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.
Mark Samuels, founder of Basin Street Records, grew up in a household where music didn’t have a noticeable presence. And though he did play a bit of clarinet and piano in grade school, it never really captivated him. Attending Ben Franklin High School marked a time and place in his life when his musical tastes expanded. He had picked up the saxophone by then. He recalls fondly the benefit of having both Winton and Delfeayo Marsalis as a band mates, and his realization of the world of jazz. Simultaneously, his overall interests in music would transcend from The Police, Spyrogira, and The Kinks to local bands like The Cold, The Neville Brothers, James Rivers, and Astral Project. The gap between himself and the world of music began to close as he attended more and more shows locally, making friends who were musicians along the way. Though he would go onto college at the University of Texas, these were experiences that stuck with him. In college, he formed a band called The Urinals where he played saxophone and synthesizer. They would get up on stage and play in between other bands’ sets for fun. Earning a Masters in Finance, Mark would find himself off to New York to start a job in the consulting division of Arthur Anderson, implementing computer analytics for clients. The job meant he would travel elsewhere as well. At some point he was out in Atlanta, Georgia on a job for the Georgia Department of Labor, staying in the same hotel as the cast of the musical comedy School Days. You may recall our own Branford Marsalis played Jordan in that movie. Mark knew Branford from Ben Franklin High School and was friends with his brother Delfeayo. So, for the three weeks he was in Atlanta, he would get off of work and go sit on the set of School Days, spending time with Branford.
The Marsalis family had always been a big influence in Mark’s life. Watching them excel in school band was inspiring. He would spend time at their house as a kid, meeting Jason Marsalis when he was just three years old. Later on in New York, following their careers was akin to following the successes of your favorite local football player that made it to the NFL. He felt personally vested in some of the greats and shared in their triumphs. Winton, Branford, Terrance Blanchard, Donald Harrison and Harry Connick Jr. all hit the stages of New York at one time or another. And Mark would make it a point to go see their shows when they were in town. This would reinforce his tastes in jazz. Collecting their music led him to acquiring others like Miles Davis, John Coltrane and Art Blakey. It was Winton who would introduce Mark to a young Jeremy Davenport after Mark’s business trip to Atlanta. Jeremy, a junior in high school at the time, would later go on to study at the University of New Orleans with Ellis Marsalis and years later end up on the Basin Street Records roster. There were many personal connections over the years that helped form Basin Street Records. At the time, not even Mark realized how all of this would come into play. Because at this point in his life, he was tweaking code and analyzing portfolios of mortgage-backed securities. His life was in New York. And he had just met his future wife, whom he would marry just one year later. But his career was about to affect a major change in his life. He was about to get assigned through work to one of three stock exchanges. All of which were out of the country and would require he and his wife to move abroad. As fate would have it though, a change was going to come alright. But it would include neither of those places nor a move away from the U.S.
Amidst all of this, his father called with some intriguing news. His company had invented a chemical that would be used to treat and refine natural gas. There hadn’t really been a market for it prior to this. But with the rise of natural gas prices, selling now became economically viable. His father’s company expected a rapid expansion and needed someone with Mark’s expertise on their team. And just like that Mark’s compass was now pointed south. In 1989, he and his wife moved back to New Orleans to be in business with his father. The future would see the birth of three children, the freedom to dictate his own schedule, and a prosperous, yet complicated business endeavor. His father’s business came with two partners who were also a father and son team. Over time it became clear that their idea of what the business should become was different from Mark and his father’s idea. The disagreement would form a rift that became a difficult process of separation. Looking back, he draws the assimilation between business arrangements and band arrangements. “When you go into business, if you don’t need a business partner, don’t have a business partner. And if you do have a business partner, and this goes for today with bands and everything else. If you need a business partner, and you might need a business partner when you’re putting together a band. You need an arrangement for how you’re going to separate things when you’re done. In my father and I’s case, we spent a lot of money on lawyers. And it was painful.” The experience struck a chord within Mark. It made him realize that whatever the future held for him, he wanted it to be fun. The process of departing from this deadlock would be through the sale of the business itself, which would span throughout 1996 and 1997. During that time, a meaningful opportunity would arise by mere happenstance.
It would designate a point in Mark’s life at which he began to pursue a career in music business. Though Mark did not realize this until he had already begun down its path. His brother, manager for the Cutting Edge Conference, knew of Mark’s friendships with now famous jazz musicians and invited Mark to put together a jazz showcase for the conference. Trombonist Delfeayo Marsalis was first on his list. And Trumpeter Jeremy Davenport, trombonist Wes Anderson, saxophonist Victor Goines, trumpeter Michael Ray, and several others would soon follow. One of those musicians he invited was trumpeter Kermit Ruffins. Mark found himself discussing his current dismay in the energy business world with Kermit’s manager Tom Thompson. At the time, Mark was enjoying his role as an entertainment coordinator for the music conference and told Tom that he thought he might want to go into business as a manager or agent of artists. Tom would go on to tell Mark about how Kermit recently fulfilled his three-album contract to Justice Records and was ready to record his next album. But Tom needed five thousand dollars to make it happen. The seemingly two separate problems actually formed one solution. This is how Basin Street Records came to be. Together with Tom, Mark formed the company officially and used the entity as a vehicle to release Kermit’s record. On November 14th, 1997, Mark found himself at Tipitina’s recording Kermit Ruffins live to a packed house. In February of 1998, Basin Street Records would release its first record, Swingin’ Live (Later named The Bar-B-Que Swingers Live) just in time for Mardi Gras. Mark had zero experience running a record company at this point. And I pause to emphasize this. Because if there’s anything I would like for my audience to gather from my articles, it’s that anything is possible. And whether it be within the confines of music, or the confines of Louisiana, therein lies no exception! Together with his father, Mark would eventually see the sale of that energy business and officially be solely in the music business. He would also at this point buy Tom out of Basin Street Records as well. The near future would reveal another chance meeting that would yield Basin Street’s second release, Los Hombres Calientes, volume 1. Jason Marsalis, Irvin Mayfield, and Dr. Michael White would follow suit in the coming years.
At the end of 2000, Mark’s family was in a car accident that killed his wife. And he found himself having to raise three children on his own as well as run the label. Los Hombres Calientes, by now, was scheduled to record their third volume in six different countries. But Mark would have to stay behind to pick up the pieces and begin again. Looking back, you will find, this was one rare occasion when Mark took pause. But from this point on, he never stopped. Basin Street Records expanded over the next few years, bringing his brother onboard as his operations director. And that album Los Hombres Calientes left to record ended up getting a Grammy nomination. More artists were added to the roster year after year. In April of 2004, he released 6 albums in one day, including two movie soundtracks. And in 2005, he released three albums in time for Jazzfest. Four months later when Hurricane Katrina hit, he never quit moving forward. With staff scattered about the country and a flooded warehouse, he somehow kept the business intact while once again picking up pieces of his life. We went on for some time about how switching distributors landed him in with Sony, his take on digital downloads and streaming, and so much more. Please consider checking out the podcast episode titled Mark Samuels to get the full story. You can access it via your favorite streaming platform below. We thank Mark Samuels for being such a gracious host and inspiring us all to pursue our dreams at all costs.
