot begin to explain how much I have enjoyed meeting and speaking with these people about their lives. I maintain contact with each and every one of them. Not only because of a vested interest on a personal level. But because the very crux of Neworleansmusicians.com is the network itself. It is what allows me the privilege of bringing opportunity to my members. For this coming year, I will also need to pay more attention to possible avenues of income for Neworleansmusicians.com while preserving my commitment to always keeping it free to use for everyone. One particular statistic I left out in this year-in-review is the amount of money I spent this year on Neworleansmusicians.com. It’s in the five digits. I’ve been so focused on promoting bands and generating media that I haven’t really given the importance of (at least) breaking even its due. I’ve never cared much for the act of putting a price on one’s passion. But I also never realized the digital age could deliver such hefty bills! Once again, like many musicians out there, 2023 has seen me wince at the price of pursuing one’s passion, as well as things like gasoline and Enfamil. I must admit this will not be an easy task for me. I do have a donation page, but that has been crickets. I understand what it’s like to live hand-to-mouth. So, I’ve not expected much on that front. If anyone knows of any effective grant writers or fund-raising entities that would be a fit, I’m all ears. But in the words of author and educator Marsha Sinetar, “Do what you love and the money will follow.”

PS – If anyone would like to help spread the word, I have postcards and stickers. Send me your address and I’ll get those out to you for free. Thanks!

Author: David Trahan

Neworleansmusicians.com

Press here to check out our YOUTUBE music videos and interviews.
    • Please check out our show, Neworleansmusicians.com Podcast, wherever you stream. Thanks!
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    Justin Curry

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    Born in Madison, Ohio, Justin Curry basically kept to himself as a child. His father was a drummer based in Houston and wasn’t around much. But his mother and aunt were. And both could sing; his aunt even performing on stage. Though violin wasn’t the first instrument he picked up, it was the first one chose of his own volition. In high school, where there was no orchestral program, he played trombone and could manage basic piano and guitar. With a laugh, he recalls how the music teacher told him he would never have a career in music. To all my budding new instrumentalists out there, this story will show that you should never let another dissuade you from your dreams of becoming a musician! Having not yet found the instrument that resonated with him the most, Justin’s true talent was not yet apparent. For that teacher and all his classmates, this would not come to light until his solo violin recital in high school. I’ve always maintained that underestimation is the greatest gift anyone could ever give. And Justin took full advantage of this, surprising everyone at that recital. He received a standing ovation for that performance. He would again surprise everyone when he became student council president. He would also amaze them by graduating a year early. His pursuit of becoming a professional violinist was a fervent one. He took lessons from a private tutor and was a student of the classical music genre. He realized if he wanted to make it in music, he would have to leave his hometown. Throughout the nineties, Madison’s live music scene experienced a whitewashing of sorts. Such to where the town was overrun with generic dive bars when all was said and done. Although Ohio had music education programs available at the time, it was becoming apparent that one would be hard-pressed to make it as a local musician financially. So, while taking lessons on the violin, Justin planned his move for years, unbeknownst to anyone.

    He would continue in this vein, honing his craft in private. But once he left high school, he began performing publicly in and around Cleveland. Though jobs were scarce, he did prefer to play in restaurants as opposed to bars. He found that in bars, the music was secondary to the focus of socializing and libation. Whereas in restaurants, a musician’s performance was more central to the atmosphere. At one particular restaurant, he enjoyed a residency as well as their high-end client base. He started to notice his presence bringing in more and more customers. But when he approached the owner about an increase in pay, he was unfortunately shunned. Influenced by his hometown’s whitewashing of bars as well as this disheartening experience, Justin was prompted to form his own perspective on the venue philosophy. And in his opinion, many bars and restaurants have been involved in a “race to the bottom”. Whereby the caliber of services and features are gradually reduced while the price point persistently rises. And I agree that the competitive essence of many businesses these days seems to result in a reduction in quality. With long-term vitality being sacrificed for the sake of short-term profits, returning patronage suffers. Conversely, I understand that quality over quantity is a characteristic of maturation. Where may the two converge comfortably though? Justin says that a society centered around pop culture is afraid to appreciate finer arts. And while venues following suit is a direct result, it should not be tolerated, much less rewarded. 

    Ever since he was a child, Justin took a peculiar interest in Japanese culture. Their ways stood as a sharp contrast to what he found himself surrounded by in Ohio. He could appreciate how both art and discipline were revered there. In Japan, it wasn’t as common to find a musician with two to three jobs because their art was more appreciated and thus would provide sufficiently. Following his dreams, he travelled there and enjoyed a successful career as a musician. His first stint was for four and a half years. It was from that time, when he returned to the states, that he found himself in New Orleans. Many of his guiding principles still held true here, like avoiding bar performances and contending with pop culture and low pay. But a big part of him was drawn to the city’s rich cultural heritage and musically significant history. And certain lagniappes like busking could help to subsidize his venue-based income. This may come as a surprise to some. But the amount of foot traffic a tourist destination supplies occasionally makes performing on the street a more viable option. And for Justin, it has proven to be of greater profit than playing in most venues. He does have his own strategies when it comes to busking. “Be respectful of where you are. Clean up when you’re done. Be good to the people around you. Because doing this is just as much a people skill thing as it is a musical thing. But on top of that, be good at making music. Because if you’re not good, you’re going to make nothing. It’s one of those things, sink or swim.” He continued by pointing out that adding to your environment is paramount. And by this he meant that getting to know the surrounding shop owners and neighbors shows them that you care, that you are a part of the community. He’s busked in places like New Orleans, Los Angeles, and New York City. And according to Justin, busking in Los Angeles can bring in twice what he sees in New Orleans. But I would attribute that to an overall higher cost of living. He contributed the fact that disposable income levels are lower here and that, unfortunately, the “city of drinking” narrative is pushed more than the “city of the arts” perspective. He maintains that New Orleans will always hold a special place in his heart. And he considers its appeal as a second home a significant one. But for now, he’s looking once again to explore his geographic options in hopes of finding himself surrounded by a healthier social ethos; one with greater emphasis on art and culture.

    Justin’s third album will be coming to streaming soon by the name of “Between Worlds”. It is a live album that was recorded during his recent performance at the Marigny Opera House in New Orleans. The best way to view a complete list of all his relevant links (there are many) is on his Facebook page: https://www.facebook.com/justin.curry.777. I interviewed Justin in the foyer of The Saxon House at 536 Royal St. The location is steeped in the New Orleans cultural history for which Justin is so fond. It is a two hundred plus year old dwelling owned by New Orleanian Louis Dufilho Jr., who was America’s first licensed pharmacist. It was also owned and renovated by Lyle Saxon, a local resident and six-time author on New Orleans and Louisiana history. Whom, through multiple purchases and renovations, is credited with making the French Quarter “more art colony, less an underworld.” Justin assured me that while the abode is both warm and inviting, it is definitely haunted!

