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Steve Staples

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

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

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

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

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

Author: David Trahan

Neworleansmusicians.com

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Oktober Sky

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

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

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

Author: David Trahan

Neworleansmusicians.com

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

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Tags david trahan, emo, indie, louisiana, Louisiana music, music, musician, musicians, new orleans, neworleansmusicians.com, oktober sky, opius mercury, Rahul Borkar, rap pop, rap/rock, tylar cash

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Zydeco by Birth

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

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

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

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

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

Author: David Trahan

Neworleansmusicians.com

Gofundme link

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

Zydeco by Birth Trailer

WOWD-LP Takoma Park Community Radio 94.3FM

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

https://takomaradio.org/

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Charlie Gabriel’s Album “89”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Author: Ryan McKern

Neworleansmusicians.com

Tags 89 album, album review, charlie gabriel, david trahan, jazz, Louisiana music, music, musician, musicians, new orleans, neworleansmusicians.com, Ryan McKern

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Mark Samuels

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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 14^th, 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.

Author: David Trahan

Neworleansmusicians.com

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Travis Mark

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

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

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

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

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

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

Author: David Trahan

Neworleansmusicians.com

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Tags alt rock scene, alternative rock, bands, david trahan, deep sleep atlantic, england, indie, london, louisiana, Louisiana music, music, musician, musicians, new, new orleans, neworleansmusicians.com, south africa, travis mark

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SaxKixAve

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Albert: Are we in a band?

Alfred: Are we a band?!

Albert: Yeah, I think so!

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

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Tags albert allenback, alfred banks, david trahan, i dont wear suits, indie, louisiana, Louisiana music, mixedaltmag, music, musicians, new orleans, neworleansmusicians.com, saxkixave, tank and the bangas

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Jorge Caicedo

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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 9^th 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 5^th grade band. It was here that he learned theory, scales, and arpeggios, and get to play in a marching band. He would move onto guitar just as he began attending high school. By this time, he was living in Arabi, Louisiana and attending Holy Cross. While at Holy Cross, he could be found hanging out with the metal heads. He recalls being a big fan of bands like Judas Priest, Iron Maiden, and Motley Crue. Perhaps it was more of a testament to his nature than his chosen music styles. But I found it ironic that, at this time in his life, he took a liking to jazz music. Around the time he was sixteen, Jorge had parted ways with the clarinet moving on to guitar, bass, and a focus on thrash metal. It turned out the attraction for him could be found in thrash as well as jazz. He enjoyed listening to music that was different or experimental; music where the artist was clearly venturing outside their comfort zone. And he tended to steer clear of music that was obviously a clone of someone else’s sound. In this light, his favorite guitarist at the time was Allen Holdsworth, who frequently used advanced music theory concepts. And he was a fan of King Crimson’s early material, as well as Steve Morrison, Maja Vishnu Orchestra, and Chick Corea.

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

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

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

Author: David Trahan

Neworleansmusicians.com

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

@J_Caicedo7

@MIMIC720

MIMIC1.bandcamp.com

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Vinnie La Bella

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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, 17^th 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.

Author: David Trahan

Neworleansmusicians.com

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Revealing Chris Beary

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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.

-KB

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Tags aims, bearyinterests, charity, chris beary, francois bend, funky tucks, Grace at the Green Light, jimmys music club, Kasey Ball, louisiana, new orleans, Northshore Radio, The Fat Bankers Social Aid & Pleasure Club, The Funky Uncle Live, The Louisiana Music & Heritage Experience, wgso radio