Every Single Life

In a stark reminder of what it takes to come home and stay, musician Dinerral Shavers was killed yesterday while driving down Dumaine with his wife and children. A drummer, music teacher and part of the city we cannot afford to lose, he was gunned down with the senseless violence stalking New Orleans in ever-increasing statistics.

"Every time you saw him, he was the same person with a great smile," said fellow musician James Andrews. "A wonderful person with plenty of encouraging words. He was going to make it, too.

"He wasn't stingy with trying to teach the kids his stuff. He was a great drummer.

"And through the Hot 8 his music will live on forever. Through New Orleans," James said.

One of Dinerral's band members has been staying in the NOmrf apartment when he comes back to town to work, and he had been happy that the band's gig phone got turned back on over Christmas.

The Hot 8 was most recently known for their second line through the Ninth Ward with David Gregg Andrews in Spike Lee's When the Levees Broke." His mother's home was the one in the movie that floated across the street and landed in her neighbor's yard. Her quote from the movie was that he can't say she never gave him anything.

James is right - Dinerral was going to make it. His band was working on an album and his students are going to march for Mardi Gras - the first marching band the school has ever had, thanks to his teaching efforts.

Seven New Orleans policemen were just indicted for shooting civilians on a bridge post 8/29. Drummer Scott Sherman died under mysterious circumstances in that area. His brother Chris was first told by the coroner's office that Scott was shot in the head, then later told something else. Regardless of the circumstances, he's gone. Their last gig was Dr. Specs Optical Illusions with my husband at Mystic Knights of the Mau Mau party, summer 2005.

I kept passing signs this week on the way to the French Quarter. Rev. John C. Raphael Jr. and his son are on a hunger strike and they stand with their supporters between the lines of traffic holding signs that simply say, "Enough."

The story of Dinerral's slaying was covered locally, and combined with news of the other murder last night. A man whose 9-month pregnant girlfriend was left grieving at the scene.

Let's hope for the day when New Orleans murders no longer happen with the frequency that requires more than one killing per story.

Most international news bureaus have closed their New Orleans offices. I was told off the record by a national outlet not to bother pitching any story with the words second line, devastation or Katrina because the public is no longer interested. So we've been trying to slip around the picket line with "Redefine 8/29." Because I am tired of how hard the rest of the country is working to forget the post-disaster struggle from day to day.

With 2007 approaching, let us hope for the day when the national media again picks up the story of every single life lost in our city.

Every. Single. Life.

A Bad Day in New Orleans is Better Than a Good Day Anywhere Else

Call me a starry-eyed returnee, if only for a week, but a bad day in New Orleans is still better than a good day anywhere else. We earned this visit driving through fog that eventually had one foot of visibility on Sunday night.

Monday was the holiday party at Crepe Nanu. I put such a dent in the shrimp I’m probably barred from attending next year. That’s part of being land-locked and shrimp deprived. Bill Davis of Dash Rip Rock talked me into doing Ooh Aahs on “Chain Gang” with We Are The Pretenders, much to the alarm of my husband on bass. (Little plug, they’re playing tonight (23rd) at the Howlin Wolf.) And Frankie Ford represented for young harpists.

The evening descended into Russian Roulette Karaoke with some quality Baby Baby Don’t Get Hooked On Me. Singing anywhere near Susan Cowsill is daunting as she harmonizes better than any carbon based life form on the planet. Alex Chilton was too wise to get anywhere near karaoke.

Tuesday was the Maple Leaf with owner Hank who held down the fort uptown during the height of post-8/29 chaos and never did evacuate. He’s talking about getting a mega-generator for future preparedness. Then on to Jacquimo’s for alligator cheesecake, steak and crème brulee. Jack was making the rounds with his own mini-tree, and the next table over was singing four part harmony for no discernable reason.

Miss Elaine shouted “Felice Navidad” to the kitchen staff on the way out and they hollered back like it was a festival. Then to Snake and Jake’s Christmas Club Lounge for a couple of Abitas on the house. The midwest isn’t big on free drinks, even if you make a big stink about being an evacuee. It’s getting expensive.

Wednesday was torrential rain all night. Water started rising and cars were back on the neutral grounds. Houses started flooding and the mood dropped. The pumps still aren’t up to par, but no one was talking about what this spring could bring.

Thursday was more rain, dropping off our RE-Define 8/29 shirts off at RetroActive on Magazine and NOmrf landlord Dave cooking for the neighborhood. The rain finally subsided.

And today was paperwork for a donated van from Michal and her husband. NOmrf is passing it along to a brass band. Tonight, I toured the holiday lights on Saint Charles, the French Quarter, then Lakeview.

It was so depressing seeing a still-dark Lakeview that it took Cajun eggnog daquiris and the Creature from the Black Lagoon to turn things around.

Self-medicating? Hell yes. But only as a passenger. Apparently there's a lot of it going around, going by the rising number of light poles knocked over. They’re tilted like stalks of corn in the wind. But then everything looks like corn to me these days.

