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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.
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    Saxophonist Christopher Burton

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    Imagine what it took for your hero to become your hero. For me, “fortitude in the face of” comes to mind. After all, that is what we admire in a hero. It’s not so much about the obstacles themselves. We all have those in life. When speaking about a musician though, the term “hero” may seem like an overstatement. But I would argue the ability to convey the spirit of triumph poignantly through sound bears evidence of a hero. Overcoming debilitating medical adversities, paying forward a well-earned knowledge base, and pushing the envelope on behalf of the obscured are all also qualifying traits in my eyes. It is for these reasons, amongst others, that I admire him. Christopher Burton is the hero you never knew you had.

    Born at Charity Hospital in September of ’87, he would not see two years of age before contracting spinal meningitis. The swelling would result in nerve damage in his ears, which would in turn leave him with hearing loss as well as a speech impediment and, at times, severe vertigo. The affliction would often leave him verbally misunderstood. And by consequence, he didn’t speak much. It would also begin him on a ten-year path of speech therapy. By the time he was seven his mother passed away. Luckily, he would have the benefit of a close family to raise him. His father was a bassist in a gospel band. And about the same time in his life is when Christopher recalls he and his sister first accompanying their father on a gig. The church music resonated with him and was quite possibly his initial experience with live music. Back then, he thought all churches must have had music like this. “The music grabs me… so interesting, so powerful, so moving. I love the music. The Baptist churches I went to, there was always a band playing. So, I thought that’s how church was supposed to be.” His father’s band, The Randolph Brothers, would travel to play in churches out of state and occasionally outside of church. He pointed out, “It was strictly churches. Even though they would also play at Jazz Fest at the time, they were always in the gospel tent.”

    Christopher wouldn’t pick up an instrument of his own until he was fifteen. The debate club, the school newspaper, the gardening club, and the drama club absolutely filled his days at Frederick Douglas High School. But it occurred to him that he was from New Orleans and did not know any blues or jazz. I found it interesting that a child of his age would push beyond the veil of top forty music, being that it’s force-fed to most of us. But he recalls having an interest in local music and a sense of social responsibility to carry on that torch. So, he joined the high school band with saxophone as his instrument of choice. Alonzi Jackson was the band director at that time. And the program kept things interesting for the kids, playing songs like Luther Vandross’ “Never Too Much” and The Dazz Band’s “Let It Whip”. The curriculum required the use of mostly whole notes. So, it was easy enough for a beginner like Christopher to learn. Once again, music sparked a particular interest in him. He would enable himself to spend more time with it by dropping a few of the other electives. Here he excelled, quickly becoming section leader. But leadership came with its own challenges. Through the process of giving advice and other leadership duties, it became clear that some in his section were not of the same ilk as he. Discouragement would come to a hilt during Mardi Gras and, shortly following, he would quit the school band.

    In May of 2005, he graduated from Frederick Douglas and set his sights beyond the city of New Orleans. He attended Hampden-Sidney, a nationally ranked private liberal arts college for men in Virginia. A rural area with under two thousand residents, this was quite the change in scenery. Christopher would once again take up saxophone here. But after just one year, because of the expense, he would return home to New Orleans. At this time, Christopher still did not own a saxophone. He always played what was available at school. So, it was serendipitous that he would run into saxophonist Stephen Galdney, a member of the Preservation Hall Foundation music collective. Stephen gave him his first saxophone. Stephen had recently been performing and touring in Paris. And his apparent success and this gesture inspired Christopher to try harder. He began combing through method books, practicing every chance he got. He enrolled at the University of New Orleans, eventually trying out for the band there. Christopher recalls, “I remember working on audition material sitting at Douglas Band Room, Mr. Ali was our band director at the time. He was a graduate from Southern University. He was the band director over there. I remember working on pieces. And I go to audition, and Dr. Taylor over there is like, alright. Because I auditioned on alto. And he was like, how about playing baritone sax?” Now this made more sense in the grand scheme of things. Christopher’s meningitis resulted in the inability of his right ear to hear most high frequencies. As a result, he tended to prefer lower notes on sax. Altissimo notes on an alto in C6 may still not be out of his range of hearing. But once it gets to D7, he won’t hear it. He has since grown to love the low range of the baritone and delights in its sub-harmonics and overtones.

