Sing Us Back Home”: Music, Place, and the Production of Locality in Post-Katrina New Orleans

“Sing Us Back Home”: Music, Place,and the Production of Locality inPost-Katrina New OrleansSara Le Menestrel and Jacques Henry

This paper explores the relationship between place and music in New Orleans. Based onethnographic fieldwork conducted in the immediate aftermath of Hurricane Katrina, itproposes that New Orleans musical practices are shaped by the combination of three

pivotal factors: economic contingencies, a rich interactive network, and a deep-seatedattachment to New Orleans. By focusing on musicians’ agency, we examine how music is

grounded in place, how displacement is incorporated in the place-making process, and thecontestations at stake in the production of locality.

Introduction

Place and music are closely intertwined in New Orleans. Hurricane Katrina and the

ensuing displacement of most of the population and its musicians placed thisrelationship between the city and its music under unprecedented stress. Suchdramatic circumstances also offer a unique occasion for assessing the strength and

nature of these ties and, beyond the particularity of New Orleans, for exploring therelationship between place and music.

Since August 2005, the future of New Orleans music has been both the subject ofgreat concern and a beacon of hope. The relationship between New Orleans and its

musical tradition had long been a topic of scholarly interest, but Katrina injected arenewed sense of urgency. Pre-disaster assessments expressed measured optimism as

to the future of New Orleans music. Reviewing the history of the brass band tradition,jazz scholar, clarinetist, and band leader Michael White asserted that “the

New Orleans tradition of marching street bands will have a future” even though“what this future will be is perhaps only known by the Creator, ancestral spirits, andthe Crescent City herself” (“New Orleans Brass Band” 95). On the basis of her

extensive fieldwork, Helen Regis pointed out that the jazz funeral tradition, a popularmemorial practice, is “continuously being refashioned and re-appropriated for

devotional, commercial, and political purposes” (“Blackness” 752).

ISSN 0300-7766 (print)/ISSN 1740-1712 (online) q 2010 Taylor & FrancisDOI: 10.1080/03007760903086151

Popular Music and SocietyVol. 33, No. 2, May 2010, pp. 179–202

Since Katrina, the entertainment industry has been watched like a barometer of the

state of New Orleans.1 As tens of thousands of distressed New Orleanians werestruggling in their devastated city, the fate of rock and roll icon Fats Domino

marooned in the Lower 9th Ward attracted special attention. Months later, thesuccessful organization of Mardi Gras and the 2006 Jazz and Heritage Festival,arguably two of the most noted events of the New Orleans’ calendar of celebrations,

was held a positive sign for the overall chances of the city’s recovery (Eilperin). Fortheir part, musicians have by and large taken a positive tack even if several tempered

their assessment with realism, resigned fatalism, and the occasional call for heavenlyassistance. If for Allen Toussaint, “the music scene is on intermission right now. I don’t

think it will hurt at all” (qtd in “Toussaint Discusses”), Dr. John still offered to “burnsome candles and pray some prayers” (Hiatt et al.). Michael White expressed a more

nuanced stance: “We have to be optimistic and say, we have transitioned intosomething else, but that something else is an opportunity for it to come back and begreat. . . . It’s tough but it’s all I have to hang on to. You have to continue. Hold your

head up. Be proud. Look for the good part. Express the pain and sorrow through themusic and keep going” (qtd in “Music Returns”).

Scholarly assessments of the structural, political, racial, and historical implicationsof the storm for the city’s musical landscape tend to be more substantial and also more

cautious (Alper 461; Raeburn; Roberts; Sakakeeny 43; Spitzer). Still, there is a widelyshared sense that the future of New Orleans is inextricably tied to the return of the

vibrant music scene that has been part of the city’s definition over the centuries.“When the music comes back, everybody’s gonna come back”: the oft-repeated tagline

rings like a mantra in Louisiana cinematographer Glen Pitre 2006’s documentary onthe Creole identity and music of the Crescent City. “As music helped buildNew Orleans, helped give it a face and a feel, now it is necessary to rebuild the city,”

claims folklorist and radio host Nick Spitzer (305). “If the musicians do not comeback, the culture will die . . . .Music is intrinsic to the way people have lived in

New Orleans, and what the musicians do will have far-reaching consequences for thecity’s future,” warns Bruce Raeburn (219), curator of the Hogan Jazz archive at

Tulane University.Because the situation continues to be in flux as the recovery progresses, early

analyses and predictions were hampered by incomplete data. The ambiguousrelationship between New Orleans and its music further complicates the discussion.Indeed, it is not always clear to what extent the city needs its music to recover or

whether the music needs the city to exist.We believe that one way to contribute to the discussion is to examine the factors

that shape New Orleans musical practices. How do musicians frame their practice andtheir relationship with the city? What made them stay in or come to New Orleans and,

by inference, what could make them return? We inscribe our ethnographic,exploratory look at New Orleans musicians’ experience in the larger context of the

anthropological examination of the relationship between music and place. Scholarlyattention given to “world music” and the circulation of popular music has highlighted

180 S. Le Menestrel and J. Henry

the role of globalizing and hybridizing forces shaping their production and

consumption (Stokes “Music”; Taylor). When local musical production is examined,the views and experiences of the primary agents in the production of music often

appear subsumed to historical and large-scale social processes (colonialism, socialclass, commodification, etc.). To be sure, musicians are not free agents, independentof artistic, commercial, and social forces. Still, by incorporating musicians’ agency,

our look at the localized circumstances of music-making and the musicalreconstruction of New Orleans heeds Stokes’ call for a “mediation of top-down and

bottom-up perspectives” (Ethnicity 5).

Methodology

This research grew out of a long interest in Louisiana musical and cultural

productions, and out of the chaos brought by Hurricane Katrina, which hit NewOrleans and the Gulf Coast on 29 August 2005. We started conducting fieldwork in

September 2005 with the original goal of investigating the factors in the decisions ofevacuees to return or relocate. We interviewed more than 100 evacuees of Hurricanes

Katrina and Rita, and conducted repeated observations of the recovery process over aperiod of twelve months. As a consequence of opportunity sampling and ongoingresearch on musical production in South Louisiana, we collected a substantial amount

of data on the post-Katrina New Orleans music scene. In addition, music wasconstantly presented as an important symbol of the rebuilding of New Orleans. The

interaction between the city and its music both during the recovery process and in theproduction of the city’s distinctiveness seemed to be a good topic to investigate.

Data come from interviews with fourteen professional musicians conducted inLafayette, where many had evacuated, and in New Orleans with those who had

returned. Our informants include New Orleans natives and non-natives who play avariety of musical genres in eight different bands (five are members of one band, theOther Planets), range in ages 25 to 62, and are granted various levels of notability.2

We will use their real names. Additional data on these and other New Orleansmusicians were collected from media sources, websites, documentaries, as well as

observation of concerts, festivals, and conferences.Interview and archival data were then coded and analyzed to reveal the categories

used by our informants to describe their involvement in New Orleans musical scene.Themes and their components were cross-tabulated in a matrix which revealed three

central intersecting factors in the production of New Orleans music, namely economicdimensions, social capital, and sense of place.

Arguably, the attempt to analyze the production of musical locality utilizing datacollected in a disaster situation faces potential methodological hurdles. One centralissue rests with the validity of interview and observation data. In short, are the

opinions, impressions, feelings, judgments about New Orleans and its musical sceneexpressed by informants in the midst and aftermath of Hurricane Katrina acceptable

representations of their pre-event views?

