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Deck the iHalls

Those of you who get your grande skinny lattes at Starbucks likely know that the coffee chain is selling Elton John’s Christmas Party, a CD of Christmas music compiled by Elton John himself. It includes tracks by the Band, Kate Bush, and Jimmy Buffett, all fine artists. But with due respect to Sir Elton, rock-and-roll attempts at Christmas music rarely hit the spot. If it’s any good, there’s a subversive quality to rock that is at odds with the celebration of the season that Christmas music represents. If nothing else, being ironic about Christmas is too easy.

Still, John is right in his mixed-bag approach to Christmas music. Many hostile to Christmas music had parents with one or two albums that they played to death (in my house, Sing Along with Mitch by Mitch Miller and an Anne Murray Christmas album). Compilations keep things moving, and they make it easier to hear what makes Christmas music fun.

Finding the right compilation is hard, but now that Apple’s iStore is the seventh-largest music retailer in the country, the practical solution is to make your own compilation, downloading the songs you need. So, for the iPod people and those who want to be, here are some suggestions for a soundtrack to accompany the trimming of your iTree:

1. “White Christmas” — Clyde McPhatter & the Drifters

2. “Deck the Halls with Boogie Woogie” — Katie Webster

3. “Santa Claus Is Coming to Town” — Ella Fitzgerald

The best Christmas music is fun. Not dogs barking “Jingle Bells” novelty fun, but the fun that captures the joy of living. You can hear that in Clyde McPhatter’s lead vocal on “White Christmas” as he leaps from his normal voice to his falsetto and back again. That same sort of fun can be heard in Katie Webster’s extremely syncopated boogie-woogie piano and Ella Fitzgerald’s maternal, winking vocal.

4. “I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Claus”/”Jingle Bell

Bossa Nova” — Eddie Dunstedter

5. “The Man With All the Toys” — The Beach Boys

6. “What Christmas Means to Me” — Stevie Wonder

In the best recordings, the fun is encoded in every aspect of the track, and that’s certainly the case with the Beach Boys and Stevie Wonder tracks. Both are exuberant beyond good sense, but that too mirrors the spirit of the season. In Wonder’s case, the entry of multiple percussion tracks, horns, and female singers are staggered throughout the track so it surges again and again, and the song itself has enough hooks to trim a tree.

7. “Silent Night” — Charlie Musselwhite

8. “Far Away Christmas Blues”

— Little Esther Phillips with Johnny Otis

While there are a lot of Christmas blues out there, they’re often unsatisfactory because only the lyrics mention Christmas. Musselwhite’s harmonica version of “Silent Night” is as warm and stately as any choir’s version, and “Far Away Christmas Blues” employs vibes to mimic Christmas bells. Ask anyone who has made Christmas music, and they’ll tell you the importance of bells.

9. “Winter Wonderland” — Diana Krall

10. “The Christmas Waltz” — Nancy Wilson

11. “The Merriest” — June Christy

Male vocalists approach seasonal music and become cads (Dean Martin) or somber (Frank Sinatra). Female vocalists sing Christmas songs and capture the season. British Columbia native Diana Krall embraces home and her roots when she sings “We’ll frolic and play/The Canadian way” in her take on “Winter Wonderland,” and some of the most charming seasonal songs come from the likes of Lena Horne, Peggy Lee, and Ella Fitzgerald. Nancy Wilson’s “The Christmas Waltz” is one of the most beautiful songs and visions expressed in Christmas music — “It’s the time of year/When the world falls in love” — and she sounds like she’s part of that world.

12. “Holly Leaves and Christmas Trees”

— Elvis Presley

13. “Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas”

— Lou Rawls/Away Team

14. “Christmas Time Is Here”

— Vince Guaraldi Trio

Christmas fuels more than its share of dark emotions. It provides an occasion to reflect wistfully on what has been lost over time. The Away Team’s remix of Lou Rawls’ “Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas” sounds like a radio transmission from the past received at 3 a.m. Christmas morning. It’s as haunting and moody as “Christmas Time Is Here,” a minor-key gem that is as melancholy as it is beautiful.

