Tag Archives: New Orleans

Much Delayed Thoughts on the Television Series Treme

15 Dec

 

Anyone attempting to watch the HBO show Treme without having visited New Orleans might mistake it for being too slow to enjoy. The pacing of the show is very similar in how things roll out in real life down in the “Big Easy”. Upon my first visit to New Orleans, it took a couple of days for my mind to downshift. Until that happened, I was irritated with how rapidly I became bored with every activity that my host suggested. Looking back on things, I can honestly say that I was a bad guest. Unfortunately for me it wasn’t until my final night in town that I synced up with the rest of the city.

I learned my lesson and did everything the right way during my second visit to New Orleans. I took my longboard with me to get around town, and I hit all my favorite restaurant spots (I’d put Parasol’s up against any other restaurant down there) and then some during Mardi Gras weekend. The visit was thorough enough that I decided that I never needed to go back, but it did make me want to watch David Simon and Eric Overmyer’s project about post-Katrina New Orleans.

Treme first premiered back in 2010, and ran for roughly 3 and a half seasons. The show’s name is based on a neighborhood in New Orleans; where a lot of the artists and musicians lived until the tragic flooding that resulted from Hurricane Katrina in the fall of 2006. The story’s backdrop takes place post flood, approximately 3 months after the storm. Citizens who left before the storm hit are coming back to their homes, while those who stayed and survived, are picking up the pieces in their own ways.

Although The Wire has received a great deal of critical acclaim, and Simon’s most recent production,The Deuce is currently getting all the buzz, Treme in my opinion is the best written work of any of the David Simon projects. Though generally respected for his work on The Wire, in 2010, Simon still wasn’t the media darling that he is today. The Wire had reached a cult status, but a large segment of the television watching population had yet to brave the terrain that was laid out in that five season project. It was a little too rough around the edges for some people. I’d even heard people honestly admit that it was just “too real” for them. It is not a show for everyone, and Simon embraced his outside agitator status and continued to make projects that interested him.

The beauty in the show Treme‘s writing is that the writers aren’t concerned with pace or glandular titillation. The backbone of the show is the stories of the characters, and how they are connected (even divided) by the tragedies and turmoil that resulted from the storm. It is an extremely rich and ambitious pursuit. Each episode is rife with tender moments, anger inducing conversations, and moments of levity that have stuck with me since.

All the elements of a David Simon show are here in Treme. The use of music throughout the show is at times thoroughly subtle and precise (anyone remember that one bar scene from The Wire where the jukebox played Gram Parsons’ Streets of Baltimore?), but also inescapable. A song request at a Bar Mitzvah may tie in with the theme of that particular episode,  and may very well appear again in a different incantation at the very end of the show during a “Second Line” funeral march. Sometimes the show would brilliantly cut from a scene that was filmed inside the studio of a radio session, then bleed out from the speakers of a radio in the next scene. The transitions on these occasions are beautiful and seamless.

As I’ve said earlier, the characters are the most compelling part of the show. They have depth and warmth to them, and are written as well-rounded people. The twists and turns with the main characters are occasionally frustrating, often times surprising and sometimes even shocking. Unlike The Wire, where we only get small sliver of insight into the lives of each character, in Treme we are allowed to swim in their minds and breathe, eat, and sleep in the character’s psyches. Each scene lingers a beat or two longer for the viewer to reflect in real-time along with the people in the scene.

There is a good mix of fresh and familiar faces on this project–and plenty of cameos by real life artists (both from New Orleans and abroad) who you’ll recognize. Those of you Simon fans who go all the way back to his days as a writer on the 90’s NBC show, Homicide, will recognize Melissa Leo (who was adorable in her role as Detective Kay) as public defender and civil rights lawyer Toni Bernette. John Seda even shows up in later seasons as Nelson Hidalgo, a developer and venture capitalist who graduated from the University of Texas.

Wire alumni Clark Peters (Lester Freamon) and Wendell Pierce (Bunk Moreland) show up as central characters in the show, Peters as Big Chief Lambreaux, and Pierce as trombonist, Antoine Batiste. Both put on excellent performances of two complicated, but lovable men dealing with their new lives as best as they can.

