I just returned from a fabulously intimate Dr. John set at the Black Orchid supper club on the North Side of Chicago. The hot summer evening was dedicated to Wardell Quezergue (pronounced 'quiz-air'), a cool breeze from the Crescent City.
The event took me straight to New Orleans.
You remember New Orleans, right? You'll hear about it again around Labor Day when the media goes Mardi Gras with all the 1 year anniversary stories on Hurricane Katrina, before moving on to other subjects. We in the media love anniversary stories. But the better stories are in the shadows.
Wardell is one of the behind-the-scenes cats whose arrangements defined hits like "Chapel of Love" by the Dixie Cups, "Trick Bag" by Earl King and Aaron Neville's righteous version of "Mona Lisa." He threw the feisty horns behind the Robert Parker classic "Barefootin' [recently reworked by Jimmy Buffett and Alan Jackson for the "Hoot" soundtrack] and put the Caribbean rhythms in the Dixie Cups smash "Iko Iko." Wardell, 76, flew to Chicago with his daughter Helen for the event. In a rare solo performance, Dr. John looked at Wardell from behind his piano and said,
"He changed the course of music......."
Sitting in the front row, Wardell bowed his head. He is a gentle man. He is legally blind. He lost everything to Hurricane Katrina, including the sheet music and arrangements from the mid-1950s when he was leader of the Royal Dukes of Rhythm. Dr. John suggested he also might have lost the 1992 Grammy he received for the horn charts on Dr. John's "Goin' Back To New Orleans," ---that is if someone sent him a Grammy in the first place. When Wardell was doing his most prolific studio work in the the 1960s, he received no royalties.
Proceeds from the evening's $95 ticket went to Wardell and other displaced New Orleans musicians. The elegant club was fairly full, a success considering that it was a busy musical weekend in Chicago. Former dBs bass player Jeff Beninato and the New Orleans Musicians Relief Fund [NOMRF} put the show together with Chicago's Jam Productions and the Black Orchid, which donated the space.
NOMRF is giving Wardell monthly grants for living expenses. He and his daughter barely made it out of New Orleans during the floods. Wardell cannot swim. He was rescued from his home in New Orleans East, taken to Kenner, Louisiana, bused to the Astrodome in Houston where the bus was turned away towards Fort Worth.
Here is something important to know if you are a fan of New Orleans music: many musicians are now being evicted as landlords renovate and raise rent. Beninato told me, "More than one musician has called on the verge of being thrown out onto the street. This is the second wave of the disaster. Its hard to get that across to the public with Katrina Fatigue setting in, but imagine the fatigue of being in New Orleans trying to survive."
On Sunday night Mac Rebennack/Dr. John was in a benevolent mood. He looked a bit like Tennesee Williams in a light brown suit and Panama hat. He took requests from the audience ("Such a Night"), told vintage studio stories about working with Wardell on Joe Tex sessions and dipped way back into Wardell's trick bag by covering New Orleans bandleader Paul Gayten (who recorded for Chess Records in Chicago). The warm vibe had the feeling of a private house concert.
Dr. John spoke of a 1964 Professor Longhair session where he played guitar and Smokey Johnson was on drums. Wardell did the horn charts. "It was way too hip," Dr. John recalled. "I tried to stay out of the way of everything." He then played the Longhair classic "Big Chief," right down to replicating the spy boy whistle (done on record by Earl King). I looked over at Wardell. His eyes were closed and a smile danced across his face. I wondered how long it has been since he smiled like that.
Wardell knows a thing or two about road trips. During the early 1970s he borrowed a school bus to transport players to participate in a marathon session at the Malaco Records studio in Jackson, Miss. Two of the biggest soul hits of that era came out of that session: King Floyd's "Groove Me" and Jean Knight's "Mr. Big Stuff." Wardell did the arrangements.
The opening act for Dr. John's tribute to Wardell was no small potatoes. The New Orleans based band consisted of James Andrews (vocals, trumpet), Craig Klein of Bonerama and Harry Connick fame (trombone), former Dirty Dozen member Kirk Joseph on tuba, Galactic drummer Stanton Moore, Cranston Clements on guitar and Dr. John's own saxophonist Alonzo Bowens, who didn't even know his bandleader would be in the house until he arrived in Chicago. Mike Mills of REM sat in on bass.