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.
Recently our friends at Mixed Alternative Magazine had the chance to rap with New Orleans-based hip-hop duo SaxKixAve, who are rising in popularity right now in the best of ways. Most musicians are lucky to have one successful project in a world where there are hundreds of thousands of songs being released every single day and the market is oversaturated. The chances of breaking through the noise are harder than ever, and those who actually do break through and see some success with one group is a rarity, let alone those who can take on and do well with multiple musical projects. Enter these fellas.
SaxKixAve is one of those groups who are doing it all. Comprised of award-winning rapper Alfred Banks and Albert Allenback, saxophonist and flutist of the twice Grammy-nominated group Tank and the Bangas, these two artists stay plenty busy with their main gigs, but thanks to the suggestion of Tavia Osbey, manager of Alfred and of Tank and the Bangas, that the two work together at the onset of the COVID-19 pandemic, they started a side project that is truly something special. Their first record, “I Don’t Wear Suits,” was released in April 2020 and is a celebration of this collaboration, and the duo has been performing those songs in front of live audiences whenever they can find the time to do so.
Earlier this year as SaxKixAve was finishing up their follow-up record, Mixed Alternative Magazine had them both over to chat about that record, about how they make this project work with their busy schedule, and about some of the band’s highlights so far. This is one bitchin’ Q&A with some super-cool artists that you’re gonna want to check out. Then, once you’ve read and pondered and laughed with them, check out their music, their videos, and support them on social media. SaxKixAve is rapidly on the rise and we’re all gonna want to keep an eye on them. Their music is as fresh, funky, upbeat, intelligent, honest, and unique as the guys who make it.
MaM: I’ve heard a couple different versions of what “kix’ed” this all off. How did this insane, wonderful experiment begin?
Albert:Well, Tavia—the manager of Tank and the Bangas and the engine, the logistic and business/life-path mind behind it all—hit me up and said [Alfred] was looking for beats. She said, ‘I know you make beats. Let’s get you in the studio together and see what happens.’
Alfred:It was great … I like Alby. He’s good money. We crack wild jokes. He sent me an email of beats, I picked one, I wrote to it, knock this one out. It was right when COVID hit. So yeah, I got in the studio with this dude, [and] we laughed for about three or four hours before we even started really recording. I thought, ‘This is a good guy.’ We recorded ‘Tawny’ and I guess he liked what I did. I loved it, and we just kinda kept goin’, kept goin’, kept goin’. Then it was like, ‘Hey man, you wanna make this a thing?’
Albert: It was like a ‘Step Brothers’ moment.
Alfred: Yeah! He was like, ‘Yeah!’ I was like, ‘Aight.’ [sic]
Albert: Are we in a band?
Alfred: Are we a band?!
Albert: Yeah, I think so!
Alfred:(to Albert) Do you remember how we came up with the name? I know we joke about it.
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.
To be painfully honest, excess seemed to be the goal of my life while growing up; the most booze, the most parties, the most drugs, the most women. Slowly, my life began to become the locust swarm. I existed to consume and move on, until I was satiated or unconscious. But somewhere along the way, my quest for quantity gave way to quality. Upon reflection, my past had become a misguided detour. And all those allies who shared in my crusade, liars. I began cutting people out in pursuit of the answers to unending questions. Who am I? What do I want out of life? Why are the things that I want and the things that I truly need always at odds? Looking back, although traumatic in nature, I believe this to be an integral part of growing up; maturation at its essence. Through our talks, I believe this to be the crux of Vinnie La Bella. But Vinnie La Bella consumed for a reason that would land him on stages in front of hundreds of thousands. He moved for what was to be an organism that would usher him around the globe. The desire, the intensity, and the results would maturate rewards and costs of epidemic proportions, leaving physical and moral values lying in limbo.
Vinnie grew up in University City, a small neighborhood in Kenner, Louisiana bordering several suburbs and one veritable marshland. His father was a singer in a cover band that played mostly top 40 hits of the time. Being around musicians as far back as he can remember, the set-ups for practice, the camaraderie, and the grown banter were some of the appeals that drew him in. He can recall his father bringing home the Fandango! album by ZZ Top to learn a song and falling in love with that album. Between sneaking playtime with the guitar of his father’s bandmate, and classes in jazz theory, his love for guitar was solidified as early as eight years old. By the time he was eleven, he had learned enough to feel comfortable on the thing. It started to occur to him that this was something he could actually do for a living, perhaps in part, because of his father’s influence. But the mechanics of play had definitely become more familiar with time. And in time, nothing would move him more. His parents divorced when he was fourteen. And by age fifteen he was living with his mother on Hessemer Avenue in Fat City. Up until this point, guitar had helped to solidify a foundation between him and his father. So, to hear him tell it, his parents’ parting of ways didn’t really bother him. But he did, however, take advantage of his new digs. In the 80’s, Fat City was still a bustling neighborhood full of bars with live music. And at fifteen, Vinnie was beginning to establish roots of his own. Fat City would serve as a fertile medium to facilitate his growth; both as a young man and a budding musician.
For all intents and purposes, Vinnie was a loner. With just enough people he called “friends” counted on one hand, he was resolved to explore the world on his own. This translated into a person that possibly grew up too quick. He would quit school early to become a hustler, and admits he may have squandered opportunities. A reckless lifestyle would prove a comfortable place for him to exist. And those who were there know Fat City could give you all you could eat. From where he lived with his mother, 17th Street was just a two-minute walk. “Now the walks to the bar were always nice and clean. The walks back got interesting. You know, I woke up in a few alleys along the way, ten o’clock the next morning. But that was the stomping ground”. Though stumbling at times through life, he always seemed to fall in the right direction. And even his vices would prove of value. Fat City is where he met Kirk Windstein (Crowbar). It’s where he met Phil Anselmo (Pantera, Down, Superjoint Ritual, Necrophagia, etc). It’s where he met Andy Villafarra and David Main, with whom he would go on to form Exhorder. Fat City is where he played his first show in a cover band called Sabotage. And it also served as the place where he would draw a line in the sand. But before his own assertions, he would need confirmation elsewhere; confirmation that his suspicions were correct.
