Farewell To Storyville

You know how it is: you hear a song once or twice, more or less by accident; you quite like it, so you listen to it again; and before you know it, the words are going round and round in your head, and you can’t seem to stop them.

This happened to me recently. I’ve no particular interest in jazz in general, but I’ll make an exception for Tuba Skinny, even though the name of the group is toe-curlingly awful. What kind of music do they play? Here’s a description from their website.

Formed in 2009, Tuba Skinny has steadily evolved from a loose collection of street musicians into a solid ensemble dedicated to bringing the traditional New Orleans sound to audiences around the world. Drawing on a wide range of musical influences—from spirituals to Depression-era blues, from ragtime to traditional jazz—their sound evokes the rich musical heritage of their New Orleans home. The band has gained a loyal following through their distinctive sound, their commitment to reviving long-lost songs, and their barnstorming live performances.

According to Wikipedia, The band's name is a tribute to the tuba player Anthony Lacen who was better known as Tuba Fats. He was a founding member of the Dirty Dozen Brass Band, one of New Orleans' most prominent brass rhythm bands. Hmm. I’m still not impressed. 

What do they sound like? Rather than offer my own thoughts, let me give you an extract from a review of a live performance, taken from The Sydney Morning Herald, and written by Jessica Nichols.

Musically, Tuba Skinny mines a rich seam of traditional jazz and blues from the '20s and '30s. And, while it's evident the band treasures the sense of history evoked by these vintage tunes, the players' natural exuberance makes the music feel irresistibly alive. Erika Lewis' vocals have a wonderfully earthy quality, her phrases often pulling behind the beat with a languid, world-weary drawl. On the instrumental numbers, Cohn's cornet outlined the melody and also engaged in spirited three-way conversations with Barnabus Jones' trombone and Jon Doyle's agile clarinet. Washboard player Robin Rapuzzi frolicked on the sidelines, his rhythmic explorations as captivating to watch as they were to listen to.

That seems fair enough to me, and it might well have been written about their rendition of this particular piece, Farewell To Storyville. But what else is there about this song, beyond the excellence of its performance, that has kept it going around in my head for the last few weeks? It was written by Clarence Williams and Spencer Williams in 1925, and it commemorates – if that’s the right word – the closing down of a notorious red light district in New Orleans in 1917. “And a good thing, too!” you might well be thinking. Why would I want to mention such a song on the Salem Chapel website? 

Take a look at the lyrics, if you will.


All you old time queens

From New Orleans

Who live in Storyville,

Now you sang the blues,

Tried to amuse,

Here's how they pay the bill!

 

Now the law stepped in and called it sin

Just to have a little fun;

The police cop

Has made us stop,

And Storyville is done!

 

Pick out your steamboat,

Pick yourself a train,

A slow old train!

Pick out your steamboat,

Pick yourself a train,

A slow old train!

 

They made you close up,

They'll never let you back,

They won't let you back!

Go buy your ticket,

Or else you'll walk the track!

 

No use complaining,

Blue skies follow rain,

The cold old rain!

No use complaining,

Blue skies follow rain,

The cold old rain!

 

Just say farewell now,

And get your one last thrill,

Your one last thrill;

Just say farewell now,

Farewell to Storyville! 


That last verse might give you a clue; it’s got me thinking about a doctrine that I haven’t heard preached on at any length for many a long year, even if it’s been mentioned in passing on the odd occasion.

What could it be? I'll let you think about it for a while.

To be continued.