Thunderstruck40

Sniffing out Ground Zero

2004-10-23T11:11:00.000-07:00

We are lazy bums. We lounged around on our front porch drinking coffee, eating peanuts and waving to our neighbors. Ahh, let's see. What shall we do today? Eat BBQ? Okay, what a great idea, why didn't we think of that earlier? Oh, we did? No wonder we are so fat and happy. I love this trip.

Off we went to Abe's BBQ at the fabled crossroads of Highways 49 and 61. This is the place where legendary guitarist Robert Johnson is rumored to have sold his soul to the devil in exchange for the ability to play the blues. Everyone has a different take on the story, of course. But the long and short of it is that Robert Johnson was born as the result of an extramarital affair in 1911 -- never really having any kind of stable family roots. When he was 18, he got married. His wife and baby both died during childbirth. Seriously tragic life. Bluesmen such as Willie Brown, Son House, and Charley Patton allowed him to accompany them while they jammed in local roadhouses.

There was a six month period where he was not seen. When he returned, he made the guitar howl and kick. Son House said that Johnson "sold his soul to play like that."

Was he off trying to find the whereabouts of his birth father during those six months? Was he being taught to play the guitar in a graveyard at night by Ike Zinnerman? Other bluesman said that Zinnerman was the devil. Whatever the truth may be, he was poisoned at the age of 27 and the legend of his visit to the crossroads remains a time honored rock and roll tale. Interestingly enough, one of the shirts at the Delta Blues Museum has an anonymous quote on the back: "Lord, forgive Robert Johnson."

While we were at Abe's, we noticed the very interesting cover of the menu. It stated, "Abraham Davis founded his first business in 1924 in a restaurant called Bungalow Inn located at Fourth Street. Quickly, his excellent barbeque reputation spread across North Mississippi and the Mid-South. In 1937, the business was moved to the crossroads of U.S. Highways 49 & 61. This is where legend has it that Delta Blues King Robert Johnson sold his soul to the devil, and Abraham Davis surrendered his soul to God, and his family business still prospers after 75 years. Clarksdale, Mississippi, is still known for the blues and the good news."

That was a very interesting take on events that I think may elude our Belgium music fans -- the South takes its rock and its religion very seriously.

We were not prepared to find Abe's to be tied as our favorite BBQ joint on the trip. You have not seen Mathilda's Country Kitchen in Eunice, Louisiana, or Abe's BBQ in Clarksdale, Mississippi, on the Travel Channel or the Food Network, but they are more than able to stand with the big boys. This is serious BBQ. The rib plate was piping hot and the meat was falling off the bone. I had the Big Abe, which is a pulled pork sandwich made like a Big Mac -- except it tastes nothing like it. One of the completely unexpected treats was the mouthwatering tamales that we had. Having both grown up in southern California, we have had our fair share of good tamales but we will testify that these were the best we have eaten. Abe's food is great, and the place is a serious joint, complete with plastic utensils and all the napkins you are going to need to clean your mouth and fingers after you taste this stuff.

We waddled out of Abe's and headed off to the Delta Blues Museum. They are showing a "Sweet Home Chicago: Big City Blues 1946-1966" display right now. They showed guitars from icons such as Tampa Red, Magic Sam, Eric Clapton, Howlin Wolf, and John Lee Hooker. One of the features was the log cabin of Muddy Waters (1915-1983, aka McKinley Morganfield).

I liked this quote from Muddy Waters: "You see, when you say the blues, you know what the average guy is looking for when he comes in -- half slouching, raggedy, bottle of wine in your pocket. I wasn't that kind of blues singer. I stayed sharp. If I had anything, it was some of the best. That's the kind of blues singer I am...I am an intelligent blues singer. I sing deep, down South blues, straight out of the bottom. But I made myself classy with it. People have told me I should be preaching, looking as I do. They'd say, 'I looked to see a man with a pair of overalls on, cap pulled down over his ears, and just as drunk as he could be.' And I'd say, 'Not me baby. I've got my mohair. Not me. That's for the birds.' I am a gentleman with my blues singing...You don't have to have a white face to be a gentleman and up to date with what you're doing. You can be black, brown, or any color, but you've got to carry yourself in a way that people know that you're it. They might say I can't play, or can't sing, but damn it, they'll say I'm a gentleman."

You can't visit Clarksdale without stopping in at Delta Blues Museum. Nevertheless, it could not have been more disappointing to visit the Delta Blues Museum and see almost nothing about the history of the Delta blues.

Exploring downtown, we had to head into the Cat Head Delta Blues & Folk Art store. You will find an extraordinary collection of records, t-shirts, and folk art celebrating the area’s rich cultural contribution. Their website (cathead.biz) proved to be most helpful in the planning of our trip.

Afterwards, we tracked down the Riverside Hotel, the place where singer Bessie Smith died. We met the proprietor Frank "Rat" Ratliff, whose mother began running the hotel in 1957. This extraordinarily unique 23 room hotel has community restrooms, but visitors return over and over again (some even leave their belongings in the drawers for future visits). Ike Turner stayed there, so did John Lee Hooker and Sonny Boy Williamson II, Robert Nighthawk, as well as John F. Kennedy Jr. when he was in town for the Sunflower Blues Festival. We thumbed through the guest registry and were amazed to see Japan, England, Holland, Norway, Germany, and Sweden constantly represented (80 percent of the guest are foreigners).

The Riverside is historical because it used to be a hospital. The story goes that Bessie Smith had just played a gig in Clarksdale and was in a horrible automobile accident outside of town. She died at the G.T. Thomas Hospital on October 26, 1937. She was considered to be the Empress of the Blues, the greatest and most influential female singer of the 1920s. The hospital later became the Riverside Hotel and a historical landmark for music fans. Rat spoke with us for about two hours as he showed us around and made us feel like one of his valued guests.

After returning to our shack to clean up, we headed off to the Ranchero, a favorite restaurant of the locals. We should have had the steak, but we wanted to try the tamales and BBQ. Unfortunately, we had been spoiled at Abe's. The staff was fun, but if you want BBQ stick with Abe's.

We headed off to the Ground Zero Blues Club, co-owned by actor Morgan Freeman who apparently hangs out there often when he is in town. We went, however, to catch a band called Deep Cuts featuring a thirteen year old guitarist named Jacqueline Nassar. Ground Zero is a cool club--very large, with graffiti all over the walls. It serves lunch and dinner and the food looked good. We probably should have eaten there.