Speaking strictly from personal perspective I can tell you that there’s always been a voice inside my head. Maybe not so much a voice; it’s more like an inaudible message center. We’re all born with it in fact. In some, it’s just louder than in others. In our latter years, we learn of it to be the Id. It’s a part of the psyche, residing in the unconscious, that is the source of instinctive impulses. It wants nothing more than to be satisfied but is constantly modified by the ego and the superego before being given overt expression. It provides all of the energy for, and is the driving force of, personality. Unto itself, it has no organization. Being guided by his vices, seemingly falling in the right direction at times when his Ego or Superego would shine through, brought Vinnie to a defining moment in his life. Through this guiding force, Vinnie would often find himself venturing outside of the microcosm that was Fat City. One of those destinations was uptown New Orleans where hardcore and punk were prominent. This was a breeding ground for those that shunned society and smeared the edge. Sonic exploration was not only prominent. Here it was a prerequisite which fed Vinnie’s Id. “I remember walking out there for the first time, like, going to Jed’s. It was on like, Oak Street or Maple; right down the street from Jimmy’s Music Club. And that’s where they would have the punk and hardcore activity weekends. That was basically where we would all go. So, Circle Jerks played, Black Flag, I got to see all them bands… Dead Kennedys. And we would go over there and start hanging over there and noticing woah, this is a totally different world. Not only musically but, you don’t play cover songs out here. No band gets up there and plays a Black Flag song. You would probably get tomatoes thrown at you. You had to be an original thing offering something to the scene, being part of the culture, and growing”. This confirmed to him that the scene in Metairie really had grown stale. Metairie had the Ratts and the Poisons of cover bands. It had mostly become a hairspray haven where leotard clad man boys were chasing a path that had already been, by now, cliched. Punk and hardcore influenced thrash in metal. And cover bands influenced… nothing.
On campus at Tulane University is a radio station, WTUL. And back then, on the weekends, it would host a metal night one evening and a hardcore night on the other. Vinnie would also venture out there to a basement where the radio station was housed, bearing any goodies he may have procured throughout the evening. Two brothers were DJs. And together with Vinnie and friends they would pass around records, discussing them and giving them a spin. These uptown experiences, at the radio station and at live shows, were the building blocks upon which Vinnie’s own first band was founded. It would be the Id, his Id, incarnate. It would be proof positive that a dissention from what had become the norm of his environment was not only in order. It was necessary to avoid furthering apparent necrosing. Things would come to a head one evening in the dressing room before a performance with his first band, ironically named, Sabotage. “I was basically given an ultimatum in that band. I was in the dressing room. We were about to play a show and I was thrown some garments. ‘Here, wear these tonight’. And when I looked at these garments I was like, I can’t go out there like this. And he said ‘well you have to or you’re out this band’. And I said well, I’ll be out this band then… tonight mother fucker. ‘Aight, aight well you don’t have to wear that’. So, that was the last show I played with them”. This wasn’t at all about cover bands. Vinnie respected cover bands. His father was in a cover band. At one time, he even subbed guitar for a cover band when he was asked to bail out a friend in need. He was handed a list of one hundred and fifty songs to learn with two weeks to learn them. But again, having seen what the hardcore scene was like, and knowing it was more the direction he wanted to move in, left him with little vested in what things had become. And ever the hustler, he would soon take members of that band with him.
Establishing himself in a fishbowl of clones would not prove easy. Though he could see the gateway from his doorstep, anything west of New Orleans was just, not New Orleans. And Fat City was the fishbowl of not New Orleans. To become a deflection in this biosphere meant facing backlash. And staking one’s claim sometimes meant going on the offensive. “I was kind of frowned upon. And it caused a lot of beefs. I was an asshole man. And I would make fun of guys for doing it after a while because they were making fun of me for hanging out with the punks. So, it got to be a lifestyle kind of thing. You know, like I’m willing to whip your ass over this shit. That’s how deep we were into this. If you talked bad about Exhorder in the 80’s, you might not be around today talking about it. I’m serious. We were fucking assholes man”. The same guys that would say you’ll never make a dime doing that or the chicks will never listen to that were the same guys who would eventually break out of this redundant mecca. But latency meant they would have a new band to follow. In retrospect, Vinnie feels as though it would have behooved those people to pivot sooner than later. A lot of great talent was born out of the moment when they finally steered clear of mimicking the hair bands of that bygone era. But at that time, he felt as though he was defending his honor. At any rate, once he left that band and this scene, there was no turning back.
Writing for Slaughter in the Vatican would start almost immediately, but with only Vinnie and Andy Villafara, it would be an arduous task. David Main would soon follow suit leaving Sabotage. And the better part of a year would pass while writing and securing a permanent lineup. But throughout it all and no matter what, hardcore music had entranced Vinnie. He would rather die than see himself end up where he was headed. Music and life had become synonymous. And both, in Vinnie’s eyes, were secondary to this alliance. Given his proclivity for extremes and his perception that Exhorder was more like a gang than a band, things would become violent at times. Being that the foundation of this band was forged in contrast to everything out there, opposition could be found everywhere; even within the band itself. “To be honest man, I wasn’t the only lunatic in the band. I mean, these guys were legitimate fuck-ups man. We were all fucking nuts. I got in a fight with my drummer over some bullshit, year one. I kicked his fucking door down. I ended up going to jail and doing community service. So that’s kind of how we started; out of just anger and violence. And we were taking it out on our instruments and just making a hell of a noise musically about it. After that little scuffle with Chris, him, Kyle, and David left”. This would be the first of several partings for Exhorder. And the band was still so new, to themselves as well as everyone else. This occurred in late 1987. Their very first gig was just the year before on Franklin Avenue in 1986. At this point in time, they had yet to finish recording the demos for Slaughter in the Vatican. The process of rebuilding would go on for a year. During that time, Jay Ceravalo (rhythm guitar) would enter the picture.