In a spur of the moment decision, the band joined Dr. John at the end of his set for a rousing version of Cousin Joe's "How Come My Dog Don't Bark (When You Come Around),"--- horn charts done by Wardel -- and the 1960 Jessie Hill classic "Ooh Poo Pah Doo." Andrews is the grandson of the late New Orleans rhythm and blues singer who was a product of the Lower 9th Ward. For a spell, Hill was also a member of Dr. John's Night Tripper band. Before the storm, Andrews recorded for Allen Toussaint's NYNO label and his 1997 "Satchmo of the Ghetto" disc features Dr. John, Toussaint and a great version of "Its Only A Paper Moon."
Throughout the night, Dr. John spoke as if he was casting notes on a postcard. He talked of his fears of singing "Chicago" at a Holiday Inn and recalled the long gone musical strips of New Orleans along Canal Street and Jackson Avenue. "This gig is my gig for Wardell and the people in New Orleans," he said. "This ain't coming from the government. This is people caring about people."
Since Hurricane Katrina only 10 % of New Orleans musicians have returned home. Last week I asked Wardell why he came back. He said New Orleans is home, it is where he belongs. On one summer night in Chicago Wardell Quezergue belonged to us. We heard how the heart arranges music. And because of that all we are enriched for our next visit to New Orleans.
Later on this week visit my FAVORITE LINKS to learn more about New Orleans.
Money magazine recently named Naperville, Ill. as one of the top two places to live in America. Naperville is a suburb of roughly 140,000 about 40 miles west of Chicago.
At the same time Naperville received this honor, the Bob Evans restaurant in Naperville closed down.
Both stories were front page news on the July 18 edition of the Naperville Sun.
Money magazine gave Naperville its props for its Riverwalk (think San Antonio in the prairie), Centennial Beach (a beautifully restored quarry that was a WPA project) and its top notch school system. I was a product of that school system. My parents still live in Naperville.
They are Bobheads, real Bob Evans regulars.
The thing about Naperville and perhaps Fort Collins, Colo. (which was number one on the Money list) is that how transitory the city has become. Naperville is an extremely upscale professional community, where many residents hang around for five or six years and move on.
It's not only difficult to lay down roots, its hard to FIND roots.
And Bob Evans was the slow roadside diner in a fast paced suburb.
Many hip Chicago restaurants are now opening eateries in Naperville. Bob Evans is a lot of things. But it is not hip. It is not even ironically hip like White Castle.
I saved Kathy Millen's fine story in the Naperville Sun. Her dispatch quotes several old timers and there's a picture of an elderly couple in a booth who were going to Bob Evans regularly for the last 23 years. The woman in the picture is waving her finger with fierce instruction. Her husband is obidiently sitting across from her wearing one of those brightly colored baseball caps that probably say "Suddenly Senior." They are not my parents. Millen reported the homespun chain closed the Naperville location because of "declining sales and profits over a period of time."
In other words, Naperville is losing its senior population.
I never got Bob Evans, and I would tease my parents about that. Now that it is gone, maybe I get it a little more. At Bob Evans, people got a real return on their dollar. This spoke volumes to the declining number of Depression-era regulars.
Bob Evans has the Shroomin' Onion Cheeseburger, Fishermen's Fried Cod, Pot Roast Sandwich (slow-roasted beef, carrots, onions and American cheese piled as high as the Sears Tower on grilled sourdough.) I told a friend about how my parents will be missing Bob and she said, "Oh, there's other places." No, there's no other places like this. You can get a honkin' martini in Naperville, but you can't get Golden Cornmeal Mush (two slices of fried cornmeal mush with choice of meat)---discounted at Bob's for "Our Friends 55 and over."
In the fall of 2003, I broke away from a Farm Aid concert in Columbus, Ohio to check out The Bob Evans Homestead Museum and Craft Barn just off of U.S. 35 in Rio Grande, Ohio, (pop. 750) about 95 miles south of Columbus. The museum is part of a rolling 1,110 acre farm that was the home of Bob, his wife Jewell and their six children between 1953 and 1970. The museum is in the red brick farmhouse where Bob invited neighbors to try out his sausage, which he liked to say was "made by a farmer on the farm." The recipe is still used today, and while it remains a secret, I do know that Evans sausage includes all of the hog, including the hams and tenderloins, black pepper and sage.