    The summer of 2014 is when Christopher finally though of himself as a good musician. The difference here, I found in his story, is that he broke free from theory and got to utilize his knowledge in real world settings. Not only that, but he was now delving into improvisation while getting feedback simultaneously. He would participate regularly in rehearsals with the Second Line Reggae Band. He would frequently perform at Melvin’s Bar on St. Claude Ave. as well. It was there that he got a true education in the blues from a house band made up of seasoned veterans. He recalls Irma Thomas’ bassist teaching him laid back lessons like, “Hey when you playin’ this Purple Rain, you don’t have to do a whole lot. It’s just the blues, man.” BJ’s pedigree and nonchalant demeanor spoke volumes where words did not. Christopher also explained how suddenly, his grandfather wouldn’t make him leave the room to practice. We both laughed at this one. And I can tell you from experience, when it comes to the old-timers, this is as close as you’re going to get to a compliment. Christopher also relayed to me an instance at his Auntie’s birthday party where his cousin was DJing. Christopher brought his saxophone along and played while his cousin spun records. The reaction from family was to ask that he play more. Albeit on the inside, these subtle earmarks in his life had Christopher elated. “It took time to get there. But it feels good”, he says.

    Joining a band of his own came about mainly as a reactionary measure. UNO eliminated its Music Education program, which reduced the student count in their music department from about 300 to 80. The remaining 80 would stay on in Jazz Studies, which was comprised of composition, history, and performance. His band, Hidden Wind Saxophone Ensemble, would later become an offshoot of some of the remaining members. In an effort to keep performing in a similar setting, Christopher joined the New Orleans Concert Band, an organization founded in 1979 that practiced at UNO. The late Peter Dombourian, a band director in the New Orleans public school system for over thirty years, served as director for the New Orleans Concert Band for fifteen years. And they would practice once a week, performing several times a year at places like UNO, Audubon Park, and Lafrenière Park. Their co-conductor, Sherman Leggett, also conducted the American Legion Post 350 band in Metairie and asked if Christopher would be interested in joining. Christopher enjoyed these bands because, in a city that wants you to play by ear all day, it gave him more chances to read sheet music and stay fluent. Christopher’s roommate invited him to come play in an anime cover band he formed called Purikura Panic. Now this broke all molds when it came to convention being that anime features music from just about every genre and every era. I could see him light up as he exclaimed, “I love anime music for the wide breadth of its genre. Anime might be a genre. But in that genre, there’s opera, there’s rock, there’s blues, there’s gospel. There’s just so much music. There’s that 1970’s and 80’s stuff; that city pop stuff. Oh, I love playing some (Miki Matsubara’s) Stay With Me and that Yu Yu Hakusho , that “Smile Bomb” (Hohoemi no Bakudan). It’s some good music!” He went on further, “I was playing the song Miki Matsubara’s Stay With Me, love that song. In the middle of the song there’s a break. And it goes from being in F Major, it goes from F Major to F Minor. Like, just flips right there for that section and there’s a jazz solo; a saxophone solo playing in that middle section. And I’m like, listen to that! That’s straight up jazz right there!” If you listen to the song, this moment stems from a previous portion of the song that is all rock and roll. Most of this band’s performances are at anime conventions. Which, I might add, is a healthy niche to be performing within. Further on, and throughout this interview, we went a bit more in-depth concerning the traditional genres in New Orleans, Christophers thoughts and experiences busking in the city and so much more. Please consider clicking your favorite podcast platform below and subscribing to hear this and many more intimate moments with the musicians of Louisiana.