We ran into a young couple from Memphis who was celebrating their one-year anniversary by staying in the shack next to ours. She is an accountant and he is a tax attorney. I didn't have the heart to ask them who balanced the check book. They were a lot of fun. Troy met up with a local celeb named Superchiken (yep, that is the name and spelling), a well known blues man from Clarksdale.

When Deep Cuts came on it was hard to imagine that Jacqueline is thirteen years old. I moved up closer to watch the way in which she just shredded the guitar. Talk about a teenage prodigy. She was the first recipient of the Robert Johnson Youth Recognition Award, sponsored by Gibson Guitars. Apparently, she began playing at age eight and went to the Delta Blues Museum's school of music. She was just as amazing as we were told she would be -- and as humble as one would hope. Grown men have a hard time playing Stevie Ray Vaughn. She played it like she wrote it.

The entire band was made up of kids under 21. It was really quite amazing, and quite hopeful. The delta that has given American music so much fertile talent is still producing the kind of music that will have us clapping our hands, shaking our tails, and tapping our feet into the next decade.

It was an appropriate way for us to end our trip of BBQ and the blues--right down the street from the crossroads. We began our trip in Memphis, the epicenter of so much in modern music, and ended it in Clarksdale, the birthplace of the music that we love. All along the way, we celebrated the tunes, guitar riffs, bass lines, drum beats, and howling vocals that get our heart pumping, all the while trying to clog our arteries with the best food in the world.

Our wives and children graciously let us have our fun by ourselves to celebrate this particular milestone in our lives. When we returned home, we were asked if we ever got on each other's nerves -- being together 24/7. We had never thought about it. We are friends, we are brothers, and we would go on this same wild adventure together again. Next time, however, we are not going to wait 40 years.

Heading for the Delta

2004-10-22T10:54:00.000-07:00

We had 4 hours of sleep by the time that the wake up call rang in our room at 6:30 a.m. We were dead tired and in need of some serious breakfast chow so we headed to Cafe du Monde for coffee and beignets (ben YAY). It was sunny and muggy. While the vast majority of patrons were outside watching the tourists stroll, we headed straight into the air conditioning. These beignets are square, fluffy doughnuts covered in powdered sugar. The staff is a legion of Vietnamese women. What a great way to start off our trip.

We hated to leave New Orleans. What an interesting city -- no, not because of Bourbon Street. We really had so much more that we wanted to do while we were there, aside from eating the great food. We were not able to visit any cemeteries, take the Haunted Tour, or check out Frenchman Street where the locals go to hear music. We will have to come back.

New Orleans’ football team is called the Saints and the city is very Roman Catholic. Simultaneously, there is this voodoo thing going on, with tarot card readers on every street corner. We definitely could have used another day, but I am so grateful to get out of this unforgiving humidity.

We listened to Jeremy Lyons and the Deltabilly Boys, the Best of Jackie Wilson, and some Sonny Boy Williamson on the road.

Around lunchtime we stopped in Yazoo City, Mississippi, just because we liked the name. We stopped at a little roadside stand called the Pig Shak for BBQ. Shirley Reeves was working inside this little trailer and served us up some terrific ribs, hot links, and a BBQ Poboy. Yazoo City is famous for being featured in the movie, My Dog Skip. We also found out that there were segments of O' Brother Where Art Thou and Miss Firecracker also filmed in town.

We are headed to Clarksdale, Mississippi -- the birthplace of Tennessee Williams, John Lee Hooker, Ike Turner, Muddy Waters, and Sam Cooke. Blues legend W.C. Handy is said to have transcribed the first blues song here and blues queen Bessie Smith died here in a tragic accident. It is also the place where Robert Johnson supposedly met Old Scratch at the crossroads.

It is fitting that we started this trip by enjoying the luxury of the Peabody Hotel in Memphis and we end the trip by crashing at the Shack Up Inn. The Hopson Plantation has been around for almost 150 years in Clarksdale. It is now home to two of the most interesting places that we will have visited on our trip, The Hopson Commissary and the Shack Up Inn. Since we arrived on Thursday night, we were able to enjoy the blues jam session at the Commissary where local musicians let loose with the blues boogie. They also serve up some great pulled pork BBQ sandwiches that they cook on a converted BBQ tractor. The interior of the Commissary is worth the price of admission, except there isn't any. It is as visually stimulating as a museum or a flea market.

Virtually all of the guests at the Shack Up Inn were there. We met a couple from New Orleans who saw the Inn on the internet and had to check it out. We ate dinner with an Australian named Mark who is on a 6-week exploration of the United States. Turns out that we were all at the same gig last Sunday in Lafayette. What a wacky small world.

The Shack Up Inn has got to be one of the more unique overnight experiences one can imagine, short of sleeping in one of these teepees that you sometimes see along the highway. Basically, a handful of guys thought that it would be great if the old Hopson plantation would acquire old shacks, fix them enough to make it comfortable, and decorate them in the most eclectic ways imaginable. We stayed in bluesman Robert Clay's shack and we were blown away. What a blast. It is like visiting someone’s old mountain cabin, without the mildew smell. Yes, there is running water, and plumbing, and (thank you, Lord) air-conditioning. There are no phones or television service in the shacks. There is satellite blues radio 24/7 for your listening enjoyment, or you can check out one of the movies in the lobby to watch on a VCR. They offer free long distance and internet services, as well. For those who prefer a bit less rustic lodgings, there are six additional non-shack quarters that are decorated in Delta Blues themes.

The Hopson Plantation and Shack Up Inn have become a kind of hang out for locals who dig hanging out with all the funky overnight guests who are drawn to a place like Clarksdale. We met such an interesting cadre of people who just show up and hang out. We enjoyed chatting with one guy who used to be an associate with gonzo journalist Hunter S. Thompson, and with another guy who was riding a bike from Kansas to Florida (yes it is a long but interesting story) and ended up moving to Clarksdale because of the musical draw.

We took the locals' advice and headed on into town to check out Sarah's Kitchen, where we heard they would be peeling the paint with the blues. Turns out, this was not the night. We ducked in next door to the Delta Blues Cafe. Once again, our gleaming white faces were in the severe minority, but there were no worries because we were more than welcome. We ran into the Belgium film crew again, having met them in Lafayette. Axl, their on-screen host, was sharing with us about the interest in American roots music and we exchanged notes about where they had been and where we had been.

When I asked if they had filmed at the Rev. Al Green's church in Memphis, Axl got all indignant. "No, he is too right-wing. I do not like what he preaches. He is homophobic." I looked out our European friend, and said, "Ah, but he is Al Green." For a moment, Axl got the picture and said, "Yes, yes, I will show respect. But I still do not like what he preaches." The conversation kind of flittered away after that. So much for liberal tolerance. Look, whatever you think about what Al Green may or may not have said about homosexuality, you simply cannot do a documentary on American music and leave him out. It is called prejudice and it stems from bigotry. It is ugly.

