The haul from San Antonio to New Orleans lagged a bit longer than we’d thought.
The running joke was “Pretty sure we’re still in Houston,” as it seemed like that damn city went on forever, but the Rodeo Mouth boys would eventually make our way through the bog lands of Lake Charles, Lafayette, and by dusk, our destination in The Big Easy.
But not before our final pit stop at an Arby’s>Pilot>Casino.
We were to perform at St. Roch’s Tavern that Friday night, April 10th, where the opener and our friend from Arkansas, Jonivan Jones, would be starting around 9 PM.
You can scour the street views of Google Maps from all angles, but it’s still a surprise every time you finally arrive at your chosen 2-star hotel. In this case, it was Hotel 10, formerly a Ramada Inn. Horseshoeing around the building, we got to room 111 by the pool. It was a quick unload into the room with time to knock back a few Lone Stars before having to saddle up to the venue.
Nestled in what seemed like an artsy and edgy part of town, in front of St. Roch’s Tavern was a massive mobile cardboard(?) robot. A man would use a voice modulator to talk through it in a Darth Vader-like voice. Welcome to town, dudes.
St. Roch’s was a chill dive bar like any other, with a small “stage” at the far end of the bar by the pool tables. Jones ripped through his excellent solo acoustic set, and if you haven’t heard him, check out his latest EP, Better Water.
When it was our turn to fire it up, we kicked things off with our April single, “Pretty Sweet Deal.” We had some heavier numbers like Kings of Leon’s “Four Kicks” and Ween’s “Stroker Ace” in the setlist, but given the chill nature of the bar with not a ton of people, we decided we’d try to keep the raucous bangers to a minimum.
Song after song, an inebriated woman named Sandy would clap and holler and yell things from the bar. Always gotta have a Sandy around.
After we wrapped, she stumbled up to us, insisting we were from West Texas, but really we just said we just got in from Texas. “You know I used to live over that way,” she said. Sandy was definitely a little too keen on us, and at one point talking to one of us, she tripped over the bass bag and awkwardly fell on the instrument. Gotta have a Sandy around.
We celebrated with Shrimp Po’ Boys from Hank’s Super Market down the street from the venue after, which topped off a successful first evening in New Orleans.
Saturday’s mission? Operation Crawfish Boil.
It was a beautiful sunny day, and the lot of us made it to the thick of the French Quarter around 10 AM. While striking out with long lines for coffee (especially at Cafe Du Monde where it was approximately six miles long), we found the next best thing: Bloody Mary’s.
Eventually java was secured, and after perusing the many trinket booths and outdoor vendors galore, it was time to start our gluttonous hunt for savory New Orleans fare.
There were a lot of street walkin’ arguments and debates over which seafood restaurant to go to, what with the surplus of options. And one key moment that swayed the course of history happened when a crust punk-esque couple overheard us debating such places, shortly after seeing a man with delectable looking street boil of his own.
“You gotta find the places with a timed boil,” the woman said. “A lot of places just have frozen shit, but if you find a place with a time they do the boil, it’s usually fresh. Check out Three Legged Dog.” We asked about a few other options we researched, but she shut them down and insisted on Three Legged Dog. Their boil drop was at 6:00 PM, but she recommended getting there at 5:45.
At the time of this conversation it was probably noon, so we needed our fix ASAP — enter Deanie’s.
The boys and I got plates of various fried brown, crawfish étouffée, gumbo, and of course, raw oysters on the half shell. It was damn good, but didn’t necessarily blow us away. Something was missing. Perhaps our brains were locked in on the Cajun-spiced delicacies of the impending Crawfish Boil.
Then it was back to boots on the ground.
As one does, we circled around the blocks numerous times, popping in and out of bars with live music, crushing a beer and going on to the next. Street performers, street pirates, voodoo queens and other characters roamed freely amongst the flocks of tourists, ourselves included, and that’s what makes New Orleans special. There’s palpable soul and a sense of freedom at every corner. And folks are just happy to be there.
The most notable pit stop was Fritzell’s European Jazz Pub, where we got to hear some of the city’s finest jazz performers. It was the kind of place you could easily sit and drink at all day, listening to the sounds of the city.
But alas, the boys were on a mission. More drinks, more bars, more sight seeing, until the clock struck Crawfish Boil o’ clock.
Upon entering Three Legged Dog, it looked more like a shithole punk club without a stage rather than a crawfish boil landmark. Which — don’t get me wrong — we were fine with.
Sure enough, the wily unfiltered young bartender assured us not only that the boil would be rolled out in a giant cooler at 6:00 PM sharp, but it’s purchased by the tray, meaning you get a classic styrofoam multi-quadrant vessel, and fill it up as much as you can so the top closes at least at a 45-degree angle, which might equate to two or three pounds. It doesn’t need to latch shut, heavens no. In fact, the spritely bartender said if he saw us close it shut, he’d mock us and call us bitches.
The moment we had been waiting for finally came, as the crawfish preparer wheeled the trough out for the patrons to get to scoopin’. Mixed with the steaming hot crawfish were the usual suspects: corn cobs, potatoes, Andouille sausage, mushrooms, whole cloves of garlic, and other extras that escape me. It was a blistering batch of delight that enveloped our senses. Overall I’d give it a 7.8 out of 10. Plenty good, but the crawfish meat just didn’t suck out as cleanly as you’d like. But we’d be damned if we didn’t fulfill our mission.
Oh yeah, and then we had a show to play.
After hours of gluttonous behavior and stomachs teeming with beer and crawfish, we got our asses on stage to open the show at Banks Street Bar, along with Atom Cat and Clare Doyle.
Along with playing the hits off our new album, Terrestrial Thrills, we also threw in Warren Zevon’s “Excitable Boy” and Tyler Childer’s “Whitehouse Road.” It was a great place to end of our little four-show run in the Gulf, where middle-aged birthday partiers offered us strawberry cake afterwards.
We whooped it up Big Easy-style until the next day had come, and then it was in the van back north to Nashville — the party was over.
But not before a succulent Chinese meal at China Buffet II in Meridian, Mississippi.
