It is among my greatest honors to march with the Panorama Brass Band when they roll the parade season of Mardi Gras in New Orleans. I was lucky enough to produce thier most recent CD "Panoramaland" and I have been called upon to play bass, tuba and even banjo with the Jazz band from Bourbon Street to the Veracruz jazz Festival.
Since Katrina however, the city fathers have suggested that the brass bands ride on trailers rather than march as had been the tradition. Why is anyone's guess, but ride we did last year and fun as it was it was not the pre-deluvian experience. Some of the band members felt that the compact space made the band sound musically better, and with so many marches scheduled, and carrying and playing sometimes very heavy instruments all the while can be a daunting prospect.
When an open discussion on wether we as aband should ride or march, I added my thoughts to the debate, which I feel bear sharing with you all. (No, I was not high BTW):
I may be a hopeless romantic, but the fat guy from Texas says riding
in a float is a bit like taking a shower with a coat on. I will ride
and be happy as a pig in slop, but I would be remiss if I did not
share my thoughts on the subject with you all.
There is to my mind something very profound, dare I say spiritual,
about placing ones steps in the very place where so many others had
gone before and with such noble and admirable intentions. The
attachment to the energy of the Earth, and to that bit of Earth in
particular, can in many ways illuminate a whole other plane of
exisitance to one's self, the revelers and indeed the universe as a whole.
I'm not shitting you here, I really mean it.
Standing shoulder to shoulder on the same level as the crowds,
recognizing our oneness with the community of all mankind, we are
literally signifying for them, conjuring positivity and and the spirit
of joy. With one's attachment quite literally to the streets of New
Orleans rolling with a krewe is potentially a life changing and deeply
edifying experience. At least it was for me, and I can safely report
that riding last year left much to be desired in that respect.
Granted, the shock of seeing the town so malabused may have
contributed to my feelings as well.
And what of the Music? Schmusic! The "goodness" or "badness" of one's
perceived performance is a simply a trap to block this light from
shining. How does anyone know how one sounds anyway? How can we
quantify our effect on other people? It can be a vicious trap. Such
thoughts tie one to the "self," ultimately in my opinion a useless
endevour. In the proper elevated state, one could be beating on a egg
crate and screaming gibberish and still communicate a genuine message.
(Which is UNCONDITIONAL LOVE, no?)
The toil and strain of the musicians body, coupled the imbibing of
stimulants and intoxicants and such are in my opinion a major part of
this equation. Much like spiritually focused ritual flaggelents of the
Sun Dance or whirling Sufi dervishes, the sore limbs and bloody feet
work to remove one from one's ego and frail form and in the best case
strive to allow a musician the greatest mitzvah that one can make in
one's life: literally opening the gates of Heaven and allowing if for
only a brief moment people to be exposed to the holiest of holies. To
me, this a trial by ordeal, designed by centuries of custom and
practice to focus the soul to awaken from its slumber and flower to a
vibrant and full fruition on Mardi Gras Day.
Or am I reading too much into a what could simply be seen as a week of
work?
It will be my honor to roll with y'all however you care to.
Respectfully,
Marko
Postscript: we ride a few, we march a few. Y'all come share the experience with us if you can