At best, Jay was an aspiring guitarist. But Vinnie saw a bit of himself in Jay; the air of tenacity. So, he made a deal with him. Vinnie affirmed, “Bra, I’ll give you six months. If you can play this shit… and I will help you. I’ll come and show you. I will make you tapes and whatever you need. If you can do this shit you’ve got the job. And that’s when he got rid of his old lady, he quit his job and locked himself in a room. So, at the time it’s just me, Andy, and Jay trying to put some semblance of Exhorder back together”. Through this process, Jay would risk (and lose) most everything. He turned his back on a secure job with the city of Kenner, his parents kicked him out. Above all else, Vinnie recognized the loyalty and dedication and never forgot it. Sid Montz (Victorian Blitz, Crowbar, Valume Nob, Southern Isolation) would come in on drums about this time. But Vinnie still had to find a singer. One day in early 1989, Sid called Vinnie with some news. Vinnie recalls, “This is a good piece of history that I’ve never told anybody. But it’s important to where we land in this later. He (Sid) says listen man I talked to Phil (Anselmo). He’s not happy with his current situation. He wants to do something heavier and he can’t get the guys to get on board. So, he wants to come try out. So, I called him and said try out? There ain’t no fucking try out. You’re Phil. You can do this. You’re bad, you know? You’ve got the gig. Come home. He’s like no no no, I want to do it right. I’m going to fly in and try out. And I’ll come back and we’ll finish it. I said, ok. So, he came down and was as good as you thought he would be. I said I told you. You wasted your plane ticket. You got the gig! So, I put this mother fucker on an airplane right after rehearsal. He’s flying back to Dallas and he’s going home to quit Pantera. Now by this time Power Metal was the last thing they had released. The sound was still… the sound. So anyway, he’s in the air. I drive home from the airport. I walk into the house and the phone is ringing. I pick up the phone, it’s Kyle. I hadn’t heard from this mother fucker in a year. I haven’t seen him. I haven’t talked to him. He goes, hey man I heard you had Phillip in the room. I said what are you talking about? I haven’t talked to you in a year! How’d you know? He says, I wanna come back. I said he’s in the air right now! He’s going home to quit! So, I said dude let me call you back. I hung up the phone. I called up Jay and I said this mother fucker’s calling me. He’s like bro, it’s your call. So, I thought about it for a second, and I did the right thing. I said absolutely Kyle; come on home. We wrote these songs together. You’re the only mother fucker I can envision singing for this thing. I said, you got it. I just need to stop him (Phil) from fucking his own thing up. So, I said let me see what I can do. So, I called over there and Phil wasn’t upset or anything. He was actually pretty happy. He said ‘that’s good news. I’m disappointed because I really wanted to give it a go with you. But, I’m glad he’s back”. With Kyle back, Chris Nail would once again take over on drums. Anselmo would go on to record the famed Cowboys From Hell album with Pantera. And Exhorder would complete Slaughter in the Vatican, getting signed to Roadrunner Records. The what-ifs that ran through my head at this point in the interview came flooding in.
But tumultuous times were not behind the band. The signing was merely a piece to a puzzle that was never quite complete. Sure, they had remained in New Orleans, besting the labels turning them down left and right claiming that they needed to get out of New Orleans in order to make it. And one must realize this was the 80’s. This was the Regan era where shoulder pads and rampant consumerism dominated the arena. Even when they were finally signed, their first album came out mischaracterizing them as a ‘brutal thrash band from the depths of the swamp in Louisiana’. Their propensity for violence was getting them thrown off tours. This was no help either. But they knew they were on to something good. And this all would open up the door for many more out the south; a region negated as illegitimate in the world of musical significance. Between inner band tensions and music business complications, by the time The Law was released in 1992, the group was more than worse for wear. Vinnie had a baby. Chris was getting married. None of them could hold one another together or ever align their ways with normative business practices. Passion holds no court with principals. Principals are societally based. And passion is otherworldly. Exhorder would once again disband. Make-ups and break-ups would be scattered throughout the coming years. A turbulent giant would be remitted to a twenty-seven-year recording dormancy. In 2017, through specifics not revealed, Vinnie and Kyle would reunite for the last time, culminating in Exhorder’s 2019 release entitled Mourn the Southern Skies. It would be produced and engineered at OCD Recording & Production by Duane Simineaux under Nuclear Blast, one of the world’s largest independent metal labels. It is by far, in my opinion, the greatest work ever to come from Exhorder. Which at this point housed only two of its founding members. It would also mark the last time Vinnie would ever play with the band he started. “We tried to put it back together a couple of times. This last time the table was set pretty good. We had a good shot and it was working. We ended up in a dispute as usual. And this time the only original guys left were me and Kyle. The dispute was basically between me and him. It was basically over two bullet points that he just couldn’t get past, and I couldn’t get past. And finally, I was like fuck it. Hey if you want it this bad bro, take it. But you’re going to get your wallet out this time. Because a lot of times they leave me sitting there with the bill”. He went on to point out, “It is of my opinion that he, at this particular moment, probably hates my fucking guts. He won’t say it in the media but he probably does. It’s my opinion. I could be wrong. But five years, seven years, eight years from now you know, who knows”. They were maturing in the midst of this all. Their needs changed over time. With only two founding members remaining, what was considered Exhorder had changed as well. “Whenever Exhorder would break up in the past, we would just lay it to rest. Nobody owned the trademark or the copyrights or anything to that name. It just sat there. And it would always sit there until most of us, or all of us, decided to do it again. And it was always home base for us. If we ever wanted to make something of that thing we built when we were kids, it was always there for us. And it started when I said… yes”. Vinnie reflected on the Phil Anselmo story here, citing it as a moment in time that should’ve reinforced a standing precedence for the band. When it came to Kyle’s desires to return, he didn’t mull it over. He simply said yes. But this time, through communications with his lawyer, he was confronted by a standing vote to oust him. The organism would no longer be the sum of its parts.
These days, Vinnie remains deeply involved in music. He has established roots in production, and continues with recording and composition. Among his many projects, you will hear his work on Kirk Windstein’s upcoming second solo album, projected to be released possibly this fall. He went on to talk about that experience, as well the many projects that he’s currently involved in. You can hear this info first-hand and the details surrounding his life in music on our podcast by picking your streaming platform of choice below. Please be sure to subscribe, as this keeps our musicians’ names in the wind and gives our show a greater voice.
Chris Beary is a social entrepreneur who has contributed consistently to the New Orleans community and the preservation of Louisiana music history over the last three decades. He is the founder of several non-profit organizations in the city, and serves in managerial or ownership capacities of many other businesses across a variety of sectors. After practicing law for 25 years, he shifted his focus to community building and social endeavors. I have been hearing about one project by the name of the Funky Uncle for quite some time now, and it was a pleasure to give a few listens to this interview.
An interesting topic mentioned early in the interview is the realization we all eventually have: all artists are not local to us. There is a difference between the music we hear in recordings and the music which is crafted by local and regional musicians. I can remember having a similar realization in my teens when it finally dawned on me that not all music I had just heard had been recently released. I recall boldly proclaiming to my parents that a friend had introduced me to the next great band of 2001: Guns N’ Roses!
Beary describes his realization as perhaps more gradual and smooth; exploring the city as a preteen on his bicycle, hearing local musicians and attending all-ages shows at Jimmy’s Music Club. The intersection of our memory lanes, however, lies in the eyes-wide-open thrill of discovering live music performances. The energy, improvisation and temporality of a great live performance can never truly be captured on a recording, and Beary has put his money where his mouth is to create opportunities for performers to captivate their audience and perform wholeheartedly. More on that later.
