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Editor's Note: Tom Reddick, classical/jazz guitarist has been a high profile member of the guitar scene in Ashland for many years. A graduate of the music program at SOU with a degree in guitar performance, Tom has been a guitar teacher offering lessons both in his private studio and at the University. He has played most of the clubs in town as a soloist, with the Reddick Lewis Duo and with numerous jazz ensembles. Lately he has been traveling. His travels have now taken him to the great historical city of New Orleans and he has been writing about some of his experiences as a musician in NOLA (New Orleans, Louisana) in his journal which we are sharing here. You can reach Tom via e-mail at: tomareddick@gmail.com
March 29, 2011 The music scene here in New Orleans is in fact everything it's purported to be, really amazing. Best horn players I've ever heard! I'm doing a lot of playing these days, both classical and jazz; it's feeling quite good. I teach at a little guitar shop in the heart of the French Quarter, it's quite a deal - one of the oldest 'neighborhoods' in the new world! The music community here is surprisingly small for a big city, and very welcoming. I've been doing some recording lately and really enjoying it. I miss Oregon, but I'm really enjoying the adventure of being in such an enchanting and beautiful city, where musicians are held in very high regard! It reminds me in some ways of Ashland. Recently toured some plantations with one of my Ashland friends who was visiting and got quite a history lesson. History is very alive in New Orleans, and very complex and compelling. Talk about a 'melting pot'! May 9, 2011 I was at the levy near my home yesterday
with Sunny, enjoying the river on a beautiful Sunday, when I
noticed that while I was talking on the phone with Don Nichols,
the river rose about 3 to 4 feet! That's right, the Mississippi
River rose that much in about ten minutes! The river is easily
a mile and a half wide at this point, I couldn't believe it...
it was just a bit disconcerting. In fact, it's kind of hard to
imagine how much water that takes. It's anywhere from 200 to
600 feet deep in this area! After an hour or so it went back
down a couple feet, still higher than it was originally. It's
weird to see so much water clearly higher than the surrounding
city. When huge ships go by, they appear to be towering above
the suburbs below due to the height of the water. And it hasn't
crested here yet! Wow! Lot's of logs and debris are visible in
the main current; it's quite a sight. This just after hearing
more Katrina related horror stories from my neighbor, May 10, 2011 This evening after work I took my usual walk up to Rampart street and over to the levy that borders the canal and eventually, after a few hundred yards, connects with the mighty Mississippi. And mighty it is right now. The river is high indeed... and fast, and portending of the coming flood. It looks wilder, faster, and kind of ominous. The massive barges moving upstream are barely making headway in the current. I'm guessing their fuel costs are a bit higher at present, for they seem to be at full throttle and maybe moving at 5 or 6 miles per hour, much slower than usual. Those lucky ships heading down river towards the gulf on the other hand seem to be flying by, they pass from view quickly, and seem to glide on the river as though on ice skates, fast and effortless. Sunny is of course oblivious to it all - she just wants to swim and chase sticks after an interminably boring day at the apartment while I'm at work. I oblige her of course, repeatedly. Such unrestrained joy and purpose, my former mountain dog and desert dog, now swimming with the catfish in the Mississippi River - away from the main current in case you're worried, and there's no alligators here. And speaking of catfish... they are biting big time! Apparently, according to my new friend Russell, the fishing is especially good when the river is high, as the song Summertime so explains - it goes through my head like a pleasantly broken record out on the river; 'the fish are bitin', and the river is high '. Russell was not there today, but a young man with three poles in the water was when I arrived. He had already caught a ten pounder that was lying on the grass, gasping for oxygen through its gaping gills, and as I walked up he hooked another one. While I restrained Sunny - who has a dangerous and inexplicable desire to pounce on flying bait while it is being cast - he fought the thrashing serpent, trying to steer it away from the now submerged trees. He succeeded, and landed a 25 to 30 pounder right in front of me! Lots of filets on that sucker, the noun even more appropriate than usual. We talked a bit while some other folks came over to inspect the catch, and sure enough, another