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Bruce Boyd Raeburn | "They're Tryin' to Wash Us Away": New Orleans Musicians Surviving Katrina | The Journal of American History, 94.3 | The History Cooperative
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December, 2007
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"They're Tryin' to Wash Us Away": New Orleans Musicians Surviving Katrina


Bruce Boyd Raeburn



There has been a lot of post-Katrina talk about making Randy Newman's satirical ballad on the flooding of the Mississippi River, "Louisiana 1927," the new state song, and my title is taken from its refrain. "They're Tryin' to Wash Us Away" sums up the state of mind of many New Orleans residents these days, especially musicians. Those hard feelings are related to slow government relief efforts, statements by self-appointed pundits that the city does not "deserve" to be rebuilt, perceptions of racism tied to mismanagement of resources before and after the storm, and accusations that the city's levee systems were so faulty that the Federal Bureau of Investigation (FBI) is looking into possible corruption in their design, construction, and maintenance. Under such circumstances, the current state anthem, Governor Jimmie H. Davis's "You Are My Sunshine," seems bizarre and strangely inappropriate for the foreseeable future. But Davis's tune is actually much closer in spirit to the usual New Orleans musician's response to disaster; there has long been an inclination to use music to mitigate the harsh realities endemic to a city that finds itself perennially in harm's way. One can learn much about New Orleans by looking at how musicians respond to disaster and inquiring into how repertoire, the experience of exile, and the urban cultural environment have been affected by cataclysmic events, now and in the past. Catastrophe inevitably changes lives and forces individuals to adapt to unexpected and often painful realities, but it also affords opportunities for growth and discovery. Tradition, which always looms large in New Orleans culture, provides guidance and comfort, yet it remains dynamic. The drummer Johnny Vidacovich speaks for the city when he states: "Tradition can be a verb. It isn't over yet. It hasn't become history yet."1 1
      An analysis of repertoire illustrates how New Orleans jazz musicians have indulged a predilection for escapism over the years. Unlike their Delta blues counterparts, they have steadfastly avoided topical songs about disaster. In 1938 Jelly Roll Morton talked to Alan Lomax at the Library of Congress about the Robert Charles riot (a murderous white rampage against the city's African American population in July 1900), but he never wrote a song about it. "Milneburg Joys," which evokes the relaxed ambience of picnics along Lake Pontchartrain, is characteristic of his penchant for themes reflecting joie de vivre. Most New Orleans composers fixate on the city's pleasure zones or on the behaviors associated with them. Clarence Williams's "West End Blues" is about another lakefront resort, and Spencer Williams's "Basin Street Blues" celebrates Storyville, the notorious red-light district "where the light and the dark folks meet."2 Sam Theard's "(I'll Be Glad When You're Dead) You Rascal You" is about a randy houseguest, and his "Let the Good Times Roll" speaks for itself. The subtext of that "good time" mentality is the ever-present threat of destruction or retribution lurking just below the surface. Many Americans view New Orleans as a bastion of hedonistic corruption that must pay for its sins (the Southern Decadence festival, preempted by Katrina in 2005, is only the most recent target of such complaints). Since Katrina, that idea has achieved widespread circulation on conservative Christian media networks. The residents of New Orleans know they are vulnerable, but they do not want to be reminded of it. This is one of their many "blind spots," and avoidance of grim realities makes it difficult to prepare for them. Katrina exposed the fallacy of the city's "good time" ethos, and there are serious implications for its musical culture, rooted in the festival traditions of black neighborhoods that were largely destroyed. Yet that is precisely where the city seeks its inspiration for renewal. . . .

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