    Author: David Trahan

    Neworleansmusicians.com

    Hidden Wind Saxophone Ensemble is on Facebook by name

    Neworleansconcertband.com

    American Legion Post 350 Band:

    https://post350band.com/

    Puirkura Panic Linktree:

    https://linktr.ee/purikurapanic

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    • 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

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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

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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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    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 (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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    Jorge Caicedo

    As a kid, I remember seeing a cut out of a Ziggy cartoon from the Times Picayune. It was Ziggy looking up into the cosmos. And the bubble read, “In case you didn’t notice, the meek are getting creamed down here.” Like Ziggy, Jorge Caicedo is one of us, any one of us; unassuming and humbly patient. To peel back the layers is a mystery and a privilege. As we sat and talked, my mind was brought back to days of watching That Metal Show. Eddie Trunk, Don Jamieson and Jim Florentine would sit and discuss their opinions and the goings on of metal, current and past. And though it wasn’t done intentionally or with braggadocio, Eddie Trunk would hold court. Similar to Eddie Trunk, Jorge is not loud in appearance or audibility. But if it’s metal you’re talking about, he will reel you in. Any one of Jorge’s points were backed up by a handful of musicians; such to where if you couldn’t relate, you obviously didn’t know your metal.

    Bassist Jorge Caicedo was born in Cali, Columbia in 1971 and moved to New Orleans when he was about three years old. He would come to settle in the 9th Ward with his mother, while his father stayed behind in Columbia. His earliest exposure to music was on the local New Orleans radio station, WTIX, playing pop and rock from the 60’s and 70’s. He would eventually begin his musical journey playing clarinet in 5th grade band. It was here that he learned theory, scales, and arpeggios, and get to play in a marching band. He would move onto guitar just as he began attending high school. By this time, he was living in Arabi, Louisiana and attending Holy Cross. While at Holy Cross, he could be found hanging out with the metal heads. He recalls being a big fan of bands like Judas Priest, Iron Maiden, and Motley Crue. Perhaps it was more of a testament to his nature than his chosen music styles. But I found it ironic that, at this time in his life, he took a liking to jazz music. Around the time he was sixteen, Jorge had parted ways with the clarinet moving on to guitar, bass, and a focus on thrash metal. It turned out the attraction for him could be found in thrash as well as jazz. He enjoyed listening to music that was different or experimental; music where the artist was clearly venturing outside their comfort zone. And he tended to steer clear of music that was obviously a clone of someone else’s sound. In this light, his favorite guitarist at the time was Allen Holdsworth, who frequently used advanced music theory concepts. And he was a fan of King Crimson’s early material, as well as Steve Morrison, Maja Vishnu Orchestra, and Chick Corea.

    By now, he was graduating high school and discovering the local music scene. And what an introduction it was. In May of 1989, he was one of the many in the audience at Storyville Jazz Hall to see Eyehategod, Soilent Green, and Exhorder. He was quick to recall these facts from so long ago. And I could tell it was an experience that resonated with him. The experience was raw. All of these bands had yet to release a studio recorded album. Eyehategod had a self-released demo, Garden Dwarf Woman Driver. And Exhorder had two of the same with Slaughter in the Vatican & Get Rude (Slaughter in the Vatican, the official studio album would be released on Roadrunner Records the following year). But the experience never left Jorge. On the contrary, he was hooked. He would stick with guitar until the year 2000, when he picked up a bass and began playing… you guessed it, thrash. Surprisingly, he started out on a fretless bass. When visiting in the Marigny, he would always pick up his friend’s Yamaha RBX80 and noodle around. He would later reveal that it mesmerized him. He couldn’t believe the action he was seeing from some of its extreme thrash players like Steve DiGiorgio (Sadus, Death, Autopsy, Testament, and 26 others).  His friend finally insisted he take it home. This gave him the courage to actually start out on fretless. Most start out on fretted being that it’s easier to learn. But he was drawn to fretless because of its nuance and unique sound when played. He enjoyed the different techniques that it offered like being able to slide harmonics. Once he got his chops up, Jorge liked to attend open mic nights at places like The Turtle Lounge and Mid-City Rock and Bowl and try things out on stage. These experiences ushered him into a fondness for blues, expanding his musical tastes yet again. The open mic nights he typically encountered were centered around blues and gave him time outside of thrash on the strings. Another element of his musical expansion was the time he spent with local Latin band Vivaz (previously Acoustic Swiftness). He would work the door for them at Café Brazil on Frenchmen St. and help them set up their gear. Oddly enough, this was his main exposure to Hispanic genres. His father, whom remained in Columbia, spoke fluent Spanish. And he left Columbia at such a young age that its musical influences hadn’t had time to set in. But working with this band gave him an appreciation of genres like salsa and merengue. He found the clave style and percussion to be a powerful proponent and driving force.

