Thursday AM

Finally, some real information: The Big Boy Little Band is playing tonight and tomorrow at the Blues City Cafe on the corner of Beale and 2nd St, facing Beale.

We're on at 6PM tonight, first in the line-up, and 7:55PM tomorrow night, seventh in the line-up.

After we arrived last night, everyone took to Beale Street. For me, an honorary New Orleanian, the comparison to Bourbon Street was inevitable. The difference is that Bourbon, for all it's outdoor plumbing, strip bars and general degenerate filth is much more real than the sanitized sanctioning of a street that was known for vice and African- American music until the late '60's. Now  it's a quasi- Vegas- Disney- World tourist- driven creation, with pseudo- blues blasting from pseudo roadhouse storefronts. That's right: it's a quasi- pseudo place.

There are literally hundreds of blues musicians here. Years ago, my friend John Hostetter commented on going for auditions in Hollywood: "Ever walk into a room and everyone looks just like you?"

All the musicians wear stingy- brim hats and have lip goatees. They all wear modified '50's bowling shirts. They all have tattoos. Even I have a lip goatee! Aaaargh! We're in blues uniforms!

The other thing is that they all think they're going to win. The testerone level here is so through the roof that the chick singers have to shave.

This morning at breakfast a gentleman from Ottawa asked me if I were here to listen to music. He said his son was a drummer in the Ottawa entry. I said, no, I'm a player. "Really?" he said. As in, aren't you a little old for this kind of thing?

No. No, I'm not. At least not yet.

Later: Stax Museum!