I bet this is part of what people talk about at Bob Evans, but I'm not sure. The Naperville store opened in 1984 and truthfully I only went there a couple of times with my parents. I couldn't even get past Bob's "General Store", which was stocked with hopeless stuffed animals, candy and the smell of potpourri. Nothing warms you up for dinner like a hospital gift shop.
Like a fine meal, diversity is essential to the quality of life of any American city. My hunch is that a city without Bob Evans is a city without many seniors and that is too bad. The strengh of a tribe is in its elders and I now think about that as I drive by the empty Bob Evans in Naperville, Illinois.
Pop-rock singer Gene Pitney died on April 5.
I was on the road and unable to weigh in on his obituary. Unless you're Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie, news moves faster than when Gene was turning out the hits; "Town Without Pity" (1961), "Twenty Four Hours From Tulsa," (1963) "It Hurts To Be In Love" (1964) and "Princess In Rags" (1965).
In 1964 Gene even dipped into the songbook of spaced out rock savant Joe Meek, when he had a minor hit with Meek's cheery "Lips Were Redder On You." Check it out.
Gene died of natural causes in his hotel room after a show in Cardiff, Wales. I don't have any obit in front of me, but he had been all over the world. He knew the reward of travel was understanding the warmth of home.
I caught up with Gene in August, 1988. He was living in his hometown of Somers, Conn. He had lived there his entire life. He told me how he spent his teenage summers slinging burgers as a cook at the Crystal Lake Beach Club in Stafford Springs, down the road from Somers. He was the leader of a high school rock band called Gene Pitney and the Genials and they played some of his earliest hits.
He enjoyed reliving those memories.
During the late 1960s and early 1970s the beach club fell into serious disrepair. Connecticut winters were cold and beach clubs weren't as cool as they were earlier in the decade. So in 1974 Gene and a New York cop took over operations of the club and restored it to its innocent splendor.
"And I don't wander around with a hat on and say I'm the owner," Gene told me. "I paint the fences, I do the plumbing, I do the electrical work. The ballroom part of the clubhouse, which is four stories high off the beach, burned down years ago. Paul Whiteman and Benny Goodman played there in the 1930s. I had my work cut out for me in putting it back together again."
That's the way Gene did things. He was grounded. In 1970 he went off the road to help his wife Lynne raise their three boys. He did not want to miss watching his children grow up. Lynne was his high school sweetheart at Rockville High in Connecticut. And from 1970 until his death he promised to spend at least six months out the year at home. This led to weird speculation. Gene told me, "There's one guy out of New York named Norm N. Nite who wrote a book ["Rock On: The Illustrated Encyclopedia of Rock n' Roll] that people take as a bible. In the first edition he wrote that Gene Pitney was a recluse living somewhere in the wilds of New England. Then they put out another edition and he changed it to: 'Gene Pitney is a recluse living somewhere in Europe.' I've been sitting here in Somers all along."
Gene was a major talent. His dramatic tenor influenced David Bowie. He could have replaced Roy Orbison in the Traveling Wilburys. I only saw him come through Chicago once, at a 1983 concert at the Park West. Besides his own hits, he wrote "Hello, Mary Lou" for Rick Nelson, "Rubber Ball" for Bobby Vee and "He's a Rebel" for the Crystals.
Gene had a million road stories, but one of the best ones was when he hooked up with Phil Spector during the Rolling Stones' "Not Fade Away" sessions in 1964. "Andrew Oldham was my publicist and he was also manager of the Stones," Gene said. "I stopped in London on my way out of Paris."
Cool!
"Andrew said he needed my help," Gene recalled. "The record company was screaming for another release and the Stones were in the studio, but they would not sing, nor would they even talk to each other. They hated each other. So a friend and I concocted this story---we had five fifths of Cognac we were bringing back from Paris. We took a fifth and went to the studio. Phil Spector arrived out of the blue in this big Rolls-Royce. I told everyone it was my birthday, and it was a family tradition that everybody has a water glass of Cognac. It did the trick. Everybody mellowed out and they got 'Not Fade Away' (originally recorded by Buddy Holly) out of the session. I loved the credits. They gave Phil credit for playing maracas. He was actually playing an empty Cognac bottle with a half-dollar."
