Whiskey River in Louisiana by Aidan Sheehan

(Originally posted on the "Blue front Blues Room Club" website, Jan 2004)

Martin and I left the Days Inn, Lafayette to head on down to Mamou for the Mardi Gras celebrations. A couple of days before, we had been playing music with, talking to and enjoying some "cold brews" with Phil from the Cajun band "Sacaulait". We two travelling Brit musicians sat in the dimly lit bar at McGee's Landing, perched on the edge of the alligator-infested Henderson Swamp in the Atchafalaya basin. We had been jamming for several hours.with a bunch of local musicians including Jesse Leger and Phil, plus a bunch of cajun fans from Liverpool. I even put my box and mandoline down to play les tout ensemble a tinwhistle tune. They didn't know what a tin whistle was, so I obliged with a brief demonstration. Well, the place is called McGee's after all.

Now the music had passed, most of the bar had emptied and it was time to chill out. We'd never met Phil before, however his reputation preceded him. He is a little "off the wall" most of the time, and when we mentioned we would visit Mamou on the actual Mardi Gras day, he actually performed a full backflip, but didn't appear to spill any of the contents of his half finished bottle of Bud - good trick. "Mamou, Fred's Lounge on Mardi Gras day - whoa, watch yourselves boys - they a little wild over there!" We laughed it off, thinking he was joking. We had read in books and seen the photographs regarding "Chasing the Chicken" ceremonies, ancient chants, the Zydeco trail rides winding through the early morning mist on horseback, followed by the crowds of locals dressed in outlandish carnival costumes chasing down greased pigs and poulets. To we "Limey" visitors, these "Capuchin" costumes seemed more than slightly reminiscent of Klansmen's garb, but I am told this is just a coincidence. They look spooky! The chickens and pigs would then be killed and added to a giant Gumbo pot to feed the whole town. We wanted to see what truth there was in the stories. I must explain they have a long weekend of revelry which reaches it's pinnacle on "Fat Tuesday" itself. On Ash Wednesday, everyone recives their ashes and all the fun stops for a while so they have to get it all over and done before Lent whilst at the Mardi Gras.

Well, we had rather "over enjoyed ourselves" with beer and crawdaddies the night before, so we shamefully missed the early morning ceremonies. That might have been a disastrous start to the day, but there would be lots going on everywhere at Mardi Gras. When you're on holiday 5.30am doesn't exist! We chucked everything in the car and off we went. Off the freeway the roads are mostly long, straight and narrow country roads edged by rice fields. Crawfish thrive in these conditions, and are harvested, ending up on plates of many hungry Cajuns and visitors too. The previous night, Martin and I had bought a giant sack of spiced, boiled crawfish for six dollars, complete with boiled potatoes, corn on the cob and grabbed a few beers to go. As we munched on the Crawdads and downed the beers in our hotel's dining room (they opened it out of hours, just for us), a stout, elderley lady passer-by exclaimed "My God! I could just eat the whole sack all by myself". We were later advised by the manager not to go to that Crawdad shop again as she felt we may have got into trouble, ("mugged and shot dead") walking around that part of Lafayette after dark. Nice. 

No one was working in the fields on "Fat Tuesday". They were all busy doing what they do for Mardi Gras. We drove past many low white buildings on the sides of the road, neat houses with trucks on the driveways. We drove past one house, and couldn't' t help but notice the dead dog lying by a driveway, obviously hit by a car. That house was isolated, so it must have been their dog, and there it lay, as still as the atmosphere on those long, straight country roads. We drove on through the quiet fields. When we reached Mamou; well we missed the turn off and mistakenly drove straight past it. Considering it's fame in Cajun Country, it deserves a better sign with clear directions, especially as it is important as a centre of Cajun culture, language and music. We drove down the next street and followed our ears. We wound the windows down fully, and heard some accordions blasting away playing some hot Zydeco grooves. We parked, got out of the car and followed the sounds.

In Louisiana, black people tend to play Zydeco and the whites play Cajun. We had driven into the black part of town. We parked up by neat, white shingled little chapel and walked around the corner into a square where all the residents were busily preparing for the celebrations. Although nothing was said by the older people, no one looked very happy as we arrived around the corner. There were some youths who were clearly not happy for us to be there, shouting "Oi" and glowering at us for disturbing their street party. It was clear "the white folks party" lay elsewhere. The people were listening to a booming sound system, not a band. The only white people around were ourselves. We were informed by a middle aged gentleman that the "place we were looking for" (?!) was just a few blocks away. We dutifully got back in the car and left.

As we drove down the street we encountered some weary trail riders on horseback, black men in stetsons who had been up and at it since the early hours of the morning, drinking, singing and collecting this and that for the gumbo around the surrounding farm houses. They often play fiddles and accordions whilst drunk in charge of a horse, so accidents happen we were later told. We drove on. We found the "white part of town" two minutes later As we expected there were no black people around here apart from one cop. It seems the communities prefer to live separately even on this celebratory occasion. Sometimes it is very apparent that the South isn't so different as it used to be after all!