Popular Music and Society 181

Findings of limited social change following a disaster, continuation of pre-event

behavioral patterns, and risk-producing normality arguably contribute to blunting anydistinction made for methodological purposes between pre- and post-disaster

contexts.3 In addition, we believe that the validity of our data is further enhanced by twofactors. One is the call by Stokes (“Place” 98) to study music, musicians, and musicalmeaning in “out of place” situations, pointing to musicians’ translocality and “their

ability to transcend the cultural boundaries of . . . locality.” Although his stance rests ona critique of the anthropological discourse on locality and authenticity, the post-

Katrina exodus of New Orleans musicians offers an adequate example of displacement.Secondly, the conditions described by the musicians themselves evoked a sense of

balance and continuity. Most sought refuge with relatives, friends, and fellow musiciansin familiar locales. Despite the upheaval experienced in their personal and professional

lives, most reported the ability to continue playing gigs, rehearsing, and composing.

Coping with Katrina

Like any residents of the Gulf Coast, musicians’ response to the alarming news of the

impending arrival of a major storm was diverse: some were prepared and willing toevacuate, some left at the last minute, and some stayed to ride out the storm. Most hadplanned to come back after the usual three day-interruption routinely caused by

hurricane warnings.Their destinations mirror the diaspora of Katrina evacuees. Those we interviewed

ended up finding refuge in Louisiana (Baton Rouge, Lafayette, Covington, GrandCoteau, Vidalia, and Jeanerette), in other southern states (Pensacola, Florida,

Birmingham and Gulf Shores, Alabama, Little Rock, Arkansas, and Houston, Texas)or in more distant parts of the country (Washington DC, Northern California). For

those who were on tour, they stayed where they were, be it Belgium, France, Maine, orOhio, waiting to be allowed or able to return home or at least closer to home.

Musicians had to cope with the disaster like other New Orleanians, and they went

through a period of post-traumatic stress. Although none of our interviewees lostloved ones, they experienced various degrees of destruction and damage brought to

their homes, possessions, and memories. Many journalists reported the experience ofthe most prominent such as Fats Domino, Irma Thomas, Aaron Neville, Dave

Bartholomew, Wardell Quezergue, and Henry Butler. Hearing Michael White (“TheEyes of Katrina”) describe the chaos in his flooded Gentilly home, one intimately

grasps the scope of the destruction which extends far past domestic and professionalgoods demolished. Gone were unique documents, among them original sheet music

from jazz pioneer Jerry Roll Morton, a collection of prized instruments includingreeds used by Louis Armstrong, rare recordings, and pictures. In addition, CDcollections, musical equipment, and recordings stored on computers were among the

musicians’ irreplaceable losses.Musicians received emergency public assistance from FEMA, the Red Cross, the

Salvation Army, and various organizations which manned the shelters and facilities


they encountered during the evacuation. In addition to the assistance of friends and

family, a number of hurricane relief organizations were formed to assist musiciansand music industry professionals. They provided lodging, instruments, medical care,

and various administrative services, along with much needed cash to displaced andreturning musicians (Texas Music Office; Tipitina’s Foundation).4

These initiatives faced some criticism based on their perceived favoritism of well-

known artists and the high demands placed on potential recipients. Beyond thesetensions, the relief effort contributed to restoring musicians’ ability to play and

compensating for the interruption of their income. To be sure, all artists experienceddisruption as New Orleans shut down in preparation for Katrina and remained

inaccessible for weeks on. Engagements, recording sessions, music lessons weresuspended for several weeks, even months. Hurricanes Rita in September 2006 and

Wilma a month later added to the chaos by forcing another evacuation and impactingtours already planned.

Indeed, playing and performing were systematically emphasized in musicians’

accounts as their most important goal during the evacuation whether it be for paidgigs, benefit concerts, rehearsing, recording, or just jamming. Beyond the obvious

function of providing them with an income, playing was a strategy for coping with thedismantling of their lives and providing a sense of normalcy. During the first three

weeks of the evacuation, percussionist Anthony Cuccia used his connections in hisnative town, Lafayette, to find gigs for his friends, spending most of his time on the

phone, “just to keep my mind off it . . . .Just that provided some normalcy.” Somebands managed to get back together and went on tour until the city became less

dysfunctional and local venues opened again. Media accounts reported on suchperformances by major New Orleans-based fixtures—Rebirth Brass Band, theOlympia Brass Band, Kermit Ruffin (Carr), Allen Toussaint (Hiatt et al.)—in

New York, Phoenix, Houston in September 2005, four weeks after Katrina.Many musicians reported positive consequences both in terms of recognition

and creativity. Unexpected publicity and offers came the way of veteranNew Orleans musicians. “I’ve got quite a lot of attention since Katrina, and I’m not

knocking it whatsoever—I’m very grateful for it,” New Orleans Queen of Soul IrmaThomas was quoted as saying (Moody). The spotlight was also directed on another

veteran artist, Fats Domino, following his dramatic rescue. He was scheduled toclose the 2006 Jazz and Heritage Festival but health concerns forced him to cancel.Composer-arranger Allen Toussaint, revered in New Orleans but little-known

nationwide, connected with English rocker Elvis Costello and collaborated on arecord The River in Reverse which was nominated for a Grammy music award in

2006. Young and upcoming horn player Troy “Trombone Shorty” Williams has alsoseen his profile much enhanced.

Less-famous musicians also benefited from the wave of compassion, publicity, andbusiness. An experimental punk-jazz group, the Other Planets took advantage of their

forced stay in Lafayette to complete the recording of their Katrina-delayed albumEightballs in Angola. “Yes, I’ve been doing well,” said band leader Anthony in the fall of


2005. “I haven’t really missed—well, I’ve missed a lot of work, but I’ve picked up other

work that’s compensated and probably paid better, much better, than I would havehad I been in New Orleans.”

A year and a half later, back in New Orleans, his post-Katrina situation had notimproved yet was not any worse than before. His revenues depended mostly on hisengagements with the Iguanas, and he was always in search of temporary day jobs.

As for the other band members, Jimbo Walsh was as busy as ever. Lucky enough tohave had his uptown house almost untouched by the hurricane, he was back to his job

at Loyola, involved in many writing projects, and had a new position as a choirdirector at St Anna’s Episcopal Church. Dan Oestreicher, who also plays with the

highly known New Orleans Jazz Orchestra, has been thriving since the hurricane. Theband spent most of 2006 touring all across the country to perform a widely publicized

and successful tour, “New Orleans: Then and Now,” providing him with a comfortableincome.

The Katrina experience has also had profound artistic consequences. One of the

most noted is the new layer of meaning added to old songs about New Orleans andwatery environments. The oft-quoted “Do You Know What it Means to Miss

New Orleans,” a 1947 “sentimental confection . . . by outside professional song writershas become an emotional anthem to the displaced” (Spitzer 307). Songs about the

Mississippi River, rain, floods, or exodus have also been impregnated by a renewedsense of relevance by performers and audiences alike. “Louisiana 1927,” a 1974 song

by Randy Newman about the Great Flood of 1927—widely played since thehurricane—is another example of the new meaning in the light of the present

situation.Some musicians have actually adapted old song material, reinterpreting songs with

new arrangements or lyrics.5 Local tunes have been re-worked—the inevitable classic

“When the Saints Go Marching In,” Bessie Smith’s “Backwater Blues,” or AllenToussaint’s “Yes We Can Can.” Inspired by Marvin Gaye’s piece “What’s Going On,”

the Dirty Dozen Brass Band reprised and named their latest release after his song,adapting its thirty-five-year-old social commentaries to the context of Katrina.