    Author: David Trahan

    Neworleansmusicians.com

    Press here to check out our YOUTUBE music videos and interviews.
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    Steve Staples

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    As I sat down to write this, I was immediately taken back to an old track that you may be familiar with, Grandma’s Hands, by Bill Withers. It’s a sentimental tune that captures the essence of the matriarch as perceived by a young boy. Though Steve Staples of The Iceman Special will tell you he doesn’t quite remember that far back, he began with a story of how he used to sit on his grandmother’s knee while she played piano. Those hands would produce melodies at home and at church that ingrained music into his being. Of his singing, she would say he could carry a tune by the time he was two. Steve and his mother had moved from Oklahoma to his grandmother’s house in Oakdale, Louisiana immediately following his father’s calling to the 38th parallel to fight in the Korean War. But his first memorable encounter came in 1955 when his family bought a television. He still remembers how Waylon Jennings looked with his guitar and that slicked back hair. Not too long after that, his next-door neighbors would purchase two Fender Esquire guitars and two Fender Pro amps. They would sit on the porch and play. And a young, curious Steve was inexplicably drawn to the sound. How peculiar are the seemingly minute happenings in a child’s life that bear the most impact. Because sitting at the core of Steve Staples, these two moments coupled to ignite a passion that would never be extinguished.

    It wouldn’t be until he turned thirteen that he would start playing his own guitar, an acoustic. The following summer, his grandmother bought him an electric guitar and he would put this one to use on stage. Steve fondly recalls, “Myself, Mike King, Ricky Hall, Brian Collins, and Johnny Baker just made up a band for that performance called The Gonks. And we played in our junior high school auditorium about four or five songs that were British invasion kind of songs. And the girls went crazy. I mean, they were all up and dancing in the isles. They went crazy! That was it…. I told Brian, I’m going to do this for the rest of my life!” Though The Gonks were somewhat of a fictitious band, being that they were only formed in name for that show, Steve’s mind was made up. Disbursement would soon affect two popular local bands, The Twilights and The Gaunga Dyns. And through a series of shufflings amongst those members and Steve’s friends, he would finally be in a real band. “There was a band called The Twilights. And there was a band that formed called The Gaunga Dyns, simultaneously. I wasn’t in either one of them. He went on further to say, “We didn’t like our bass player that much. And we liked the bass player in The Gaunga Dyns. And The Gaunga Dyns were going to break up because the two guitar players and singers were going off to college. That was going to be the end of that band. But they were good. So, we broke those two bands up and formed one band, what we called The Gaunga Dyns, not the Twilights. And we had Neil Lundgren and Beau Breamer were singing. And they could sing like the Everly Brothers. I mean they could really sing. They were both super talented. And that was the Gaunga Dyns for a while. And it got real popular really quick.” Neil would leave the band soon after to pursue his own musical interests. But The Gaunga Dyns would go on to record at Cosimo Recording Studio on Gov. Nichols Street, in the French Quarter. Steve laughed as he mentioned that they were on the national charts for about a week or so at number ninety-nine. They had a formula that fit the time, touching on some British invasion tunes, and covering rock and soul genres as well. Steve and Mike King would do the writing for the originals. But a slight change would spell trouble further down the line. Their bass player, Bobby Carter, would end up moving to Connecticut when his father pursued a job opportunity there. And the band would turn to Steve to play bass and sing. He did oblige, but with hesitation. Because he knew this to be a daunting task. When the band called a song on stage that he didn’t feel well-rehearsed enough to play, he walked off. The Gaunga Dyns would kick him out the next day.

    At home things were touch-and-go. Steve loved his father but viewed him as silently seething most times. He knew early on in life that his father wanted him to be a lawyer because his father told him so. But this path wasn’t in Steve’s sight. And as time went on, the rift would grow between them much like the separation between his father’s ideals and Steve’s intentions. But there were the occasional touches of sanguinity from time to time. At sixteen, without any warning, his father presented him with a really nice guitar. Which was bizarre considering he had never come to see his son play; not even once. One can only imagine the opinion a rugged war veteran might have had of “musician” as a career path. Ironically, his father had originally wanted to be a painter. Looking back, Steve acknowledges the existence of a softer side. But being a soldier instilled a toughness that made revealing this both obviously difficult and sporadic. The fracture in their relationship may have begun while he was still in school. His father had hopes of Steve joining the R.O.T.C. But Steve would instead choose to go off to college. Later in life, when Steve was quitting his job and turning to the road in pursuit of his desires, his father’s disapproval was more than apparent. He told Steve outright that he was throwing his life away. But again, intermittent gleams of positivity would shine through at times. On the day following this argument, for instance, his father called and said, “You’re right. Go do it.” Though his father’s hopes for him never quite seemed to align with his own, and the support wasn’t always apparent, his father would evidently have a change of heart from time to time. There was another instance where things were already not going as planned for Steve, who was on a path that surely wasn’t set out for him by his father. But he surprised Steve, giving him a van to help him along. The messages always seemed mixed. And it would take years until the relationship with his father would be resolved. Today Steve concedes that the instability between them was answered with his own alcohol and drug abuse.

    After the fall out with the Gaunga Dyns, Steve would move with his family back to Oakdale in time for his Senior year of high school. He played guitar in the orchestra there. And get this… he played the string bass too! Life would find him amongst friends and musicians at Louisiana State University that following year. He sold that electric guitar his father bought him, a decision he regrets to this day. But the singer/ songwriter era was in full swing and he used the money to buy an acoustic guitar. Artists like Paul Simon, Van Morrison, and James Taylor owned the day in the late sixties. And Steve was anxious to make his contribution to the art. He would spend his idle time playing and singing with guys on the common ground. One day, he saw a post on a bulletin board in search of a songwriting partner. Through this he would meet and begin working with Quentin Powers, who would go onto work with such greats as Reba McEntire, Ronnie Milsap, and a host of other now famous musicians. The two worked on their own material, hiring friends and other musicians to make a demo at a studio in Baton Rouge. They shopped it around and were basically told it wasn’t good enough. But the second time around they landed a deal with Ardent Studios. With this they would have the opportunity to work with Ron Capone, a drummer whose catalog included work on the Shaft soundtrack with Isaac Hayes. They would also get to work with Steve Cropper, a guitarist, A & R man, engineer, producer, and songwriting partner of Otis Redding, Eddie Floyd and a dozen others and founding member of both Booker T. and the MG’s and The Mar-Keys. Ron was especially enthusiastic about Steve and Quentin’s work. He urged them to move up to Memphis, where Ardent was located, which they did. Things were going well at first. At the time there were a lot of rock and roll clubs. And a lot of hotels and motels had clubs in them. They would hire a band for a week, providing room and board along with pay. Together with their band, Steve and Quentin were able to work consistently while recording their album. But life eventually offset this stasis, sending the members in different directions. And the album they recorded at Ardent never came out. Their bass player would eventually leave town with his girlfriend. His replacement would subsequently leave to become a brain surgeon. Quentin would remain, as did Steve who had by now developed an intravenous methamphetamine habit.