Gene could tell jet-setting stories like that, but his heart was always back on the beach of his hometown, a place where the chords were always sweet and the skies were perfectly clear. Everyone has a place like that. Gene Pitney's good fortune was that he knew where it was.
The Lite House is too crowded.
The Golden Apple is too far.
Mickey's Diner in St. Paul is a good call, but when does the train leave?
Its hot. Chicago Avenue is sizzling like bacon.
Its quiet.
Even the cats in the alley aren't screeching.
You can hear the dream jukebox from a distant diner:
1. Diner, Martin Sexton
2. Eggs and Sausage, Tom Waits
3. A Chicken Ain't Nothin' But A Bird, Louis Jordan
4. Don't Put Ketchup On My Toast Bread, Park Central Squares (Springfield, Mo.)
5. Do Fries Go With That Shake?, George Clinton
6. Pass The Peas, J.B.'s
7. Hot Dogs and Hamburgers, John Mellencamp
8. Red's, The Morells (Springfield, Mo.)
9. Cheeseburger In Paradise, Jimmy Buffett
10. Hot Dog, That Made Him Mad, Wanda Jackson (but Carolyn Mark's version is pretty hot..Bloodshot)
11. It Ain't The Meat, It's The Motion, Southside Johnny & The Asbury Jukes
12. Raindrops In My Coffee, Sexsmith & Kerr
13. The Ghosts of Saturday Night, Tom Waits
14. No Free Lunch, Green On Red
15. Rib Tips (Parts 1 & 2), Andre Williams & His Orchestra
16. Black Coffee, Bobby Darin
17. Sugar Town, Nancy Sinatra
18. Stir It Up, Johnny Nash
19. Jelly, Jelly, Doc Pomus
20. Sugar, Sugar, Wilson Pickett
21. Polk Salad Annie, Tony Joe White
22. Mama Had A Stove, Stan Ridgway
Always come to a complete stop when you come to a stoplight.
On Monday I put the finishing touches on this weekend's Travel column dedicated to the charms of Mickey's Diner in St. Paul, Minn. The 67-year-old diner bookmarks the heartwarming Robert Altman film "A Prairie Home Companion," filmed entirely in St. Paul.
I had not seen the movie and felt I should before the story went to press. The film's thesis is how the cast of the popular radio show gathers for one last time before the Fitzgerald Theater in St. Paul is sold to a coldblooded Texas developer, played by one of my all time favorites, Tommy Lee Jones. There was no better place to catch this film than the storied Lake Theater in downtown Oak Park. I see several movies a year at the Lake and I always take Lake Street out of the city instead of trying to fight traffic on the Eisenhower Expressway.
It was around 6:30 p.m. and I was dodging the potholes on Lake Street while listening to sports talk radio. Sometimes I'm drinking a bottle of Mountain Dew as I drive, jotting down ideas for future stories or eating an Italian beef sandwich. I was doing none of this as I approached the intersection of Lake and Pulaski. I had made a complete stop at the stoplight. Just as the light turned green, I stalled for a heavenly second. From my right side, one beat up car raced through the intersection followed by a black car whose front left end was smashed up. They didn't see me. The cars were going way too fast for me to notice their make or license plates.
But I did notice the guy in the back seat of the black car.
He was shooting at people in the first car.
He was leaning out the window with left arm extended and a pistol in his left hand. There were several loud shots before the two cars raced away south on Pulaski. Wow. I just got back from the Badlands and I didn't see any of this! I've lived in the city for 22 years and only one other time have I witnessed something so jolting, and that was the slumped over body of a drive by shooting in Wicker Park before Wicker Park was cool. One more ill-advised second at Lake and Pulaski and I either would have been shot or I would have stopped the chase by way of an automobile accident. Is this all Neil Steinberg would have had to work with?:
"Beloved travel writer shot to death on West Side en route to see "A Prairie Home Companion?"
That just doesn't sound right.
But, like travel and the theme of the movie, life spins around certain destiny. A song finds a voice, an angel finds a diner. The horizons of travel can be stretched close to home. Once I settled into my seat at the Lake, the movie cut deeper and I was surprised how much I thought of the friendly souls I met at Mickey's Diner a couple of weekends ago.