When we walked out of the Delta Blues Cafe, we ran into a couple who had recently moved to Clarksdale from Florida. They wanted to know if we were musicians. I pointed to Troy and their faces lit up. They talked for a while and then this guy takes off to call someone. It was like after midnight, and my head was throbbing from a cold that I have now had for 10 days. Nevertheless, I know that Troy would eat up the opportunity to head off to some seedy juke joint to blow the harp or play the slide guitar.

Well, apparently this couple had called a local guy and he had agreed to open up his club for a little late night jam session. They just told us to follow them. Well, all of my reservations where quickly giving way to the fact that this is the kind of thing that lands one in jail or ends up being one of those real blasts. We get there and we meet Terry "Big T" Williams and here he is opening up his juke joint at 12:30 in the morning so that some jabber jaw white folks can play the blues. He was cool, and exceedingly gracious.

Big T teaches guitar at the Delta Blues Museum's music program for kids. He is really good. He played bass for a while, while Troy played guitar, the wife played drums and the husband played sax. Me? I hung my head in my hands trying to ease the throbbing nature of an aching ear. Troy, of course, was like a pig in slop. I could not have been more jazzed for him and I kicked myself for having stopped playing the bass so long ago. Meanwhile, all manner of locals started filtering in and out of the club, some lighting fat boys, while others just wanted to play pool. This was part of the road trip--no regrets, no reservations, just rolling with the punches and seeing what happens.

At 2 a.m., I put the kabosh on the evening and told Troy that I had to call it a night. It was like telling your kid to put down the new toys on Christmas night and go to bed. Am I getting too old for this? I hope not.

Sweatin' and rockin' in the Big Easy

2004-10-21T06:30:00.000-07:00

We lounged around our room till almost 2 p.m. watching TV and lazing around like old men. Our room at the Dauphine Hotel seems so comfortable right now -- and it is air conditioned. It is 91 degrees outside, with 87 percent humidity. It is sultry, sticky and yucky.

They call New Orleans the Big Easy, but when you walk around in some of the alleyways off of Bourbon Street when it is this hot it becomes the Big Stinky. Nevertheless, we braved this beastly heat and I sweat like a leaky pipe. We trekked on over to Central Grocery, an eclectic Italian market that serves muffuletta sandwiches. It is huge and one served both of us. The muffuletta has Genoa Salami, Ham, Swiss or Provolone cheese, Mortadella, and Central Grocery's very own special Olive Salad. It is really quite good and has singlehandedly placed this place on the map for tourists from all over the world. If you are looking for attentive service with a smile, go somewhere else. They know that they have a good thing and they are not worried about treating tourists like tourists. Who cares? If you want love, stay home and cuddle with your spouse; if you want a great sandwich, visit Central Grocery. Despite the fact that they have a mail order business, they do not have a website.

I think it is this hot while we are here to remind us that hell will be worse if we spend too much time on Bourbon Street. I am kidding but we braved the oppressive heat and trooped on over to the Mississippi Riverbanks and spoke to a street musician named Jacob who moved here from Chicago a year ago. Working on the street has got to really suck in weather like this, but he told us that he is surviving. He may be surviving; but I still have my doubts about whether or not he is bathing. God bless him.

We were getting hit on by a street grifter who was trying to guess where we had purchased our shoes (a shoe store, hehehehe), so we ducked into the Cigar Factory and let the air conditioning wrap us up in its sweet freshness. They have two workbenches where half a dozen men are cutting and rolling premium cigars. I love the smell, and I appreciate their artisanship. Two of the saleswomen began chatting with us as we looked over their mini New Orleans Cigar Museum. Misty and Francis showed us around the shop and gave us great advise about stuff to do in the city.

On our way to the Louisiana Music Factory, an incredible record store that specializes in regional music and sells John Lee Hooker t-shirts and Robert Johnson posters, we ducked into the House of Blues and saw that the Neville Brothers were going to be having a cd release party that night. The Neville family have been a New Orleans music institution for more than 50 years. When we inquired about getting tickets for the show, a sweet woman from the HOB gave us two tickets. We were so stoked. We were going to be seeing the Neville Brothers in New Orleans. Sweet.

After wringing out our clothes and cleaning up, we headed back over to the House of Blues for dinner. One of the guy that Troy had wanted to see while we were in New Orleans was Jeremy Lyons and Deltabilly Boys. Guess who was playing during dinner at the HOB? You guessed it, Jeremy Lyons. We introduced ourselves before his set, and he seemed to be genuinely surprised that Troy knew who he was. What a great guy, and what a Delta and country blues guitarist who is able to blend rockabilly elements into his show.

House of Blues continues to be one of my all time favorite dining experiences. Despite the fact that it is a corporate music dinner chain, I was blown away by the atmosphere and food a few years ago while I was in Las Vegas and have fallen further in love with what they are doing with this place. In New Orleans, they have just celebrated their 10 year anniversary. With over 1,000 pieces, HOB is one of the largest public displayed folk art collections in America. I just can't get enough of this stuff. The ceiling is a display of more than 100 bust reliefs of music legends so that they can be properly immortalized.

There is a heaven/hell, angel/demon, good/evil vibe that runs through the HOB and its merchandise ("On a mission from God," "Serving your soul since 1992," etc.). According to their purpose statement, HOB wanted to present "live music with southern-inspired cuisine in an environment celebrating the African American cultural contributions of blues music and folk art." Part of their mission is "to promote racial and spiritual harmony through love, peace, truth, righteousness, and non-violence." Additionally, HOB is the only dining concept in America that presents full on gospel music concerts at their HOB Sunday Gospel Brunch that "nourishes the body and soul."

I had Creole Jambalaya with shrimp, chicken Tasso ham, Andouille sausage and roasted green onions, while Troy had Talapia, the fish of the day. They were both terrific.

We went over to the concert hall and it remains one of my favorite places to catch shows, as long as you are not wanting to sit down. Virtually anywhere that you stand at an HOB venue you can see the stage very well.

The surprise of our New Orleans experience was the opening act for the Neville Brothers, Troy Andrews and Orleans Avenue (www.OrleansAve.com). The band members range from 16 to 21 and they were simply some of the most electric entertainers we have ever seen. Nineteen-year-old Troy Andrews is simply the most unbelievable trumpet and trombone player I have seen since watching Satchmo videos. While jazz funk is not our first musical love, we were both simply spellbound and seduced by the talent by this young and impressive act. Andrews does some of the most amazing things with the trombone that it left us speechless. He has a palpable charisma and sense of confidence and purpose in front of an audience who was obviously there to see the Neville Brothers. Be on the lookout for this incredible cat.