    His habit would follow him back to Oakdale, where he would take a job at his father’s car dealership. He once again found someone to play music with and would stick with this guy for a few years until 1980. But he was pulled over and arrested one night, landing him in jail. His lawyer advised seeking treatment. And so began Steve’s life-long path of sobriety. Steve’s complete ethos would align with this new way of life. He became a full-time rehabilitation counselor for twelve years, eventually running programs at different facilities in Louisiana. All the while he found ways to integrate music into his life with other musicians in recovery. In my eyes, his life has read like a success story from this point on. He built a mobile recording studio and travelled the country. He attended Loyola University, where he was in class with Stanton Moore. A band he played in, Merit and the Bloodhounds, won a competition at the New Orleans House of Blues and was flown to Hollywood to perform. He opened a shop, International Vintage Guitars, which operated in New Orleans for twenty years, later moving it to his hometown of Oakdale, Louisiana. It is still in operation to this day. And now he’s playing in a sensational band by the name of The Iceman Special. They’ve been playing numerous dates across the country. I attended one of their performances at Toulouse Theater in New Orleans, and I was truly blown away. Their talent, their stage presence, and their bevy of smoke and laser lighting seized the attention of all, enveloping the audience in an experience I for one will never forget. For the genius that Charley Murray, Will Murray, Steve Staples and Hunter Romero form, and for the wonderful man Steve himself has become, I can’t recommend enough seeing them play. Their new album Zycordia dropped this year. I hope everyone gets a chance to listen.

    Author: David Trahan

    Neworleansmusicians.com

    Press here to check out our YOUTUBE music videos and interviews.
    • Please check out our show, Neworleansmusicians.com Podcast, wherever you stream. Thanks!
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    Oktober Sky

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    While his style will always be uniquely his own, his dream has been no different than many of you audio players out there; gaining traction with the masses. Though, for him, this aspiration came with the exception of one caveat, that he arrive with a certain musical sympathy. Off the rails early on, Tylar Cash (a.k.a. Oktober Sky) lived a life that wasn’t contained by the traditional barriers that prop the rest of us up as children. The yard and the white picket fence passing him by, he was corralled with foster care and group homes. After moving from his birthplace of Modesto, California to Dexter, Missouri, his sense of longing was replaced with the quest of belonging. But by now the parameters had changed. At twelve years of age, he stood in that middle ground between childhood and adolescence, observing all the while the goings-on around him. He internalized his questions and emotions, revealing them only to a notebook in which he would constantly write. One might liken this to passive-aggressive expression. Outside of its cover, he tried to remain well-mannered and stay out of trouble. But within it, he could scream. He could poetically verse the things no one wanted to hear. And when he read them back, he understood it all. Rap music was prevalent at the time. Creative writing would teach him cadence and allow him to build and destroy worlds and the barriers within them. But by thirteen, he would be in a group home. And with less privacy and more proscriptions, that notebook would be taken away. Strong will, an inquisitive nature, and a desire to escape reality led him to disappear into books as a result. This opened his eyes to fantasy. Not so much for the sake of escapism, but as a means of artistic expression. Visualizations became similes and situations were captured as metaphors.

    With the atmospheres constantly changing around him, he was exposed to many different forms of music. He could see the beauty in them all. Classic rock and heavy metal possessed as much worthiness with him as rap and electronic dance music. Each with their own styles of grammar and expression. When he was able to free himself from the grips of the group home, he bought some equipment and began learning how to record himself. Still searching for his own voice, he rapped about the things around him. But these things sounded out like so many of the typical rap songs of today, guns, drugs, women, cars and fast cash. One self-imposed bar he set for himself was to deliberately stray away from convention. Sounding like someone else was something he couldn’t live with. So, to measure up to this, he would constantly explore. A change in his cadence, a twist on the subject matter, singing… singing! He would land on an alternation between rapping verses and singing the choruses. And he was already veering toward a multi-genre approach of rap, pop, rock, and emo. The “musical sympathy” I spoke of earlier was born out of his personal experiences. There were a lot of somber feelings associated with his childhood. And of the many people he met along the way, some in his own predicament, he felt it necessary to touch on their lackluster reality. But never-before leaving it with a bit of a shine. Put simply, he understood and respected the trials of others because he lived them. But he believed it a good cause to insert a bit of optimism into his written realism, even if that sometimes meant a touch of fantasy.

    Anxious to evolve, one day he Googled “what cities do people advance in music?” New Orleans, believe it or not, was number three out of ten. So, he packed all his things and moved to New Orleans. He has brought with him a message of mental health. And he views his multi-faceted style as an advantage. He hopes that it will speak to his audience as it does to him, ever-changing but always positive. The move has delivered him from the ill-willed surroundings of Missouri and the subject matters that came from there in his music. He has aligned himself with producer Rahul Borkar and video director Opius Mercury to release a collection of singles, each with their own music video. For the first time he feels like he’s in an environment that suits him. With this newfound liberty, he has felt free enough to do things like insert rock songs into a rap show. This allows him to try out his varying styles. He says he is not aware of any markets more conducive to this variance encapsulated into one presentation. I think we can all cite this as sometimes problematic territory. Cross-over styles can make some feel hesitant to go along with those who create it. Many people, especially younger crowds, often feel an allegiance of some sort to one genre or another. It is a utility by which they define themselves, and so must pass muster through a distinct set of principles and mores. Nevertheless, the music he makes now has predominantly more rock overtones. And he still does retain rap elements such as flows, tempo, and some looping melodies. He explains how when he’s writing, he’s in a depressive mode. But once he has written down his emotions, he feels at peace with it. Oddly enough, it is difficult for him to express himself verbally, but putting words into a song comes more natural without losing the thoughts and emotions he is trying to convey. I believe this to be a common sentiment among musicians. These days, he feels the challenges of being a solo artist. He wants the camaraderie and capability of a full band. It’s funny how a music scene such as ours can both congeal and isolate at the same time. But this too, I believe, is common territory. We did talk in-depth about his childhood and the places he has been in life, as well as his goals and methods to which his music videos and lyrics aim. You can hear our interview with Tylar Cash (a.k.a. Oktober Sky) on our podcast by clicking your favorite platform below. And please, help propel this artist’s journey forward by stopping by one of the destinations in the Linktree and giving him a like or follow. Once you see what he’s managed to do thus far with his music and videos, you won’t be disappointed. If you’re a musician looking to explore soundscapes within the realms of rap/ rock, pop, or emo-rock, you should consider reaching out to him as well. Forming connections or passing a kind word can go far these days.