A Very Myspace Holiday

It's a very MySpace holiday, with more friends still reachable in the virtual world than with an actual address.

The good news is, there are fewer Christmas cards to send out, which freed up today for watching the Saints kick ass. (Who Dat Download)

As Jeff has gigs this week, we're back from Illinois and camping out in the New Orleans Musicians Relief Fund apartment. Musicians who have passed through have helpfully left a roll of wrapping paper, a bible and Bass Player Magazine.

The spirit of Christmas has been alive all year with Dave and Molly Wilson in Baton Rouge. Jeff met Dave 2 years ago working on Walter Williams' Mr. Bill Wetlands Awareness
(Series), and even though our family barely knew them, they offered my in-laws an evacuation location on 8/29.

Five people, two dogs, two birds and a canary were welcomed unconditionally, and as FEMA trailers finally materialized for most of the family, Jeff's mom Gloria, her dog, cat and canary are still in Baton Rouge 16 months later.

As incentive for her to move up to Bloomington, I've sent photos of free sleigh rides in the snow around the town square, the masquerade ball for NOmrf across the street, and free gingerbread house workshops at Kelly's (I've got the Abominable Snowman attacking mine, with a graham cracker peace sign in the back yard), but she's happy in Baton Rouge until the elusive Road Home grants reach our family.

We gave Gloria back the family's antique bedroom set so she and the canary could wake up to something familiar, and Dave has devoted himself to restoring furniture, jewelry and every family photo that was retrievable.

He's worked on so many family photos, he can now pick Jeff's baby picture out of a lineup. And he came up with the idea of putting our family piano photo online as a fund-raiser for musicians.

So the couple who started out as acquaintances are now part of our family.

In this holiday season, as we all wait for our court-ordered FEMA explanation letters of why there will not be renewed rental assistance, it's good to have a reminder of the love and support that is still out there for those who have been blessed enough to find it.

A New Suit

Last night a New Orleans musician friend got so disgusted after a disappointing gig he threw his suit in the garbage. I can't disclose his name, or at future shows fans would be wondering if he's wearing the garbage suit.

His wife fished it out before any real damage was done, but it's an example of the lids about to blow for many musicians struggling to get by during the holidays.

Promises dangle but are not fulfilled. Most international news agencies have closed their local bureaus. The Road Home Program has now distributed a whopping 65 grants out of 88,000 applicants. Many national assistance groups have moved away from giving grants and have moved on to raising awareness.

You can't eat awareness.

Some gigs are sparsely attended as 60 percent of evacuees (depending on which survey you give credence to) are still not back and a third of the returnees are considering moving away. It's almost as if the (_________) is trying to (__________) the city -- insert theory of choice because there are too many to sort through and most of them are probably true.

Not exactly a party atmosphere if you go by the numbers, but the party is still lurking in New Orleans. We just got to town and in late December friends are already talking about Mardi Gras costumes, concerts, and carnival cd releases.

The musicians who have made it home are trying to hang in there until the world's biggest free party comes back to town. And their out-of-town brethren write me about wanting to come back home if rents start to drop.

A.J. Piron's was one of the many jazz greats who made his way from New Orleans to the north in the 1920s. When his band members got tired of the cold and the changes in lifestyle, they voted on whether to go back home.

Piron lost the vote and his band left Harlem in the heyday of jazz. New Orleans music has that kind of pull. And it hasn't thrown away its gig suit just yet.

To help keep the music rolling tonight in Boulder, Henry Butler and friends are hosting a NOmrf benefit for Freddie "Shep "Sheppard" of recent Studio 60 fame. Shep started playing music while still a junior high student in the late 1950s.

He bought his first saxophone coin by coin, with his mother who then worked as a maid, chipping in a dollar for every quarter he earned. The result was a $200 horn from Werlein's Music Store on Canal Street. "It was old and raggedy," he says, "but I didn't know it. It looked so good to me.” Shep now lives in Phoenix, Arizona.

Since the year is winding down, I'd like to pay tribute to legends we have lost recently including Timothea Beckerman who I wish I had met sooner, Warren Bell, Sr., Charlie Brent, Marshall Seahorn and Mike Frey, Jr. - the 28 year old bass player killed in the French Quarter on the way home from a gig. All are gone too soon.

The Whole Civilized World

In Which Back Yard Tire Fire Learns Crack Alley

I’ve lived in Bloomington for a year as of today, with no prospects of moving home. It must be harder still to make it back to New Orleans and know you can’t stay unless something changes.

I read in NOLA.com that out of the 40 percent who have come back to New Orleans, 30 percent are considering moving in the next two years. That’s constantly reflected in talks with musician friends. Aside from those whose name recognition and touring have increased post 8/29, they sound more worried with each call. They made it back - but for how long with tourism down and crime up? The Road Home is now up to 65 grants out of the billions they were given to pave it.