What can I say about the Neville Brothers? The Big Man was looking out for us and are deeply grateful to have been able to see all the brothers on one stage in their hometown. This was a first for us as they played some of the songs off their brand new cd, Walkin' in the Shadow of Life. "You're living blind, open your eyes, crossroads are waiting / It's in your hands, make a choice, but make the right one / The moment of truth is going down, you'd better be ready," they sing on their title track.

Afterward, I got to meet them and have them sign my disk. You are never going to stop the funk as long as the Nevilles are walking the streets of the Big Easy.

Off we go, we have to get up early to head to Clarksdale, Mississippi -- the crossroads of the Delta Blues.

Sweet treats and swamp tour

2004-10-20T13:09:00.000-07:00

Woke up late and checked out of our hotel. We had seen a great recommendation for breakfast at Cafe des Amis in Breaux Bridge, Louisiana. The town is not far from Lafayette and has this kind of trendy antique shop haven vibe. When we pulled up, there was this guy in a black t-shirt heading into the back of the building. I started thinking, "Oh man, I hope he is not our waiter." The interior was very hip, very unlike our Cajun redneck surroundings. Of course, the wait staff were scurrying around in their black t-shirts acting as if they were way cooler than the silly dopes who were coming to the cafe to eat (and pay the bills and tip).

Well, wouldn't you know it--we got the dude I had seen outside. When he saw us looking at the breakfast menu, he told us that they were no longer serving breakfast. Okay, wait a minute. It is 11:05 a.m. We were exactly 5 minutes late. We pleaded with the guy, appealing to the fact that we had come from California and Kentucky in order to eat their famous breakfast. That fell on deaf ears. "I am sorry," he said, "almost all of our business is from tourists so they are not going to change their mind." Okay, let me give a little perspective. There were only six different tables in use. It was not as if this is there was this huge corporate structure and regulations to follow, we simply were asking for a little exception to the hardline 11:00 a.m. deadline for breakfast. No go, nada, no way sucker.

I have eaten in restraurants all over the world and I have yet to watch a wait staff who seemed to have more disdain for the customers. We ended up ordering some syrup cake (they raise tons of sugar cane down here) and white chocolate bread pudding. Despite the fact that I want to slug the pretentious waiter, I have to shoot straight and say that our sweet treats were terrific.

Since we are celebrating our 40th birthdays, Troy really was hot to do a swamp tour and to particularly get out on one of those airboats -- the high speed, flat-bottomed boats that can cruise over mud, grass, swamp terrain, alligator heads, water and every other kind of surface.

We tried one place but both of their air boats were in the shop. They offered a swamp tour in a bedraggled old pontoonish looking boat. Thank the Lord, we passed on that.

Troy called his crack research team and had them do a Google search for airboat rides on the Atchafalaya Swamp. Sure enough, they came up with Airboat Tours in Des Allemands, about 25 miles outside of New Orleans. We called them up and made an appointment. This company is run by Arthur and Kathy Matherne (800-975-9345). They fish, catch shrimp, hunt alligators -- they are the real deal in the bayou. Kathy gave us a little lesson on the environmental issues affecting the swamp and some background of the animals that we would be seeing.

We were introduced to Greg Dufrene Jr., a crazy and entertaining Cajun who was our airboat captain and tour guide. He was a hoot. Troy and I got onboard and Greg took us out into the swamp. Riding an airboat is a once in a lifetime experience and we loved every minute of it. The boat is powered by a Chevy 502 engine and that sucker could rip up some swampland. Wow, what a rush. Greg took us over all manner of terrain with precision and whipped us through weeds in search of a few alligators. We spotted some of those gnarly muthas and that was very cool.

If you want your kids to be environmentally sensitive, promote conservation, and get a grip on wetland issues, take them on airboat tour. All I could think throughout the trip was what happens if we run out of gas, have our engine go out, or flip this boat. Of course, Greg has been doing this stuff for a long time and we had nothing to worry about, but one could not help but think about having to survive in this swamp by wrestling a gator, dodging water snakes, or having a Great Blue Heron peck your eyes out.

Greg was a terrific guide and we learned a lot, but the perma-smiles on our face was just the sheer rush of cruising over all this swampbrush at high speeds. Very wisely, Greg waited until the end of our trip to tell us about an airboat in a neighboring community that flipped and drowned two of the people on the boat. Thank the Lord, we were back on the dock, safe and sound. If you ever have a chance to do it, we cannot recommend it highly enough.

We stopped by the Gator Shop (a deli inside a Chevron station & highly recommended by our hosts) where we had a few boudin po' boys. They hit the spot as we made our way into New Orleans.

We met an elderly Catholic priest in the parking lot of a rest area. I was telling him about our trip, and he was one of the most kindly men I have met. He gave us fair warning about watching our backs in New Orleans. I asked him about his parish and he told us that he was priest in the French Quarter. I told him we might drop by for a blessing. With a warm smile, he said, "Anytime, anytime."

While we were at the Acadian Culture Center, I found a very interesting segment about religion in Louisiana: "Les Cadiens celebrate Roman Catholic feast days but often with a pagan flair, and augment les benedictions de leurs pretres with homade shrines and rituals. For many Cadiens, home altars supplement l'eglise as a place of worship. Candles and rameaux (blessed palm fronds) enshrine portraits and memorabelia. Traiteurs cadiens recite special prieres to perform cures. Often housed in elaborate homemade grottoes, les statues de Jesus at la Saite Vierge Marie protect homes."

We found this to be very evident throughout Louisiana. It is very Catholic--expressed from the pro-life signs and stickers to the religious statues in front yards or porches.

The Acadian Culture Center also had an additional note of interest: "Bishops stage elaborate processions to bless shrimp fleets each August when freshly painted and decorated bateaux pass in review to receive benedictions. Les recolteurs de canne a sucre request the same blessing au commencent de la rou laison (grinding season of harvest)."

We are staying at the Dauphine Inn in the French Quarter. It is a great place, with terrific location near Bourbon Street. We ventured out for dinner at the Gumbo Shop and had some great food. The place is packed and air conditioned. I cannot tell you how hot it is here. I am sweating like a warthog, but the food was everything we had hoped for. I had Jambalaya and Troy had Gumbo and some boudin. We shared some of the tastiest pecan pie.