    Author: David Trahan

    Neworleansmusicians.com

    Oktober Sky’s Linktree: https://linktr.ee/oktobersky999?utm_source=linktree_profile_share&ltsid=31990f69-2da3-4084-8c7d-1986e0917074

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    Zydeco by Birth

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    Though this culminates in the genesis of the documentary titled Zydeco by Birth, our story takes place believe it or not, up in Washington D.C. where a local radio DJ began taping live performances in the early 90’s. He was such a fan of the rhythm and blues artists that frequented the circuit that he too became a staple in the area. His radio show, The D.C. Roots of Music, gave him a platform from which to explore publicly the town’s music and the correlations between it and the world of music at-large. And both the tapings and his radio presence became a soapbox of sorts for the validation and preservation of his passion. Big Joe and the Dynaflows, Steve Jacobs, Jeff Sarley, and Kevin Mcendree were some of the coals fueling the hotbed of D.C. at the time. And it irritated Wayne to see patrons give the cold shoulder to a measly three-dollar cover charge to see these bands play. Not only that, but D.C. not being recognized as a music scene of any real importance really got under his skin. Wayne always saw D.C. as the great unrecognized. It was known to musicians in certain circles as a place of musical significance. But if you asked someone to name the major locations for music in the United States, D.C. would never come up. As Wayne points out, “If you said, ok, what does Ellington mean to jazz? He’s not jazz. He’s this big wave that comes across the culture of music. What does Charlie Byrd mean to the introduction of Latin jazz to the country and the world? What does Marvin Gaye mean to male singers? What do Patsy (Cline), Emmie Lou, Mary Chapin, and Ruth Brown mean to female singers? What does Link Wray mean to a whole wedge of rock and roll guitar? What is bluegrass without D.C.? It doesn’t exist the same way. D.C. is known for go-go. New Orleans is big on go-go. But I sit and hear Nile Rogers and George Clinton say go-go is a jumping-off point for hip hop and rap. So, there’s a whole other wedge and thing. But D.C. is not known as a music town. And that’s part of the soapbox. That’s the soapbox.”

    To capture players in the small rooms that filled him with joy felt as a preservation effort to Wayne. And to deliver its contents to those outside of the area, he thought, might raise awareness for the scene and lend it some validity. And so it began, meagerly at first, with a small Boss six-channel mixer and a promise to the musicians that the tape would not travel. Rather, it would serve as work tape for them. Eventually Wayne began hearing things he thought others should get a chance to hear, and he worked it out with the musicians to put together a CD of live performances. He started a record label, Right on Rhythm, and The Blues You’d Hate to Lose, Vol. 1 would be his first CD. Through a chance meeting at a party in New Orleans, Wayne met a zydeco musician by the name of Roy Carrier. The two recognized each other from previous zydeco shows in D.C. One of the people he was able to give that CD to at the party was Roy Carrier. Wayne passed it off to him as a who’s-who of current D.C. players, saying that it might help him next time he was up there performing. Roy, in turn, asked if Wayne could show him around and make introductions next time he was there. The two would stay in touch and Wayne would come to put out five CDs, many of which contained Roy’s performances in D.C. 

    Prior to this encounter, Roy discovered his music had been published and was for sale on retail shelves while visiting England. Now, it is true that he was at one time on a label by the name of Lenore Records. But he had a falling out with the label head, Lee Laverne, upon learning of the unauthorized use and sale of his work. The friendship, and subsequent alliance, he would form with Wayne would ultimately lead both Wayne and Roy down a path to discover how Roy’s music made it all the way to England without his knowledge. As it turned out, when Lee Laverne passed away, the contents of his estate would come to include Roy’s work. They would also include licensing agreements for Roy’s work made by the late Mr. Laverne. Illegitimately so, because Roy never signed over rights to his work; more specifically, the songwriting copyrights. When the studio was purchased, Roy’s work was simply assumed as a rightful possession by way of sale. And though neither Lee Laverne nor his estate owned the proper licensing, the physical tapes were in house and the fraudulent licensing agreement on record. Had Wayne not began recording Roy, the circumstances would have remained obscured and unjust. But since Wayne and Roy had formed ties, Wayne would uncover the details, successfully pursuing rights for Roy legally. And Wayne’s label, Right On Rhythm, would become the publisher for all of Roy’s material. “What it turns out is Lee Laverne assumed most of Roy’s copyright without the signature. Only the first seven songs had something resembling a signature, but it wasn’t really. But there’s dozens of songs after that, that Lee assumed publishing on. And that you cannot do. So, they (the publisher in England) were without legs to stand on. But what had happened is Lee Laverne had licensed these songs to Peter something-or-other in England for his record label (Zane Records). And he put those CDs out. So, Peter though has worked the CD. He’s the one that connects (licenses) a song on there, “My Baby Wants to Leave Me”, to Uncle Ben’s rice for a commercial.” Right On Rhythm would later be acquired by The Smithsonian Folkways Recordings, a division of the Smithsonian Institute. And Roy’s work would forever be cemented in the annals of cultural audio history. 