The main street of Mamou like going back in time. It is a collection of ramshackle buildings either side of a wide road that reminds one of a cowboy town. The town is rough'n' ready - full of bikers, cowboys and wild people, but also families - it's fun in a rough old sort of way!! There is a biker's bar that looks like something out of a movie, maybe a crazed biker, pirate movie with vampires. We had walked into "Scooters Bar" - briefly listened to the blasting heavy metal eminating from the juke box, witnessed the " crazy gang", and within a minute we decided to leave as we didn't really fit in. The town is packed with people all drinking beer out on the street, and wearing various styles of Mardi Gras getup mixed with stetsons or sporting obligitory baseball caps. Martin had earlier decided to buy a mask and a sequinned Mardi Gras baseball cap. The polite, elderly lady behind the counter thought his accent quaint. She offered that we should leave our hire car outside her shop, as "its not safe further back down the street"... further down the street referred to the part of town where we had originally entered.

The biggest hotel in the town, the "Hotel Cazan" is a sight to see. It may fall down if someone shuts a door too hard! It's ramshackle, and dark as a dungeon inside. It squats on the end of the main street, sans lightbulbs and in need of major decoration and repair work. They advertise that there is a band in the bar, but they haven't got one. I wonder if they have any interior lighting anywhere. Soul Food is being served in a side annex. When you step outside the light hurts your eyes. There is a large stage outside the Hotel where a fantastic old style Cajun band is pumping away, everyone playing at once. They are absolutely brilliant. There are lots of people dancing, all in couples and wearing Mardi Gras guises. We are later told that often men mistakenly dance with other men as nobody can tell who is who beneath the costumes and masks. There are food stalls selling boudin, which is a sort of fish or pork sausage depending on which one you buy. I found out afterwards that I was supposed to peel the skin off and suck out the contents, but not knowing, I ate it all. Seemed okay to me! A cop comes over and tells me I mustn't stand near the dancers and the band with a beer bottle in my hand. Remember the "Blues Brothers" movie, the scene, performing in the C&W club? Bands playing behind chickenwire to protect them from "personal injury" were first seen in Louisiana. Now I undestand the cops concerns, especially due to the lack of chickenwire. He is dressed like an unbelievably elderly SWAT team member but he is a town cop. That's how they all dress. He tells me forcefully but politely "only drinks in cans are allowed in the square", so I throw my now empty bottle in the bin and buy several cans of cold beer which I happily drink whilst listening to the band. Well, he told me to, so I must uphold the law!!

Although the crowd looks a bit rough, the atmosphere was friendly in that rough sort of way. This is a farming community after all, and the term "Red Neck" is related to agricultural workers who acquired sunburned necks working in the fields all week long, only to blow their troubles away on the weekends. We expected nothing less. "Fred's Lounge" is tiny and like all the bars in Mamou it is pretty dark and run down. It was open for Mardi Gras (a Tuesday) but is normally just open on Saturday mornings around 9.00 am for a live music radio Broadcast on the local radio. No radio show today but there is a band. The bar is stacked several people deep and everyone stands around packed in like sardines drinking beer (Bud or Coors - that's it unfortunately) and some brave souls "going for it big time" on the "dance floor" (i.e. the very small gap in the crowd). The band are roped off at one side of the room, and blasting away with abandon; high volume, high energy - great sounding Cajun music in a style reminiscent of Nathan Abshire. What a place! We got talking (shouting really considering the noise) with lots of the locals, who were amazed to discover we were British. The local French was being spoken quite a lot in the bar, and the band's repertoire was all in French. Most of the male patrons were wearing baseball caps or stetsons, and were large blocky figures. Some of the men seemed incredibly tall.

One chap became quite friendly, noticed we sounded different and enquired were we "from back east". He was surprised when I told him how far back east! He asked if we ever spoke French in England. We obliged by speaking some French to him, and I think we made a friend for life. He told us that he had an Englishman working on his farm the year previous, but he was "an illegal" and the cops had arrested him, and he had been deported. He told us the guy was a great worker, a nice guy and even had a Cajun girlfriend. He says, " We almost got him - what a shame he had to go". We were then lucky enough to witness a rendition by "Tante Sue" the widow of Fred Tate.  ("Yes, Mr. Tate is deceased" we were corrected. We'd asked our friend if Fred was dead.), who sang a couple of raucous Cajun songs with the band. She must be around 80 years old but she belts 'em out in a tuneless, high pitched bellow that is a real treat! This style of singing was learned and practiced in this locality so that singers could make themselves heard over the roaring accordions before amplification was brought in; it is still a singing style apparant in Mamou to the present day. The male singers in the band were also practicioners of this distinctive style, though a little more tuneful. It fits the "Chanky Chank" music really well.