As to be expected, we headed over to Bourbon Street to hear some terrific R&B at The Rock Club. This place is crazy.

Museums and zydeco

2004-10-19T01:35:00.000-07:00

This morning was lazy. We got up and had a cup of coffee in our room. By the way, there is not one single Starbucks that we have seen thus far in the entire state of Louisiana. I am sure there must be one somewhere, but you can be blindfolded and dropped out of a plane over Los Angeles, London, Chicago, Seattle, or New York City and hit a Starbucks. Here, it is Community Coffee with chicory (not sure why). Anyway, we had our cup of Community Coffee and then hopped on over to Edie's for lunch.

Our email address on the road is thornz777@hotmail.com. Feel free to drop us a line.

Edie's is not really our kind of place. All of the patrons were well scrubbed middle-management types who flock to Edie's for the great food. What it lacks in any kind of cool stuff on the walls or atmosphere, it more than made up for an exceedingly helpful and radiant food servers (called Edie's Sweeties). Today's special was fried chicken (which they call "world famous"). So be it. It was great. The veggies, mashed potatoes, and yams were terrific, but the chicken is the star.

My cold has migrated to my ear and it is driving me nuts. Memphis was freezing and rainy. Louisiana is hot as blazes and humid. Ugghh. I am taking medicine, but apparently not the right kind. This is a real drag. It just hurts to swallow now. Not great when you are traveling around wanting to eat.

We decided to be studious and went over to the Acadian Cultural Center which is run by the University of Louisiana. Yeah, it is ok. They show two movies. The first one is the history of these poor French Catholic Canadians from Nova Scotia (New France) who got kicked out of their country and ended up in Louisiana. It was a bit melodramatic, and in some places kinda spooky, but it was helpful I guess. The second film was about the Atchafalaya Swamp. Now, that was great. Too bad it was only 15 minutes long.

We then drove across town to this Acadian Village, which is kind of a Williamsburg type deal. It was pretty cool.

Dinner was had at Randols, a highly recommended Cajun dining joint. Monday night is not a great night there because hardly anyone was there. It is a cavernous place. When there are only a half dozen tables being used and a Cajun band is about a 75 yard dance floor away, it is kind of strange.

We had crawfish cakes and they were really good with just the right amount of zip. I had crawfish enchiladas and Troy had the catfish etouffee (which simply means "smothered"). Mine was superb, his was good, but not as good as the same dish at D.I.'s in Eunice.

There was a group of jr. high students who showed up to receive Cajun dance lessons. We were watching the Yankees vs. Red Socks game while we kept a second eye on the lesson in the event we are ever asked to dance. Fat chance.

Troy did some digging and found out that there was a zydeco and blues jam session at the Flamingo Club. As we drove through the neighborhood, I got a little nervous to say the least. Zydeco is kind of a jazzed up and funked up version of Cajun music with more of a R&B feel.

When we walked in, there were exactly six white people. Everyone else was not. It was the kind of juke joint that you would imagine being seen in a movie. Nevertheless, everyone was way cool with us being there and we dug the show -- and it was free, which was the first thing we have done this week that didn't cost money.

We chatted with a few of the musicians out in the parking lot and then we hauled out of there.

Steve Riley and the Mamou Playboys

2004-10-18T10:19:00.000-07:00

With our guts bloated with Mathilda's chow, we were back on the road headed to Lafayette, Louisiana--the hub of Cajun culture. We checked into the Best Western Hotel Arcadiana, unloaded our stuff, put on clean shirts and headed off to Angelle's Whiskey River Landing in Henderson in order to see Troy's favorite Cajun band, Steve Riley and the Mamou Playboys. For those who follow stuff like this, Whiskey River was named one of the Top 50 Bars in America by Men's Journal in 2002. While I am not sure how one calculates such and honor, I would not be one to argue after being there.

We drove on all these crazy backroads and over gravel hills until we finally discovered this ramshackled big building overlooking a swamp. Voila! This was everything one would assume a roadhouse, jukejoint, or tiki hut would be like in Cajun country. The place was jampacked with people in Western shirts, cowboy hats, and Wrangler jeans. But then again, there were kids in hoodies and shorts and flip flops. Everyone was welcome. The men were manly and the women were gorgeous. Ironically, this was Sunday afternoon. While the rest of America was unbuckling their belts while snoozing on the couch to watch the Denver Broncos clobber my beloved Oakland Raiders in The Black Hole, we were surrounded by a few hundred of the nicest, happy-go-lucky people I have ever met at a concert. While night clubs usually do not begin until 10 pm (thus the name), Cajun clubs have their big gigs on Sunday afternoons. Go figure.

As you may have surmised, I know next to nothing about Cajun music, zydeco, or swamp boogie. It all, I hate to admit, sounds the same to me. Fiddle, accordion, drums, guitar, and bass with vocals sung in French and English. This is not my particular affection, it is Troy's. But I have to admit that listening to Steve Riley's band was one of the single most enjoyable concerts of my life. First of all, I could not help but chuckle about being in a place called Whiskey River on a Sunday afternoon. Second, the people who were there were absolutely some of the happiest folks I have seen. The crowd was made up of senior citizens who had failed to get the memo about being relegated to playing shuffle board, as well as Tulane University co-eds who were being asked to dance by these Cajun oldtimers. Fun was had by all.

I have discovered that it really is all about the dance with these Cajuns. I have been to innumerable clubs and saloons to see bands play over the last 20 years. There is always a hunter/being hunted tension in the room among the men and women. It is not to say that everyone heads to shows for the pick up, it is simply to say: men + women + Jack Daniels = hook-ups. Without being naive, this was nothing like that. These folks danced and danced and danced for four solid hours. The vibe was righteous. While it was not meat market, it was rowdy. Chicks were dancing up on the bar and it was as loud as the Liberty Theater had been sedate and well mannered the night before. It is all part of this Cajun vibe -- it is about the dance. Old people, young people, rednecks, airline pilots, college students -- they all want to waltz, shake and boogie.

The gig was over four hours later (the band took only one break in all of that) and the crowd left orderly and cheerfully. As one man told us, "If you come here pissed off or angry, you definitely won't leave that way."

The hot tip for dinner was Mulate's which was not far away. This is a pretty well known Cajun dining establishment in the Lafayette area. The ceiling is covered with business cards from seemingly satisfied customers. There was a Cajun band doing their thing on the stage. It was a family thing, with the youngest member of the band being probably 8 or 9 years old. Cajun music is really such and handed-down tradition and it has been nice to see that a lot of younger people are choosing to keep this genre alive.