one took the bait on his other line. He rushed over, grabbed the pole, set the hook, and wrestled that one to shore as well. Another 30 pounder! I asked him how much he likes catfish and he replied, " Man, I can't eat the damn things, I'm allergic to 'em! " After a groan of irony from the small crowd now assembled, he said in rebuttal, " but they don't go to waste, I got lots of neighbors! I'm one popular dude in the neighborhood. " We laughed, marveling at these three large, prehistoric looking fish. And amazingly, given the size of the now swollen and enormous river emptying the continents snowmelt and torrential spring rains, the fish looked about right, they were ' to scale '. Huge fish in a huge river. I took Sunny home wet and happy and hopefully tired. Fate is indeed a strange thing I thought. Let's hope the main surge due in two weeks doesn't breach the levies, the Fed's don't seem to think it will, but they've been wrong before, as we all know. This much water has not been heading to New Orleans since 1927! Fate indeed. June 15, 2011 Recently I had some wine with a friend I met here in New Orleans. She's lived here most of her life and had some remarkable stories and insights into this fabled place. But one stood out. Her mother lives in Tuscaloosa Alabama, which is only a little over two hundred miles from here. On the day of the recent massive tornado outbreak, she happened to be in New Orleans, visiting with her daughter, my friend, to congratulate her on a recent diploma she had earned. The phone started ringing in the evening with the news from friends and relatives in Alabama that a tornado had devastated their town. The mood went from elation over one of life's great milestones, to the terror of her town and friends and other family members being in the path of one of natures most powerful and destructive events. She found out the next day that her house had been destroyed. Gone. Obliterated in an instant. She had just finished a new porch addition, planted some beautiful flowers, got the garage all cleaned out and organized - and in one roaring, cataclysmic moment, it was all gone. She would be gone too, were it not for her daughter graduating with (yet another) college degree. After she got back to Tuscaloosa, she found out her other family members had survived, but she of course knew people who did not. Then a call from her bank came in. A man in Tennessee, at least a hundred and twenty miles away, had found her checkbook! The storm had blown it literally into the next state! But then her banker had some more good news, the man who found it deposited $250 in her account, and the bank that the checkbook was turned in to also deposited $250 into her account. Sometimes we need to hear about the good things that people, and businesses, do for each other. Count your blessings y'all...
June 25, 2011 What an amazing town this is. Last night I cruised Frenchman street, which is adjacent to the downriver side of the French Quarter. Music everywhere, good music. Not once did I hear a cover band playing tunes we've all heard fifty million times. There was a band playing trad jazz (old time New Orleans jazz, circa 1900 to 1940 or so) at the Spotted Cat. Three horn players, all at least in their 60's, a killer bass player, and a guitarist who was content to play that powerful downbeat rhythm that really propels the music. Nothing fancy, although it's harder than it looks, and everyone doing their part for the music's sake, not their own. The place was packed, with everyone, I mean everyone, thoroughly enjoying themselves! People really get it here, it's the best, most musically sophisticated and appreciative audience a musician could hope for. Across the street, a blues band at Cafe Negril played mostly original tunes with passion and clarity, throwing in a gospel tune ('Tell Him What You Want') for good measure. The whole place singing along, swaying, smiling... getting it. Whether you're religious or not, you can't help wondering if maybe going to church on Sunday isn't such a bad idea. Right next door, a reggae band pumps out that infectious backbeat with horns and stellar vocals. People dancing (it's hard not to), laughing, drinking - but all very civil and friendly - sharing in the good vibe that defines this city on a Friday night. Sure, it's a tough place at times, but when it's time for the music, all is forgotten, and it truly is, all good. I walked down to Decatur, where I teach guitar, and on the way a bottleneck slide guitarist is sitting on his little battery powered amp, cranking out some very sweet Delta blues with appropriately weathered vocals. I stop and listen, talk a bit after the tune is over, leave a tip, and move on - lightly and rhythmically, as though the music has possessed my feet. I've never been much of a dancer, but if I'm here long enough, I