    Jorge would join his first band around 2008, an alternative rock band going by the name Vice. Following that he would join a band more in his style, Built to Destroy. Built to Destroy was more of a technical thrash band and provided him a space where he could really show his abilities. In speaking with Jorge, one can quickly pick up on how detail oriented he is. And this bleeds through into his playing style even to this day. We’re talking about a guy who, during Hurricane Katrina, bought a copy of a Fender Jazz bass, replaced the pickups with EMG jazz pickups, and used that to consume two Jaco Pastorius books. And for those of you not familiar, Jaco was a jazz bassist, composer, producer and member of Weather Report. He’s long been revered as one of the greatest bassists of all time; not easy material to emulate in the least. Jorge would also join and play with The Great Void during this time. All of this hard work and attention to detail paid off for Jorge through random circumstances one night when Malevolent Creation was in town playing at The Bar in Fat City. Happenstance and preparation would lead to the opportunity of a lifetime. Jorge recalls, “I think the way I got the gig, I’m convinced, was that the band Malevolent Creation from Florida, they were playing a show at a venue in Fat City at the time called The Bar. Which used to be Ski Lodge. The promoter hit me up, he’s like ‘Hey dude, we need an opening band. Can you guys do it?’ And so, I hit up my guys (Built to Destroy). I’m like, we’re opening for Malevolent. Let’s do it. So, we did it and Kyle (singer, Exhorder) and Vinnie (guitarist, Exhorder) were there because Malevolent was on Roadrunner Records, as was Exhorder. And they saw us play.” Less than a year later, Exhorder’s bassist, Frankie Sparcello would pass away of unknown circumstances. Being familiar with Jorge’s talent, he was chosen to fill in on bass. But the Exhorder dates clashed with dates Jorge had booked with his bands. One in particular was a night he would be pulling double-duty. The Great Void and Built to Destroy were scheduled to play on the same night at Siberia in New Orleans. “And I told the guys, I said look, Exhorder wants me to do some shows in Texas with Rigor Mortis. I said, I’m taking the gig. They weren’t too crazy about it. But they understood. And then after we did a few shows there, a month or two later we did the Marylin Death Fest. We co-headlined with Viovod. Which was kind of a dream come true.” When Jorge landed that gig and played at Marylin Death Fest, he became part of something huge. That event is arguably the biggest event of its kind in North America, attracting attendees from more than 40 U.S. states and 25 countries every year.

    Nowadays Jorge is a member in several bands and is focused on composing new material for MIMIC, a prog rock band he formed with Apollo Xydias of Heraklion. Apollo is on guitar and vocals while Jorge plays bass and programs drums. And they’ve just released a new EP. He’s extremely proud of the fact that his bands, both past and present, are unique. They don’t sound like anything out there, locally or otherwise. He also gives bass lessons independently and is sponsored by Bartolini, a company based in San Luis Obispo, California, that builds pickups and electronics for some of the most respected luthiers around the world. He remains current on social, including a series of Instagram videos demonstrating his talent on bass via unlikely coverings of works by Randy Rhodes, Bach, Beethoven, and a really cool translation of the keyboard and guitar from Liquid Tension Experiment. He chooses some pieces based on their melodic sense, while others he highlights mainly for the challenge. We talked about so much in our interview that it was hard to cover it all here. Being such a resource for music trivia and history, our discussion was loaded with call backs to happenings amongst bands, both local and global. And we also discussed his release strategy for his current EP and upcoming album under Mimic. You can find our podcast episode with Jorge Caicedo by clicking your favorite streaming service icon below. And you can also keep up to date on his current media by using the links below.