These coping strategies, adjustments, and refashioned music practices were madepossible by the pre-existence of factors that shape the practice of professional

musicians: economic contingencies, networks of relationships, and a strong sense ofplace are essential to understand what make the musicians return and how they havebeen able to restore and maintain familiar patterns of thought and action, despite the

context of disruption.

“Working Music City”

Economic dimensions are ubiquitous when musicians speak of New Orleans, their

musical practice, or their future plans. The overriding topic is the presentation of theiroccupation as a job, a worthy way of making a living. They perform, write, practice,

create, tour to support themselves and their families and expect to be fairly


compensated for their labors whether they play music full time or hold other jobs.

Being a New Orleans musician may be prestigious, fun, a unique experience but it ishard work. Then, as expected in the context of a market economy, the issue of

compensation figures prominently. Musicians often remark on low pay, sporadicengagements, and limited overall income, resulting in musicians’ ability barely to “ekeout a living,” and in some cases working for less than minimum wage. The pay for

“society gigs” (weddings, parties) compensates for the less-paid “late night clubs”engagements.

The fluid and sometimes precarious professional context is strengthened byadaptive strategies. The premier adaptive strategy rests on the numerous

opportunities to play. Gigs were plentiful in Pre-Katrina New Orleans. “We don’tget paid a lot of money, but we do play a lot of jobs in normal times,” offers Lars. Most

musicians report playing in several bands, and performing six to eight times a week,sometimes accumulating three gigs within a single day. This is both a necessity and ablessing since it gives musicians the opportunity to practice their art and to perform

in a variety of genres. Anthony illustrates this eclecticism through his manyinvolvements as a percussionist, and the different needs they meet:

On one hand, I’d do gigs with the Iguanas which might be playing Latin stuffI know, but also a rock and roll gig, and a lot of freedom. It also pays well. I’dalso be doing gigs with Freddie Omar sometimes, which is just like acommercial salsa, meringue kind of a guy, and I’d do gigs with him at theWorld Trade Tower. And I’d do gigs with this other Latin-jazz band called“Otra” . . ..And then there’s the more experimental art music kind of scenewhich I was spending pretty much all of my time doing, and making prettymuch no money at, but it was the coolest part.

Sometimes, such eclecticism can be a source of tension. Dan plays with theNew Orleans Jazz Orchestra and the Other Planets. NOJO is a high-profile big band

that tours worldwide and whose members are required to wear a suit and be seated.By contrast, the Other Planets, confined to the underground, is self-defined as an

“eclectic gonzo musical band ensemble from New Orleans which combines elementsof freak rock, avant-jazz, comedy, social commentary, and electric noise” (The Other

Planets). Although Dan is a fervent critic of the promotion of the stereotyped form ofNew Orleans music, he admits: “I’m not completely blameless in this because NOJO is

one of those bands that perpetuate this myth, but I have to play that gig. It pays fourand five times more than my other gigs do. It’s just economics.”

Another adaptive mechanism consists holding other jobs both musical and non-musical. All of the members of the Soul Rebels brass band had day jobs before Katrina.The leader and drummer, Lumar Leblanc, was a teacher in the Orleans parish school

system and a psychiatrist technician with Ochsner Hospital. Bruce “Sunpie” Barnesworks for the National Park Service. Leah Chase is a vocalist whose parents own the

locally popular restaurant Dooky Chase, located in Treme:


I had three jobs. I worked at this family business, I did personnel, I did payroll, notevery day. I performed and you know that’s always sporadic. But it was a goodsupplement. Then I taught at UNO [University of New Orleans] as adjunct facultyin Jazz Studies. And I also had some students at Tulane. So two or three jobs myhead was above water.

Indeed, teaching jobs—private lessons or college classes—are a frequent option.The institution of music and jazz programs in several New Orleans universities has

not only contributed to the training of scores of musicians and the transmission oftradition by the likes of Ellis Marsalis and Alvin Battiste, it also provides vital

opportunities for supplemental income to many musicians.The last mechanism mentioned by our informants consists of taking advantage of

New Orleans pre-Katrina low cost of living and especially inexpensive lodging. Dan’s

monthly rent in Mid-City was $283, a “ridiculously cheap” amount compared to whathe experienced in New York or Chicago, where comparable housing can go up to

$2000.Finally, the difficulty of combining business and art appears to be further

complicated by an acknowledged lack of business skills and acumen. Musicians are farfrom being disengaged from the business side of their craft—indeed some are reputed

to be astute managers of their and others’ musical assets—yet investment strategies orretirement plans are not a priority: “‘Savings’ were not in my middle name,” jokesLeah. For Jimbo, the very nature of music does not leave space for such skills: “We

don’t have verbal intelligence. We don’t have business intelligence. We don’t havemathematical intelligence. We have musical intelligence. . . .You can’t expect people

who are dealing with e flat to be able to deal with percentages and contracts.”The issue of touring captures the many factors to be negotiated. While it can be

economically appealing to local musicians and provide an opportunity for outsiderecognition, touring also implies being away from family and friends, grueling travel

conditions, and artistic compromise. Sometimes, numbers and working conditionsdo not add up. Jo Butts, of the Other Planets, comments:

I only went on the road once. I made less money on the road than I made at home.I only made two hundred fifty or three hundred a week and I was gone allweek. I didn’t get to see my wife or be in my own house. I thought it really wasn’t alot of money to be gone seven days a week to live in a motel with strangers to playmusic that wasn’t mine. So, yeah, I never really had to travel and I never even had totake too many gigs an hour away because I could work for the same price in NewOrleans and be home in five minutes.

Our insider look at the economic dimension of New Orleans music fleshes out the

discussion of the well-documented tension between economics and aesthetics byadding details to several dimensions. First, the interplay between money and musiccannot be reduced to compensation and economic factors: pay is indeed important

but so are cost of living, rent, other activities, musical and professional relationships,personal comfort, place attachment. Over the years biographies, news accounts, and

histories of the New Orleans music scene have amply documented how the


relationship with money is intricate, often conflicted and prone to extremes. Disputes

over recording contracts, royalties, writing credits have reportedly resulted in bandbreak-ups, bad blood, and exiles from New Orleans as they have in the larger realm of

commercial music (Lichstenstein and Dankner). Recently, the few analyses by socialscientists have dealt with the commercial and artistic orientations found amongsuccessful jazz musicians (Levy and Dranguet), the implication of the city’s

promotion of tourism for local musicians (Atkinson), and the anchoring ofmusical practices in the city’s unique social and racial stratification system (Regis

“Blackness”; Turley).All note the growing commodification of musical production due to the increased

interplay between the tourism industry and New Orleans cultural production, be itthe jazz funeral tradition (Regis “Blackness”; White “New Orleans Brass Band”),