There's a chain letter circulating that says 58 percent of Americans do not think New Orleans should be rebuilt. It may be true, but it doesn’t stop the draw of home. A grant recipient just wrote, “I can't tell you how much it means to me to know somebody cares. Since the price of gas heating is so high here in Ky. this will help pay my bill. I want to go home but its hard to find a place to live down there.”

Most of NOmrf’s grants go to musicians you probably never heard of stuck in towns I’ve never heard of. An artist’s manager recently told me backstage that “this is the best thing that’s happened to some of these old timers. They’re getting more famous than they ever were.” He’s wrong. No one was better off in the Astrodome and no one is better off now.

Next week, families from around the country are bringing gift cards and volunteering their time in New Orleans. For the second time, we’ll have a trunk full of instruments from WGLT, the NPR station in Bloomington.

Some musician friends in Back Yard Tire Fire are playing a benefit for the local homeless shelter tomorrow night before we drive south. They learned Barry Cowsill’s “Crack Alley” so my husband Jeff can join them on the song. Barry was Jeff’s bandmate in the Stragglers, and he’s a friend we lost to 8/29. It’s strange to think that Back Yard Tire Fire is keeping Crack Alley alive.

Tomorrow is also Jeff’s birthday and we finally have enough friends here to throw a small pre-show party before walking up the street to the show. The charity had reservations about “Crack Alley” benefiting a homeless shelter, but I think Barry would have enjoyed the juxtaposition. A year ago, the same Salvation Army not only let us gather winter clothes to send home to friends and family, they got a list of everyone’s sizes and helped us fill the basket. Bloomington is supportive that way.

It may be a midwestern legend, but rumor is that we live in the building where Abraham Lincoln was talked into running for the presidency. That’s probably true, because there’s a copper plaque at the antiques mall listing of all his failures. It cost $1,100 so I just committed a few to memory. Apparently you can free the slaves, but there will still be a plaque somewhere about everything you didn’t do.

At the same antiques mall, I bought collectible cards about the San Francisco fire’s aftermath. We were supposed to be furniture shopping, but at least I didn’t buy all the disaster cards. That would have indicated that I’m fixated on disaster. Here’s what some of them said on the back:

“The soldiers are just leaving duty from among the refugees at Ft. Mason and returning to their camp at the Presidio . . . But for the gallant services of the government troops crime and looting would soon have become rampant;

“This structure was one of the finest built by the Y.M.C.A. Organization and like other buildings, whether church, saloon or theatre, had to succumb to Nature’s will;

“The wealthy were on the same level with the lowly once more, for when they fled their palatial homes or houses into the streets, they were almost naked and without money, and as helpless to get away as the poorest beggar. For many days after the catastrophe many well educated ladies could be seen in the parks, dressed in overalls and striped sweaters, or in other coarse masculine garb,” (I ended up in donated pink socks as I only packed sandals, and kept being surprised by my pink feet.);

“With spontaneity and liberality without a parallel in history the whole civilized world answered the unvoiced appeal of ruined San Francisco. Not only from every city, town and hamlet in this country, but from over every sea humanity in its profound sympathy showered material aid upon the stricken city and its beggared people. No more amazing instance of worldwide generosity ever has been recorded.”

The disaster cards made me wish New Orleans still had spontaneity and liberality from the whole civilized world. Or at least the 42 percent who care.

Thanks for Timothea and the Blues

A year ago today I was being kicked out of a FEMA room while running a holiday toy drive for New Orleans musicians' children.

The hotel manager made us bring our credit card down to cover the room, then we headed out to collect toys. My husband called WGN with the story, and by the time we got back the hotel manager tried to get us to stay until March. But we left the next day. Thanksgiving in an Illinois snowstorm.

I was still thankful enough that we had lived through 8/29 and our families were safe and healthy that I wrote a letter to the editor in Lake Forest thanking the people we had met for their hospitality. A realtor later read the letter and offered us a free home for a year.

That was the day after we moved into our current apartment. A glimpse into how my timing's been working out.

A year later, and it's Thanksgiving again. I've heard friends from New Orleans come up with the thinnest excuses for thanks in the last year, the pinnacle was, "I was lucky. Not everything got wet." In the face of that, you lose your capacity not to find room for gratitude.

I'm thankful that my husband wrote a note on the inside door saying, "I am crazy, I am here and I will shoot you" with a stick figure being shot in the head by a giant gun. Then he nailed the door shut from the inside with 2 by 4s. All this seemed excessive at the time, but the neighbors got looted and we didn't.

That's what's hard. Everything you're thankful did not happen to you did happen to loved ones. There is no schadenfreude.

This Thanksgiiving is grim because of jazz siren Timothea. NOmrf had given her grants to get north, then to get further north. I talked with her for a story in the fall, but was waiting until she felt better to finish it.

The last time I talked to her she had just called FEMA asking for help but was told she didn't qualify because she wasn't back in New Orleans yet. She said, "I told him, I'm not back because I got sick. I said, so you're just gonna let me die? He said 'there ain't nothing I can do about it.' He was the meanest man I ever met in my life."