There was a film crew from Belgium in the house making a documentary about American roots music. They were headed to Nashville and Memphis, they had already been to Clarksdale, Mississippi, where we will be going later in the trip.

I had a terrific bowl of seafood gumbo while Troy had shrimp and Jambalaya. We were going to head off to another club, but the directions from one of the very kind employees seemed very difficult and we were ready to head on. We got back to the hotel and tried to watch the end of the Yankees vs. Red Socks game but we could not keep our eyes opened.

We are big fat, forty year old wussies.

Surprise in Eunice

2004-10-17T15:38:00.000-07:00

We were dead tired. While I was still snoozing, Troy took off on a little early Sunday morning sightseeing. Instead, he ended up getting chased by a couple of crazy rednecks who did not recognize our Chevy Blazer tooling through their 'hood. He was driving crazy through these gravel roads as if it was something out of Dukes of Hazard -- without, of course, that cute girl with the Daisey Dukes. Once he lost these two Cajun lunkheads from the Welcome Wagon, he was then surrounded by a few gnarly and rabid dogs who were trying to climb up on to the hood of the car and slobber all over the windshield, barking and carrying on. It was like a scene from Cujo. Eventually, he floored it and the dogs gave chase.

Just another sleepy Sunday morning in Eunice.

While he was out, however, he did notice smoke drifting through the sky and discovered a little shack called Mathilda's Country Kitchen off the main drag. She was busy getting ready for the after church, Sunday dinner crowd.

He came back to L'Acadia Inn to get me and our delightful hosts, Lance and Kelly Pietre, had left us donuts and boudin, which is out of this world Cajun sausage. While we were chatting with some of the folks in the lobby, one of them described herself as a "coon-ass" (yes, I know that it is offensive, but that is what some Cajuns call themselves). When we asked what exactly that was supposed to mean, she said that they were named after raccoons. "They take pride in eating anything. They would even eat roadkill if it was fresh enough," she said with a chuckle. Okay, that was the quote of the day.

We packed up our stuff and headed off to the surprise of the morning. When you see Mathilda's Country Cooking it literally is a shack that could only hold a few dozen customers and maybe two more families on the front porch. What came as such a shock to us was that this turned out to be the hot tip of the trip. After having eaten the ribs at Interstate, Rendezvous, and Goldie's Trail, I can only say that Mathilda's rocked our world. This is not to take anything away from the kind of places that are made world famous from being profiled on the Food Network or the Travel Channel, or even killer reviews in magazines. It is simply to say that sometimes you stumble upon a tray of food that makes you consider changing political parties.

For us, it was all about the sauce. It was from another planet! When we inquired she let us in on secrets I'm sure the locals would love to find out. Here's the deal:

First, she started with someone else's - namely, Pig Stand brand - to which she added myriad spices, finely diced onions, peppers, and what appeared to be (and taste like) sweet pickles. Added to that was sugar, garlic, ketchup and vinegar. I don't think I'm letting too much out of the bag here, since I don't think anyone but her with her 21 years of experience could get it right anyway.

The crowd was very interesting. There was one Cajun family who were bedecked in camos who had been bowhunting all night and tracking a deer. Inside, there was a large black family who had just gotten out of the Church of God in Christ service. Troy asked this woman, "How was church?"

"Church was wonderful and we took communion," she said. "The preacher's sermon was just wonderful."

I was outside and an elderly black man was sitting there on the bench. I asked him if I could take his picture. He got up, came close to me and said: "I am a man of God, I don't want any funny business." I said, "Yes, sir. I understand."

I am not sure what he thought I was going to do with the photo, but he sat back down and let me take his picture.

Mathilda Johnwell (her husband Morris is the pitmaster) was really gracious to come out and chat with us when the crowd thinned out a bit. She was humble and quite content to serve food in her little corner of the world, knowing that she was doing what God wanted her to do. "I prayed and asked God to help me," she said. She needed all the help she could get in the beginning. She moved to Eunice in 1983 as a soon to be mom trying to figure out how to make a living and make a living. Her sauce, which she does not bottle and sell, made her a local favorite.

"People always say to me to improve this place or make it bigger, but I like what I have here." We did too. If you go to Tony Roma's because you like the interior design, you might not get the vibe of Mathilda's.

If you are within driving distance of Eunice, Louisiana, do yourself a favor and seek out Mathilda's Country Kitchen for some of the best ribs, pork steaks, hot links, and chicken on the planet. It is the real deal

Arriving in Eunice

2004-10-17T10:53:00.000-07:00

We arrived in Eunice, Louisiana, just barely in time to check into the L'Acadie Inn (www.hotboudin.com). You may be asking why are we in Eunice, well it happens to be considered the seat of modern Cajun music. The Cajun Music Hall of Fame is in the city as is one of the music and culture's largest proponents and worldwide representatives: Marc Savoy & family. In order to get a real dose of Cajun culture and music we figured this would be good starting point.

We threw our stuff in the room, changed our clothes and headed over to the historic Liberty Theater for the TV and radio broadcast of the Rendez Vous des Cajuns. This was kind of an interesting cross between the Grand Old Opry, Lawrence Welk's TV show and something that you could imagine being broadcast by PBS. The crowd was much older than us. The coolest thing, aside from the music, was watching couples in their 70s dancing. That World War II generation knew how to boogie.

We finally headed to dinner at this in-the-middle-of-literally-nowhere restaurant called D.I.'s Cajun Restaurant. We both had alligator and catfish (Troy had that etouffee). It was fabulous. The restaurant was super family friendly, had a great band, and was packed. It was fun to watch all the Cajun dancing going on, especially watching little girls dance with each other. You can tell this is a family tradition.

This section of Cajun country is very unique. Imagine Jeff Foxworthy wandering around Paris. They are kind of like French-speaking rednecks. I say that with all due respect. Cajun music is a bit like what early country would have been if Hank Williams would have spoken French.

What a different change of pace from Beale Street.

On the road

2004-10-17T10:10:00.000-07:00

We have driven more than 500 miles today. We are ready to get out of the car. Of course, we are stopping a lot -- we are, after all, two men turning 40 and once we break the seal, we are going a lot more frequently then when we were kids.

It is interesting to see all the cotton fields in Mississippi and Louisiana. In Kentucky, I am used to seeing tobacco. This was a nice change of pace.

There was not as many political bumperstickers as I had thought there would be. A group of bikers drove by and on the back of one of their shirts read: "F U Dixie Chicks, Hail Toby Keith." For those who don't follow the country music wars, the cuties in the Dixie Chicks don't like President Bush and were vocal about it while they were touring Europe. Toby Keith bashed them. Merle Haggard, bless his heart, has been trying to mediate ever since.