Steve Zahn is one of the newcomers to the David Simon Mafia.  He plays DJ Davis, a spoiled trust fund hipster who grew up in New Orleans, but embraces the city’s historic jazz culture as much as a white man can without getting written out of his inheritance. Another one of the side stories is that of Sonny and Annie, a musician couple from New York and Amsterdam (another canal city built on indulging in one’s vices) who moved to New Orleans before the storm and decided to ride out the flood.

Simon and Overmyer do a great job of casting strong female leads in Khandi Alexander and the aforementioned Leo, who find a balance within their roles as women dealing with tragedy, through grace, anger, and sadness. It is impossible to not feel for their characters, but somehow you know they will push on despite their circumstances.

The show even has manages to soften the biting criticism of culture vultures and uptight New Yorkers, showing rather than telling the viewer why people from outside New Orleans often times just don’t get it.

Despite the lack of any major rising action, Treme is an extremely beautiful show that runs the gamut of human emotion. It is fun. It is boisterous and celebratory. It is funny. It will piss you off. It will make you dance and sing out loud. You will get frustrated by the city’s bureaucracy, and the by self-destructive impulses of some of its main characters. You may also find yourself shedding tears where you least expect to (there is one beautifully unforgettable scene in particular where a Japanese jazz enthusiast buys Pierce’s character a new trombone and Pierce tests it out for the guy in the middle of a public space by playing a song. For some reason the room got real dusty during that scene).

I love New Orleans for the same reason I love New York City, both are cultural landmarks where a black art form originated (New York birthed hip hop and of course jazz music started down in New Orelans’ Congo Square), but I didn’t realize how much I appreciated New Orleans until I watched this show a second time. David Simon gives us a poignant look into the racial and cultural politics that contributed to the misfortune that befell New Orleans; in addition to how those same politics were involved in the rebuilding (and re-branding) of the city. You won’t have to have visited New Orleans to get the show, but it certainly helps.

Almost 12 years removed from Hurricane Katrina, places like Houston, Puerto Rico and the Virgin Islands are today facing the same questions and difficulties that inhabitants of the Gulf of Mexico faced back then. How does a place remain unique and lively when the people and elements that made it so are removed? What is the personal definition of home, and what does a person do when that home no longer exists?

In a way, it feels very appropriate to revisit this television series. It sort of slid under the radar, but it is no less important than anything else that has come out since 2010. The writing in Treme proves that often times the best part of a well written story is not the chaos itself, but the things that result from it. 

 

BM

profile pic b mick  Bobby Mickey is the alter ego of writer and poet Edward Austin Robertson. When he isn’t involved in some basketball related activity, actively looking for parties to deejay or venues to perform comedy, he can be found recording podcasts with Craig Stein at Fullsass Studios. Follow him on twitter @goodassgame. For booking inquiries, send contact info to thisagoodassgame@gmail.com. 

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Taking it Sleazy in the Big Easy

18 Feb

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If the conservatives are going to push so hard for “America” to revert back to its Puritan ways, then they should designate a city in every state where prostitution, gambling, and drugs are legal. New Orleans with their beautifully lenient open container laws (and casual drinking hours) would be the best city in the world, if they figured out a way to legalize weed and prostitution.

Mardi Gras is the perfect backdrop to indulge in all kinds of vices before giving them all up for the almighty Jesus Christ and his resurrection (I’d say I’m giving up booze, but that is too easy–let’s make it soda pop AND booze for LENT this year).
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I went back to the “Big Easy” in order to get the city out of my system, unfortunately, I kind of fell in love with it. Falling in love with a city like New Orleans is akin to creating a romantic story about the cocktail waitress at your favorite watering hole. Sure she is fun, and witty, and knows how to have a good time; but do you really want to tell your mother where you met your fiancee?