Coming from a family of music fans, Beary was encouraged in his growing interest in live music performances. He describes going out initially to see any show he could find, but refining his interest over time and following bands who he most preferred to hear. As he talks about “peeling back the onion” and understanding music on a deeper level, he says his interest in becoming a part of the machine began to develop along with a deep appreciation of funk music. Although self-described as a mediocre drummer, he talks about his natural inclination from a young age to want to be a part of the music scene.
A lifelong entrepreneur, Beary talks about his brief foray into music club ownership in the late 90’s, when he purchased Jimmy’s Music Club. He says the experience ultimately led him to consider all of his future ventures into the industry as social entrepreneurship. He then talks about the financial hardships faced by musicians in the gig economy, citing several reasons why these observations led him to become a social entrepreneur and champion of fair economic treatment of musicians. It is pretty common water cooler talk to hear folks on the scene express these sentiments, but it comes as a welcome relief to listen to this podcast and hear about an individual with this level of credential who has devoted a significant portion of their life to this worthy cause. It takes all kinds of people to make up a thriving community, and savvy businessmen are no exception.
Moving forward, he details the circumstances which led towards the eventual formation of The Funky Uncle Live including his introduction to guitarist/composer Cristian Duque. I have had the pleasure to work with Cristian many times in the past, and was thrilled to hear of the collaboration with the spirited entrepreneurial vision of Beary. One of the most notable things I have seen in Cristian’s group, Soul Project, is his commitment to performing original music with fleshed out arrangements. On the occasions I have heard them perform covers, they bring a distinct energy and earnestness to the performance which stands out wholesomely. To mention the firepower of the ensemble itself… go check them out!
The discussion between the two led to the creation of a beautiful thing; a mardi gras float equipped with a professional soundstage. Duque is quoted (paraphrased here) as pointing out the disparity between the typical quality of venue soundstages vs the immaculate planning that goes into studios for recorded music. Once the float had been designed and built, the debut performance was held at a “JazzFest for the homeless”, an event which became a staple for the roving venue until the 2020 pandemic. During this time, Beary and Duque began conversing about the possibility of using the float as the backdrop for socially-distanced, streamed performances. He describes the generosity of the local community, detailing several crucial production functions and equipment which were donated to the cause.
Through the course of the pandemic, the venue served as a functional and safe performance outlet for over 100 unique bands to broadcast shows as a means of income during the quarantine. At this point, he touches on another crucial element in this conversation: Beary was able to draw in a community of collaboration because he is not benefiting financially from the effort. As the interviewer points out, this is immediately disarming for potential collaborators for apparent and universal reasons. The network of support generated by the Funky Uncle Live during the COVID pandemic will certainly stand as a testament to the importance of community building and philanthropy. Not every music lover can be a gigging musician, and not every gigging musician has the economic ability to bring things into life. It is an observably symbiotic community which has sprung up through altruism, but more crucially backed by humility, expertise and good intention.
Beary’s interest in the arts is not limited to live musical performances: he goes into a great detail within the full interview about the series of paintings by local artist Frenchy which depict the COVID concerts at the Funky Uncle. These paintings were sold, with the overwhelming majority of the proceeds going toward supporting the musicians who performed at the venue. Beary marvels at the speed and frenzied dexterity of Frenchy, likening his focal intensity to operating as fast as four people at once. Displaying a consistently organizational mind, he describes the paintings as a body of work worthy of examination as a whole. He draws a simile between the progression of an artist’s career to the development of the perspective used to capture the energy of the live, audience-less, performances.
As the pandemic drew to a close, Beary decided to renew his commitment to community work and has allocated roughly 90% of his working hours to pursue social entrepreneurship. One of the first projects at this time was a compilation album to commemorate the spirit of the Funky Uncle community, which was completed in 2021. These albums were passed out during Mardi Gras 2022, and the physical copies are sure to become collector’s items. The album also included interview recordings interspersed with the musical tracks, serving as an homage to the performers who shared their stories with the broadcast audience. As the local venues began to reopen, the streaming shows have ceased, but the Funky Uncle still rolls on for community and private events as well as fundraisers.
Beary’s current community development project is the Louisiana Music and Heritage Experience, a massive music museum which is slated for construction across from the Convention Center. I recommend listening to the full podcast episode to hear the description of many of the exhibitions and performances to occur at the new museum. From the sound of it, this will be an employment opportunity for music lovers, historians, and performers alike. I will likely write a follow-up to this piece once there are continued developments to the museum.
This interview shed a lot of insight into the enthusiastic spirit of Chris Beary. I have not yet had a chance to meet him, but there is something decidedly disarming about the way he speaks about the collaborators who have helped him to create musical communities. You may not be a musician, Chris, but you’re a funky moth- I’ll shut my mouth.
One of three children, Conner Graham was born St. Amant in Ascension Parish, Louisiana. Where, according to him, disco and Swamp Pop never died. “At our middle school dances, they were playing Wilson Pickett. Yeah, they might do the Bunny Hop. They might have cranked some DMX in 2002. But then the very next song was Land of a Thousand Dances. It was very strange looking back. But we didn’t know it was weird at the time” His start as a musician began at just five years old on the piano. Before long though, he was turned off by it because of the urgings from his music teacher. She wanted him to play Beauty and the Beast. But he wanted to play Dr. John and Elton John. According to Conner, she took one look at material from Elton John and saw the title Jesus Freaks Out in the Streets and instantly objected. She countered with Be Our Guest from Beauty and the Beast. And so began a path away from the keys. His familiarity at an early age with his preferred genre came by way of his mother. She was a radio DJ in the 70’s for 102.5 WFMF, “Baton Rouge’s #1 Hit Music Station”. Her record collection at home was both a testament to her tastes in music and a big influence on Conner’s early musical experiences. It’s how he knew of bands like the Beatles, Crosby, Stills & Nash, Jonathan Edwards, and the Eagles.