We stopped in Vicksburg, Mississippi at Goldies Trail BBQ that has been serving great Texas-style BBQ to the good people of this Civil War landmark since 1960. I had the sausage platter and Troy tried a little of everything. Troy met these folks about 12 years ago and went back to the kitchen and got his picture taken with them. I am sure they love this kind of thing.

Some people really sing Goldies praises. It was pretty good, but not much of a personality.

For those of you who enjoy stuff like this, here is the soundtrack for the trip to Louisiana: Bobby Rush's Folk Funk; Rosco Gordon's Rosco's Rhythm; Top of the Stax: Twenty Greatest Hits from the Stax Recording Artists; Sun Rockabillies, Vol. 1; Johnny Cash's Unearthed (Who's Gonna Cry); Cajun & Zydeco Classics; Los Lonely Boys; Nick Curran's Fixin' Your Head; and The Essential Stevie Ray Vaughn.

Leaving Memphis

2004-10-16T09:53:00.000-07:00

We hate to leave Memphis for two reasons: 1. It is such a great city, 2. I only slept 3 hours last night. When that phone rang this morning, I was like, "Yeah, right!" With bloodshot eyes, I stumbled in and shaved and showered and gathered our gear and headed for Louisiana.

Memphis has so much for the American music fan: Stax Records, Elvis, Graceland, Rev. Al Green's church, Sun Records, the Gibson Guitar Factory, the Rock and Soul Museum, etc. It is just so rich. It is a city filled with so much pain. Think about it, Elvis died here and Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. was shot here. It is a city that is filled with churches, liquor stores, and hospitals representing every single Christian denomination. We sucked this place down like an oyster.

We were in the lobby of the Peabody bleary eyed and staggering and who was opened? Lansky's. Mr. Lansky himself was there at 7:30 am on a Saturday morning. He was as chipper as I was dead. This man is a machine. He almost sold Troy a new coat before we even had our first cup of coffee. This guy loves life and loves selling. Interestingly enough, Bernard Lansky is famous for working with so many rock luminaries and yet his business card simply says "salesman." Fascinating.

There is a great quote from Bono on Lansky's front window: "You can't over-hype [Sun Records founder] Sam Phillips...Think of Elvis Presley, Jerry Lee Lewis, Johnny cash, Roy Orbison, Carl Perkins, Howlin' Wolf, B.B. King: If you were associated with just one of those names you'd be immortal."

Lansky is the man!

We have a long day ahead of us.

Night 2 in Memphis

2004-10-16T02:56:00.000-07:00

On our way back from the Stax Soul Museum, we stopped by the Lorraine Motel in order to pay our respects to the late Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. The Civil Rights Museum was closed, but it was still sobering to see the balcony where MLK was shot.

Robert Randolph was playing in a park on Beale Street. It was great to hear one of the greatest sacred steel guitar players ever. He has taken the genre into realms that the original players (black churches that used the steel slide guitar instead of organs for church music) never would have imagined.

We went up and down Beale checking out the crowd and stopped in on Memphis Music and much to our surprise we came face to face with legendary blues players Bobby Rush and Alvin Youngblood Hart. This was a huge deal for Troy because he considers Hart (who must be 6'10") to be one of the most innovative and brilliant Delta blues guitarists. Very cool for T-Roy!

We were back in the lobby at the Peabody and Troy ran into Linda, the concierge at the hotel, and recognized her from Ellen's Soul Food. She told us that she had turkey necks for lunch (yeah, you read that correct). She likes Ellen's and had the line of the day: "I don't eat just anybody's chitlins, but I will eat her's." If that is not an endorsement, I don't know what is. I will take her word for it.

We hopped in the car in order to find the renowned Jim Neely's Interstate BBQ -- home of the wet ribs slathered in delicious sauce. This became akin to the Search for the Holy Grail. We got lost big time. Nevertheless, we found it and sucked down the pork ribs and cole slaw and BBQ beans. Great stuff!

We got there at 10 pm and the place was empty. We were the only customers. That is not their fault, of course, but when our ribs came out it seemed like mine were not as hot as I would have liked them. This place is legendary and so I am certainly not knocking it. We would have been wise to have come when the place is busy to insure that everything would be fresh and hot.

I must say that for whatever disappointment I had with this legendary BBQ mecca it was more than made up for with the BBQ spagetti. Yep, this is the only place that you can get this incredibly tasty dish. We loved it.

We returned to Beale and checked out one of the solo players at B.B. King's. We stumbled into the Memphis Cafe Juke Joint and found the Louisiana Mojo Queen Ms. Zeno who was singing with Larry Lewis's Blues Mojo Show. The show was great. Troy met her and got a picture with her. We then moved on down the street and caught James Govan and the Boogie Blues Band. The crowd was much younger at the Rum Boogie Cafe and it was a lot funner than the previous night.

We got back to the room at 2:30. We are dead tired. I am still sick and that sucks. My ear hurts and I am congested, time to sleep.

Day 2 in Memphis

2004-10-15T18:05:00.000-07:00

We woke up late and watched Rainmaker in our room while we tried to convince ourselves that we had a hugggeeee day ahead of us. Eventually, we did awaken like Lazarus from his tomb and headed down to the lobby of the Peabody. Interestingly enough, the lobby is also home to Lansky's, clothier to some of the greatest names in American music, namely Elvis, Jerry Lee Lewis, Carl Perkins, B.B. King, Isaac Hayes, and many more.

Troy and I went down and checked out the shop and got our picture taken with Bernard J. Lansky himself, which was very cool when you conclude that we are now only one-degree of separation from the King (R.I.P.). Lansky is a character and carries some awesome threads. Too rich for my blood, but Troy bought a shirt. Very cool. We had a nice chat with a rockabilly chick named Adrian who worked for Lansky. She dug the idea of our trip. I suppose she gets weirdos like us in all the time going through their rock and roll mid-life crisis. Oh well, she was nice about our particular idiosyncratic dream.

We hopped in our Chevy Blazer (after seeing the Indiana Pacers waiting for the team bus outside our hotel) and went in search of Sun Records, the recording origin for Elvis, Johnny Cash, Jerry Lee Lewis and Carl Perkins -- to mention just a few of the notables (yes, U2 also recorded parts of Rattle and Hum there). I love this place. It holds a special place for Troy and I because we played in a rockabilly roots band twenty years ago called the Belvederes.