15. “Maybe This Christmas” — Ron Sexsmith

16. “Christmas Time Is Coming” — Stormy Weather

17. “Santa Claus Go Straight to the Ghetto” — James Brown

18. “Marshmallow World” — Darlene Love

The Christmas canon is so well-known that the test it poses for an artist is how to put your stamp on the song. James Brown does it by being himself. Always in charge, he tells Santa to let the people know that James Brown sent him. The Darlene Love track comes from Phil Spector’s A Christmas Gift for You, and it features Spector compulsively filling the sonic spectrum, making the song as much about himself as Christmas.

The ability of Christmas songs to evoke Christmases past is one of their greatest virtues, and all of these tracks do this. The good times they conjure may never have existed, but as any parent knows, there’s a lot of pretending connected to Christmas. Each family works out its own holiday traditions, and personal touches that make those traditions charming or quaint are the touches that make for great Christmas music.

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Mr. Quintron’s Neighborhood

Mother Nature is on a wild escapade,” Cinnamon the Alligator says.

Cinnamon is a character in Electric Swamp, a puppet-show DVD by New Orleans’ Miss Pussycat. It’s included in Mr. Quintron and Miss Pussycat’s new album, Swamp Tech, and her words now seem particularly apropos.

In Electric Swamp, the problem is termites out of control, not Hurricane Katrina, but the DVD, which was made before Katrina, is an artifact from New Orleans’ Bywater neighborhood, one whose future is now up in the air. Many of the voices come from people who worked in the Bywater, including a neighborhood mechanic and a cashier from a nearby hardware store. “I wanted to go for a lot of good New Orleans accents,” Miss Pussycat says by phone from Houma, Louisiana, where the couple went after the storm. “It’s like the city it’s about is not in New Orleans anymore,” she says.

While the city’s Treme neighborhood has been thought of as the home of R&B and jazz and Valence Street in Uptown as the home of the Neville Brothers, Quintron and Miss Pussycat are as associated with their neighborhood as any musicians in New Orleans. (They’ve gone so far as to turn part of their St. Claude Avenue house into the Spellcaster Lounge, a part-time concert venue.) The Bywater has traditionally been a mixed-race, working-class neighborhood just upriver from the French Quarter, and in recent years, its affordable rents and just-near-enough proximity to the French Quarter have made it a home for the young and bohemian. That combination has also made it the breeding ground for some of New Orleans’ more theatrical, eccentric musicians, including the drunken rock/funk of the Morning 40 Federation and Quintron’s Rhinestone Records labelmate MC Trachiotomy.

Quintron’s idiosyncratic blend of one-man-band R&B and techno, filtered through a punk sensibility, is the most fully realized and successful in the neighborhood. There’s more than a hint of “B”-movie horror soundtrack in his organ playing, but the songs themselves are cartoonishly loopy, catchy, and danceable. Swamp Tech‘s “Witch in the Club,” for example, has a running-in-place rhythm over which Quinton’s roller-rink organ bounces through the verse then surges from chord to chord in the chorus. In the bridge, Miss Pussycat sings, “You’ve got your black magic/You’ve got your white magic/You’ve got your pink magic/And your photo ID.” Played on an organ with a car’s grill and headlights, it’s oddly logical and beautifully inexplicable.

While their neighborhood didn’t suffer the sort of catastrophic damage as the neighboring Lower Ninth Ward, Quintron and Pussycat’s house got two feet of water and suffered roof damage. While New Orleans was not letting residents back, Quintron snuck in dressed in military fatigues to patch up his roof the best he could since he doesn’t have house insurance. “People thought I was in the National Guard,” he says. He also fears the party/showroom will have to be torn out and redone, and he and Miss Pussycat lost many of the tools of their art. Quintron lost a 1937 Hammond Model D organ as well as a number of other keyboards he was in the process of modifying. Miss Pussycat’s early paintings were ruined; supplies for future puppets were destroyed, and it’s unlikely older puppets will survive the onset of mold.