Mardi Gras (Mitchell) or the whole entertainment and music scene (Lichstenstein andDankner; Souther). This is a relatively recent phenomenon. Until the 1960s, NewOrleans music played a limited role in the local and regional economy. Music

academies, Storyville, and jazz venues certainly offered vital opportunities tonumerous individuals—especially among the most deprived creoles and blacks up

until the 1920s—but commerce, small manufacturing, and the oil industry made andunmade the city’s economic fortunes, not music. The situation started to change with

the declining port business, “white flight” to the suburbs following schooldesegregation measures in the 1960s, and the oil bust of the 1980s. Tourism emerged

as the mainstay of the Crescent City’s economy.6 While it has supplied musicians withexpanded opportunities for paid engagements, it has also increased their dependence

on the cultural industry.Clearly, macro-level phenomena are necessary to the analysis of musical

production. Paying attention to the micro-level factors, the daily, mundane, interplay

between economic strategies and artistic pursuits may also be quite useful. Forinstance, musicians constantly negotiate arrangements: they play many gigs and

genres, have other jobs, tour or not. The identification of such adaptive strategiesdeveloped by musicians allows for placing the emphasis on human agency and

softening rigorous dichotomies. Musicians are neither pawns in a global commercialstructure nor self-fashioning independent subjects. They are not, at least our

informants, limited in their acting or thinking to choosing between art or money,aesthetic authenticity or crass commercialism.

An Interactive Setting: A “Community of Musicians”?

Interaction with a variety of actors emerged as another central component to theproduction of New Orleans music. Who are these actors, what is the content ofthe interaction, where are lines of fracture? To address these questions, we rely on the

notion of social capital, a concept common among sociologists but rarely applied tomusical production (see Anheier, Gehrards, and Romo for an analysis of literary

production).


Unsurprisingly, interaction with musicians and other musical actors, such as music

professionals (engineers, producers, teachers), music industry professionals (clubowners, festivals managers, music writers), formal musical organizations (musicians’

union, foundations, social clubs) was the most frequently mentioned. Musicians alsoemphasize interaction with the public perceived as a vital participant to the musicscene. Finally, the interactive network includes non-musical actors, family members,

friends, neighbors, “people” in general, and, with Katrina, government organizations.Intense and enriching interaction within this network is an essential feature of the

New Orleans music scene. “I always thought it was a good place to be because I couldplay a lot of music and be comfortable and have a good network of musicians in a very

concentrated place which is real good for me. You could drive down the street and seea musician that you knew or pass up a bunch in the French Quarter playing gigs all the

time,” says Lafayette-born and New Orleans-raised Joseph Butts of the Other Planets.Non-natives also point out how easy it is to connect with this network and howwelcomed they feel. Lars Edegran, a Swedish-born musician who moved to

New Orleans in 1965 at the age of 20, remembers his first encounter with the localmusic scene:

When I first got here, the first place I went was Preservation Hall. And it was in theafternoon. I walked in and they were having rehearsal for a recording session. AndI’m peeping in and the owner came out and asked if I was interested in jazz, yeah I’ma musician. He let me in and he let me play a song with the band. That was sofriendly. I was surprised! And so, very quickly I got to meet a lot of people. Lot of themusicians I met helped me get jobs.

While non-natives can integrate into the New Orleans musical milieu, natives are

literally born into it. The essential role of kin in the acquisition and transmission ofskills and tastes, one of the hallmarks of New Orleans music, has been extensively

documented, especially in the case of contemporary musical families such as theMarsalises, the Nevilles, the Connicks, the Bouttes, to name a few (Berry, Foose, and

Jones; Odell). Helped by interaction with numerous musicians in their close andextended family, children were and still are exposed to performances and teaching,

have easy access to instruments at home, and are encouraged to pursue a formalmusical education. Bob French, 62, a native New Orleanian, is the leader of one of theoldest jazz bands in town, the Original Tuxedo Jazz Orchestra—established in 1910.

His heritage illustrates the scope and impact of these musical dynasties:

My dad was a banjo player, my grandfather, his daddy, was a tuba player. I have agreat uncle who was a trombone player, who played with Louis Armstrong. I have abrother who’s a bass player, Sam . . . George [other brother], good bass player, greatsinger. George has a son who’s a hell of a drummer. Plus we have some more cousinswho play. We’re a musical family. This is what we do. I had people on my daddy’sside, my dad’s sister, nieces, nephews, all good singers. They had groups, singinggroups, ladies’ singing groups, men’s singing groups. We’re kind of musical. We gotthat going.


In 1955, his father, Albert “Papa” French, took over the Original Tuxedo Jazz

Orchestra. Bob explains how influential he was in making him aware of his familylegacy. Playing as a substitute for one of his dad’s gigs in the 1960s, he was so

embarrassed to be surrounded by musical giants and not being able to play theNew Orleans style that the experience convinced him to become serious about it.He succeeded his father after his death in 1977 and has been the leader of the band

ever since.Musicians are also linked to a variety of music professionals such as club owners,

festival organizers, music critics. Many statements suggested relationships, althoughseemingly fluid and regular, more complex than with other actors such as teachers and

sound engineers. On the one hand, regular and long-term engagements and late nightforays in the club scene allowed for close relationships with some club owners and

managers. One musician spoke of a routine itinerary. On the other hand, club ownersare also criticized for paying too little, imposing musical tastes, or favoring genres.

Finally, close interaction takes place with the public. Musicians view the local

audience not only as mere listeners but as valued participants. “In New Orleans,people are actually listening,” comments Janna Saslaw, a musician and a music

professor at Loyola University. Their participation is seen as an integral part ofperformances.7 In some way, boundaries between professional musicians, amateurs,

and the public become blurred, as Janna continues: “One of the things we love about itis that basically everybody in New Orleans is a musician because they’re actively

singing in church, they’re participating in the second lines, they’re playing in theirschool band even if they’re not going to become a professional musician.”

The network of interaction described by musicians is best captured by the conceptof social capital. Among its various yet related meanings (Portes), we retain PierreBourdieu’s original formulation of social capital as:

the aggregate of the actual or potential resources which are linked to the possessionof a durable network of more or less institutionalized relationships of mutualacquaintance or recognition; or in other terms, as membership in a group as anaggregate of agents who are not only sharing common traits . . . but are also unitedby useful and permanent ties. (Bourdieu 2, our translation)

Social capital is composed of two different elements: the network of social

relationships and the “volume” of available resources. If the set of actors mentioned bymusicians clearly constitutes the network of relationships, what are the resources? For

Bourdieu, the volume of social capital depends on the extent of the network of socialrelationships and on “the volume of capital (economic, cultural or symbolic)”

possessed by members of the network. Thus, the resources which constitute socialcapital are merely the connections, the relationships which give access to or help to“multiply” other forms of capital, be it economic (money) or cultural (skills,

knowledge).This concept helps us to understand a pivotal component of musical production in

New Orleans. To be a New Orleans musician, i.e. to be recognized as being part of the


network of New Orleans musicians, has a “multiplying effect” on the capital owned by

musicians. As we have seen, this capital is economic, consisting of wages and othermonetary income. It is also a cultural capital. Indeed, artistic features bind

New Orleans musicians together. The high level of musical skills is one. This is hardlysurprising given the characterization of New Orleans as the cradle of jazz and itshistorical ability to produce a long line of great musicians from Creole virtuoso

Edmond Dede to rapper Master P (Jerde; Kmen). “‘You’re from New Orleans. You’resupposed to be good.’ That’s the attitude of the local people,” comments Lenny

McDaniel, a veteran blues and pop composer and multi-instrumentalist. “InNew Orleans all that matters is whether you can play or you can hang,” adds Jimbo,

the Other Planets’ guitarist. The requirement to have superior skills makes NewOrleans a challenging musical environment unlike any other. Says Dan, 25, the Other

Planets’ sax player:

In New Orleans, every time I’d go out and sing with a band, or every time I’d getinvolved in a project, I was challenged. I was put in an environment where, if I hadthe ability to do it, my abilities were being stressed. I had to go out and practice, andraise my playing to a higher level. A stimulating environment.