Troy and I grew up in Orange County during the emergence of the punk rock movement. We listened to the Adolescents, Agent Orange, the Dead Kennedy's, and the Germs, etc. Like a handful of other punks, we got into the roots stuff of Los Lobos, X, the Blasters, and the Stray Cats. We started listening to Carl Perkins, Jimmy Reed, John Lee Hooker, and Elvis.

Our band was a tribute to all those early players, and a great way to meet chicks.

Anyway, Sun is a great kind of mom-and-pop place, especially if you have ever visited the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame in Cleveland or even the Rock and Soul Museum in Memphis run by the Smithsonian. Sun lacks the corporate rock feel. It is kind of the greasy spoon of rock memorabilia. The recording studio (which you get to go in is virtually untouched from the time that all the greats performed in the room). The Sun tour used to be donation based. Now they are charging $9.00. Listen, do it anyway. It is a great place, and the birth of so much that is great about American music.

After clamoring through the cds and other Sun trinkets, we headed to Ellen's Soul Kitchen, the place we heard was the place to eat lunch. We finally found it. Tip: Don't be in a hurry to get your food at Ellen's; they sure aren't in any hurry. Nevertheless, it was awesome. Troy got two huge Flintstone looking pork chops with a side of greens. I got fried chicken and okra and spaghetti. I don't particularly care for okra, but I didn't want to appear to be too white, as if it was not readily apparent.

Our orders came out separately, with about a 5 minute gap. It was piping hot. Nothing is processed. It is made like you would make food at home, accept way better. We were stuffed.

We had on our agenda to visit the Stax Record Soul Museum and Music Academy. It was a lot better than we had anticipated. It is a brand new 27,000 square feet building that pays homage to the great soul musicians that have come from Memphis. I will be writing more about this visit later. We hardly have time to think, let alone do everything that we set out to do on this trip. This has been a whirlwind, but what a great journey.

Day 1 of Southern Fried Roadtrip

2004-10-14T21:11:00.000-07:00

After a horribly sleepless night spent coughing, I got up and drove down to Memphis. The seven hour drive was nice, despite the on-off driving rain during most of the time. The leaves are changing in Kentucky. I don't usually spend time thinking about stuff like that but it was really quite beautiful.

God bless truckers. Yeah, I know that they are not fun to drive around on the highway, but our country would come to a scretching halt without the gadzillion truckers moving stuff around the country. During one particularly hairy time in driving rain, I got behind a huge truck that had John 3:16 written on the back: "For God so loved the world, that he sent his son so that whosoever believes in him should not perish but have eternal life." Since I grew up in church and was the son of a preacher man, I have heard the Scripture thousands of times. Nevertheless, I saw it in a new way on the truck. It was a great reminder.

I had some great tunes during the trek: Offspring's Americana, Otis Redding's Greatest Hits, MxPx's Ever Passing Moment, U2's Best of 1990-2000, Kindred Spirits: A Tribute to the songs of Johnny Cash, etc.

Kentucky and Tennessee are definitely red states. I did not see one single John Kerry bumpsticker along the way. Tons of W stickers. No big surprise.

Troy got up at 4 am in California to make his flight from Long Beach to get to Memphis. We met up and headed over to the historic Peabody Hotel--old money Memphis. We headed down to the lounge in order to watch a handful of ducks. They hang out in the lobby's fountain until 5 pm everyday until a red carpet is rolled out and the ducks get out of the water and parade down the carpet and get on the elevator to head to the roof of the Peabody. Hundreds of people crowd around to watch the event. It was hilarious. The highlight of the event was meeting this cantankerous old man from Leisure World retirement home in Laguna Beach, California. He was telling us what a racket the whole duck hoopla was and how sick he was of hearing all the old women on his tour babble on for the past several days about how cool it will be to see some ducks get on an elevator.

We met up with a friend of mine who is a retired professional fisherman. He lives in Mississippi but drove up in order to have dinner at Rendezvous BBQ (www.hogsfly.com). The atmosphere of this basement restaurant is one-of-a-kind kitsch. Apparently, this place was a speakeasy during Prohibition. Troy and I had pork ribs and shoulder. The place is very cool and justly represents one side of the BBQ debate (wet vs. dry) in Memphis. The atmosphere, service and food are all first rate. Rendezvous serves dry rub ribs. It is a very unique taste. This place deserves the hype and tour buses.

More to come, but we need to hit Beale Street.

Night 1 on Beale

2004-10-14T02:35:00.000-07:00

Memphis is, of course, to American music what Kitty Hawk is to aviation. It is the home of Sun Records, Stax Records, Hi Records, and numerous other lesser known recording studios. It is the cornerstone location of rock, rockabilly, blues, R&B, and soul. Beale Street is a place of unsurpassed rhythm and dancing and drinking. Walk up and down the several blocks and you can hear all kinds of music.

We headed down to Rum Boogie Cafe to catch the James Govan and the Boogie Blues Band put on a great show. We were surrounded by a handful of liquored-up senior citizens who were having a great time. They kept their clothes on, so we were all greatly relieved and enjoyed the show.

Afterwards we headed off to Alfreds to witness the next generation of young Americans downing their drinks and dancing their tushies off. I suppose it is what keeps them so trim and fit. But I must ask all you females how in the world you dance with the stilleto heeled mules? That is a great feat. And to think that some cultural observers are worried about the future of America. Innovation is in our DNA. Ha ha ha. Dance with 'em if you got 'em.

We got back to the Peabody about 2 a.m. I have been taking pills to kill a cold. My mom will be so proud. Anyway, we have to knock off. Cheers.

Turning 40

2004-10-13T11:29:00.000-07:00

We have been best friends for more than 20 years, played in a band called the Belvederes, and are ready to turn 40 this year. To mark the occasion with the proper grunts and howls, we are taking off on a roadtrip to celebrate our love of piping hot Americana roots music, Cajun cooking, and succulent BBQ. This is mid-life crisis with a big, fat smile on our faces.

We are converging on Memphis, Tennessee, and staying at the historic Peabody Hotel. That leaves us only a few blocks away from the devastating hip-swinging action on Beale Street. From there, we will travel south to Eunice and Lafayette, Louisiana, in order to devour Cajun food and catch the zydeco vibe. The next stop on the trip is New Orleans and all that Bourbon Street and the surrounding French Quarter has to offer. Our final stop on the tour will be Clarksdale, Mississippi—home of the Delta Blues Museum.

Tag along if you'd like, but there are a few rules you must keep. We don't listen to Ashlee Simpson in the car, we don't ever complain about the volume of the music, we don't smoke cheap cigars, and we don't want to hear about the virtues of vegetarianism. Keep those rules in mind and welcome aboard.

--Your hosts Troy Meier and Steve Beard