    And rightfully so, because Roy was the last connection within a select few families of historical zydeco importance; Broussard, Dopsie, Chenier, Ardoin, and Carrier. Within the generations of these families were the original performers of the genre; Roy being one of them. Born out of creole and blues influences, Zydeco encapsulated not only a style of music, but a way of life. It has always been the music of families that worked the land and struggled through poverty. It marked occasions when families would come together, telling stories of their experiences in southwest Louisiana. And the Carrier family’s history of involvement around that music spans its entirety. In the late 90’s, Roy eldest son, Chubby, was befriended by a man named James Anderson that took interest in the family’s history in zydeco music. Aided by a camera crew, James followed the family throughout southwest Louisiana and to other locations gathering footage with the intention of making a documentary. Being Roy’s publisher, Wayne was incorporated into this process. But over time the project lost all furtherance and was shelved. Nearly twelve years later, when Roy passed away in 2010, Wayne contacted James to inform him of Roy’s death. James was still in possession of the gathered footage and would ultimately send it, in its entirety, to Wayne. Wayne believed in the project and was well aware of its importance. But he had no idea what to do with its contents. When his label, Right On Rhythm, was acquired by Smithsonian Folkways Recordings Wayne turned the boxes of tapes he had received from James over to them. He felt as though they would be safe there, and that possibly they could do something more with them. Years went by, and as they were previously in James’ possession, the tapes never developed into anything more than a box on a shelf. In 2021 Wayne reached out to the Smithsonian Folkways, convincing them to return the material. These boxes of VHS and Beta tapes were a veritable goldmine. They didn’t just contain performances. They encompassed moments in time from twenty years ago of a keystone in the world of zydeco. There were interviews with a semblance of characters that beckoned viewers to peer into the social graces and presence of a culture on this earth. Some of these folks are no longer with us. Like a 92-year-old Bebe, seen in his nephew Calvin’s living room with others playing Blue Runner; a classic linchpin between Cajun and Creole heritage. And others had gone on to achieve great status. Like Chubby Carrier, who won a Grammy for “Best Zydeco or Cajun Music Album” with his album Zydeco Junkie in 2011. And in fact, Roy himself garnered a posthumous induction into the Zydeco Hall of Fame. And Goldman, Roy’s cousin, was inducted into the Order of Living Legends, a special recognition by way of the Acadian Museum. The relevance of these tapes to the artform as a whole had only increased over time, tying the present to the past. 

    Most things aren’t truly appreciated at face value. They can’t be. Vast spans of time and territory are sometimes reduced to symbolic imagery and a “that’s what they say”. But what any good documentary will prove is that there’s more to the story. It will illustrate the significance of its subject matter. And it will explode and examine all the moving parts that represent something that might have otherwise come to rest in a box on a shelf. Zydeco by Birth has become the name of one such box and will hopefully become a documentary that amplifies a microcosm rich in cultural heritage. Through a closer look at the social fabric of southwest Louisiana, viewers will know what others have not known and see what others have not seen. With this expounded perspective, they will come to appreciate the true meaning behind the Carrier name. Unable to lay it to rest, Wayne Kahn is on a quest to make the Zydeco by Birth documentary a reality. To hear all of this in greater detail and in his own words, you can listen to our interview using the podcast icons below. And if this is something you believe in, you can follow the links provided to help him in his journey. Any tips or advice, relevant contacts, or even a few dollars to his crowdfunding efforts are a few of the many ways you can contribute. 

    Author: David Trahan

    Neworleansmusicians.com

    Gofundme link

    https://www.gofundme.com/f/zydeco-by-birth-documentary

    Zydeco by Birth Trailer

    WOWD-LP Takoma Park Community Radio 94.3FM

    https://www.facebook.com/people/Zydeco-By-Birth-The-story-of-the-CarriereCarrier-Family-of-SW-Louisiana/100085931411721/

    https://takomaradio.org/

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    Charlie Gabriel’s Album “89”

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    On a hot and humid New Orleans afternoon, we reminisce of seasons past; musical gatherings and triumphs of old seeping into the wonder and fantasy of young adventure and philosophical starscapes. A treasured plethora of moments recalled through sight, sound, and mind, perhaps delving into that of an older era known to many only through media nostalgia. A summer serenade among the dew drops in. And a perfect twilight ventures into the French Quarter; love and light guiding the way through stoic backdrops of jazz legacy. Preservation and rich tradition bellows from all corners of the Crescent City. With these roots forging into the new, Charlie Gabriel’s solo album, 89, is a trip back in tribute, but also a look forward into the noir and divine majesty of one of music’s most cherished legends in the genre. To further encapsulate the auditory experience that is 89, let us first look back into the mythos and iconic story of Mr. Gabriel.

    Clarinetist, saxophonist, and flutist Charlie Gabriel is a fourth-generation jazz musician from New Orleans. Raised in a classically trained musical family that emigrated from Santo Domingo in the 1850’s, Gabriel began playing clarinet professionally with the Eureka Brass Band when he was eleven years old. During World War II his father, clarinetist and drummer Martin Manuel “Manny” Gabriel often sent his son on gigs. Charlie himself became a prominent member of the Preservation Hall Jazz Band in 2009. I would be remiss in my journalism if I did not mention that Mr. Gabriel is a very accomplished chess player and has a wonderful video with the Preservation Hall band leader Ben Jaffe. The two have a wonderful interview and casual conversation over a chess match, which is available on the Preservation Hall YouTube page.

    The opening track, “Memories of You”, paints the rainy southern landscape of beauty in solitude. Guitar harmonies and saxophone jazz serenades sparkle this uplifting noir opus that is the album 89, capturing a mixture of crisp guitar jazz theoretics and perfect brass rings compels the mind and soul throughout the album.

    Following this is “Chelsea Bridge”, a 1941 compositional Jazz standard classic by Billy Strayhorn. This rendition is celebratory of its creation and displays the range and vibrato of Mr. Gabriel’s voice.

    The album’s single is accompanied by a music video. “I’m Confessin’” showcases a sharp-dressed Mr. Gabriel being chauffeured around New Orleans. It also depicts behind the scenes of the writing and recording of 89, and beautiful glimpses of chess games, and bandmates laughing and hanging out. It’s a wonderful glimpse into the creative life of one of music’s most treasured geniuses.

    Following the slow, heavenly tones of “I’m Confessin’” is the soothing noir love letter sounds of “The Darker It Gets”, an original song written by Charlie. The tune opens with beautifully strummed jazz chords by the record’s guitarist Joshua Starkman, with Ben Jaffe adding some walking swing dynamics on the upright bass. Charlie Gabriel’s smooth and soothing vocals warm up the mix. As I sit and listen, I am transported mentally to another time; rainy gas lantern-lit streets of New Orleans’ historic district and music clubs with black tie dress codes. A tenor sax solo brings out the sun in our adventure through a wonderful world created by Mr. Gabriel. Heard in the lyrics Charlie sings, “the darker it gets the better I see, the hidden place that’s inside of me.”

    The next song on the album is “Stardust”. The 1947 Hoagy Carmichael classic brings the feel and love of the original version while adding a bit of flavor that can only come from New Orleans. Charlie has stated that of the Jazz songs he picked for this album, he never plays them the same way twice. A seasoned player in the game, he exudes musical creativity in a natural and inspiring way.