Touring at 12, two kids before the age of 18 and an appearance in "Down By Law," Timothea came by the blues legitimately. She was excited about finishing a new film score. She called to say, "I don't want to die. I'm only 55. I got so much more music in me and this whole great movie score and I'm not just saying it because I wrote it."

She had Hepititis C.

"When I get better, I'll speak and tell you how bad it can get," she said. "Nobody ever told me it can enter your lungs. They won't give me a lung transplant until the liver one. It's just the challenge of living and living calmly."

I talked to her about trying to rest, but probably wasn't much help because we were both crying for most of the conversations.

"I've been an independent woman all my life and I want to continue it. But you can't if you have 10 dozen worries on your mind. I'm homesick like everybody else, but I can't go home. I've got to stay inside. And I don't have portable oxygen anyway." I told her everything would be okay.

Timothea died waiting for her liver transplant. She never did make it home.

Bluesman Bryan Lee came through Bloomington Saturday and we were able to pass along WGLT's replacement amp built for him. We told him about losing Timothea and he played some smoking blues. It helped a little.

I'm thankful for Bryan. I'm thankful that a talent like Timothea was in this world.

But to put it in New Orleans terms, I'm not quite ready for Thanksgiving, me.

Is FEMA Still Paying Your Bills?

When our local Illinois Red Cross volunteer asked me last week, "Is FEMA still paying your bills?" I knew how bad the Katrina preconceptions had gotten.

In the middle of the night, I woke up and thought of changing the definition to 8/29 for another chance to open the dialogue as an evacuee. The RE-Define 8/29 campaign attempts to open a new dialogue about the flood's after-effects, without the negative associations that have started to follow those of us who are still displaced.

It's about redefining what it feels like to still be far from home with no return in sight.

Hundreds of the musicians our grass-roots charity, the New Orleans Musicians Relief Fund (www.nomrf.org) helps are now located in towns where their music is largely unknown. Many of our grants go to Houston where New Orleans musicians who had nothing to do with the rise in crime have been labeled "Katricians." Texas alone has absorbed a quarter of a million New Orleaneans who have no home to return to. Georgia houses another 100,000.

We're working to RE-define 8/29 by changing the dialogue about the biggest forced migration since the Dust Bowl. Our definition of 8/29, 2005 is that it was the last day most displaced New Orleaneans could go home.

The RE-Define 8/29 campaign is also about dropping preconceptions of Katrina victims buying designer purses with their FEMA money. It's about displaced musicians needing NOmrf grants to quite literally survive. They still face problems including lack of proper health care and not making enough money to support their families. Many are still trying to replace their gear and CD merchandise.

The national media has passed us by. That's why re-framing the language and letting go of Katrina preconceptions is a start in helping the musicians who have not made it home.

Eighty thousand families in Louisiana are still living in FEMA trailers. Not enough low income housing is available in New Orleans for most musicians to return. NOmrf offers an apartment for returning musicians on a rotating basis, but we would like to offer more.

Barriers to coming home include the fact that the $10.4 billion Road Home CDBG program does not apply to renters. Out of the 77,000 homeowners who applied for the CDBG funds, 28 people have received grants. Amnesty International USA is campaigning against the demolition of viable low-income housing.

Re-Define 8/29 is about emphasizing the need for safeguarding the musicians who do make it back to New Orleans. When a 28-year old bass player was shot and killed on his way home from a French Quarter gig, his father asked that donations be made in his memory to help other musicians.

"What Becomes of the Brokenhearted by the dB's, my husband¹s old band, is the official download for the campaign. (www.thedbsonline.net).

Anyone interested can help RE-Define 8/29 by making NOmrf part of your holiday purchases. A year in the making, we finally have merchandise. Everything from a RE-Define 8/29 Beer Stein to prints of what remains of my mother-in-law¹s family piano. (www.cafepress.com/nomrf).

Top 10 of the Displaced Year

The month before Katrina I quit my job, totaled my car and the cat died.

There are hundreds of thousands of Katrina exile stories and that's the start of mine. The day before the levees broke I was visiting family on a week-long vacation when it became apparent that my husband and I weren’t going home any time soon. After cashing out the 401K, we stayed out on the road for four months bouncing between family, friends and FEMA rooms.

We went on morning shows across the country talking about displaced New Orleaneans and I sang a version of “It’s Raining,” that I would not want Irma to hear. Ever. But it seemed to get the point across. We downloaded some of the thousands of digital photos from home as background - I didn’t have any photos of the wreckage until we came back.

As we received text messages from our musician friends around the country, Jeff and I founded the New Orleans Musicians Relief Fund, Inc. The 501c(3) tax-deductibility was achieved between Starbucks internet connections and many, many e-faxes. It came through just as Wilco did a fund-raiser in Chicago and NOMRF was able to start sending out cost of living grants to displaced musicians. NOMRF has sent out hundreds of grants so far and may go out in a blaze of glory if donations dry up, but for now people around the world are still reaching out.