don't think I can avoid it. Everybody knows how to swing here; it's as natural as sweating on a warm summer evening. I've lived in five different states now, three cities, a small town, and a cabin in the woods - but they ain't nothin' like New Orleans dawlin'! Heading back up Frenchman street, a brass band is playing on the corner. A lot of these guys are studying jazz at one of the local colleges, or they're the real lucky ones who grew up with great musicians all their lives, or both. You sense that blowing a horn for them is easier than breathing. Oh, and they always play in tune! People are crowded around them in the street. But there's no horn honking here. I see motorists passing by with their windows open, watching the people, hearing the great music that fills the air and drifts down to the Mississippi, and of course, smiling. No one's in a hurry. If you are, you clearly don't belong. Earlier in the evening, I walked down to the levy, saw a few new friends I've met since I moved here, threw a stick in the water for my lab, Sunny, and talked to Russell, the catfisherman. The sun set over the river, still high from the floodwaters, behind towering cumulus clouds and cottonwoods. The cicadas loudly and sporadically called from the treetops in their bizarre metallic buzzing, and herons fished the nearby shallows. Walking back, a good blues band played some nice riffs at BJ's, just steps from my apartment. I walked in the door, flipped on the AC, and grabbed my guitar. What else to do in the city of music, the city by the great river, the city of tragedy that is only surpassed by it's stronger and eternal sister, the city of joy. God bless New Orleans - the glittering, dancing treasure of America. July 3, 2011 Saw some great music at DBA last night.
My roommate Mark sat in with Loren Pickford, Wendell Brunious,
Todd Duke, and others, performing on the baritone sax (a monster
of an instrument) and singing one of his own compositions. Great
stuff. They also played a really poignant ballad about Katrina
called 'Louisiana', had the place in rapt and thoughtful attention.
Later, out on the street (Frenchman), I ran into Matt Johnson,
the very fine guitarist who plays at Mimi's every Tuesday night,
and we set up a lesson for this week. He's a great guy and a
really talented player. I'm also going to set up lessons with
Todd Duke. So much to learn from these guys! The players that
Mark sits in with are true NOLA veterans, and they've taken him
in as one of their own. Maybe I'll be in the same place soon,
it's about being sincere in your craft and willing to do some
work. I'm ready, willing, inspired, and working on my skills
every day now. I have some areas of my playing that are really
good, and I'm satisfied with, and other aspects, such as improvising
over the really complex changes and hearing those changes
better, that I need some serious work and guidance on. But it's
all here. Back to the piano! July 4, 2011 Just got home after a fairly epic 4th of July, and this coming from a guy who lived in Ashland Oregon for decades, home of about the best small town 4th anywhere. But no small town here. My good friend Martae called me out of the blue today (I hadn't talked to her in three or four weeks) and we decided to do the NOLA thing for the 4th - and, not surprisingly, it turned into an amazing afternoon and evening. We met in the French Quarter at an open-air bar on the corner of Jackson Square, directly across from St Louis Cathedral, an incredibly beautiful place in the heart of the quarter. (Google it... you'll see what I mean) After discussing the current budget issues in congress, the situation in Libya and Syria, the future of the euro (not good), the demise of the last dictatorships in the world (yes, it will take time), and the erroneous and idiotic arguments against a liberal immigration policy (our country has benefited enormously from those policies, and we are in fact, the envy of the world in that regard - and other economies around the world will be and are suffering for their lack thereof), we walked through the throngs of people enjoying the holiday and boarded the ferry across the river to Algiers, on the west bank of the Mississippi ( it's really south of New Orleans, but due to the meanders of the river, it is the west side of the river ). Oh yeah, before that, we had a really good hamburger at Yo Mama's on St. Peter's street. Anyway, we crossed the river, something I hadn't done before, and there we were in Algiers, a nice little neighborhood that looks north to the New Orleans skyline and the French Quarter. It is really striking from this perspective, just an amazing sight. To the left (west) is the CBD with it's skyscrapers and Harrah's casino, and the ferry dock and river front park; and in the middle is the French Quarter, one of the oldest cities in