Another illustration of the “multiplying effect” can be found in the versatility ofNew Orleans musicians, a trait much emphasized. Musical skills are not restricted to a

specific style or genre of music. Musicians can play various instruments as well asdifferent styles, with different bands. Bob French stresses the ability to embrace manyrepertoires, the sign of an accomplished musician:

I could play this, but I could play that. I wasn’t locked in a barrel. That’s one of thegood things about New Orleans musicians. They’re not handicapped. They usuallycan play two or three different kinds of music. I could play two or three differentkinds but it wouldn’t have had nothing to do with New Orleans jazz.

We have seen how this characteristic allows artists to increase their income by

multiplying gigs. Versatility thus appears in a fuller light: it permits greater income(economic capital) but it also grants acceptance in the musicians’ network and

recognition by peers (social capital).Finally, the concept of social capital allows for the resolution of an apparent

contradiction. While there is undoubtedly a sense and reality of a cohesive entity,there is also awareness of a musical hierarchy. One musician spoke about

“a community of musicians” but added that “New Orleans is not some kind ofmagical fairy land for musicians either.” Our informants, including some with solid

reputations themselves, mentioned “famous,” “great,” “master” musicians who are“very important to the music of New Orleans.” They refer to Fats Domino, DaveBartholomew, Dr John, Harold Battiste, the Marsalises, the Nevilles, the Bouttes, Allen

Toussaint, to name only contemporary figures. There are different levels of notabilitybased on skills as composers, performers, arrangers or teachers, on financial success,

and on nationwide or international fame. If all musicians do not enjoy high levels of


recognition and success, they can still be part of the network. Indeed, Bourdieu notes

that “groups distribute their social capital to all its members although unevenly”(3, our translation). The owners of inherited social capital, the “great names,” not only

have more capital but its output is greater: there is considerable value in knowing,interacting with them, and increasingly mentioning them (as in this article).Ultimately, “it is the same principle which produces both the group formed in order

to concentrate capital, and the competition [that develops] within the group for theappropriation of that capital” (Bourdieu 3). In other words, that which creates the

group also situates it within hierarchies.

“Nowhere Else” A Sense of Place

Writers and researchers have long commented on the special relationship between

music and place in New Orleans. Since colonial times, musical activity and othermerriments have abounded (Kmen). The city’s recognition as the “birthplace of jazz”

in the early 1900s, as well as its essential contribution to the development of variousforms of American popular music later in the century, up to the recent emergence of

“bounce” (Miller), has further cemented the reputation of New Orleans as a musiccity.8 Even more than a city of music, “New Orleans is a city of sounds” (Berry, Foose,and Jones 3). The sounds of the river and its related human activities, as well as the

pounding of tropical rains, have been labeled a propitious soundscape. In addition,the city’s peculiar location—a below-sea-level island wedged between Lake

Pontchartrain and the Mississippi River, surrounded by marshland, and close tothe Gulf of Mexico—has been a potent source of inspiration. Bessie Smith’s “Back

Water Blues,” Irma Thomas’ “It’s Raining,” and Snooks Eaglin’s version of “Down bythe Riverside” illustrate how the river and flood plain that make up the city have been

a source of romance, sorrow, or salvation to musicians (Spitzer).Yet New Orleans is more than a stage where things happen, and cannot be restricted

to “a physical setting or a passive target for primordial sentiments of

attachment. . . .Places are politicized, culturally relative, historically specific, localand multiple constructions” (Rodman 641). The concept of sense of place helps

capture the process. Developed by cultural geographers, philosophers, landscapearchitects, and cultural conservationists (Altman and Low; Tuan), it has evolved from

a “somewhat fuzzy notion” to an increasingly complex construct weaving “physicalenvironment, human behaviors, and social and/or psychological processes” (Stedman

671). Work by anthropologists on the related concept of landscape has theorized it as acreative process (Bender) and as a site of power struggles and contestation (Cheng,

Kruger, and Daniels; Hirsch). A consensus seems to exist that the set of meaningsattached to place should be treated as socially constructed, contested, and dynamic.

New Orleans musicians are deeply attached to their city, and this connectedness is

expressed through their practices and narratives. The notion of “home” is claimed, thistime not only as networks of relationships, but as a “practiced place,” a set of

relationships in space and time (Erlmann 18). For one, New Orleans is often referred to


as “a small town” with an urban dimension. “New Orleans is less a city than a collection

of urban villages,” writes one observer (Berry, Foose, and Jones 3). Indeed, New Orleansappears as a composite spatial entity made of distinct areas, neighborhoods, streets,

waterways, buildings, and landmarks. These places are imbued with history, meaning,and feelings, vividly conveyed when musicians speak about their youth, their musicalapprenticeship, or their situation during the hurricane.

Specific tunes, bands, and musicians’ names have come to embody specific places.This is the case of the emblematic “Way Down in New Orleans/Down on Rampart and

Dumaine” in Professor Longhair’s anthem “Go to the Mardi Gras.” Social andpleasure clubs, organizations vital to New Orleans musical and social environment,

make the identification explicit through their names: Treme Sidewalks Steppers,Calliope High Steppers, or Big Nine, Double Nine (Breulein and Regis; Regis “Second

Line”). So does the rap group UNLV (Uptown Niggers Living Violently). Echoing thecall outs of second-line parades, call-and-response practices of New Orleans rappersengage audiences through reference to wards, neighborhood, and housing projects.9

Indeed, one may be from New Orleans but one was born or raised in a specificneighborhood, such as Treme, Gentilly, Uptown, Back O’Town, Gerttown, Mid-City,

New Orleans East, the Ninth, Eighth, or Seventh Ward. One lived “uptown on RobertStreet” or “in mid-city on South Genovese and Iberville, right off of Canal Street.”

One went to school at Saint Augustine or De La Salle high schools, to UNO or Xavier,and attended church at Peter Claver.

Lumar Leblanc lived in eastern New Orleans before the storm, on the same street ashis parents did. He feels a strong connection with the neighborhood where he was

raised, north of the French Quarter, an historical area where many antebellum gens decouleur libres lived:

I was born in Treme. . . .That was our home. . . . It was a real close, tight knitcommunity. . . . I had a lot of fun in the Treme. It had an air like it was its own littleworld. Even though you were in New Orleans, it gave me this sense like, yeah, I’m inthe Treme now, I’m part of this.