He would move onto trumpet, eventually playing in band at school. During this time, another one of his hobbies was playing Guitar Hero with friends. He actually became quite good at it and recalls watching an episode of South Park. Where, in reference to the game, Stan’s mom declared, “If they would spend half as much time learning a real instrument, they would be onto something!” He thought to himself, is that true? He knew his mom had an old guitar sitting in a closet somewhere. So, in the summer before his senior year, he asked her if he could start lessons. During his senior year of high school, his mother took him to his first Jazz Fest. She wanted to see folk artist James Taylor, and he wanted to see the alt-rock band Wilco. But halfway through Wilco’s set, he wandered off and was drawn to blues-rock artist Johnny Winters. People sometimes speak of the timeless quality music had in the 70’s. And even though Conner was born in ’91, that 70’s sound had him hooked. To his liking, there was not a lot of synthesizers, and that gated reverb snare hadn’t taken over yet, nor had auto tune. Rounding out his tastes was the influence from his older brother, who was into Pearl Jam, the Foo Fighters, Nirvana, and other 90’s grunge. Through his older brother, Conner was also able to witness the camaraderie that came with being in a band. Because his brother was in a band and would have the same close-knit group of friends over all the time. He wanted that for himself. So, between regular lessons and persistent after school practicing, he stuck close to playing guitar. Eventually he would form his own band; or try to, at least. Conner and three of his friends would assemble in his garage for practice. But this was short lived. Directly following graduation in 2009, two of his friends shipped off to the armed forces and one of them moved away. Conner himself would move on to college at LSU and join the Tiger Band playing trumpet. While this may have kept Conner in touch with music, it was always a highly regimented and scheduled out event. Playing trumpet in a school band, he felt boxed in. But with guitar, he was able truly be creative. And this is what fed his soul. He did try out for a couple of bands during his time in college. Being that he enjoyed karaoke, he tried out for a pop-punk band that needed a singer. And another was a bizarre reggae rap-metal band that needed a trumpet player. Though he felt himself veering away from the trumpet somewhat, it was the only one of the two bands that called back. But he stuck with the reggae band for a while. He also took gigs on the side, all with his trumpet. And all the while his affinity for guitar grew more and more.
At the end of 2014, Conner would be reunited with high school friends for a bonfire. As luck would have it all three had moved back into town. It wouldn’t take long for the four of them to put the band back together. And in just four months they had written ten songs, calling themselves Bayou Bullets. Over the next four years the group would see changes in their line-up, a five song EP studio recorded album by the name of Five in the Chamber, and the addition of a singer, Jovin Webb. Which allowed Conner to focus on playing. But the group had yet to find its true identity. Conner recalls, “If you listen to the album, it sounds like three very different bands playing five different songs.” Pop-punk, blues, 70’s folk acoustic, and rock had somehow all found a way into their initial attempt. Though Conner’s preference leaned somewhat toward pop punk, an affinity reignited by his 2018 Warped Tour attendance, the future for this band would be shaped, in part, by two factors. One of the previous changes in the line-up was the addition of a guitarist that was heavy into 80’s metal. And their new singer, Jovin, had a voice that dwelled in that soulful grit. The territory where these factors would intersect, and where the band would ultimately settle, would be in 70’s blues rock. The coming years would be spent exploring this identity on stage and culminating in their sophomore effort titled New Lie. Parts of 2019 and 2020 were spent trying to get this album down, as it was fraught with its fair share of hurdles. Jovin had been picked up by American Idol that year. And his efforts would land him in the top ten on that show. But a seeming positive would often present itself as a negative when it came to scheduling time for the band’s album. A song he had written, After the Rain, was one that left a hole Conner kept scrambling to fill. And the fact that it was written as a duet didn’t help things. At one time Chloe from Alabaster Stack was supposed to accompany Jovin on the song. After that fell through, Maria from Riarosa was slated to fill the spot and had to cancel. Also, Covid had reared its ugly head which brought production at the studio to a halt. Suddenly, Conner found himself at a low point in his life. The album release would eventually see the light of day. But for now, it was botched. Depression was setting in and writer’s block was beginning to take hold.
Fortunately, Conner had the presence of mind at the time to seek outside help from a therapist. In these sessions it was revealed to him that the pressures of coordinating practices and gigs, and fighting to get this album out had placed him in a position where his creative outlet had become a job. The solution was to start another project where “making it” was not the goal, effectively freeing him from the constricts of all those elements that muddy the waters of inspiration. In this new project he would not even play an instrument. He would front this band as its singer, it would be a cover band in his preferred vein of pop-punk, and their name would be Okay, Boomhauer. Though Covid would wreak havoc on this band’s ability to practice and function, he was still able to reclaim a broken block from his previous project, Bayou Bullets. Reexamining that material through the alternative lens of his new band’s genre, a song stood out to him. It spoke to him in the form of an emo ballad. He felt so strongly about this that he would eventually record it as such. Five songs would accompany it on an album that was to be his solution to the isolation and stagnation that Covid instilled in us all. Paired with just an audio engineer, Conner wrote and recorded an album under the name Okay, Boomhauer. Progress was finally being made. As for Bayou Bullets, a pivot in their business model would be the answer to the pandemic. They realized that if they steered clear of major cities they could circumvent restrictions in place at the time. Together they hit every honky-tonk and dive bar along the gulf south. Being that their mainstay was in covers this was an easy sell, and a lucrative one to boot.
Finally, Conner felt as though he had some breathing room. Bayou Bullets was gigging consistently, restrictions began to ease, and Okay, Boomhauer began to practice. Conner let them hear what he recorded and the band really took a liking to the material. The revelation would expand the band into originals and would accompany a catalog of about thirty cover songs. Then one night while performing with Bayou Bullets in the college town of Starkville, MS, he contracted Covid. And it nearly killed him. “It was literally weeks and months of rehab to get back to the point that I could perform or anything like that. Heck, it took three weeks before I was able to walk more than a block down the street. But in that time of working through all that, we also had that hurricane (Ida) that hit in August. And that wiped the calendar for Bayou Bullets away. Which provided the opening for a couple of the members who had been waffling on leaving or not to decide, you know what, it’s not going to be putting them out if I leave now.” Conner’s health would eventually be restored. And his focus would then shift to Okay, Boomhauer.
This new endeavor has found Conner and his band scheduled to perform from Dallas to Mobile. He has already written an entire album for the band to record in between shows and is currently writing the following album. They are going into the studio to release a single this spring, with another to follow toward the end of this year. It’s been a cathartic experience for him. He’s proud of how his own EP turned out ultimately being played by Okay, Boomhauer. Seeing results, his vision is no longer obscured by the familiar doldrums of years prior. He’s started investing time and money in an editing process that will enhance the band’s following on social media. And he is able to delve into the mechanics of a far-reaching band without feeling bogged down. “I have targeted a list of cities that are all between eight and twelve hours away from here to start building that network of cities that we can we can tour to, to get to the cities that really give a shit about this music.” In due time, after some replacement recruiting, his other project Bayou Bullets will reemerge redubbed as The Black Smokes. We talked more in depth about his journey throughout. And we went on to examine the findings of research he has put into elevating Okay, Boomhauer to the next level. You can hear all of it on our recent podcast episode titled by the band’s name. Thanks so much for reading and remember, support for these musicians and this site comes as easily as sharing our work.