Their greatest loss, though, was Quintron’s mother, who died in Virginia the Monday the hurricane hit. He was with his ailing mother in her hospital room that weekend. “I was watching the big orange blob on CNN get closer and closer to New Orleans [while] sitting in a hospital room watching her go steadily downhill,” he says. “It’s like everything happened at once.” When he realized Katrina would hit New Orleans, he called Miss Pussycat to tell her to get out, but she had already evacuated with their touring gear, including his homemade Drum Buddy rhythm machine.

He’s also saddened by the state of the Bywater.

“St. Claude [Avenue] is pretty destroyed,” he says. “Everything’s looted. The Universal Furniture sign is upside down. St. Roch Market got looted and looks totally destroyed.” In one store near his house, looters couldn’t get in the front door, so they broke a hole in the side wall to get in and ripped out plumbing that got in their way. “It’s pretty bad,” he continues. “I guess it was the [craziest] anarchy party you could want.”

In light of all that’s happened, going on a tour Mr. Quintron and Miss Pussycatt had scheduled before Katrina has turned out to be a mixed blessing.

“I’m torn between wanting to be back to help rebuild and wanting to leave and get away from it,” Quintron says. “We’re lucky. Our ‘office’ didn’t burn down. Our office is every bar in the world, and they’re still standing, so we can do what we always have done and it’ll be okay.”

QuintronandMissPussycat.com

Mr. Quintron and Miss Pussycat

The Hi-Tone Café

Saturday, October 29th

Doors open at 8 p.m.; tickets $10

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Music Music Features

Here and There

Stephen Rehage thought he was fine. It was Sunday, August 28th, and the independent promoter behind the Voodoo Music Experience had never evacuated for a hurricane and didn’t plan to start. He had a 10-day supply of food — “It was the first time I ever had food in my refrigerator,” he says, laughing — and he was ready to ride out Hurricane Katrina. Then he saw the black clouds roll in over City Park in New Orleans, the usual site for Voodoo. Then he saw his survivalist neighbor with a hurricane-proofed house pack the kids in the car and leave. Then he saw New Orleans weatherperson Margaret Orr break down crying on television.

“I grabbed my keys, got in my car, and left.”

It’s now two months after Hurricane Katrina, and Voodoo not only exists despite the hurricane, it exists in New Orleans and Memphis.

“It’s the hardest thing I’ve ever done in my life,” Rehage says. “It feels really good right now and I’m in a good place, but it’s been touch-and-go.”

The challenges started with deciding where to hold the festival, because, he says, “there was never a thought of canceling it.” Three weeks after Katrina, Rehage and his New Orleans-based staff — many of whom lost houses in the hurricane — met for dinner in New York. “I said, ‘Listen, let’s plant the flag. Let’s do [it in] New Orleans.'” There was, as he puts it, “healthy debate,” with many arguing that it was too soon.

“We came out of that meeting with everybody feeling that it was not the right time,” Rehage says. With that, he and his staff set about trying to find a new home for the festival. He started looking at Austin, Miami, and Memphis, and once people knew he was looking to move the festival, another 10 to 12 cities called offering to host Voodoo. Still, he says Memphis was the frontrunner almost right away.

“The people of Memphis completely stepped up and made life completely easy for us,” he says. “Memphis made the most sense. It has the same kind of vibe and spirit as New Orleans. It’s kind of eerie, the energy it has is so similar. Maybe it’s the river. Once I got here, it was a very easy decision to make.”

Although city politics can be remarkably idiosyncratic, Rehage says dealing with Memphis was easy: “The politics here have been great. There hasn’t been one glitch; it’s been one big bear hug, really.”

To thank Memphis for its support for Voodoo and its mission as a benefit for New Orleans, Rehage Productions has organized “Voodoo on Beale Street,” a series of free shows featuring primarily New Orleans musicians, including Dr. John and the Neville Brothers.