New Orleans is a fun city, but it is corrupt (still being bank rolled by old slave money), and would you really want to be a liberal and be a registered voter in that state? Take the smallest, most backwards town in Texas and Oklahoma, give it some money and there you have Louisiana. To quote one of my favorite modern day sports philosophers, Jalen Rose, “NOT GONNA BE ABLE TO DO IT!!!!!”
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I found a room in the Garden District of town, at this sweet little hostel called the Bourbon House. I was only minutes away from the action, and got around town pretty easily on my longboard. Although the city’s flat landscape makes for ideal boarding, the roads were so fucked up and pock marked in some areas of town. I walked a good 30 % of my journeys throughout because of those misshapen streets.
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The city’s architecture is still true to much of its early settlers’ influence. The Spanish and French left their impressions upon the city, that seep out at certain times of night, in certain areas of town.
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The best thing about Mardi Gras is the pace though. People would be up with their lawn chairs out on the streets, setting up their gas grills and staking out a spot to see the parade. You’d think they were trying to get football tickets, the way they are camped out, making food and drinking. It makes it hard to tell who is starting and who is winding down.

Even at 5:30 in the morning, you’ll find the bars still open in the French Quarter–people puking in alley ways while a friend is rubbing their back; while trying to keep vomit off of their clothes.
Drinking is just another event there, making Mardi Gras the most extravagant tail gate of all time.

I figured out the best strategy to attack this, but much too late. The key is to wake up early, make a Bloody Mary, and then keep drinking until about 9:30 pm. Go home. Take a nap until about 11:45 PM. Then go back out and hit it until your body wants to drop.
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It took me until Saturday to figure this out. Before then I was starting too early in the day and going to bed at 10 at night. Pathetic right? During Mardi Gras, the party never stops, it only takes breaks. You gotta learn how to pace yourself if you are going to experience it to its fullest.
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People down there really get hype for the Parades. There are tons of them, and multiple parades a day. People get pelted with beads (I saw more than one person get clocked in the face pretty hard because they weren’t paying attention), and then they use the beads for titty currency (like free dollar bills at the strip club) down in the French Quarter (the only place where you’ll see people flash titties for beads).
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I was never around to see these exchanges, venturing into the French Quarter either too early or too late to witness this. I was okay with that though. What people don’t tell you is that the kind of women you’ll meet down in the French Quarter are not always the ones you want flashing you. In fact, I would have given them beads for these gals to keep their shirts on.

Not all titty is good titty. In fact, I’d say for every perfectly shaped breast and nipple, there are 4 or 5 Canadian Bacon shaped Areolas (sometimes “Hairy-olas”) and silver dollar nipples. Most of the women that I saw down at Mardi Gras ranged from stripper girlfriend types to NASCAR watching, Wolf and Moon shirt wearing wives.

My biggest fear aside from catching a disease from a one night stand, was mistakenly making out with a tranny. There were pretty women there for sure, but not many were worth doing a double take. It was like being in New York, but for different reasons.
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In New York, you don’t turn your head to do a double take at a passerby because you’ll miss the next approaching beauty. In New Orleans, there is rarely a reason to look back. I wish I were exaggerating.

Lastly, there was the food. I tried as much food as I possibly could (I found out too late that I should have hit up the Gumbo Shop), and to be honest, the best I had was at the same Po’Boy restaurant I frequented back in September.
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Parasol’s was hands down the best food I ran across. Their wings are fire. Their gumbo is the bomb, and the Po’Boy sandwiches are on point. Being only a few blocks from my hostel, I didn’t go there nearly enough, because I wanted to give other spots a chance. Best believe I won’t make that same mistake again.

Daisy Dukes was recommended to me as well (for their gumbo), and it was overpriced and there was not enough seafood. I also went to this spot Brothers’ Foodmart, thinking that a Bodeaga with that sold liquor, blunt wraps, and fried chicken was certainly a place for me to patronize. I hit it up on my way to the bus station, and threw half of my chicken away. It was fucking gross. It was one of the few times a brutha has steered me wrong on some cuisine.
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All in all, it was good trip. Compared to SXSW in Austin, Mardi Gras certainly pales. Besides the parades and never ending tailgate parties, there isn’t much to it. It is festive for sure, but Austin during SXSW is more diverse and richer in scope. Every coffee shop and bar is filled with live music, and people all over the world are there as art and music fans.