I was so impressed by the atmosphere in here I bought the "Mardi Gras Purple" tee shirt featuring a squeezebox and a copy of the world-famous sign still hanging on the wall. It reads... "Please do NOT stand on the tables, chairs, Cigarette machines, booths and Juke Box! Thank You. Fred. Laissez les bon temps rouler!" This sign makes a lot of sense considering what we had witnessed. Martin bought the other Mardi Gras tee shirt, sporting a picture of "Tante Sue" on the front waving a bottle and singing.

As the day wore on we decided to head back to Eunice to see the Mardi Gras parade. We made sure we took the "Right Road" out of town.  On the way back via Eunice, (where we later caught several bands including the wonderful Steve Riley in more civilised surroundings), we noticed the dead dog was still lying in the road. It hadn't been moved and it wasn't going anywhere by itself. Maybe after the owner's hangover had passed.

Check it all out on: www.http://lsue.edu/acadgate/mamou.htm This site is very good, and it gives some photos of the day we were actually there! There are some cracking pix of "Fred's Lounge" and the whole Mardi Gras celebrations in Mamou.

I thought you might like to read this article from a well-respected Blues magazine. It describes Aidan's surprise appearance with famous blues star Lazy Lester. Lazy Lester Solo acoustic @ Blue Front Blues Room 23rd February 2004 Extract from Issue 19 BLUES MATTERS! Review by Diane aka Sister Feelgood.

I have seen this fine Blues man twice before at two consecutive Colne festivals but this was my first experience of him in a small more intimate setting. Whereas I was impressed with the festival performances this smaller low key, informal affair was by far the best. The skittle alley made over for the blues club twice a month is just the right size and setting for acoustic solo or duo artists. The audiences are receptive, keen and cannot get enough of these top quality musicians that is becoming the hallmark of this venue Lazy Lester with his unique style of down home swamp blues was just made for this type of venue and audience. Friends Annie and Phil had beaten me up to the Forest and had been good enough to secure me a front row seat. What are friends for? Well! Keeping you one of the best seats in the house that is what! Jook Joint were first up on stage as support and played a few Louisiana back porch numbers before quickly giving way to Mr. Johnson. Aidan, the accordion player from Whiskey River, who guested with "Jook Joint" was in for a real treat later in the evening! Lester is a tall, slim fellow and quite fit for his years and dressed, casual but smart and topped off with a fine blue/grey Stetson hat looking every inch the performer! His warm smile and friendly banter as well as his superb craftsman of his chosen art form wins the audience over immediately. He tunes up his guitar and goes straight into a sprightly up tempo nearly ragtime guitar solo. That done it is down a beat or two into Hank Williams Cheating Heart then Must have been the Devil.

His voice strong and clear with that earthy ruggedness very much the requirement for this style of swamp country blues. The next tune was Leaving on the New River Train that very much resembled Rolling in my sweet babys arms.

He then called for the accordion man to come on up and help him out with the next number. Aidan Sheehan stumbled up amazed that he had been summoned by the master, himself, to play alongside him! The look of absolute glee tinged with a little disbelief flashed across his face as he pushed his way up front to the stage. Gumbo Ya Ya was on the spicy Cajun menu and the players and audience alike wolf it down with out hitting the sides as they say!! Aidan was later invited up again to do a Cajun waltz, and then a version of Wildwood Flower.

The second set after a short break continued in the same vein and the folks there watched listened and entered into easy banter with Lester as he is such a charming and relaxed man with an obvious love and enjoyment for his music and those there felt the same, They marvel at the exquisite finger style and agility of those long digits of his flying up and down the frets like greased lightening at times and conversely holding a long note to perfection when needed. A rack harmonica was produced along the way - which proved a little problematic with its setting-up a bit like a seaside deckchair! This was passed off with typical Lazy humour. At his feet two wooden homemade beat boards on which his best polished cowboy shoes rapped out the tempo throughout. One board had a small tambourine attached at the end and the other a castanet set into a neatly scoped out recess. Both implements secured with baler twine to the front legs of his stool! Sophistication for you! I read somewhere that he had originally been a drummer in the start of his career before moving to the harmonica and then lastly going over to the guitar. What a talent. As John said so rightly at the end of proceedings we were certainly served up a fine menu of Louisiana back porch, twelve bar blues with Cajun, Zydeco, country blues, and others mixed in for good measure. My favourite? It had to be a real deep down dirty guitar version with rough hewn vocals on Mannish Boy. Oh! It was so good, so very, very good!!!! Annie agreed with me that this was by far the best night we have had here in the Miners Arms. We agreed, too, that the venue was just the right place with exactly the right appreciative audience for such a Blues maestro who cast a little Louisiana swamp voodoo over the dark mysterious Forest - that wooded land strip that lies between two rivers.