north America, with the St. Louis Cathedral looming above the ancient brick buildings like an oil painting, it looks unreal in it's beauty and elegance; and to the right is the Bywater, where I live, curling around the great bend in the river that heads generally south to the gulf, some 80 or 90 miles away. We found a festival - again, not surprisingly - along the levy. Food and beverage stands, a stage with a great band playing, and hundreds of people on top of the levy with lawn chairs waiting for the fireworks. We found a spot and enjoyed a bottle of wine while talking with a young couple on our left and a very nice man with a Great Dane named Napoleon on our right. This was his third Great Dane, and I couldn't help but point out that made him Napoleon the Third, a historically bumbling, vain, and tragic figure that ruined France (for a time) and sold Louisiana to the United States to finance yet another of his ill-conceived wars. He knew this, and we laughed heartily. Given the destructive nature of his dog's puppy-hood, the historical analogy seemed apt. Now though, Napoleon (the 3rd) was very sweet and well behaved, even princely I do say. Finally, at about nine o'clock, the two barges that launch the pyrotechnics positioned themselves in the middle of the river, one directly opposite Canal Street and the CBD, the other directly in front of us and the French Quarter. Off they went, after the national anthem, to the cheering of young and old and middle aged alike. It was perfectly synched, both barges duplicating each other's charges to great effect. I commented to Martae how nice it was to hear the exclamations of the young children right behind us, and then we both realized that the adults were just as enthusiastic. All were one watching the spectacular display with the shimmering lights of New Orleans across the river, and the now ghostly and grandly historical visage of the Cathedral haunting the smoky skies above the Quarter. It was a short show, maybe fifteen glorious minutes, and ended with an incredible finale of color and light. Everyone cheered. We sat for a while on the levy, watched two huge ships negotiate the bend directly in front of us, and soaked up the dramatic view of the city, a large cloud of smoke from the spent fireworks drifting off to the northeast. We had to wait for a while for the next ferry, so we went to a little bar right by the dock, and what do you know, a little band with drums, clarinet, trumpet and banjo were playing the music that you only really hear in New Orleans. Happy, foot tappin', exuberant music. Everyone is talking, laughing, enjoying themselves and every one else. There's just nothin' like it. I know I keep writing this same theme over and over, but it's what makes this one of the most amazing cities in the world, and it bears repeating! Happy Fourth of July y'all, and thank your lucky stars you're not a politician! T July 6, 2011 Great music at Mimi's last night. A young
band called Emilonious played. Emily, the singer, is in her early
twenties. She's still learning how to project vocally, and become
more emotionally powerful and present in the music (it takes
work and experience to have 'soul'), but every time I see her
she's a little better, and last night she really came off well.
It's fun to watch a young person develop artistically right in
front of you. Her stage presence is improving by the week as
well. She sang a Leonard Cohen tune that was haunting and beautiful,
and I complimented her on the intensity she brought to it. The
tune had special meaning to her, which was obvious. As usual,
the audience was very supportive and genuinely appreciative.
I see why there are so many wonderful musicians in New Orleans,
they are supported by the community and their family and peers
at every turn, it makes all the difference! It takes guts
to get in front of people and perform difficult material with
soul and conviction; it's a scary and vulnerable feeling. One
thoughtless or dismissive comment can be very damaging to a person
who is trying to emote publicly, who has the courage to master
their inhibitions and fears of rejection and judgment. I know
this personally, as all performing artists do. Here, in
this city that grows smaller for me by the day, people understand
that, and they almost universally, at least those who care enough
to go out and witness it, have enough of their own inner courage
to forego the temptation to judge, and instead see the power
of heartfelt encouragement and love. Musicians and actors aren't
born, they're self-made people with the guts to deny the naysayers
of the world their petty and self-limiting criticisms. A few
years from now, Emily will be a poised, confident performer with
a lifetime of art ahead of her, and all the joys and rewards
that engenders. I am moved and humbled by the thought of it.
