An Immersive Music Education

I've been avoiding writing this blog post because, as clichéd as it sounds, it'll mark the "end of an era." My trip to New Orleans with my mom was my one last bit of frivolity sputtering out before it's time to get serious.

NOLA is such a special city and I definitely want to go back in the future. From watching alligators glide through the swamps and bayous to visiting the Pharmacy Museum (where I got to see an actual trephination drill from 1850), I could write a whole blog post about each experience I had there. Instead, I want to synthesize some of the most interesting and unexpected things I learned, mostly just in the hopes that they'll stick with me.

Let me start by saying I doubt I'll be able to do this city's history justice. I'm embarrassed to admit I didn't even know New Orleans was considered the birthplace of jazz before I went! I'm currently reading a biography of the blues singer, Bessie Smith (the last book I picked up in Boston before I left -- shoutout to Posman Books), and I totally didn't catch the excerpt about Congo Square when I first read this chapter:

Then, wandering around one day after a graveyard tour, I found myself there! Congo Square was an area where enslaved people and others used to sing and dance in the early 19th century. Their musical traditions eventually evolved into what we recognize as jazz and rhythm & blues.

Bessie Smith was from Chattanooga, Tennessee, not NOLA, though she did tour all over the southern United States in the 1920s and '30s. From what I've read of her biography so far, she was a terrific performer and songwriter who had a massive impact on the blues genre. Her rough, gritty style was nothing like the "clean" and "smooth" stylings of the jazz singers in New York and Chicago. I saw few mentions of Smith in NOLA, though I did find a postcard with her picture on it in the gift shop at the New Orleans Jazz Museum!

Also at the jazz museum, I got to see an entire exhibit about Congo Square. I learned that its parameters were determined in 1817 when a City Council ordinance restricted traditional African music and dance celebrations to the area. It's a relatively small section of a larger park (which is today called Louis Armstrong Park -- how ironic). In 1856, the gatherings were banned altogether, but people still found ways to gather.

The importance of a place like this cannot be overstated. In the 18th century, the British government actually prohibited enslaved people from using "drums, horns, or other loud instruments, which may call together or give sign or notice to one another of their wicked designs and purpose." The French code didn't have an equivalent provision, which allowed enslaved people in Louisiana to have the kind of gatherings that people in states colonized by the British could not. It amazes me how such dire conditions were able to give rise to some of the most influential musical traditions of all time. 

It is also profoundly painful to think about how much talent must have been never realized or was lost because of the atrocities these people were subjected to. It reminds me of the Stephen Jay Gould quote: "I am, somehow, less interested in the weight and convolutions of Einstein's brain than in the near certainty that people of equal talent have lived and died in cotton fields and sweatshops." On our way to the jazz museum, our Uber driver (a fourth-generation New Orleans resident) pointed out the famous Jackson Square and said something to the effect of, "That's where they used to hang us for entertainment." Then, we drove by an open-air market where brightly-colored dresses and textiles swung in the breeze, where he said "that's where they used to sell us." It was sobering, though unfortunately not surprising, that such places are advertised as major tourist attractions nowadays. It was for similar reasons that I didn't want to see the sensationalized LaLaurie Mansion or Oak Alley Plantation, but it was, of course, extremely naïve of me to fail to consider the history of the place as a whole.

Anyways, at the jazz museum, I learned that jazz was a form of protest in the early 20th century. The New Orleans Times-Picayune, a mainstream white newspaper, said of jazz: "Its musical value is nil, and its possibilities of harm are great." Meanwhile, Black musicians resisted this culture of racism with their "loud and proud art form." The clarinetist Mezz Messrow wrote that New Orleans jazz "was a celebration of life in spite of everything the world might do to you."

I also got to see an exhibit about Fats Domino and Dave Bartholomew, two pioneers of early rock & roll. Elvis apparently called Fats Domino the real king of rock & roll, but I'd never heard of Domino or Bartholomew before! Their song, "The Fat Man," is considered by some music historians to be the first rock & roll song ever. What's astounding is this isn't even ancient history -- Fats Domino's last performance was in May of 2007. The museum had QR codes you could scan to listen to the songs discussed in the exhibit, which I loved. My favorite was "Blueberry Hill."

Of course, one of the most exciting things about New Orleans today remains its culture surrounding live music. Just walk through Frenchmen or Bourbon St. and you'll hear music pouring out of all the different bars and clubs. The street performances are also amazing. Random passers-by will start singing improvised accompaniments or dancing in the middle of the street before going on with the rest of their day. There is so much joy, love, and camaraderie all around you when you walk down one of these streets; it's impossible to be in a bad mood.

My New Orleans trip was the perfect burst of energy I needed. I'm excited to take a little piece of it with me on to my next adventure (and hopefully I'll finish that Smith biography before school starts!)