That being said, I had a great time. And when I go back, I’ll probably stay at the Bourbon House again. the rates are affordable, and the couple who own the property (one of three that they manage) are really hospitable and cool. Best of all, the location is perfect. Their hostel is right down the street from Magazine and St. Charles, and only a few minutes from downtown.

If you want a blueprint on “how to get it in”, go down to “Nawlings” for Mardi Gras. You’ll never be the same.

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Easy Does It

7 Sep

I honestly don’t remember my first visit to New Orleans. I drank too many White Russians (we called them Lebowski’s back in college) and I got nauseous and passed out on the second floor railing of Tipitina’s. I can tell you that the band Moe played, but I could not tell you a single song they played. I remember when the show started and I remember my buddies tapping me on the show, telling me it was time to leave. We got in the jeep and we drove to baton Rouge. End of story.

I had every intention of going back sooner than later, but then Katrina hit, the levees broke(?)
and I had moved to the other side of the continent.

Well I finally had a reason to go back. And I’m glad I did. I like this town. It reminds me of Galveston but on steroids. East Austin during South by Southwest resembles a toothless NOLA. It just doesn’t have the edge this place does. ATX wishes it could be this weird. Sure there are tons of bros and hipsters here, but on every corner of every block is a vague reminder of the things Juvenile, Lil Wayne, and Master P rapped about in the late 90’s.

The grittiness cannot be ignored and making this trip makes me want to watch that show Treme. I can understand why David Simon came down here to film.

Early impressions:

This guy

Definitely some dime pieces down here, seems like every girl is inked up in some way. Not opposed to it, but sometimes its nice to not know everything about a person by looking at the small of their back and arms.

The flat streets make bicycling in this town so ideal. So many people ride (without a trace of irony) old school Schwinn’s with the fat bottom seats. Sure they are heavy as fuck, but the do just the trick. The next time I visit here I’m bringing my longboard for sure. My host took me on a bike ride through City Park—New Orleans’ version of Central and Golden Gate Park. The park is huge, lots of biking room and beautiful old trees draped in Spanish Moss. I imagine it would be a little spooky hanging out there. I’m not saying I believe in ghosts, but I don’t not believe in them either—especially in a city as old and haunted as New Orleans.

I took a stroll down to the French Quarter and peeped that out. It just didn’t feel the same without titties flashing and beads falling down into my face and chipping my teeth. Bourbon Street felt like an older
and more charming, less tacky Sixth street (Austin). If the Castro District in San Francisco extended out towards Fisherman’s Wharf then it would be New Orleans’ Canal street.

It is true about open carry laws here. People openly walk around with their drinks in hand. Imagine if this town were as relaxed about prostitutes and weed as they were about booze. This place would be the shit.

I have to give this town some credit. After the flood I didn’t expect it to be so lively. The city seems to have recovered. If I were white I’d come down and buy a house here and chill for a few years, writing screenplays and drinking highballs. But I’m not and I have no intention of living in Louisiana as a free black man.

The light bulb went off in between long drags of a cigarette and swigs of beer. I understood the appeal and got why they called it “The Big Easy”. I didn’t want to do anything but listen to Tom Waits, and drink beer and smoke cigarettes on my host’s porch. Of course after my third beer I passed out and woke up with the sun in my eyes.

Its a fun spot. I’ll definitely have to come back for Mardi Gras and hit up my new favorite spot, Parasol’s. Great Po-boys and I’m sure when they get seafood gumbo again (its seasonal) its gonna be worth the return trip alone. When I come back I’m certainly hitting up the Voodoo Museum, the African American Museum, and the uptown area of New Orleans.

We’ll see what February is like. Unlike other places like Austin, Portland, New York City…..
I don’t see New Orleans becoming overrun by hipsters and yuppies anytime soon. Louisiana is a crazy place to live. I don’t see people clamoring to pull up the stakes and get down here. But maybe its a great place to camp out during the winter.

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