With family roots in both Ecuador and Sicily, Petty Betty front woman Erica Calle was born into a vibrant, culturally diverse family in New Orleans East. To hear her describe it, this was not an atmosphere for the meek. “The only way you get heard at the dinner table… who talks the loudest is who gets heard. So, I’ve never been told I’m a quiet person. And I don’t think I ever will. I just found a way to turn that into a positive.” Music never really held a dominant presence in the household. And although natural heritage was held close on both sides of the family, focus was concentrated on assimilation into American culture. As a result, she recalls her mother having an affinity for vinyl with no distinctive musical genre. And her father being somewhat of a fan of smooth jazz. In lieu of concerts or music festivals, the pair would often opt for more peaceful outdoor experiences such as rock climbing and camping.
After a short stint in Texas, her parents came back to settle in Denham Springs. And though Erica had grown fond of singing, she just didn’t have the knack for it. “I remember being in sixth grade and I went to St. John Vianney in Baton Rouge, a small Catholic school. I remember getting up and signing Rockin’ Around the Christmas Tree in front of my class. It was terrible. The kids laughed.” What one might think would have a negative impact on a young Erica, didn’t. She would tell you that she was (and is) more stubborn than talented. But her love for performing grossly overstated the reaction she observed from the crowd. And she would do it again and again. It wasn’t until she was about twelve years old that some things started to fall into place. She was in her room singing and her mother mistook her for the radio. But what both had not taken into account was that, through maturation, her voice had dropped. It was at that moment that her mother really took interest in nurturing what would blossom into a wonderful talent. The notion was sealed with procurement of a voice coach and lessons.
Erica had come into the situation loving pop songs and expressed interest in singing one for her first recital. But her voice coach would insist she take on a more soulful approach, while trying to cater to a deeper tone. And this felt right.
Later on in life, Erica would study through vocal coaches at LSU. And once again she found herself singing in less habitable, higher tones. She recalls this as being exhausting. While she realized that one of her goals should be to provide for a wide vocal range, singing soprano did not feel natural to her. This was compounded by the fact that singing in a deeper tone physically came from a different part of her body. Not to mention singing soulful music came from her heart. “You don’t understand the why’s that you feel that way until you’re older. There’s a difference in singing rehearsed music and singing from your soul. And that’s something you learn about yourself as you go. So, I think what’s really cool about music, about the arts is that you’re really… not so much you’re learning a talent, you’re learning and discovering yourself.” Beginning with an interest in pop music and singing in soprano really took her off course. But luckily, by following her heart, and with a little help from a voice coach, Erica found the way back to herself.
With mental and emotional support from her family as a child, she was able to realize her own vision as a singer. Her father even once driving her all night to Atlanta, Georgia for a competition in The Voice; at which she garnered her spot in the second round. But attempting so much in the midst of a cold landed her with blown vocal chords; a wound that would take years to mend. Even speaking would render her hoarse. So, she buried herself in life away from singing. Depression and weight gain would soon follow. An abusive relationship helped to further suppress the voice of a once boisterous young woman. And a roughly ten-year break from involvement in music resulted. She likened the experience to boiling a frog. These things culminated slowly, but had a lasting effect on her. Some friends approached her one night after karaoke asking if she would be interested in joining their band, and she accepted. It was a way back into a life of singing which was good for her. But she didn’t know how to advocate for herself when it came to what worked for her as an artist. As tensions in the band rose, so did the abusive situation at home. And although she learned a lot while in that band, when the time came as she said, “When I got out, I had to get out”. Her abusive home life was intertwined with her band life. So, when she made the decision to leave the relationship, she also made the decision to leave the band.
Her next foray into singing would be what we all know today as Petty Betty. Hearing things like, “no little sister, what works best for you” made her know for sure she had found the right place. For Erica, learning the ins and outs of musicians and how they work became possible in an atmosphere conducive to growth. And the bunch all became like family. Petty Betty practiced for a solid year before performing live. Since then, they have enjoyed immeasurable success. But to do this, they came out the gate ready to handle not just the gigs themselves, but bookings and networking as well. They began live having gigs booked out for months. The Betty Boop/ Betty Page theme underlying their name had given them a distinctive look. And their embracive style with the crowd had landed them a truly loyal following. Though Covid impacted them as deeply as it did many bands, Erica took the instance as an opportunity to network even harder, committing to livestreams and serving as a go-between to help other bands remain active.
Though some of this was about self-preservation, much of it became about the worth of a community of musicians as a whole. She gained an understanding of her own self-worth, as well as the worth of the musicians around her. And it now can be heard in her speaking about the way venues and musicians currently do business. She walked away from her experience with Covid realizing that a line must be drawn for musicians to uphold, whereby venues understand that a respectable business practice is in order. Like she said, “ I think that working within the music and the venue community, building those relationships helped to understand that value.” Instilling a perspective in people comes over time and through the efforts of not just one. Petty Betty has also sought to add value to what they do by making covers uniquely their own. At their shows you might hear House of the Rising Sun w a soulful nature, or Johnny B Goode w a double bass, or even Gangster’s Paradise and Lenny Kravitz Fly Away mashed together. An active schedule gigging has strained the band’s ability to find a spare moment to work on some originals. But a life, for some time, lived on an emotional roller coaster has Erica at no shortage for material. She has so much written that she can’t wait to work on. You can hear more about the artist on our podcast interview and the video version will be on our Youtube channel soon. In the meantime you can keep up with the band on facebook, including live examples of their work at https://www.facebook.com/PettyBettyLIVE.
First and foremost, I love the energy Tamarie brings to this interview. There are moments of bare sincerity which speak to me meaningfully as a fellow musician and bandleader and I wanted to share my thoughts. I was unable to check out the show on Frenchmen he recently hosted, but I hear it was out of sight. Please consider listening to the full interview on the Neworleansmusicians.com Podcast. Thanks for reading, and I hope you enjoy. Here is a brief bio summary of Tamarie for anyone who missed the podcast.
Tamarie T is an artist born in Inglewood, Chicago who has recently moved to New Orleans to continue his artistic career and bring his signature funk vibrations into the musical melting pot of the city. Continuing in the tradition of early funkateers, Tamarie performs with a full ensemble complete with rhythm section, horns, vocalists and even dancers. His early career, which included covering the music of powerhouse artists such as Prince, eventually led to a role as a booking manager at Chicago’s Underground Wonder Bar. During these early years, he was able to establish a network of musicians (both peers and mentors), as well as begin to develop what would become a signature musical styling and dynamic stage presence. Tamarie calls his music “Exotic Funk”. Let’s dig in.