    “Three Little Words” is a shift in sound as we get vibes of flamenco Jazz, cuban beats, tiki lounge, and a beautiful brass solo that will get every fan of music to the dance floor. The song was written by Harry Ruby and Bert Kalmar, and published in 1930. The song would go on to receive fame when it was recorded by Duke Ellington on August 26th, 1930. The musicianship and arrangement on this cover puts further emphasis on how versatile and deep the love of the genre’s history remains. The production on 89 is bright and vibrant while also feeling intimate, and gives the listener a front row ticket to the show.

    At 91, Charlie Gabriel is still touring, and playing at Preservation Hall. I had the opportunity to see his performance in Jackson Square for French Quarter Fest in 2023. And without a doubt, he is on top of his game. An in-depth, unique audio experience, 89 is a glimpse into the mind and joy of an artist like no other. Should you choose to listen, 89 will illustrate a stand-out moment in time, as well as cement Charlie as a staple in Jazz. Pick up the chess match and listen to 89 for an amazing adventure.

    Author: Ryan McKern

    Neworleansmusicians.com

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    Travis Mark

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    Do you know what it’s like to lay it all on the line? Have you ever gone all in and not turned back? Travis Mark has, several times; for music, for love. And his efforts have spanned three continents. He’s had his fair share of irony. Like the time his band was finally on radio rotation and had charted in his home town. But he was living in another country by then. Or the time his band mates were veering toward their own relationships while, on the other side of the Atlantic, his was on hold for the sake of that very band. He’ll be the first to attest to his naiveté over the years. But even if you’ve never put everything on the line, I’m sure many of you have muddled your lives at one time or another through inexperience. None-the-less, over time his acquired sophistication and focus has landed him here in New Orleans. And periods of reflection have only bolstered his art.

    Our story begins in the mid-eighties in Johannesburg, South Africa. With his parents being big fans of music, Travis recalls Carol King, The Beatles, Creedence Clearwater Revival, and the Rolling Stones filling his ears as a child. The age of eight is earmarked in his mind, because this is the point in life when he truly fell in love with music. A component stereo unit sat tucked in an alcove along with a collection of records. Discovering their collection at eight years of age, his parents’ albums became another world in which to venture. And he remembers many a day and night falling asleep with those Beyerdynamic headphones stuck to his head. When you sit and talk to musicians about their life, there is a common thread you’ll find. Typically, at an early age, they are introduced to a friend or family member’s music collection. And they feel as though their whole life has changed. Being able to interact with and investigate every little detail of a physical album has a way of drawing forth an affection for which words cannot describe. As Travis recounted his experience with this collection, he pauses and declares, “…and dude, I found The Police.” Six words drove home the sentiment that, even at that age, he knew he would never be the same again. This record collection would sustain him for quite some time until a cousin introduced him to Nirvana. Though Carol King and The Beatles were lovely, this insinuated edge cut deep; deeper than the initial romance he found in that record collection. It was final. He was going to be a rock musician. The pursuit would yield a group of four kids that called themselves Pyramid Tongue.

    Pyramid Tongue gigged regularly. And over time, the crowds grew. They found themselves seeking out larger venues to accommodate their fanbase and had even signed with an indie label. The action caught the attention of a major label in England, and an invitation to showcase was extended. Plane tickets and visas were expensive, and band members sold everything they possessed to make this happen. Still a teenager, Travis found himself anointed. Universal Records would sign Pyramid Tongue and once again, music would forever change his life. Travis felt on top of the world. The trouble with that place is, there’s only one way to go from there; down. Their manager became severely ill, placing all momentum on hiatus. The guitarist and bass player wound up moving back to South Africa. Their drummer ended up moving away to a different part of England. And while all of this is happening, he found out Pyramid Tongue was charting back in South Africa and getting regular radio play. Determined to stick it out, Travis stayed put. He would go to as many jams as he could while simultaneously writing songs, and recording on a borrowed Tascam multi-track. He was fortunate enough to land a job that provided housing, too. In England, it is commonplace for some of the staff to live at the pub. The pub itself rests on the bottom floor, while accommodations for select employees sit above. He would write and record by day, and stock the coolers in the early morning hours after gigs. His nights were now spent playing in a band he’d joined. Though gigs were steady and arrangements stable, there wasn’t much money to be made. Persistence would pay off though. He ended up meeting a label-affiliated producer that was looking for a bass player. And being well versed in several instruments, Travis was able to meet with him and discuss things. “So, I’m thinking we’re going to meet and talk like this; maybe about music, kinda get a bit of a vibe… see what happens. Maybe he’s in the band. If he’s a producer, he must know what he wants. You know? He doesn’t want to talk about any of that. We meet at this coffee shop in central London. And dude, we’re talking like long before smart phones, right? But like Motorola flip up phones when the Razors were like the thing, right? We sit down and he’s like ‘hey can I take a couple pictures?’ I’ve never met this guy. I’m like, uh… ok. That’s so freaking weird! So, he whips out this Motorola. He takes a couple pictures. And he then sits down and sends off a text. He goes, I want you in the band.” And like that, Travis found himself in another band on a major label once again.

    His intentions originally were to form his own band. He had his own songs he wanted to get on a record. But what had just happened was that he was signed to, as he put it, a bubble-gum pop band. No matter, he would stick this out as well, long enough to get his foot in the door and continue on his intended path. But with so many ups and downs in his future, parts of the road that lied ahead were hard to see, and even more difficult to chart out. Hard rock, then pop bubble gum, indie band, then hard rock again; one cannot simply plan ahead for these things. The advantage came in just being there. Showing up for every engagement, taking a piece of each with him as he went along. This is what constantly sharpens and increases odds. And with each would come a bar set higher and thus a metric with which to gauge the next project. The real challenge then became staying true to his own identity. With age, the prospect of becoming the next Nirvana had lost its gleam. Looking back, he never viewed his initial meteoric rise in England as intimidating. Being a typical teenager, ‘what if’ never crossed his mind. And as they say, ignorance is bliss. He fell so hard for music that plan B wasn’t a consideration. And by the time he was 19, he was living on his own in a new country, doing tours and making a decent living from music. He recalls his father letting him in on a secret one day. “Your mother and I were really quite worried when you said you wanted to make this your career, you know. It’s not an easy career. Some guys make no money.” Travis couldn’t see where his father was coming from at the time. He had always made money in music. That was never the focus. But he had always made enough. And he always had the foresight to be frugal with his funds. Being in a band, or even being signed to a major label for that matter, never stopped him from pursuing other avenues. When that bubblegum pop group fell apart, he was still under contract. Still, he remained in England and on stages. And it landed him in another band that was signed to a major label. While riding that wave, he was still developing another band on the side. When it became clear that Universal was never going to reconvene his band, he altered his course toward another project. The point is that he never stopped moving forward. And sometimes that involves pivoting in directions you hadn’t fully developed.  