Being displaced ourselves made for strange interviews - whenever a reporter asked when we were going home, we would turn to each other and start to discuss it. A woman I had never met put us up in Milwaukee for weeks – she left a welcome sign, a bottle of wine and three cats. One was a jerk but it was a cozy place to stay and the scratches have healed.

My brother and sister-in-law put us up in a nicely furnished basement room. At the time they had a bald cat in an orange polka dotted sweater that seemed to run a temperature of 200. She may have had intestinal problems and after each noxious smell everyone would yell “Wendy!” My other brother would drop $50 dollar bills and say they were mine because he’s too polite to offer a loan. I wouldn’t have survived without them.

A commune on Martha’s Vineyard put us up while we went on the Plum TV Network. They kept telling us they weren’t a commune but the communal living indicated otherwise. I didn’t care for the draft from the compost toilet but it is good for the environment. They were very, very kind people as many across the country were at the time. I was looking for a new home.

At one point I called a woman from a housing web site who was offering a 1950’s Winnebego in Maine. Her grandfather had rented it to his tenant for 60 years at $100 a month. “And if you don’t like vegetables just ignore them because grandpa will leave them on your doorstep no matter what. The cows will probably poke their heads in the windows but they’re just curious. They’re more afraid of you than you are of them.”

I was intrigued, but we passed on the farm.

I barely consider myself displaced because we’re home so much, but we did rent an apartment in Bloomington, Illinois because there were no other affordable options in December and I was tired of not getting mail. Our apartment faces a giant courthouse dome with a statue of Lincoln. He sits on a bench and you can lean against him and relax. Sometimes people dress him up and that makes me more homesick than anything else.

The town is throwing NOMRF a Halloween Masquerade and putting beads around the courthouse so that’s encouraging. They have a giant No Racism sign as you drive into town and another one as you drive out in case you forget not to be racist.

And it’s good to be near my father who’s battling Alzheimer’s. Some days I’m his favorite daughter and some days I’m his favorite niece, but so far I’m still the favorite.

We’ve come back to New Orleans for a toy drive, the Anti-Versary, to welcome Joe Topping who walked from Chicago, Jazzfest, Mardi Gras, instrument drive, basically at the drop of a hat. My brother’s hint for making new friends here is “Stop talking about New Orleans.”

Fat chance.

Man on Fire

Man on Fire

My best friend called to tell me her husband is the executor for Malachi Ritscher, the Chicago musician who set himself on fire to protest the war in Iraq.

She and Bruno received the keys to Malachi’s home in the mail on the same day he immolated himself beside the Kennedy Expressway during rush hour. Next to him was a small handmade sign that said “Thou Shalt Not Kill.” By the time they got the note, Malachi was already dead.

I’ll see them tomorrow and hear stories about their friend. Adrienne’s the one who talked me into moving to New Orleans in the first place, and they found us a place to stay in Milwaukee for a month last fall. When she called to tell me the story, it felt incongruis. Like you can be geographically separated from tragedy.

I can't know Malachi’s inner turmoil or mental illness enough to have the right to judge, but part of me is angry with him for a) not waiting until after the election in case it made a difference to him, and b) giving up on life when it’s still a daily struggle for so many New Orleaneans.

Last month a jazz legend NOMRF helped get to Long Island for medical treatment called to tell me, “I don’t want to die. I’m only 75 and I got so much more music in me.”

Malachi was a true lover of music. He was known for giving artists tapes of their shows. Many of his recordings were eventually released commercially as a favor to jazz groups who couldn’t afford studio time. Bruno now has the task of archiving tapes from more than two thousand concerts. He owns a jazz label and is generous with his time so Malachi made a good choice.

Aside from the political statements in Malachi’s self-written obituary, this is how he described himself:

“One of his proudest achievements was an ultra-searing hot sauce recipe, which he registered under the name 'Undead Sauce - re-animate yourself!' It was a blend of tropical peppers, which he grew indoors in 5-gallon buckets, and a few secret ingredients that gave it a unique flavor (pomegranate, pistachio, and cinnamon).

He was a collector of several things: books, records, meteorites, butterfly knives, keris, glass eyes, fossil tully monsters, microphones, medium-base lightbulbs, and instruments, especially snare drums.

He could shave with a straight razor. He loved cinnamon rolls.

His favorite joke was to walk into a room, sniff the air, and observe "it smells like snot in here".

The handwritten manuscript of his 'fictional autobiography', titled "Farewell Tour", was under consideration by publishers. It had a general theme of shared universal aloneness, and was controversial for seeming to endorse suicide after the age of fifty.

He was deeply appreciative for everything that had been given to him, but acutely aware that the greater the present, the higher the price.

Reportedly, his last words were "rosebud... oops". “

When you’re compelled to be that funny in your obituary, it seems you deserve to be where they second line to celebrate your life. I wonder if he would have made it in a town that can absorb mania so gently that sometimes you can forget you’re crazy. He was a member of AA and Mensa.

