If by chance a weary soul seeking the road back to redemption had stumbled upon Frenchmen Street last night they would’ve know they were on the right road. The musicians who performed in the clubs on Frenchman street were like guiding lights for that soul seeking the way back to Coltrane, Armstrong, and all of our native roots. New Orleans was given a treat when the 11th annual Satchmo Club Strut kicked off. The best part of the Satchmo Club Strut wasn’t the headliners or drinks. It was the ability to see some of New Orleans’ best musicians work in their craft.
The air was charged with laughter, dancing, passion, and endless notes that licked at your ears like a faithful dog. Whether it was Glen David Andrews, Allen Toussaint, or Shamarr Allen the music was something that moved you out of your seat and into the aisle. The crowds packed the clubs and brought with them a feeling of exclusivity and privilege that one is rarely let in on. The ability to see Allen Toussaint’s fingers dance across the piano or the sweat off of Shamarr Allen’s face is truly a privilege. It’s not the beads of sweat or the graceful finger sweeps that makes it unique but, the ability to witness up close and personal one of the purest forms of truth, music. We search for many things in this life and more times than not we come up empty handed. The weary soul seeking the truth the music last night wasn’t only shown part of the road but, the basis of the whole road before them was already laid out. If by chance you are that weary soul along life’s winding road you would’ve realized when you turned in last night that the beating in your chest wasn’t the echo of percussion from the drums but, the pulse of New Orleans herself.
Tip the band. Dammit!