    Author: David Trahan

     Neworleansmusicians.com

    https://www.facebook.com/jorge.caicedo.12382

     @J_Caicedo7

    @MIMIC720

    MIMIC1.bandcamp.com

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    Will Wesley

    Reflecting on our conversation, I felt as though it took Will some time to come out of his shell, so to speak. At first, his answers seemed slightly guarded and intentionally humble; contrived perhaps. But as the interview went on, I believe Will identified the sincerity in my contributions and line of questioning. And eventually he became more invested in the exchange. I’d say this would summarize his childhood years quite well. Where at first, he was tasked with navigating a tough populous in his hometown. But eventually, as he came to trust music as a nonjudgmental, creative outlet, he began to reveal his true self.

    I was speaking with Exhorder’s founder Vinnie LaBella recently. And the topic of punk music came up. We exchanged ideas about how it influenced thrash music, and how the two were both extremely intertwined and infectious. I brought an idea to the forefront that we both agreed was fact. If you do not live the genre of music you currently write and produce, you will not be successful. Moreso, you will be lying to yourself, a fallacy in the court of public opinion, and at the very least, a hard sell. I believe this to be true for all genres. And I believe it to be one of the many reasons why Will Wesley will always pass muster. At times country, at times rock and roll, and always with an underlying current of blues, he has lived and breathed these elements since he was a child. Growing up in Baker, Louisiana, which was settled but not thriving, an impoverished society delivered these principles to Will at a young age. He was the youngest of three children. And with a growing family to feed, his father had set down the guitar to pick up more shifts at a local plant. Though family finances had overshadowed his father’s dreams of being a full-time musician, Will quickly became of age to have that torch passed down to him. Sharing in Will’s ambition and love of music, he made sure to instill in him the idea that playing music was to be taken seriously. He wouldn’t have Will simply learn a few chords. He wanted him learning music theory. And he imparted to Will how important the business aspect of music would become in due time.

    Exploring his motives as a young man, Will was the first to admit that he picked up the guitar in an effort to get more girls. It is worth affirming there were a few other factors that garnered his attention, like the support of his father and the strength it lent their bond. He would also admit that playing guitar didn’t change much when it came to girls. But before long, ironically, he was passing up dates to play shows. Falling in love with the art gave him tunnel vision. No tangible thing could replace it. Unlike his surroundings, it didn’t judge him. It didn’t threaten him. And it brought him closer in the mind of a working father of three.

    Drawn to punk music in his early years, Will was a fan of the idea that “three chords and the truth” could transcend genres and audiences. The similarities in the cores of genres, he pointed out, kept him relearning the things he already knew. These subtle resemblances provided comfort for a youth that was constantly trying to find his voice in music. Yet he did not hesitate to decide upon original songs as his chosen path. Like many, he would practice covering a variety of songs in his room to get his chops up. But for Will, his expression manifested itself as original compositions of straight rock and roll. Given his propensity for punk rock, he became an avid fan of bands like Green Day, Sublime, and 311. His first band would be called Crotch. Before you knew it, this kid from the small town of Baker, Louisiana had orange hair and was stage diving. He recalled a surreal experience one night at a Green Day concert when he was just fourteen. “Billie Joe Armstrong asked if anybody plays guitar. And my brother at the time lifted me higher than anyone else and this dude gets me on stage. And I look out in this crowd and there is just thousands and thousands of people. I’m scared but its just like… I am alive! You know what I’m saying?” He went on to tell us what Billie whispered in his ear at that moment. “Look dude I really hope you know how to play. The chords are G, D and C. And I was like, yeah yeah I know that. And the dude just gives me the guitar, and he kisses me square in the mouth. And when I started playing and the crowd started going nuts, I knew from there… man crowd applause and live audiences are quite addictive. I was addicted and I’ve been that way ever since”. 