The Memphis show is a benefit for rebuilding New Orleans, with the proceeds going to the New Orleans Restoration Fund, an organization Rehage created, because, he says, “we’re trying to stay away from the black hole where nobody knows where the money goes.” In addition, Voodoo is supporting New Orleans’ roots-music station WWOZ-FM and YA/YA, a program that helps young New Orleanians learn through the arts. “They’re important to preserve the culture,” he says. “We’re not trying to be everything to everybody. We’re not the Red Cross.”

At every step of the way, Rehage says, he and his staff have made decisions on the fly. “The festival has taken on the plight of a lot of people from New Orleans,” he says. “You get your ass kicked, life’s turned upside down, you take the next step and hope it’s the right step.” The most eccentric decision came when he announced that the festival — previously announced as a two-day festival in Memphis — would be split between Memphis and New Orleans.

“Trent [Reznor of Nine Inch Nails] was a huge part of bringing Voodoo back to New Orleans,” Rehage says.

As much as he looked forward to the Memphis show, Reznor lived in New Orleans until late last year and thought it was important to play in New Orleans. Just as Rehage got what he thought were signs that he should leave on the Sunday before Katrina, now he got an omen that Reznor might be right when New Orleans civic leaders called just an hour or so after his conversation with Reznor wondering how quickly Voodoo could get back in New Orleans. At that point, Rehage decided to make the Saturday show in New Orleans happen.

“We ended up in a very welcoming city that took care of us, but at some point we had to go home and plant the flag,” he says.

VoodooMusicFest.com

Voodoo Music Experience

AutoZone Park

Sunday, October 30th

Tickets $35

Southern Comfort Music Experience

Various Beale Street venues

Thursday, October 27th, through Sunday, October 30th

All events free

Checklist

Seven bands you need to see Sunday at the Voodoo Music Experience.

1. Nine Inch Nails — Honestly, I’m not much of a fan, and maybe you aren’t either. But in this case it doesn’t matter much. Seeing Bob Dylan and Willie Nelson playing outside in a minor-league baseball stadium is Americana at its finest. Seeing the weirdo who made industrial music go pop, foisted Marilyn Manson upon the world, and named albums Pretty Hate Machine and The Downward Spiral at a minor-league baseball stadium is weird enough to be a happening. Would-be dark genius Trent Reznor (who essentially is Nine Inch Nails) was originally scratched from the Memphis lineup after Voodoo split in two, but his being added back to the top of the bill gives the fest a much-needed boost of star power. And here’s betting Reznor will be cognizant enough of his surroundings to pay tribute to Johnny Cash when he plays “Hurt.” — Chris Herrington

2. The New York Dolls — Remedying Memphis’ perpetual dismissal by seminal underground reunion tours, the Dolls will be providing a nice break from the MTV2 monotony of much of the festival. In the mid-’70s, the Dolls were more of a heavy, sloppy, and decadent glam-rock band than the proto-punk pioneers they’ve come to be embraced as, though few bands have had a greater influence — musically or aesthetically — on the past three decades of hard rock. These days, original members David Johansen and Syl Sylvain make up the core of the reunited Dolls, which included Arthur Kane until he tragically succumbed to leukemia last year. This appears to be the festival’s only dose of genuine, historic rock and should prove to be enjoyable … that is, if you suppress the urge to throttle Johansen for contributing the music for more car commercials (“Hot Hot Hot”) than any artist this side of Bob Seger. — Andrew Earles

3. Queens of the Stone Age — Re-added to the Memphis lineup over the weekend, Queens of the Stone Age are the metal/hard-rock band everyone can agree on — long-haired devil-sign throwers, modern-rock radio listeners, underground metal snobs, and rock generalists can all come together to bang their heads to the smart, heavy, atmospheric sound of lead Queen Josh Homme and his rotating cast of bandmates. — CH