    At a certain point in his journey, pivoting meant taking some time off from a by then defunct band while still being signed to a label. He found himself back in South Africa on a “visit” that would ultimately last for years. Avoiding stagnation religiously, Munkinpure was a side project of his whose roots began in England. The concept began to take form after returning to South Africa. Though Pyramid Tongue had found success in South Africa. Travis’ growing appetite for alternative rock, coupled with the explosion that genre was seeing in England at the time, meant yet another pivot in his path. About this time, in the early 2000’s, bands like Kaiser Chiefs, Franz Ferdinand, and Arctic Monkeys were seeing great success. Although this was encouraging, it was at the same time worrisome. As we’ve all seen before, oversaturation can oftentimes burst a bubble before you know it. But his familiarity of England had Travis encouraging his band mates to make the trek there and give it a shot. They planned for a solid year while gigging constantly in South Africa. Ultimately, the bassist would leave with him and the guitarist would stay behind. But the duo would soon acquire another guitarist, and Munkinpure would see packed venues as well as radio play in England. Travis was just 26 years old at this time. And the band signed a management contract with clauses that weren’t exactly in their best interest. But they figured while that management company might screw them a bit, they would still increase exposure. Eventually they could part ways having grown in the process. Insert another curveball. Management informed them that they could no longer book their own gigs. Though this seemed peculiar, what followed was a slow and grueling death. Little by little, the gigs became fewer and further between. Their buzz suffocated in its wake. Travis considered his options. Munkinpure had come a long way. Several albums and an EP were out, shows saw great turnouts, the radio was playing their songs. He approached management to see if they would release the band from their contract. They refused. So, he broke up the band.

    At their last show, he made the announcement on stage that the band would be no more after that night. As luck would have it (if you would consider it so at this point), he is approached by an independent yet well-connected management rep after the show. Over time, and with the support of his newfound management, Travis found himself forming yet another band, Dead Days. The next three years would yield countless gigs, a live album, a studio album, and an EP. But along the way, he sensed trepidation on the part of other band members. Sometimes he could tell that Dead Days wasn’t first priority with them, as it was with him. At some point he found himself swimming against the current, so-to-speak. And he questioned his own dedication in the face of their waning allegiance. It wasn’t so much whether or not he still had any. It was more a weighing of involvement in something that had apparently become less important to other members of the band. “People were going through divorces, getting married, starting new jobs. And I was living alone trying to do the band thing. And I kind of took a step back. I had gone through some personal stuff of my own. And I was like, hmm, maybe I need to think a little bit about my actual life. I’ve spent my whole life thinking about bands. Maybe it’s time I think about life. And life lead me to New Orleans. And this is why I’m here.” At this point I had to back things up to make him expand on this, which he did. It was all incredibly involved. And the past three years he’s spent here have lead him all over the city, learning the intricacies of the music world in New Orleans. We spent some time discussing his experiences here, which included the formation of Deep Sleep Atlantic; a powerhouse of talent with three music videos and an album, Prelude, out right now. Some people would kill for the kinds of opportunities Travis has had along the way. And there have been more since his arrival. You can hear about the progress he’s made while here on our podcast interview, along with more details of this incredible journey by clicking your favorite streaming platform below.

    Author: David Trahan

    Neworleansmusicians.com

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    Chris Leblanc, part 2

    At the conclusion of the first part of our discussions with Chris Leblanc, he had just found out his wife was pregnant. He was being courted by reps from RCA Records. They had flown him and his band out to California to showcase for executives and discuss his future with RCA. After much thought, Chris actually decided against signing with them. He took stock of his life and his surroundings, and what his life was soon to be with a child on the way. And he felt as though the security of a future where he was at the wheel was more appealing than the promises of strangers from another place. Chris surmised, “I don’t know man. I might have chased millions, but I ain’t chasing carrots.” This did not have an effect on his momentum. He was still performing constantly. And he had two records under his belt propelling him. However, with a child on the way and intimate knowledge of the rigors of recording a studio album, he needed to find something that appeased both his discipline as a musician and his requirements as a father. Something to consider was the advance in technology during his life up until this point. Electronics had become smaller and more powerful. ADAT’s and mixing boards were no longer necessary elements of album production. A friend of his encouraged him to consider doing an acoustic album. The idea was a non-invasive one, so to speak. And his friend could facilitate his needs with a laptop, Protools, and a few mics. He found himself at a church in downtown Baton Rouge, in an adjoining chapel room, starting a new chapter in his music career near the pulpit. He did two to three takes of each tune using just his acoustic and a couple of metal slide guitars. In three and a half hours, he had made a record. With some help from a few producer friends, the best tunes were picked. Everything was mixed and mastered and a new record, Son of the South was born. “It’s probably one of my favorite. I just love what it is. It just sounded really honest and I believed it. When you listen to it, you believe it.” On it was a mixture of originals and covers from Randy Neuman, Robert Johnson and Taj Majal.

    Where Chris saw himself in five years before the birth of his son wasn’t where he saw himself in five years after his birth. But he still very much desired to be a full-time musician. Acoustic gigs and band gigs prevented him from ever feeling stuck or stagnant. He was also writing new songs constantly, trying them out with his band to see what sticks. He enjoyed opportunities to play festivals and occasions opening up for anyone and everyone. His band shared stages with people like ZZ Top, Hank Williams Jr, Leon Russel, Buddy Guy, and Brett Michaels, playing for tens of thousands of people at a time. He liked being the first music in the room. Another thing that appeased his demands for progress was time spent in his home studio. He was able to cut a few new songs in there, keeping things moving. But what he had wasn’t quite enough for an album. Presonus, retailers of professional production and recording equipment, were sponsoring Chris at the time. And they would attend his performances, capturing the live recordings. The material they gathered, coupled with the seven songs Chris and his band cut in his home studio culminated in the production of his fourth album, Starshine, in 2005. This was a unique offering to his fans because it combined studio cut material and live material in the same body of work.