I can't wait to see and hear it... right in front of my own eyes! July 14th ...and the rain comes down. A few minutes ago Mark left for Los Angeles. It's been a truly rainy day here in New Orleans, usually it only rains in the afternoon, but today it's persistent. Since I'm rained out of work, I've been practicing pretty much all day, alternating between piano and guitar, and belting out vocals as well, trying to get past my long embedded inhibitions by using the 'chest voice', many of you may know this as the 'in the shower voice when no one else is within a mile or two'. It's fun, and damn if I can't sing! I guess those inhibitions are beginning to look pretty silly here, downright stupid in fact. But don't look back, there's no time for that anymore. I was playing and singing 'City of New Orleans', one of my favorite all time tunes ( I like Arlo Guthries version the best, at least of what I've heard, though I'm sure there's some pretty good versions from the 'Nawlins' natives here that I haven't heard). Anyway, the thunder rolled as my hands pounded the keys rhythmically, if not always accurately, but it's comin' along nicely now that I play every day. I'm just getting to where I can keep a root to 5th bass line on one and three happening while playing somewhat freely with the right hand. It's tough, but once it's there, it's about as much fun as a guy can have. The minutes fly by, the sweat forms on the brow, the big fat sound bounces off the walls and intrigues my dog, and I smile and sing and swing the afternoon away. I think I'm getting good enough to not bother my neighbor next door, but she loves music anyway, and drinks a lot, so it doesn't seem to be an issue. At this point, I don't think I'd care anyway, I have work to do. Wendell Brunious came by to pick up Mark for a ride to the airport. While Mark was getting his things together, I was practicing my two - five - one progressions on the guitar. Wendell came in and we talked for a bit. Wendell is big time here, he was the director of the Preservation Hall Jazz Society for 23 years, and he regularly plays at the best clubs in town. He knows everybody, and has played with some of the greatest. I told him what I was working on, and he went to the piano immediately. "You gotta practice these turnarounds, not just the usual stuff," he plays a quick sequence with a couple substitutions on the dominant chord that spice things up nicely. I can actually, finally, hear what he did, I think. "So many guys just whip through scales, they're all over the place, you know, playing a million notes and all those demolished 5ths, ya gotta play what you hear, learn that stuff, but play from the heart, hear it! " We laughed over his demolished 5th statement, the word is diminished 5th, and it's used all the time, and he learned all this stuff 30 or 40 years ago, but I get the point. Don't be an automaton, play melodies, not endless riffs that become meaningless in their clever ambiguity. They left after doing a quick once over on one of Mark's tunes. The augmented dominant at the end of the verse was definitely the right chord Wendell said, it keeps things moving. Indeed. Off they went as the rain became heavy, even torrential. I went back to the piano and played some turnarounds, and damn, they sounded better, more connected, more interesting. I have to go teach a lesson now in the Quarter, a French student who's stuck in a 'rut' in his guitar playing, I hope I can help. The rain has stopped now, but the music has just begun. August 17, 2011 Well, there's news in Timmy town! I'm
moving back to the west at the end of august - I have an opportunity
to work full time So now I find myself suddenly preparing to leave the great city of New Orleans. It is with a very heavy heart and much sadness that I do. I've had some remarkable experiences here this past year, I've seen the beauty and the ugliness and everything in between - the exuberant music on Frenchman Street and throughout the city that happens every single night; the broken lives and dreams that sleep crumpled on the sidewalk on Sunday morning with an empty bottle nearby and a rock for a pillow ( no kidding ); the great Mississippi River in the sunset, blazing reds and golds and ferrying the great ships of the worlds' commerce; the stunning and historical architecture of the French Quarter, more like Europe than America, with the iconic St. Louis Cathedral and the wrought iron intricacies that tell of a time long past on every balcony; the 'clop clop clop' of horse drawn carriages that carry tourists through the ancient brick streets hearing stories of French aristocrats and fabled ghosts that live in the dark and musty haunts; and the monuments to established wealth and the shame of slavery and the exploited that line St. Charles Avenue uptown - like everything in New Orleans, there is beauty and tragedy embodied in one, it is like gazing through history in all its complexity, its marbled columns and decaying bricks a monument to all that is good and all that is terrible. And there are the people who wander around the city trying to absorb the intensity of it all, the contradictions in plain sight - they are like children again, discovering the world anew, mouths agape with wonder and fascination. And there are the locals, perhaps some of the most friendly and welcoming people I have ever met. The creoles, the blacks, the cajuns, the whites from the south and those, like myself, from somewhere else. All in love with their city and protective of it, like a doting parent - all acutely aware of the beauty and fragility and enduring tragedy that is New Orleans. The ghost of Katrina is evident everywhere, not just in the shells of slumping buildings and broken streets, but in the faces and memories of those who lived it. I've heard many stories now, they are all heartbreaking. They are not stories you ever forget, they are not events that one can 'heal' from, they are, like the city itself, stories that offer up the pain and the joy of living, and they live side by side because they have to, because it's the only way to go on. I love you New Orleans, and I think I'm justified to now call you 'my' city as well. It is tragedy incarnate in the most profound and human way, and thus it is, ultimately, the most beautiful city I have ever seen. Peace NOLA. I will miss you dearly.