4. The Decemberists — Almost as odd a pairing of band and venue as Nine Inch Nails. This hyper-literate and oh-so-theatrical indie-rock outfit would be a choice booking at the Hi-Tone Café or Young Avenue Deli, but all-day outdoor music festival is an odd fit for a group that doesn’t sound like it sees much sunlight. Decemberists singer-songwriter Colin Meloy concocts music that sounds like what Morrissey might have come up with if he channeled his agonies into flights of fiction and if he were backed by a shambling mini-orchestra instead of a nifty new-wave guitarist. Meloy isn’t quite as morose as the Moz, but he has the same grandiose sense of humor. What the band does have going for them in this context: a great song about sports! “The Sporting Life,” off the band’s new album Picaresque, reveals the sensitive plight of a particularly put-upon high school football player. — CH

5. The Secret Machines — This trio’s spacey, arena-sized indie rock craftily cherry-picks elements from across the rock spectrum — Pink Floyd, Mercury Rev, the ’80s alternative inflection in the vocals, and drums that can more than fill a sports stadium. — AE

6. Carl Cox — Like a DJ patriarch nodding in approval over at least two decades of dance/electronic music, Carl Cox had a hand embedded in several major movements, but it was the acid-house explosion of the late ’80s where Cox’s skills came to fruition through his signature simultaneous use of three turntables. Adapting throughout the ’90s to dance music’s fickle tendencies, and becoming highly successful in the process, Cox’s blueprint can easily be seen as the harsher, more adventurous alternative to cushier mainstream contemporaries such as Paul Oakenfold. — AE

7. The Giraffes — With a sound that scarcely invokes gentle, leaf-chewing mammals, the Giraffes will bring up the organic metal end of Voodoo Fest, with less desire for radio play than co-headliner Queens of the Stone Age but 10 times the volume. Not to be confused with the pop band of the same name. — AE

N’awlins Comes North

A guide to New Orleans artists in town for Voodoo weekend.

By Alex Rawls

Theresa Andersson — Singer/violinist Andersson has led blues, funk, and R&B bands, but 2004’s Shine finds her in a winning pop/rock context focused on her songwriting and the warmth in her voice.

Rebecca Barry — Tenor sax player Barry is so adept at New Orleans jazz and funk that the rhythm section of Herbie Hancock’s original Headhunters lineup recorded Rebecca Barry and the Headhunters with her during Mardi Gras this year.

Beatin Path — As 3 shows, songwriters Mike Mayeux and Skeet Hanks take songs seriously, but live, they get loose, making country-rock for city folk.

Better Than Ezra — This year’s After the Robots shows Better Than Ezra has lost none of its knack for rock songs that make being young sound dramatic and beautiful.

Bonerama — This variation on the brass-band tradition is led by four trombones, but this year’s Live From New York shows Bonerama to be a brass band that loves to rock.

Cowboy Mouth — If singer Fred LeBlanc asked his audience to run wild in the streets, they’d do it. Fortunately, he uses his powers for good, and the rock band has songs that don’t get lost in the process.

Susan Cowsill — Fans of Cowsill from her days with the Continental Drifters won’t be let down by her debut solo album, Just Believe It — red-blooded folk-rock that takes itself just seriously enough.

Dr. John — Dr. John’s music is deceptively ambitious, and lyrics that document Mardi Gras and voodoo are laced with details that hint at the reality of working-class life in New Orleans.

Ghost — Ghost is New Orleans’ entry into rock/hip-hop territory, albeit with more emphasis on skills than metal bluster.

Media Darling Records’ DJ Quickie Mart and DJ Lady Fingaz — Quickie Mart and Lady Fingaz are the most prolific DJs on the New Orleans underground hip-hop label, with tracks that are more old school than No Limit.

The Neville Brothers — Last year’s Walkin’ in the Shadow of Life was one of their strongest, returning the group to its ’60s soul roots.

Cyril Neville — Cyril is the youngest and most overtly political of the Neville Brothers. He introduced world music to the Meters and the Nevilles’ repertoire.

