Louisiana music

One of Lafayette’s rising stars, blues rocker Lane Mack, released his self-titled debut earlier this month, and it hit No. 2 on the iTunes blues charts.

After his son was born, Mack says he wanted to record a collection of his own songs rooted in the blues and Cajun music he was raised on.


Sounding Baton Rouge's Song

Mar 6, 2015

At his talk at TEDxLSU last Saturday, John Gray — a musician and educator — talked about “music as a connector”.

When you hear a few bars of the "Star Spangled Banner", that might make you feel patriotic. And, “When the Saints Go Marching in”, might stir up some football fandom.

If culture were a gumbo, he said, music is the roux — the special ingredient that binds us together and makes us who we are.

And he’s calling on his city, Baton Rouge, to consciously sustain its own culture.

At his talk at TEDxLSU last Saturday, John Gray — a musician and educator — talked about “music as a connector”.

When you hear a few bars of the Star Spangled Banner, that might make you feel patriotic. And, “When the Saints Go Marching in”, might stir up some football fandom.

If culture were a gumbo, he said, music is the roux — the special ingredient that binds us together and makes us who we are.

And he’s calling on his city, Baton Rouge, to consciously sustain its own culture.
 


Deacon John does it all. The veteran New Orleans bandleader plays weddings, birthdays, proms, debutante parties. He holds his own at Jazz Fest and at carnival balls. He'll play 1950s R&B, rock, jazz, gospel, soul and disco — whatever the people want to hear. But when it's up to him, he chooses the blues.

The story of Huddie "Lead Belly" Ledbetter reads like a parody of the brutal bluesman biography: Kill a man, go to prison — twice — then appeal for a pardon in a song. According to the legend, Lead Belly's undeniable talent convinced Texas Governor Pat Neff to let him go.

The romantic notion of a musician holing up in a studio, alone between soundproof walls with her genius and the muses, doesn't hold water in Louisiana. The lion's share of post-contact American musical history has been borne along the curves of the Mississippi River, and no place incubates a tune quite like the cradle of the Crescent City. There's no turning off the faucet of sound in Louisiana; no shutting the windows against the breezes of history or creativity. It's molecular, ancestral, unavoidable.

Pages