When Lumar evokes his days as a student at Saint Augustine High School, he is not

only reminiscing about his youth but also about the famed musical traditionassociated with the school’s marching band, whose space extends to the whole city

through its participation in second lines and Mardi Gras parades.The concentration of musicians in certain neighborhoods has facilitated the

transmission of music and the establishment of tradition. In addition to family ties,attending school, going to church, and interacting with long-time neighbors enable

the process. Born in 1956, Don Vappie is part of an extended musical family, theJosephs. His music education started when, at 6, his mother made him take pianolessons. He experienced various brass instruments at school, and was elected drum

major. In the eighth grade, he started a “garage band” with his cousin and friends fromhis neighborhood west of Napoleon near St Charles. “There were bands like every

three or four blocks. You could hear bands practicing. And they’d have these little


‘Battle of the Bands’, like talent shows, where each band would get up and play,”

a common practice that many young musicians emulated.The centrality of neighborhoods in the place-making process is further reinforced

by the prominent figure Ellis Marsalis, who gives a multifaceted portrait of jazz:“I don’t think there is a jazz ‘community.’ . . .A community is a group of people withshared interests. It’s very difficult to look at jazz in terms of a community. It’s more

like a bunch of neighborhoods” (qtd in Koransky 6). This “multivocal dimension ofspace” beyond a common claim of rootedness shows how “a single physical landscape

can be multilocal in the sense that it shapes and expresses polysemic meanings of placefor different users” (Rodman 647). Furthermore, allegiances to neighborhood and

ward have the potential to create divisions in the local music scene, as is the case with“bounce,” to the extent of provoking interpersonal violence (Miller 30).

Musicians convey the multiple layering of the association between places, sounds,and situations. While Jimbo dismisses the made-for-tourist “sound of BourbonStreet,” his band mate Dan extols the vibrancy of the Frenchmen Street scene, spatially

a few blocks away but musically a world apart:

There were some friends of ours playing Mozart at Cafe Brazil. So first of all,you have Mozart in a nightclub, this is not going to happen anywhere exceptright there. And then these two brothers with wooden legs, come in drunk offtheir asses with moonshine that they made, talking about how excited they arebeing back in the city of their birth and passing out moonshine to everyone.And they took Jimbo’s number and told him that they were going to gohunting and bring him back some venison. And Jimbo’s like, this sequence ofevents can only happen in one place on the planet Earth, and that is in CafeBrazil, on Frenchmen Street, in New Orleans.

While neighborhoods are distinct in meanings and practices, New Orleans is still

constructed as an entity. Its unifying character appears to rest on a perception ofuniqueness, a trait systematically emphasized by the musicians we interviewed. Whatmakes New Orleans unique for them, in addition to its musical milieu, is its

marginality to the American mainstream and its dysfunctionality. The city isdescribed as “unconventional,” “not mainstream America,” and for some “not even an

American city.” The marginality rests mostly on the multicultural past and presentembodied in its population—a rich “melting pot,” friendly, with a touch of

eccentricity—its cuisine, architecture, racial hybridity of creoles, and speech patterns.Attractive and colorful, New Orleans is also distinctive for its most dysfunctional

aspects. Corruption, mismanagement, poverty, racism, violence are contested anddeplored but ultimately perceived as constitutive of the place. “It’s not an efficient city.

It’s not . . . it’s always been a dirty city. It’s filthy, you know. It’s the kind of place whereif something happens and you call the cops, they just make things worse. Like I said,it’s the place you go to hide from the rest of the country,” explains Anthony (the

emphasis is his). Not despite but because of its limits, New Orleans draws peopleincluding musicians who choose this lifestyle, creating a complicity that reinforces a

collective sense of belonging, as Jo Butts comments:


[It’s] the kind of place where people are attracted to it for specific reasons not just toget a job there. They choose to go there. Maybe you won’t make as much money asyou could in Houston but you want to be there and that kind of makes a differencein the type of people that are there and the attitude. If you don’t like it, leave.

In embracing the marginality of the city and its lifestyle, musicians respond tothe marginalization of New Orleans: they reclaim a place that has long been stigmatized

as a depraved and immoral place (Sparks), and lately was left to its own devicesduring Katrina.

The dysfunctional aspects of New Orleans are certainly not the ones touted by

tourism officials and city leaders. Indeed, the image of New Orleans and its musicalmilieu is a locus of contestation. Local and out-of-state journalists are taken to task

for focusing on famous names and ignoring up-and-coming artists, especially whenthey do not fit the stereotyped image of New Orleans music as older black men

playing Dixieland jazz (Souther), what Helen Regis (“Blackness” 767) calls the“antiquification” of the music. Images of musical genres other than jazz are also

affected. The hip-hop movement “Dirty South,” a popular genre of southern rap thatemerged in the 1990s, has had a noted impact on the local music scene in terms of

reception by the audience and musicians, yet it has been sparsely promoted. Local rap,which seems to be thriving since Katrina, continues to circulate as an undergroundmusic scene. This lack of fit between the marketed image and the lived practice of

music was recently brought to light once again: Irvin Mayfield and his New OrleansJazz Orchestra, officially appointed by the governor and the mayor as “cultural

ambassador” of the city, were given credit for restoring the second-line traditionthrough one of his post-Katrina concert, although brass bands had resumed playing in

parades two months earlier (Raeburn).By framing the image of New Orleans and its music, city officials, state agencies,

tourism organizations, and cultural entrepreneurs not only shape the representationof local music but also influence its practice. Musicians decry the scarcity of jazz clubsin the birthplace of jazz, the proliferation of establishments on Bourbon Street where

“loud commercial rock bands . . . play frat party music so they can drink and sell moreliquor.” The contestation over space was again vividly illustrated by the controversy

over the increase in permit fees for second-line parades. The New Orleans PoliceDepartment raised the fees up to 530%, arguing that more security was needed

following two shooting incidents during second lines in January 2006. For instance,the Original Pigeontown Steppers Social Aid and Pleasure Club saw its fee go up from

$1,200 in 2005 to $7,560 in 2007 (Reckdahl). With the help of the American CivilLiberties Union, the social clubs that organize these parades have filed suit against the

city, arguing that these “arbitrary and unreasonable fees” violate the First Amendmentrights to free expression and jeopardize a unique popular practice. Moreover, thesefees are far higher than those charged to the much larger Carnival krewes, whose

security costs are limited by law to $750. Lately, the disparity in the city’s treatment ofboth types of parades again came under fire. The Police Department refused to grant a

permit to the Social Aid and Pleasure Club Task Force to parade on Lundi Gras—the


Monday before Mardi Gras—expressing concern about crowd control. Again, a suit

was filed and a federal judge ordered the permit to be granted (Kunzelman 11A).Katrina and its aftermath raised this contestation over the image and the practice of

New Orleans music to an unprecedented level. Musicians are ubiquitous in the city’simage through advertisements and slogans, dominating post-Katrina touristpromotion, yet this pivotal role contrasts with a lack of recognition. Speaking at an

anthropological conference in 2007, Bennie Pete, leader of the Hot 8 Brass Band,strongly emphasized his constant “fight against my own city.” Damion Francois, the

Soul Rebels’ tuba player, shares a similar frustration: “New Orleans doesn’t give adamn about musicians. They really need to consider the importance of the musicians

[here] and try to work with them to ease up the pressure on us so we can feelcomfortable to produce what we need to produce” (Wyckoff 24).