Ivan Neville’s Dumpsta Phunk — Dumpsta Phunk is as heavy and funky as imaginable. Melody and any other frill that might lighten the funk is left on the bus.

Papa Mali — Slide guitarist Papa Mali is as striking for his lengthy dreads as he is for how completely the Shreveport native has internalized the New Orleans second-line funk.

Soul Asylum — Soul Asylum’s Dave Pirner has lived in New Orleans for the last few years, and, for this occasion, onetime Replacement Tommy Stinson sits in on bass.

World Leader Pretend — On Punches, World Leader Pretend treats pop like something in a petri dish to test the power of a beautiful melody.

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Text Message in a Bottle

“R u ok.”

On Sunday, August 28th, that text message reminded me that my cell phone had that function. I was in Brooklyn, having left New Orleans the previous Thursday to work on a story. As Hurricane Katrina neared, the 504 area code became impossible to call, so the phone seemed useless. The message from a friend, who had left town to ride out the storm in Kentucky, reminded me of text messaging, which I had previously dismissed as a toy for teenagers with the time to compose rebus-like messages by cycling through the letters on the keypad. Somehow, those messages worked when the phones were otherwise down. Now, I want a Blackberry.

Once I received that message, I started working my way through my address book, sending short, equally terse messages to friends. To a great degree, texting friends was a way to deal with helplessness. Systematically sending inquiries to friends made me feel like I was doing something to make the situation better. More importantly, I hoped the messages could answer the basic questions: How is my house? Where are my friends?

I slowly discovered that the answers to the second question were Baton Rouge, Lake Charles, Jackson, Houston, Nashville, and Memphis. One friend had even gone on tour with the Drive-By Truckers. The first question was more difficult to answer because the network stories were image-driven, so they aired dramatic photos no matter how poorly they told the story. At times, they even distorted the situation, particularly when scenes of traffic passing through Baton Rouge were represented as traffic in New Orleans.

More to the point, though, the cable networks didn’t talk about my neighborhood, Uptown, five minutes by bike from Tipitina’s. At some point, I realized that was a good thing. If the grand mansions on St. Charles Avenue and in the Garden District were flooding, that would be as appealing and dramatic to the news outlets as scenes of helicopter rescues. Still, I wanted to know, so I texted a friend who was staying in his mother’s place a few minutes from my house. His reply Monday: “Have not heard from dad. His house should be underwater by now. Yours fine. Could not get in 2 feed cats.” His father turned up Wednesday night in Baton Rouge, but that message didn’t bring much comfort, despite the reassurance about my house.

As friends checked in, they reassured me that mutual friends were in Lafayette and on their way to Nashville and Delaware, and really, that’s what I needed to know as much as the condition of my home. My home is as much the people who pass through it as the physical space.

In my obsessive text messaging and scrutinizing of nola.com and wwltv.com, what I really wanted was information about my future. Just as a racing form presents stats that seem to contain the key to who will win a race if you just know how to interpret them, it felt like somewhere in all of these postings and messages must be a clue as to what comes next. So far, though, it hasn’t worked.

Now, a few days later, I text less obsessively, and I’ve stopped reading the forums. My house was dry and intact as of Wednesday, and I don’t expect looters unless they’re done with the bigger, richer houses on more prestigious streets. I know where everyone I love is, and we call each other and friends’ and families’ homes, exchanging the deadening truths of our situations. I don’t even have a question that will produce an answer to help me know the future.

The anxiety involved in living like this is exhausting. I’ve moved on to acceptance, though sometimes that feels more like resignation. Today in a Kmart, my wife and I bought new swimsuits, lifelessly; we have suits we like, but they’re in New Orleans. I don’t want more underwear; I have plenty but they’re in my house. I don’t want to live somewhere else; I love my city and my home. I’m just not sure they exist anymore.

Alex Rawls is the music editor of New Orleans’ Gambit Weekly, which has temporarily ceased publication since Hurricane Katrina hit.