    Having several albums and performing for such large crowds did two things. For fans and peers in the music business, it legitimized his existence in the field. For Chris, it left him with a feeling of accomplishment; one that instilled a sense that things were constantly building. For those of us that are ambitious, this feeling brings a gratifying calmness. And not only that, Chris has always considered his music career a living thing. He has never wanted to see this precious living thing grow sluggish. Both his life and his career have always manifested themselves in adventure. Where he’s going in his life is revealed to him as he goes along, with music as “man’s best friend” right alongside him. He always played regardless of what it was at the time or what it would become. “If it’s not living, then it’s dead. And I don’t want my career dead. I want my career… whatever it is… you got management or you don’t have management. You’ve got a record deal or you don’t have a record deal. Or this guy’s playing with you or he’s not. Or you got this new guy that’s playing with you that’s a lot of fun. You know, it’s all of those things that I’ve always found interesting in bands that I love and in music that I love. I love that part of the music industry.”

    We discussed the age-old question of originals versus covers. Because covers have always been a part of his career. Personally, no matter the intended trajectory of a band, they are a necessary element and are undoubtedly instrumental in the initial growth of anyone who plays. Chris agreed that they help open the crowd’s eyes and ears to your talent and help usher in an open mind for one’s original material. He pointed out that perhaps some refuse to play originals because they simply aren’t good enough to pull it off. At any rate, to play a good cover is proof positive of talent in its own right. As Chris went on to point out, the Beatles, Ray Charles, the Rolling Stones, and Led Zeppelin were all cover bands at their essence. “The greatest rock and roll bands ever were fucking cover bands! Let’s be real. People go, oh I’m not gonna play cover music. Because playing cover music… You better be pretty fucking good. When you go see a band, there’s a lot of bands you go see and they’re great playing their own music. But how do you really get the level of a band? When you see them cover a song that you thought was like, fucking crazy. Like you just played me Green Gasoline. They’re fucking cool, right? The first thing I ever saw of this band was them covering Highway Star by Deep Purple. And I’m like, these mother fuckers are ridiculous! They’re bad… fucking… ass! That’s how you realize, these mother fuckers are great! They just played Highway Star? You go play Highway Star mother fucker. Good luck! They’re badass bruh! Yes! Yes! You’re like fuck dude, that’s… that’s tough! That’s how you realize, you’re like man, they’re badass. That to me is like the fucking sign of greatness; when somebody picks a tune and goes and destroys it.” He went on to cite the importance of picking something that’s worth playing; a song that makes people say ‘I forgot how much I love that song’. He also pointed out that bands should pick something that’s not outside their wheelhouse, and something that other bands aren’t playing. As for his, he’s always been fond of the Rolling Stones, The Beatles, or Lazy Lester. As for me, I like the idea of looking for things that aren’t covered. I come from a generation where there was a B-side. And on occasion, these B-sides would have a gem. And I am fond of the concept of showing others the obscure, overlooked gem.  

    At the time of our meeting, Chris had been one busy guy. In April, May, and June (of ’23), he was playing four to six gigs a week. These consisted of both solo acoustic shows and performances with his full band. In ten weeks, he had played over fifty shows. He called it “bringing medicine to the people”. He expressed his desire to be able to look back on all of this without regret; without the regret of not having put forth the effort. And this effort, in his eyes, is of a selfless nature. These gigs do equate to a monetary denomination which pays his bills. But the currency of this man, as any friend will tell you, is touching human lives. Living a life of service, essentially, comes with its own sacrifices. That night, he said, “I want to stay home, eat a steak and have some drinks. But you know where I’m going? I’m going out to play.” At this point in his life, he is taken to reflection frequently. He has a reached a point in his career where the fight has subsided, in a manner of speaking. It has become a place of comfort. Among other things, we discussed his direction from here and what, if any, areas would he consider outside of his comfort zone. You can hear his answers in the podcast episode titled Chris Leblanc part 2 by selecting your streaming service below. I do thank you for reading, as Chris has an incredible energy and humble presence that most certainly deserves our praise. Take care everyone!

    Author: David Trahan

    Neworleansmusicians.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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    SaxKixAve

    Recently our friends at Mixed Alternative Magazine had the chance to rap with New Orleans-based hip-hop duo SaxKixAve, who are rising in popularity right now in the best of ways. Most musicians are lucky to have one successful project in a world where there are hundreds of thousands of songs being released every single day and the market is oversaturated. The chances of breaking through the noise are harder than ever, and those who actually do break through and see some success with one group is a rarity, let alone those who can take on and do well with multiple musical projects. Enter these fellas.

    SaxKixAve is one of those groups who are doing it all. Comprised of award-winning rapper Alfred Banks and Albert Allenback, saxophonist and flutist of the twice Grammy-nominated group Tank and the Bangas, these two artists stay plenty busy with their main gigs, but thanks to the suggestion of Tavia Osbey, manager of Alfred and of Tank and the Bangas, that the two work together at the onset of the COVID-19 pandemic, they started a side project that is truly something special. Their first record, “I Don’t Wear Suits,” was released in April 2020 and is a celebration of this collaboration, and the duo has been performing those songs in front of live audiences whenever they can find the time to do so.

    Earlier this year as SaxKixAve was finishing up their follow-up record, Mixed Alternative Magazine had them both over to chat about that record, about how they make this project work with their busy schedule, and about some of the band’s highlights so far. This is one bitchin’ Q&A with some super-cool artists that you’re gonna want to check out. Then, once you’ve read and pondered and laughed with them, check out their music, their videos, and support them on social media. SaxKixAve is rapidly on the rise and we’re all gonna want to keep an eye on them. Their music is as fresh, funky, upbeat, intelligent, honest, and unique as the guys who make it.

    MaM:  I’ve heard a couple different versions of what “kix’ed” this all off.  How did this insane, wonderful experiment begin?

    Albert: Well, Tavia—the manager of Tank and the Bangas and the engine, the logistic and business/life-path mind behind it all—hit me up and said [Alfred] was looking for beats. She said, ‘I know you make beats. Let’s get you in the studio together and see what happens.’

    Alfred: It was great … I like Alby. He’s good money. We crack wild jokes. He sent me an email of beats, I picked one, I wrote to it, knock this one out. It was right when COVID hit. So yeah, I got in the studio with this dude, [and] we laughed for about three or four hours before we even started really recording. I thought, ‘This is a good guy.’ We recorded ‘Tawny’ and I guess he liked what I did. I loved it, and we just kinda kept goin’, kept goin’, kept goin’. Then it was like, ‘Hey man, you wanna make this a thing?’

    Albert: It was like a ‘Step Brothers’ moment.

    Alfred: Yeah! He was like, ‘Yeah!’ I was like, ‘Aight.’ [sic]

    Albert: Are we in a band? 

    Alfred: Are we a band?!

    Albert: Yeah, I think so!

    Alfred: (to Albert) Do you remember how we came up with the name? I know we joke about it.

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