August 18, 2011 Well, I knew it would happen. I played tonight at Elizabeth's restaurant in the Bywater and of course it was one of those nights that makes every single other way of making money seem like complete idiocy. I knew it would happen because I'm leaving New Orleans in a couple of weeks, and I feel like I'm leaving the most amazing place I've ever been, and as if to underscore that fact, I had the kind of night playing music for friends and neighbors that musicians dream about. It started off slow but nice. I played
well, the fingers felt good, the strings glistened in the candlelight
and I sipped a glass of red wine. The notes flowed effortlessly,
as they do on such a night. The customers gave me knowing glances
and left good tips - they enjoyed the beautiful sounds of a classical
guitar in a perfect setting. I bantered joyously with the nearby
tables, making little puns that were well received. I flirted
with the nice looking waitresses who flirted back, all of us
enjoying the wonderful ambiance. I took a break after about
an When I returned from upstairs with a little more wine I was greeted by several of my neighbors who came to hear me play. Susan and Phillip were there from right across the street, and Meghan from down the street, and John and Amy with their infant son, accompanied by a friend, Jeff, who lives next door. I've met Jeff several times while walking my dog, but he had no idea that I played at Elizabeth's, where, it turns out, he works part time. So I stretched and massaged my fingers for another set, talked a bit, and felt the pangs of my heart knowing I was about to leave this fabled place just when it was beginning to feel like home. It is the right thing to do, isn't it? I started my last set with these wonderful people listening and mingling with themselves. Once I got into it though, the mingling stopped... I love that. There's nothing like playing at a level that stops the chatter, it's what we musicians live for. I may not have the biggest or most virtuoso repertoire, but when I'm on, I'm on. I poured it all out, rarely opening my eyes, listening to the music as though it came from somewhere else. Occasionally I'd glance down at my hands and watch them dance on the strings, leaping and sliding and shaking with precision and grace, like they were possessed with something that is quite beyond me, the player. And they are, it is something I can't really explain, but it is my heart, my soul, and it is something entirely in the realm of divinity. There is something profoundly beautiful about music flowing out of your own body and mind, and yet being detached from it simultaneously. It is what makes the thousands of hours of practice worth every minute, worth every frustration, worth every bad night, worth every hardship. Some people will never get what it is to be a musician, especially a classical guitarist. Why do that? There's no money in it, why don't you play rock or pop? I do, and I have, but nothing compares to the intimacy, the depth, the spirituality of the solo performance. Nothing. My friends watched with that look on their
faces that says "now I know what this guy is all about,
now it makes sense - he's kind of quiet, maybe shy, took him
a little while to fit in here, but now I get it". I finished
to a small but heartfelt applause, again, nothing compares.
We said our goodbyes, everyone saying how much they wished I
would stay, me wishing I could, if only I could. I carried my
amp into the warm thick air of a New Orleans august night, the
staff's grateful Tom
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