His self-penned suicide note is less slapstick.

“What does God want? No big mystery - simply that we try to help each other. We decide to make God-like decisions, rescuing falling sparrows, or putting the poor things out of their misery. Tolerance, giving, acceptance, forgiveness.

If this sounds a lot like pop psychology, that is my exact goal. Never underestimate the value of a pep-talk and a pat on the ass. That is basically all we give to our brave soldiers heading over to Iraq, and more than they receive when they return. I want to state these ideas in their simplest form, reducing all complexity, because each of us has to find our own answers anyway. Start from here...”

He ends, being an Illinois boy, with this quote:

"Any people anywhere, being inclined and having the power, have the right to rise up, and shake off the existing government... " - Abraham Lincoln

These were his last written words:

“Without fear I go now to God - your future is what you will choose today.”

Rest in peace, Malachi, and please look up the friends we lost in the last 2 years to drowning, illness, suicide and heartbreak. They are all gone too soon.

"What Becomes of the Broken Hearted" (Benefit song by the dB's)

Six Degrees of Jangle Separation

For all of us who worship REM like gods, there's one more reason to.

Our friend Mike Mills came to jam with the
"New Orleans Musicians Relief Fund All-Stars" James Andrews, Stanton Moore and Craig Klein this summer at Dr. John's benefit for Wardell Quezergue, and he's catching up with them at the Future of Music Coalition gathering this week.

Bass player John Stirrat of Wilco, a NOMRF board member, was also hanging out at our Chicago benefit along with bass player Jeff Beninato, my husband and NOMRF co-founder. Jeff's former alternative band the dB's toured with Mike and REM when they were label-mates. (Photo of Bass Summit above.) I ditched them all in the green room, as it seemed like a good chance for a bass players only conversation.

Speaking of dB's members, Peter Holsapple, now also with Hootie and the Blowfish, just came back to town to help gut former Continental Drifter bandmate Mark Walton's home with Craig Klein's Arabi Wrecking Krewe. Peter lived in Arabi and has relocated to North Carolina with his family.

Yet another dB's member, Will Rigby, is the drummer for Steve Earle who's in town with the FMC. The dB's recorded "What Becomes of the Broken Hearted" (click here) as a download, and it's an amazing version as well as being NOMRF's only merch.

The dB's are described in the Rolling Stone's Alt-Rock-A-Rama history of rock and roll volume in Peter's essay, "The dB's - What Happened?"

It includes how their song about a suicidal teen was pulled from MTV following a rash of unrelated Texas suicides; How record label owner Albert Grossman, former manager of Bob Dylan, died aboard a plane while holding their contract which would have released them to move to a bigger label. It was unsigned. Their potential hit single was the right sleeve but the wrong song - Harold Melvin and the Blue Notes was inadvertantly inserted instead. Peter's essay explaining all of this is one of the classic pieces of rock and roll literature. The original band reunited last year. These guys are troupers.

Jeff and Mike Mills have stayed in touch since the dB's days, and he got the full New Orleans experience while he was in town. Mike went on a tour of the devastation with the Jon from FMC and Craig from the Wrecking Crewe. Today Jon's visiting Wardell and bring him his monthly NOMRF grant from the Dr. John show.

He's lucky to get to hang out with Wardell who told me when I was moping about missing all the rock: "Like they say Karen, sometimes it be's that way."

Even from up in Illinois, NOMRF was well represented all weekend by Board Member Robin Chambless, the city's best stage production coordinator who worked in the time after Voodoo Fest and before Comic Relief.

And it's great to know godfathers of alternative roots music like REM and the dB's and their successors like Wilco are still looking after their Crescent City brethren.

I Can See Lincoln From Here

The month before Katrina I quit my job, totaled my car and the cat died.

There are hundreds of thousands of Katrina exile stories and that's the start of mine. The day before the levees broke I was visiting family on a week-long vacation when it became apparent that my husband and I weren’t going home any time soon. After cashing out the 401K, we stayed out on the road for four months bouncing between family, friends and FEMA rooms.

We went on morning shows across the country talking about displaced New Orleaneans and I sang a version of “It’s Raining,” that I would not want Irma to hear. Ever. But it seemed to get the point across. We downloaded some of the thousands of digital photos from home as background - I didn’t have any photos of the wreckage until we came back.

As we received text messages from our musician friends around the country, Jeff and I founded the New Orleans Musicians Relief Fund, Inc. The 501c(3) tax-deductibility was achieved between Starbucks internet connections and many, many e-faxes. It came through just as Wilco did a fund-raiser in Chicago and NOMRF was able to start sending out cost of living grants to displaced musicians. NOMRF has sent out hundreds of grants so far and may go out in a blaze of glory if donations dry up, but for now people around the world are still reaching out.