But musicians care about New Orleans. One expression of this attachment is theirreturn to the city as an embodiment of their musical practice. They might not stay, beadequately compensated, or perform with their regular band but many made a point

of returning from wherever they had evacuated to perform at venues re-opening theirdoors. One musician evoked “loyalty to the city” by linking the resumption of one’s

musical practice to a sense of moral duty toward New Orleans.Uptown, the Maple Leaf Bar opened on 30 September 2005 with a one-time band

called the MREs, a reference to the military “meals ready to eat” distributed after thehurricane here transmuted into “Music ready to enjoy.” Resident piano-player John

Gros was there without his band, still in Prague where they were on a European tour.So were drummer Kevin O’Day and guitarist Walter “Wolfman” Washington who

drove seventeen hours from Ohio to do the show (Swenson 26; Wirt 13).Don Vappie is similarly determined to take up the challenge of New Orleans

rebirth. Only weeks after the hurricane, he focused all his energy on the organization

of a concert in Covington, across Lake Pontchartrain where he lives. On November2005, “Bring it on Home” gathered musicians George French, Leah Chase, Germaine

Basil, the Storyville Stompers, and others. After the “therapeutic success” of the event,he founded an association by the same name dedicated to providing musicians with

work. Don has been playing regularly, recording, and actively promoting the NewOrleans musical renaissance:

I could make a lot more money if I was just out by myself. I could make a living.I sacrifice some of what I could do for what I think needs to be done. I mean places[clubs] like Zea’s, Snug Harbor, Palm Court; they’re open but they’re not makingmoney. But everybody says the same thing: It’s really not about the money. TrueNew Orleanians are not thinking about only the money, but about the normality.Just trying to weather the storm, weather this period.

For various practical reasons (family circumstances, employment, housing), the will

to return does not always lead to re-establishment in the city. Some musicians attemptto reconcile their sense of duty toward New Orleans with other obligations or career

opportunities. The Soul Rebels provide a particularly clear illustration of this tension.


As of this writing, two members of the band have bought a house in Houston, where the

other members also stayed for more than a year until they finally returned inNew Orleans. The loss of their New Orleans day jobs led them to become full-time

musicians, an evolution that the band leader, Lumar, had contemplated throughouttheir fifteen years of existence. Eager to reach out to a wider audience and to elevate thestatus of a brass band music style that closely overlaps with funk, blues, and rap, Lumar

feels strongly about this new opportunity: “It’s helped me to finally get the band focusedon touring” (Wyckoff 24). This priority does not keep him from showing an unflagging

commitment to the city. When Le Bon Temps Roule offered to revive their pre-hurricane weekly gig, the band members immediately decided to honor their contract,

despite having to use their tips to cover the expense of their ten- to twelve-hour roundtrip. The following quote shows the dynamics at play in his decision: “I want brass band

music to be what rock and roll and rap and the other more popular more lucrativeforms of music have done for the music industry. . . .On another aspect, the musiccould get so distant from actually being played in New Orleans, that it could be tragic.”

Lumar expresses deep concern about the transmission of the music inneighborhood streets and school marching bands, and feels a responsibility towards

the next generation that strongly impacts his decision to return to New Orleans asoften as possible, although he has decided to establish permanent residence in

Houston. Many other musicians are in the same situation, traveling back and forthbetween their new place of residence and New Orleans: Jazz singer Julia LaShae splits

her time between Austin and New Orleans, and trombonist Corey Harris commutesbetween Houston, New York, and New Orleans. Wynton Marsalis’ remark that “home

is like your Momma” (qtd in American Creole) captures in a pithy way the fracturedambivalence of the situation. His aphorism encapsulates the nurturing and soothingrole of New Orleans for musicians, the obligation to leave to make a living but, in the

end, the indestructible tie with it.Clearly, then the relationship of musicians to New Orleans as place appears to be

quite elastic. One can return repeatedly, and “home” can be celebrated from theopposite shore of Lake Pontchartrain. In fact, one may remain associated with the city’s

musical tradition far away from “home.” Historically, many New Orleans musical iconsin jazz or R&B have established residence elsewhere. The fame and commercial success

of Jelly Roll Morton, Freddy Keppard, Johnny Dodds, Kid Ory, and Louis Armstronghas even been tied to their migration. Today, New Orleans musicians, especially the“great names,” can also be away from the Crescent City and still be recognized as

participants in the interactive network as long as they continue to contribute byplaying a form of New Orleans music, performing in the city (at a renowned venue or

symbolic event such as Jazz Fest), teaching, or recording there on a regular basis.Dr John may live in California, Aaron Neville in Memphis for a while and in Mandeville

since April 2008, Wynton Marsalis and Harry Connick Jr. in New York, without losingtheir recognition as New Orleans musicians. Wherever they are, they carry enough social

capital to overcome their physical estrangement from the group (Bourdieu 2–3).


Conclusion

We have proposed that New Orleans musical practices revolve around thecombination of economic factors, networks of interactions, and a sense of place

that together shape the production of locality. The examination of the economicdimension shows the interplay between the business and art faced by artists in a highly

commodified milieu. The development of adaptive strategies, as well as the influenceof non-monetary and non-artistic factors, suggests that musicians do not consider

their practice in a dichotomous manner but rather a dynamic one.Furthermore, the New Orleans musical scene can adequately be grasped with the

concept of social capital, a network of relationships which in effect multiplies the

human and economic capital held by the participants. The importance of thisinteraction was reasserted in the aftermath of Katrina which practically destroyed it by

sending musicians into a temporary diaspora. Finally, a look at musicians’ attachmentto the Crescent City reveals a sense of place rooted in meaningful neighborhoods, a

candid appreciation of its dysfunctional aspects, and the occupation of a challengedspace where contested practices collide.

The notion of “home” claimed by musicians and the sense of place they expressappear as a “practiced place” (Erlmann): it is anchored in a space defined by musicalpractices and networks of interactions more than by its physical traits or even the

meanings it came to be associated with historically and now largely shaped by thetourism narrative. Our exploratory look suggests that the future of New Orleans

music hinges on the ability of musicians to resume a meaningful practice throughtheir involvement in networks of interactions more than on permanently returning to

the city or being able to earn a living there.So we are now in a better position to address the points raised at the beginning of

this paper. What is the shape of New Orleans music post-Katrina? How intertwinedare the recovery of the city and that of its music? Notwithstanding the limitations

inherent in such a comparison, it would seem that the music has recovered better andfaster than the city. Anecdotal but consistent evidence points to a post-Katrina musicscene largely restored. Large-scale celebrations, such as JazzFest, French Quarter

Festival, and Voodoo Fest, have been successfully held in the past three years and areback to their pre-Katrina shape, artists and audience-wise. Celebrated venues—

Preservation Hall, Tipitina’s, Snug Harbor, House of Blues among others—haveresumed operations and feature both local and touring acts, as before. So have shows

in casinos, hotels, and steamboats which, like the aforementioned venues, hadreceived little damage. Clubs which had been hard hit, like Mid-City Lanes

Rock’n’Bowl, Hi-Ho Lounge or the Maple Leaf Bar, have also re-opened. Newestablishments (Ray’s Boom Boom Room, Cafe Negril) have appeared, compensatingfor a limited number of closings such as that of Cafe Brazil which stopped operations

after a brief comeback attempt. Not only have the Neville Brothers returned to theirtraditional Jazz Fest closing gig in 2008, but local mainstays have resumed their weekly

gigs. Local aficionados and occasional visitors can easily catch John Boutte, Marva