    An experience like this made him want for nothing else. All he wanted to do was play bar chords and get laid. Luckily, the urgings of his parents would still permeate through the desires of a young Will. Though he had dropped out of school, to his mother’s wishes he acquiesced and returned, getting his diploma. And to his father’s wishes, he allowed words of wisdom to take the place of his immature cravings. As his father explained to him, “If you’re gonna do this, you can’t do it half-way. There’s musicians on the street homeless that can play you out of this city. You’re gonna have to be a business person to survive.” Into his twenties, Will became a music director for Grady Champion, a Grammy Award-winning blues musician out of Canton Mississippi, and toured around the world. During his time home, he got involved with a woman who was also a musician. The two would form a duo. The goal for Will at that time, aside from pursuing his relationship, was to see the music they made gain traction. So, he immersed himself and his efforts to that end. The relationship would eventually fade, as did their musical duo. The typical town gossip would follow and belittlement had him feeling low. Depression began to set in as Will began to question himself. Looking back, he realized that he had come from making great strides in his own career only to put himself in the background for a relationship. The promotion of this duo was perhaps motivated more by love interests and less by creative interests.

    Will began to hear his father’s words in his mind. There would be no more playing for the sake of playing, or playing for the sake of a relationship. He needed to return to his roots; creative writing through close attention to music theory, and creative direction through close attention to business acumen. He needed someone that existed outside the local whirlpool of small-town mentalities and rumors, someone that could help clear his mind and focus. He called a friend he had worked with in the past by the name of Phil Chandler. Phil had produced for Will in the past and done some bar gigs with him. But most importantly, Phil was from out-of-town. The two began to discuss a number of songs that Will wanted to get recorded, as well as Phil’s recently recorded EP under the band name Orange Joe. Opportunities to gig at that time were few and far between. Being that this occurred during the onset of Covid, the two had to get creative to kept things moving. One solution they settled upon was writing (and subsequently selling) commercial jingles. As their momentum began to accelerate, they decided to take what else they had and publish it together. The result would be a body of work that housed Phil’s EP as well as Will’s recorded songs. It was a seventeen song, double album called Both Sides of the Tracks. Characteristically typical of any bands’ first album, they described it as an extremely polar, country rock/ country americana album. But despite Covid, it kept them productive creatively. And it earmarked a moment in time, both good and bad. Some of Will and Phil’s friends, family, and fellow musicians that were involved with this album didn’t make it through the pandemic. But on the other side of this traumatic occurrence, Both Sides of the Tracks stood tall. Its reception was global, garnering radio play on stations everywhere. This was a fortunate break being that distribution services were backlogged due to many cooped up musicians at home writing and recording. This catalyst also contributed to the star-studded roster on their debut album. Singer/ songwriter and guitarist Kern Pratt, fiddle player Michael Cleveland, singer/ fiddle player/ producer Allison Krauss, singer/ songwriter/ guitarist Doc Watson, and singer/ songwriter/ guitarist John Marty Stewart were some of the people that contributed to this release.

    Obvious hardships gave birth to a robust independence for them both. The album that was recorded, produced, and promoted from their homes now had a global presence. They formed their own label, Roanoke Records and solidified management with Brian Abrams of Century Palm Agency on a beach over a fifth of honey whiskey. Since then, their hard work has resulted in a European tour, a spot opening for the globally recognized band Alabama, and multiple show dates in Switzerland and Bangkok. Their next album, Ready to Ride is set to drop this summer. Subscribe to our podcast by picking your streaming service below and hear about the duo’s experiences overseas, the noticeably darker tone of this next album, partner Phil Chandlers thoughts on music business, and so much more. Thanks goes out to Will Wesley and Phil Chandler for such a great interview.

    Author: David Trahan

    Neworleansmusicians.com

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