What is exotic funk? On an immediately relatable level to many musicians, exotic funk is the opposite of “everything”. Tamarie details a discussion wherein he was cautioned against saying the band plays everything. Personally, I have received similar advice from many of my mentors over the years. I have been a bandleader for over fifteen years, and I have changed styles and tastes in various ways. As the years go by, material from previous phases begins to accumulate and decisions must be made about the direction of the group musically and from a marketing perspective. Many artists find themselves in between established “genres” and must choose the lesser of two evils when deciding how to file paperwork on streaming platforms, etc. I tip my hat to Tamarie for putting boots to the pavement and taking on long-form interviews like this in order to be clear and descriptive.
Tamarie paved his own way toward expression. He describes his career ascent from self-promoting on Craigslist as a “frontman extraoridinaire” to developing his musical and industry chops by reaffirming his constant desire to find his own sound. Tamarie speaks about “assuming the roles of our elders” as he describes the foundation and reformations of his ensemble. Again, I would encourage anyone reading this to give a listen to the full interview, especially if you yourself are at a transitional point in your career where you are looking to expand beyond covering other people’s tunes. I personally continue to perform occasionally with cover groups, but when I perform solo or with my band, I choose to do exclusively original music. This is a transition I was only personally willing to commit to after the pandemic, but this portion of the interview was especially compelling for me as a listener.
Venturing into a personal aside, I also found it relatable when Tamarie spoke about various elements of sacrifice that are sometimes required to be a musician. And doubly so if you choose to forge your own path. As with most things in life, the factors at play will not be identical between any two people on this planet when it comes to major decision making. This topic, that is- the sacrifices musicians make to purse the lifestyle which suits them, could be the subject of a novel on its own. For the time being I intend to leave the subject alone, but perhaps will write a separate opinion piece to take a closer look at the matter in general.
For now, let’s talk about New Orleans. It is a visceral city in which to be a musician and there is enough excitement generated per day to power a small-town power grid. For many, the first performances in the city are absolutely electrifying and can generate enough mental momentum to make you feel like you can conquer the world. This certainly seems to be the case with Tamarie, and I hope to see his career continue to grow during his time in the city. There are likely enough articles out about the potential roadblocks and the pitfalls which lay about, so let’s instead take a tangent.
Tamarie mentions the lack of response by various venues to his email requests to schedule a performance date, which is something I believe most musicians can empathize with in one way or another. There are, of course, some band leaders (the names change, the game doesn’t) who will prey on new-to-town musicians and there are always suspicions that venues may not be paying what is owed. But beyond the surface-level (and unsolicited) cautionary tales any local musician could share, and to avoid potential slander, I would like to use this article to encourage Tamarie and others to continue pushing for opportunities to perform (for money) their original music.
He describes his first performance in the city with local musician Sierra Green. I have personally had the pleasure of working with Sierra Green numerous times and I am vicariously thrilled for Tamarie to be introduced to such a business-minded (and bullshit-avoidant), charismatic and knowledgeable veteran of the scene. Anyone who has heard Sierra knows she possesses an incredible voice and a powerful stage presence. Certainly, a potentially exciting pairing for as vibrant of an artist as Tamarie. He also mentions trombonist and band member Maurice Cade, another New Orleans transplant born in Chicago. Maurice, in addition to performing with Tamarie and Sierra, is the trombonist in my horn section, The KB Horns. Maurice’s playing was recently featured at the Blues Music Awards in Memphis where The KB Horns accompanied blues guitarist Kenny Neal. All that to say, I believe Tamarie has found himself in exemplary company when it comes to fabulous musicians with earnest intention.
Returning to the interview, Tamarie makes an aside about “assuming the roles of our mentors” which I found quite compelling. As the years pass, we do inevitably find ourselves in a position wherein we must take the mantle from whoever paved the way for us. Although we may never get an opportunity to inherit a legacy show or even meet our musical icons, I believe Tamarie is right in pointing out that we must appreciate the mentors who shaped our early years and we must express that gratitude to them in whatever way we can. Tamarie talks about the eventual reformations of his ensemble which led to staffing decisions that excluded long-time band members. He spends some time on this point, elaborating on the delicacy of the situation and the process by which bands transition to new membership while still showing respect for the members who are not chosen to represent the current trajectory. Having been a bandleader for over a decade, I relate to this deeply because sometimes the decisions can be absolutely gut-wrenching. It takes a certain type of person to balance the role of a business manager and that of the artist. Music is very often emotionally involved work, and I appreciate that Tamarie took the time in the interview to speak on the necessity of being considerate to those who must be let go in a transition. Life is hard enough; we must be nice to each other.
Coming to a final quote, Tamarie speaks about an interaction with Sierra Green where he was told to “not be humble”. Now we are playing with fire, and I love it! There is always a necessity for respect and decorum, relative of course to the situation, but there is a sound truth in the sentiment that the meek will not inherit the stage in New Orleans. I think there is a sound logic within this idea, and I want to point out again that this interview in its entirety goes into great detail about this point (I don’t want to see anyone taking this out of context). I personally relate to and agree with the sentiment, and I believe it goes without saying that in the context of all other topics discussed in the interview Tamarie shows a consistent empathy and compassion for his core band as well as temporary hires. Disclaimers aside, holy shit what a good thing this is to hear early on in your New Orleans journey.
This is a fiercely competitive gig market, with a lot of room for sidemen and fill-ins. But there are only so many stages and so many tourists to entertain on a given day. Until the point in your career where you are selling tickets with your name on them to pay your bills, being a bandleader in a tip-driven economy is no small undertaking. Recruiting band members who will make themselves available to you to take a chance on original music in a cover-dominated environment can be tricky, and Tamarie points out that even once you clear that hurdle the musicians will likely be involved in several other projects simultaneously. Scheduling rehearsal can be a nightmare, and commitments can often be quickly severed when the prospect of higher-paying work is introduced. It is not an easy task, and can be complicated even still by the lack of response by bigger name venues. Speaking from experience, it can be exhausting.
I encourage Tamarie, and anyone else looking to present their original music, to pursue this goal to the fullest extent possible. Tamarie, you are in good company (Kumpany?) and I wish you nothing but success. Don’t let the bullshit wear you down, and do what you can to stay true to your vision. I don’t believe there is any dishonor in taking pickup cover work if it helps keep things moving, and there are lots of places beyond tourist-populated clubs to perform. Big crowds are nice, but it’s hard to retain people’s attention and even harder to make fans who seek you out independently. I wish you success, and I am looking forward to meeting you out on the scene!
I’ll say this, nobody is going to see you as anything but yourself in New Orleans as long as you put it out there. Shine on!
Kasey Ball is a Louisiana born composer/arranger, multi-instrumentalist and producer. He is a 15-year veteran of the Louisiana music scene and bandleader of KB & the Backbeat.