Being displaced ourselves made for strange interviews - whenever a reporter asked when we were going home, we would turn to each other and start to discuss it. A woman I had never met put us up in Milwaukee for weeks – she left a welcome sign, a bottle of wine and three cats. One was a jerk but it was a cozy place to stay and the scratches have healed.

My brother and sister-in-law put us up in a nicely furnished basement room. At the time they had a bald cat in an orange polka dotted sweater that seemed to run a temperature of 200. She may have had intestinal problems and after each noxious smell everyone would yell “Wendy!” My other brother would drop $50 dollar bills and say they were mine because he’s too polite to offer a loan. I wouldn’t have survived without them.

A commune on Martha’s Vineyard put us up while we went on the Plum TV Network. They kept telling us they weren’t a commune but the communal living indicated otherwise. I didn’t care for the draft from the compost toilet but it is good for the environment. They were very, very kind people as many across the country were at the time. I was looking for a new home.

At one point I called a woman from a housing web site who was offering a 1950’s Winnebego in Maine. Her grandfather had rented it to his tenant for 60 years at $100 a month. “And if you don’t like vegetables just ignore them because grandpa will leave them on your doorstep no matter what. The cows will probably poke their heads in the windows but they’re just curious. They’re more afraid of you than you are of them.”

I was intrigued, but we passed on the farm.

I barely consider myself displaced because we’re home so much, but we did rent an apartment in Bloomington, Illinois because there were no other affordable options in December and I was tired of not getting mail. Our apartment faces a giant courthouse dome with a statue of Lincoln. He sits on a bench and you can lean against him and relax. Sometimes people dress him up and that makes me more homesick than anything else.

The town is throwing NOMRF a Halloween Masquerade and putting beads around the courthouse so that’s encouraging. They have a giant No Racism sign as you drive into town and another one as you drive out in case you forget not to be racist.

And it’s good to be near my father who’s battling Alzheimer’s. Some days I’m his favorite daughter and some days I’m his favorite niece, but so far I’m still the favorite.

We’ve come back to New Orleans for a toy drive, the Anti-Versary, to welcome Joe Topping who walked from Chicago, Jazzfest, Mardi Gras, instrument drive, basically at the drop of a hat. My brother’s hint for making new friends here is “Stop talking about New Orleans.”

Fat chance.

Like a Bad Neighbor, State Farm Cancels Calendar

Photographer Tony Saluto is my upstairs neighbor. Sometimes he drops by with gourmet chocolates and asks what’s up in New Orleans, so I was glad to hear about his planned Women of State Farm New Orleans Benefit Calendar.

He talked with us about donating some of the proceeds to the New Orleans Musicians Relief Fund. Bloomington has been a supportive community where we moved after being displaced. It's also State Farm Headquarters. When our shutters are open, we can see the neon State Farm sign glowing red into the night.

No good deed goes unpunished, and State Farm’s backlash to Tony’s announcement ended his calendar project. The reporter who covered the calendar was surprised at the vitrolic comments, and soon after the paper changed its comments policy to delete anything overly discourteous.

ARTICLE: Dear readers. . . if you are a regular reader of the comments or a contributor, you have probably noticed that many people take full advantage of their online anonymity to not only speak their minds but also to offend their fellow users.

POST: Thanks wrote on January 11, 2007 8:16 AM:"Now we can comment on stories and not readers. Do you think there is any coincidence that there was a State Farm article and many rude postings were directed towards State Farm employees and now, one day later, The Pantagraph changes procedures?"

This could partially be my fault. I may have implied that if the State Farm did not want to help New Orleans with a calendar, perhaps they could have stopped the storm surge by backing into the gulf with their fat asses which they sit on all day denying claims and fighting lawsuits. The post was called, “Congratulations State Farm, My Mother-In-Law is Homeless.” The comment was censored and I’m glad because State Farm employees may not be out of shape at all.

After all, the company just donated $1.5 million to Bloomington’s YMCA which could only increase their fitness level.

ARTICLE: State Farm Companies Foundation donated $1.5 million for a new family YMCA . . .

POST: Amanda wrote on January 11, 2007 3:23 PM:"anyone else find it interesting that this was released the same day that State Farm was found liable for not paying claims as a result of katrina? Hopefully more local organizations will benefit from this type of pr stunt. Now's the time folks, get your requests into State Farm for donations while the iron is hot and their name and image are tarnished."

And State Farm just brought an Indian outsourcing company to Bloomington. That could lead to new vegetarian restaurants and healthy dining.

ARTICLE: Patni Computer Systems, Inc. opened next to State Farm’s downtown building to service its only Twin City client, said company Vice President Avdhut Nadkarni, who would not mention State Farm by name.

POST: smythe.... wrote on January 17, 2007 7:53 AM:"now we don't have to think of our jobs going "over there" we can see them right in our own downtown!!!!! "

But after settling on the Mississippi lawsuit and anticipating more, maybe there are a lot of would-be State Farmers calendar girls chewing their nails and comfort food – especially after paying about $80 million to 639 policyholders.