I did not take Lake Street back into Chicago. I drove down Chicago Avenue. The evening was unseasonably cool so I rolled down my car window. I turned down my radio. I heard the ribald street chatter of boys trying to be men. I could smell the West Side barbecue and hot links. All the stoplights were green.
And I was alive.
I don't know anybody who doesn't like Milwaukee.
Chicago is surely Oprah and Milwaukee is Laverne and Shirley. I took a day trip across the border on Saturday to see my friend Paul Cebar and the Cubs, in that order. Much to my surprise the Saturday night Cubs game was a sellout, attracting more than 42,000 people to Miller Park. People were standing and cheering like the Cubs were in some kind of pennant race. What were these people thinking? Or drinking? It was pure fantasy. And campy.
I built in enough time on my day trip to visit Brewtown's fine antique stores and buy more campy crap that litters my apartment. Paul took me and my friend Chris to the Usual & Unusual Antique Center on the lower level of the Walker's Point Antique Center, 1134 South 1st St. (414-383-3559). The place was filled with bizarre stuff you would only find in a retro town like Milwaukee.
I picked up a yellow and red plastic Maraca Rum-Ba Cup that shakes like a maraca when you drink from it. It is a souvenir of The Arc in Glenview, Ill. Does anyone know anything about this place? The Arc's motto was "Your return is our concern." It says so right here on the cup. And for $12 and some change I bought a politically incorrect Indian totem decanter with little cups along the sides. That's all I will say about that. A lifelong Milwaukeean, Paul Cebar is a master at finding these places. He took us to the top level of the Walker Point building where they have an outstanding collection of bowling shirts, suitcoats, goofy hats, etc. The prices were more affordable than in Chicago, St. Louis or even Madison.
I had to get back to Chicago on Sunday, but Paul Cebar and his fine rhythm and blues/Afro Cuban/rock band played the final day of Summerfest. It was the 20th Anniversary Show of Paul Cebar and the Milwaukeeans. Their first gig was at Summerfest '86 after Paul and vocalist Robyn Pluer left the popular R&B Cadets to form the Milwaukeeans.
Paul looks at music just as he looked at stuff in the antique center: with adventure, humor and boundless affection. I've known Paul for all of those 20 years and I've never heard him talk cynically of his peers or dismiss any cultural aesthetic. While wandering around the antique center, he told me how he missed performing at Frankie's Blue Room in Naperville. Most cultural tastemakers would dismiss Frankie's, probably best known for embracing the late '90s swing dance movement. [I did see a Cate Brothers show at Frankie's that drew about 20 people.] But Paul saw Frankie's through a different prism. He saw Naperville as a city that was trying to break away from the long shadow of Chicago to create its own identity. Paul's expressive soul finds good in all the dusty corners of the world. I've learned things from hanging around him and I'm proud to call him my friend. I wish him another 20 years of new music.
I may decide to follow the Milwaukee Brewers for the second half of this baseball season. I'll leave the Cubs rants to my friend Roman, but I will share the pre-and-post game baseball secret that beats anything at Wrigley Field or The Cell. On Saturday, our time hanging out at the 4th Base, 5117 W. National (414-647-8509) before and after the game was more fun than the game itself.
The 4th Base has fine porterhouse steaks, Cajun shrimp, broccoli, linguini, etc. The food is outstanding. The bartenders are Wisconsin Friendly and the waitresses are flirtatious. The baseball decor is capped off by a faded 1973 Ernie Banks poster that hangs near the men's room and the artifical leg from late Brewers manager Harvey Kuenn which hangs above the bar. The former Cubs catcher led the Brewers to the 1982 World Series. That team was known as "Harvey's Wallbangers." That World Series remains the only World Series I have ever seen.
After a pre-game meal at the 4th Base, my ritual is to walk through the park (and Veteran's Hospital) across the street, taking the back door into Miller Park. I've been to 30 major league baseball parks and there is no finer experience than the 4th Base/park/ballgame trifecta. There's a "Brewers Infield Nesting Doll" giveaway (with Prince Fielder, Rickie Weeks, etc) on Sunday July 30. It will be a good time to revisit Milwaukee and see a game that actually counts for something.
