You gotta give all you got!

A thoroughly satisfying day of working behind us, another delicious dinner, we walked arm in arm down Royal to the tiny shops on Frenchman Street, in search of a grocery and a bottle of wine. Interesting thing about New Orleans, grocery stores are few and far between. No chains or mega-stores to be had, just a small handful of mini-mart style one-aisle stores with slim selection. Apparently a lot of stores never returned after Katrina…

And so we finally find a store, but wine is something they don’t have. We make our way back to the house, when loud, soulful chords of a piano, cello and drums pour out from the opened doors of an old bar. I grab Jamie’s arm and we stand frozen as the blaring, vibrant, golden chords of a trumpet rise above it all to swirl above us. As he blasts quick notes into the universe, it sends chills up and down my spine – it’s rich, intoxicating, seductive, complex and playful, all in one moment. The man in the suit lowers the horn and pulls at the mic and begins to sing. No less soulful and seductive, his gravelly voice is Louis Armstrong reincarnated. He droops over the mic and whispers words of heartbreak and despair, then the drop of drum and deep tattoo on the cello, a quick pause, his arms open wide and his chest puffs as he belts the notes “You gotta give it all you got!" then a quieter "Sho-bop-sho-bop-sho-bop-sho-bop-sho-bop-sho-boooop” over and over as they play and play and play behind him. Then louder, Give all you got, Give all you got, Give all you got. It all picks up then. Like whirling dervishes, the young musicians behind him spin the notes ‘round and ‘round the room until the music has a life of its own. Chaos and disorder somehow settle into beautiful, unexpected harmony. It's the unexpected part that I love. How is this note every going to...ahh, yeah, there it is, harmony and melody, coming together somewhere out there, the way it should be.

He waves us in and I realize we’ve been standing in the doorway dumbfounded for minutes. Big smiles as we stumble to the bar, past the rows of his other entranced listeners, and order a glass of the house wine. A glass here is as good as a bottle at home! Hell, this is better than anything we could have planned!

They get up to dance then. A sweetly shy couple. He guides her, carefully, by the hand as she tip toes to the open space in front of the band. They start to sway and count the time. Then he’s twirling her, and twirling her, and twirling her, then hands fly up and over the heads in a lattice of flared fingers (flashback to the 7th grade, embarrassed to be chosen as Mr. Baskin’s swing partner, to demonstrate in front of the whole class, grimacing as I caught the smell of his relentless B.O., but this is nothing like this. It’s what it should be.) Round the room, hands fly, smiles wide. It’s attractive – the way they move together. His strong hand guides her. Practiced and knowing. Adventurous and trusting. Her laughter, smile and the swish of step create beauty with each move. Back and forth they glide to the most beautiful sounds ever heard. I’ve heard jazz but never like this. Never with this fervor and passion.

After a few songs, ever the performer, Kid Merv waves in more transfixed crowds from off the street. He playfully jingles the enormous tip cup as he reminds everyone that if we don't drink, they don't get paid. Jamie and I order another glass of red and settle in..."the words, you gotta give all you got" still ringing in my head.

I hesitated to post the video clips because there is absolutely no way to do the live experience justice, the depth and sincerity of that sound... But there’s no way my words could do justice to his performance either. Ladies & Gentleman, Kid Merv:



And a little more...