ARTICLE: In his closing argument Thursday, one of the Broussards' attorneys, William Walker, said State Farm had breached their contract "in a bad way" by denying their claim. State Farm "acted like a chiseler," he said, adding, "The pocketbook is what they listen to."

POSTS: They didn't pay for the coverage wrote on January 12, 2007 1:14 PM:"I think this is bogus, these people didn't pay premiums for this coverage. The insurer only covers certain things under certain policies, if they would have paid the correct premiums for flood insurance then I agree, but they didn't have to correct coverage so therefore shouldn't get anything. I thinks this is terrible for SF."

good point wrote on January 12, 2007 2:07 PM:"I work at State Farm and your statement is so untrue it shouldn't be posted. If you can please show me these minimal profit margins State Farm made from homeowners. We just posted record profits this year. I got a raise, and people got hoodwinked. We make a substantial amount of our profits off our home-based insurance. Do you even work for an insurance company?"

It’s been an interesting window into the community, but Tony was slammed by many posters like this one:

Saluto IQ???? wrote on January 09, 2007 10:55 PM:"For a person who thrives on word of mouth I wouldn't think it too intelligent to offend 3/4 of the 13,000 people that work at State Farm. Well, I think you managed to do just that. Well done Anthony Saluto.... oh, and good luck finding wedding and family portraits in this town now!! "

If some of the proceeds had been given to the New Orleans Musicians Relief Fund, Tony’s calendar would help recipients like the 7-year old boy who watched his father, a New Orleans drummer, shot and killed in front of him; a living legend trying to save up for a deposit for his Habitat for Humanity home; and a brass band member who is lying in a coma with escalating hospital bills. The calendar would have been done by September.

The following are just some of the avalanche of responses to the Women of State Farm Calendar proposal. Read from bottom to top for chronological order. I'm heading back to New Orleans soon and will be sad to come home to fewer comments.

ARTICLE: He announced his calendar plans last week and quickly received a letter from State Farm, informing him that he couldn’t use State Farm’s name for commercial gain.

SF Employee wrote on January 13, 2007 7:34 PM:"For the ones that are talking bad about the women employees of SF, or should I say SF in generally. You need to know all the facts! This gentleman that wants to use SF women for a calendar is totally out of his mind!!! Let's recall ALL the contributions & MONEY that SF gave to the Katrina victims at the time of need, some of the victims of Katrina where not even policyholders of SF but they received money at their time of need. So before you people on this blog start bad-mouthing us Sf employees know the facts before you start overloading the blogs. P.S. Note the time of this entry and did any of you see Willie Brown in the Pantagraph yesterday for helping out the Y??? What was that donation for ??? Helping ??? I do believe so!!!!!!!!!!!!"

I know Tony wrote on January 13, 2007 12:55 PM:"I know Tony personally and I do not think he is a sleeze, however Im not sure what his goals are by taking these photographs of the State farm employees... Probobly not a smart move on his part, but he isn't a pervert by any means. He's a great guy, and a wonderful grandfather and he does take very amazing pictures. I have never heard of him taking nudes either. I do know that his main subjects are his 2 beautiful grandchildren and his photographs are always beautiful and very tasteful. "

Genius wrote on January 10, 2007 8:28 AM:"For whatever reason (i.e. Katrina), I don't care. This man is a genious. Too bad so many conservatives are opposed (are you the same bunch that bad mouthed Hooters, but now sneak over once in a while?). There definitely is a market for this sort of thing. Playboy has done it with Girls of Starbucks, McD's, Home Depot, Enron and WalMart, not to mention Hooters, issues, and by golly, I don't believe Playboy got sued. Mr. Saluto, congrats...just get a good attorney to research your legal plan, bc the big boys don't like controversy. They want the masses to fear for their private lives and live under the weight of their Code of Conduct (I actually hear Ed is asking the Pope to consider adding it to the Bible). And to all others, there are PLENTY of hotties that work at SF. They could have a new calender every year throughout the millenium and not reuse a single gal.

Rumor Mill wrote on January 09, 2007 3:32 PM:"I heard the provocative spread is going to be titled "Premiums, Policies, and Pantyhose: Intimate Portraits of Insurance Executives." I can't wait!!!! I'm sure this will more than smooth over SF's image problem with the folks in New Orleans."

Bill Lumbergh wrote on January 18, 2007 8:30 AM:""Uh....yeahhhhh...... I'm gonna ask you to go ahead and cancel that calender plan. M'k? By the way... did you get that memo on the TPS reports?""

Ed Jr. wrote on January 18, 2007 12:03 AM:"I work at State Farm there are some fine fine ladies working here i wish he would have finished this project. Lets get some support behing him and try to get this project going again. It's for the good of the people in new orleans anyways they are not going to have a football team to cheer for after sunday so lets get these fine ladies half nude "

hm... wrote on January 17, 2007 10:02 PM:"You'd think with the recent count decision, the pending class action lawsuit, and upcoming investigation by homeland security that the lawyers would have better things to do than worry about a calender. "

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