Bars : USA : LA : New Orleans : Tipitina's
Bars : USA : LA : New Orleans : Tipitina's
About Tipitina's
The Neville Brothers. Taj Mahal. Joe King Carrasco. The
Petries. Dash Rip Rock. John Prine. Maceo Parker. Poi Dog Pondering. Los Lobos.
Robert Earl Keen. The Radiators.
Tipitina's. It has treated me well over the years. I saw a
lot of bands there, made a lot of friends; got me some mojo, magic and madness.
In many ways I was born there, into my adult life, my New Orleans life.
Tip's is in the middle of its 30th anniversary music
extravaganza and the resilience and survival of the unprepossessing tavern at
the corner of Napoleon and Tchoupitoulas is certainly testament to the will of
the New Orleans music scene to not only keep it real, but to just plain keep
it.
When I was planning my move to New Orleans in the summer of
1984, the truth is, I knew very little about the city. I'd passed through town
one drunken night four years earlier, but the breadth of my knowledge lay
primarily in the stories that my brother -- an inveterate Mardi Gras aficionado
-- had passed on to me.
I was, at the tender age of 24, dialed into the Neville
Brothers, the Meters and the Wild Magnolias. He had told me about them, shared
their records with me, gave me beads from his Carnival escapades, which I wore
as talismans during my games in Washington, D.C., recreational basketball leagues.
And he told me about Tip's. About the noise, the heat, the
pianos. My brother Richard, he hung at Tip's. Though it was a new joint then,
it had the age of a century hanging over it like pallid cigarette smoke, and he
used to describe to me being piled up in a mass of humanity, sweating, dancing
and making love to the music from this crazy, imponderable roadhouse in New
Orleans.
I've seen many bands there myself since.
Peabody. Cowboy Mouth. Marcia Ball. Trouble Funk. Darden
Smith. Sophie B. Hawkins. The BoDeans. The Ramones. The Beat Farmers. Jerry
Jeff Walker. Cracker. Sweethearts of the Rodeo.
Problem was, Tip's was closed when I moved here that summer.
Word was that the world's fair had somehow put it out of business, though that
never made any sense to me. I was disappointed to say the least.
But I've watched over the years, witnessed the place
struggle, teeter and right itself under various managers and owners and it
reminds me of the Prytania Theater, always on the edge of demise but in the
end: immortal.
Tipitina's is New Orleans.
Indigo Girls. Cowboy Junkies. Stephen Forbert. T-Bone
Burnett. Randy Travis. Song Dogs. Shawn Colvin. Michelle Shocked. Lyle Lovett.
BeauSoleil. Bruce Daigrepont. C.C. Adcock.
It's where I saw Clifton Chenier, the man credited with
bringing zydeco off the Louisiana prairie and into the American Heartland. In
the rest of the country, the King was a guy named Elvis. Here, it was an
accordion player with a red velvet crown and a cape.
When I first moved here, everyone always told me the same
thing: You need to go see Clifton before he dies.
I thought this was an ominous recommendation, to say the
least. But I did it. When I saw he was playing at Tip's one night, I dutifully
made the pilgrimage to see the King of Zydeco, the legend. That music, it broke
open new chambers in my heart. I was never the same. And Clifton Chenier was
dead within weeks.
Boozoo Chavis. The Boondoggles. Sonny Landreth. Henry
Butler. Dr. John. Dwight Yoakam. Joe Ely. Trout Fishing in America. Warren
Zevon. Jason and the Scorchers. Thanksgiving: the Musical.
Through the '80s and early '90s, I used to get there early,
long before the bands would start. I most often went alone. I would claim the
same spot every time, perching myself on top of the cigarette machine at the
end of the bar, just to the right of the stage, in front of the wall of
speakers. I assume that is why I'm hard of hearing now.
On my first Mardi Gras in New Orleans, I went to see Dr.
John play on Lundi Gras night. It was insane. It was the first time I ever left
a club in daylight. I went home and slept until the middle of the afternoon,
missing Zulu, Rex and all but the very end of the truck float parades. I was,
as the Doctor likes to say, traumaticalized. I had missed my first Fat Tuesday.
I swore I would never do that again, never stay out so late
on Lundi Gras that I missed Fat Tuesday and with only six or seven exceptions,
I have kept that promise.
Ladysmith Black Mambazo. Grady Gaines. Johnny Adams. Wolfman
Washington. Steve Riley. The Iguanas. Rebirth Brass Band. Paul Cebar and the
Milwaukeeans. James Cotton. Chris Whitley. The Stump Knockers.
One night last summer, I started writing the names of all
the acts I'd seen at Tip's. There must be dozens more, scores more -- maybe
hundreds, I don't know -- that I have forgotten. The place, it is magic.
I don't get there as much as I used to. But to this day,
when I am driving up Tchoupitoulas at night and I see the crowds congregated on
the corner outside the club, I always roll down my window and call out,
"Who's playing?" I just want to know. Even if I'm not a part of it on
any given night, I am comforted by the fact that people are walking in the door
of that hallowed musical church, past the bust of Professor Longhair, the Bard
of the Crescent City, the muse, the hero.
He wrote the song "Tipitina." And the people did
the rest, for the next 30 years.
Tipitina's Review By Ro F. : Washington, DC
Definitely one of the better quality venues in the
city. Been here several times. Ended up going last night to see Killer
mike and Gza, and it was a memorable experience.
The bartenders are sweethearts, and just the right amount of
friendly. I ended up leaving my card here last night, called this morning, and
they seemed used to the protocol...no problems there.
You can tell they paid specific attention to small details
in this place to make the acoustics and experience here pleasurable.
Sources : Tipitina's Photo | Tipitina's Information | Tipitina's Review | Ro F Review
Contact Tipitinas
0 comments: