Our time in New Orleans has been incredible. During past Mardi Gras, I never felt as engaged with the city and the music as I have over the past several days. On Saturday we got a tip that we might have an opportunity to march with the Krewe of Eris, an illegal parade celebrating the Greek goddess of strife and discord. With only a few hours to try to learn the music and assemble our costumes, we rushed to the Bywater for the start of the parade. Slow, heavy drums led into simple, twisting trumpet lines that I tried to pick up and play on the fly. As we marched, the crowd swelled, the band spread out and the procession took on the chaos of its name. Onlookers jumped from car roof to car roof, hanging dancing from balconies. As we approached the French Quarter, the parade's initial musical cohesion had morphed into something much looser, and more imposing.
An Eris Ghoul
We were all drunk on the parade's unhinged power (that was about all we were drunk on- the crowd made it impossible to stop along the way for a beer!). The lumbering drums pulsing through the tight streets of historic New Orleans easily attracted the attention of the police, and that's where things went south. As we finished our lap through the French Quarter, altercations between the cops and the marchers began to flare up. Soon, the police were arresting over a dozen marchers, while cries of police brutality and protests began to overtake the music of Eris. We saw the scene becoming increasingly destabilized and kept ourselves on the periphery. We were there for the music, not to fight cops, and continued marching to the end of the renegade parade’s route as others got caught up in altercations.
The dark energy of Eris was surprising in its contrast of the brightly lit exuberance that characterizes the rest of Mardi Gras. On Fat Tuesday, Molly and I donned costumes again and headed out to watch the street theater of the French Quarter. We’d barely made it into Jackson Square and sat down for a bite to eat when this band came barreling past us.
For the rest of the day, we were hearing dispatches of the movements of our favorite brass bands: Panorama on Chatres, What Cheer Brigade on the waterfront, Petrojvic Blasting Company in an alley. We met up with our cousins to watch the street from the balcony of our hotel, until their friends showed up dressed like cops to bust up the party.
By the time we headed back to Frenchman Street in the late afternoon, we were all beat- too much music, too many beers, just too much excitement- and found our way back to the hotel room around nightfall, to close out Mardi Gras day with coffee and beignets.
The whole weekend was delirious- seeing some of the best bands in the country, staying out until dawn, meeting new friends from LA, Chicago, Seattle, Sweden and here in New Orleans. I treasure having four days a year to let loose, and I’m just as glad to put it behind me. We need the mania of Mardi Gras, just as we need the dutiful normalcy that it contrasts.
The dark energy of Eris was surprising in its contrast of the brightly lit exuberance that characterizes the rest of Mardi Gras. On Fat Tuesday, Molly and I donned costumes again and headed out to watch the street theater of the French Quarter. We’d barely made it into Jackson Square and sat down for a bite to eat when this band came barreling past us.
For the rest of the day, we were hearing dispatches of the movements of our favorite brass bands: Panorama on Chatres, What Cheer Brigade on the waterfront, Petrojvic Blasting Company in an alley. We met up with our cousins to watch the street from the balcony of our hotel, until their friends showed up dressed like cops to bust up the party.
By the time we headed back to Frenchman Street in the late afternoon, we were all beat- too much music, too many beers, just too much excitement- and found our way back to the hotel room around nightfall, to close out Mardi Gras day with coffee and beignets.
The whole weekend was delirious- seeing some of the best bands in the country, staying out until dawn, meeting new friends from LA, Chicago, Seattle, Sweden and here in New Orleans. I treasure having four days a year to let loose, and I’m just as glad to put it behind me. We need the mania of Mardi Gras, just as we need the dutiful normalcy that it contrasts.
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