New Orleans, LA – “Bed for Six” -Howlin’ Wolf – May 22, 1999
When we arrived in NOLA we discovered Chris had booked us into a cushy Marriot with a rooftop pool! Yay.
Unfortunately, there was only one room for the five of us… no make that six of us (we brought our Mobile, AL bubble machine toting opener, Eric Erdman along with us to NOLA. We couldn’t leave him behind after he’d provided us with the best laugh of our lives.)* Dellucci, Eric, and I would share the double bed closest to the door and Soucy, Kenny and Bri would bunk up in the other. The trouble was less with our tight sleeping arrangements (which proved pretty humorous for poor Eric, who’d only just met us) and more with the vast number of open bags lying around the room. The floor became a hazardous obstacle course when the lights went out later in the night and you could hear any one of us crying out as we tripped our way to or from the bathroom.
After checking in, we escaped our close quarters. Some of us went to read books through slats in pool chairs on the roof. But I wanted to go shopping and, generously, Eric agreed to accompany me. At “Hemlines” a French Quarter boutique at 609 Chartres St, Eric patiently took a seat on a mocha leather bench and let me try on 50 outfits for him. He generously approved of each and every one of them in a southern drawl that could charm the panties off a nun. I left a little lighter in the wallet and extremely grateful for Eric’s admiration and attention. I think I have a little crush on him. No one can make me laugh the way he does and walk away without my heartstrings attached.
We opened for The Continental Drifters at The Howlin’ Wolf. Overall, it was a pretty uneventful set except that during “For Kim,” Kenny was wriggling around a whole bunch. He was trying to hint at me that he had to pee but I just thought he was dancing funny. Finally, he couldn’t wait any longer. He dropped his bass mid-song and flew off, stage left only to discover the restrooms were located on the opposite side of the stage……I’ll spare you the details of the debacle but let’s just say that the cup wasn’t quite large enough. It happens to all of us at some time. Poor Kenny.
Late night, we hit “The Bitter End,” a bar uptown where our friends George Porter Jr. and The Running Partners were playing. Man, did they make it funky in that humid little joint. We snagged beers at a round table close to the band. Cigar smoke billowed in the blue stage lights and Brint Anderson’s guitar, wawa-ed it’s sexy filth into our souls.