In an age where you can find out what the members of your favourite band had for breakfast, lunch and dinner, the music of New Orleans still feels fantastically out of reach. New Orleans’ unique culture appears as something of a fictional reality. You can believe it exists, but such wondrous individuality seems to surpass the parameters of this dimension.
New Orleans octet, Tuba Skinny, don’t toy around with a great deal of new material. They stick to the good stuff, traditional jazz and old blues tunes. These sounds are entrenched in history, so evoking that fantasy impression isn’t as simple as learning the notes and waiting for the cash to flow in. These eight NOLA residents have essentially implanted themselves in a bygone past. Time, however is a misleading concept. We were enshrouded in the magic of this moment, making notions of antiquity irrelevant.
Tuba Skinny prove themselves to be adept players with a finely curated understanding of pre-rock’n’roll New Orleans. But in static 2D form it’s not quite a legendary phenomenon. On stage, the traditional New Orleans sounds were allowed to gather propulsive tactility.
The eight players – clarinet, cornet, trombone, banjo, guitar, tuba, washboard and vocals – sat together in a semi circle, as if crowded around a campfire. The rhythmic momentum – which came from washboard, tuba and a beaten bass drum – didn’t drop during the 80 minutes stage time. The set was split 50-50 between instrumentals and songs featuring Erika Lewis’s enchanting vocals. Lewis’ vocals created such a time warp you were convinced they’d come spilling out of a rust-encrusted gramophone.
Two thirds through, a local dance troupe assembled directly in front of the stage to perform choreographed swing dance routines during two songs. This was great, but it was slightly odd for everyone to stand still watching the dances, instead of seizing this invitation to let loose.
Tuba Skinny seemed slightly bemused, perched high up on stage with a full room of idle punters. There was plenty to watch, so the crowd’s minimal motion didn’t indicate lack of enthusiasm, but this music belongs in a setting where everyone’s on the level, moving in unison with the creole stomp.
The applause at the set’s conclusion however, spoke of tremendous appreciation; a sign people were infectiously moved by this alternate feel-good reality.
BY AUGUSTUS WELBY
Loved: The washboard.
Hated: Kirin, Kirin or Kirin?
Drank: Kirin.