Wright, Jon Cleary, Bob French, Kermit Ruffin, Toni Dagradi, Walter Wolfman

Washington at their usual place on any given week. Overall, a spot survey of venuesand acts listed in the local music magazine Offbeat between 2006 and 2008 shows

levels of musical activity similar to the pre-Katrina context.Besides performing, there is undeniable evidence that Katrina sparked both “new

peaks of creativity and productivity” (McLeese 213) for New Orleans artists—as some

of our informants reported—and a renewed interest in New Orleans musicalproduction. The numerous tribute concerts and recordings, novel collaborations, and

extensive help given to musicians attest to this recognition.The city itself has not done that well. If progress is clear and still ongoing, the city

and especially the most devastated areas are far from recovery. According toestimates by the US Census Bureau, the city population stood at approximately

240,000 in July 2007 or 52% of its pre-Katrina level (454,000 in July 2005).Although some figures yield a more optimistic picture (the United StatesPostal Service reports that 71.5% of July 2005 residential addresses received mail

in February 2008, sales tax collections and non-farm jobs are back to or higherthan 2005 levels), others point to a slow paced-return: Spring 2008 public school

enrollment stood at 32,887 or 49.5% of the Fall 2004 figure (66,372), therewere 2,110 fewer employers in the second quarter of 2007 than in 2005, only 48%

of 2005 public transportation routes were open in February 2008 (The NewOrleans Index). Beyond the numbers, which by the way are subject to much

criticism, reconstruction and repopulation of whole sections of severely impactedneighborhoods is very slow and some infrastructure remains inadequate (health

care, water and sewage, garbage pick-up, the criminal justice system) not tomention the still doubtful state of the levees.

That New Orleans music fares better than the city is hardly surprising. As our

exploratory model proposes, musicians rely on skills, creativity, contacts with otherartists, and interaction with the public. It is easier to restore such vital assets than to

repair a city’s infrastructure. This does not mean that the music is, and that the city isabout to be, saved. If musical activity has returned, its future remains a locus of

concern. Interestingly here, the nexus of skills, social capital, and sense of placereappears. Established musicians and institutions have banded together to insure that

new generations of New Orleans musicians will develop after the chaos. Musicprograms in the (few) schools, universities, and music academies have been targetedfor assistance: instruments are donated, musicians donate their time to teach and

inspire elementary school students throughout the area. If brass bands, second lines,and innovative jazz combos have returned, New Orleans musicians and their city

appear to share the hope that they stay.

Acknowledgments

This research was made possible with a special grant from the Centre National de la RechercheScientifique (Paris). Additional funding was provided by the College of Liberal Arts of the University


of Louisiana at Lafayette. We are very grateful to Rebecca J. Scott from the University of Michiganand Francois Weil from the Ecole des hautes etudes en sciences sociales for their support andassistance in funding our fieldwork. We would also like to thank Bruce B. Raeburn and Helen Regisfor their very helpful comments and suggestions on a former version of this paper, as well theanonymous reviewers.

Notes

[1] Other indicators have also been followed to track the progress of the recovery. In addition totracking population and employment levels, re-openings of popular restaurants andattractions, such as the return of the Saints football to the Superdome and streetcars resumingtheir routes, have been publicized as positive signs that New Orleans was “coming back.”

[2] We realize that our limited sample does not cover the whole range of music production inNew Orleans which includes well-established and successful artists as well as otherprofessionals such as street musicians.

[3] Although disaster research is relatively new field, methodological challenges have beenidentified early (Killian) and continue to be thoroughly addressed (Stallings Methods). Theyconsist mostly of lack of time (to develop theory and hypotheses, to fashion researchinstruments, to identify areas and topics of research) and unique circumstances of datacollection. This being said, disaster researchers rely on the same qualitative and quantitativetools as their colleagues in the social sciences. As Stallings (“Methods” 21) puts it, “it is thecontext of research not the methods of research that make disaster research unique.”

It is then a question of circumstances or how the disaster context is related to pre-disasterconditions. There is wide consensus within disaster research that there is much continuitybetween the two. Although the “essence of disasters is disruption,” research has convincinglyshown that the “pre-disaster behavior is probably the best indicator of trans- and post-disasterbehavior” (Stallings Methods 11), a reformulation of the principle of continuity originallyproposed by Quarantelli and Dynes (34). Furthermore, Tierney (32) explained that “humanbehavior in emergency situations is generally adaptive and that considerable continuity existsbetween pre- and post-disaster behavior patterns.” Similarly, at the societal level, there is littleevidence of significant social change following a disaster (see Passerini for a review). If there areindeed extremely negative consequences for some persons and significant changes ushered inby a disaster, they tend to follow pre-event patterns, such as the disproportionate impactexperienced by disadvantaged groups and the continuation of land-use practices in rural andurban areas for example (Pelling; Revet).

Another strand of disaster research, in fact a major paradigm, expands on this finding ofcontinuity. The vulnerability approach challenges the exceptionalism of disasters and shifts theline of inquiry from “‘what events interrupt the social dimension’ to . . . ‘how do some types ofsocial relationships produce risk?’” (Duclos 263). It proposes to look at disasters as thepredictable outcomes of the “normal” processes of inequality and subordination at play inmodern risk societies (Beck; Wisner et al.). As Hewitt (27), one of its early proponents, put it,the material conditions of daily life “prefigure” disasters.

[4] In December 2005, the organization Habitat for Humanity, with the support of New Orleansmusical icons Harry Connick, Jr., Branford and Ellis Marsalis, announced plans to build aMusicians’ Village. By February 2007, thirty-six homes had been completed on land acquiredin the Ninth Ward and forty more were under construction in other areas of the city.

[5] John Boutte’s rendition at the 2006 Jazz Fest was particularly intense. The audience respondedenthusiastically at every chorus and even more as Boutte changed the original line “PresidentCoolidge came down in a railroad train with a little fat man with a note-pad in his hand” to“President Bush flew over in an airplane with about twelve fat men with double martinis intheir hands.”

[6] Souther shows how music came to be the focus of the tourist trade, highlighting the role ofoutsiders in the revival of an interest in jazz, which had practically disappeared from the city’stourist venues after the war. Now a must-see tourist venue, Preservation Hall started in 1961 asa jazz cooperative named at one point Authenticity Hall, explicitly illustrating the alternative


to the gaudy Bourbon Street clubs it was intended to provide. It was then run by a couple ofjazz enthusiasts, the Jaffe from Philadelphia, who succeeded in making Dixieland jazz highlyvisible through news media and worldwide tours. Their initiative stimulated local interest andprovided steady employment to forgotten jazz players (Souther 113–15).

[7] The second-line parade epitomizes for many of our informants the essential role of the publicand the necessity to “enter” it by singing, dancing, interacting on many levels, a point made byRegis (“Blackness” 757) in her analysis of the social meaning of the second-line tradition.

[8] “Bounce is a form of rap music that is heavily oriented towards dancing, which uses particularsonic markers in the form of samples and tempi as well as a call-and-response form of rappingbased upon hooks or chants” (Miller 15).

[9] The boundaries of the wards were originally drawn in 1852 when the city was reorganized fromthree separate municipalities into one centralized government. Used for electing publicofficials, the ward system was discontinued in 1912 but continues to have cultural significance.

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Sing Us Back Home”: Music, Place, and the Production of Locality in Post-Katrina New Orleans

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