New Orleans, LA – “Isis” – The Parish (House of Blues) – October 4, 2000

In New Orleans, the city pulsed with life. People with luminous, dewy skin and fevered gazes danced through the streets, captive to the rhythmic beats of brass bands and zydeco music pouring out of novelty shops and po’ boy sandwich stores. The air was filled with a never-ending symphony of magic and jazz and I felt like we were riding a conveyor belt of sound as we strutted up the street to find our venue. Every other person we passed seemed to be out busking, whether strumming a guitar, blowing into a trombone, or hitting a drum—each played with a broken heart and passionate expression, their straw hats on the ground outstretched to catch the infrequent passing dollar.

Upstairs at the Parish, an almost cathedral-like calm enveloped us. Chandeliers dripped from the ceiling, and folk-art watched us out of sequined eyes. The Birdman met us backstage, having driven 100 miles to serenade us with a 28-minute opus to our last Eastern Tour together. Dressed in a black and blue, sparkling, see-through shirt—he was a sight to behold. It was wonderful to be reunited with him again!

At ten we play for a crowd of beautiful people clad in feather boas, masks and mardi gras beads. The exotic room was filled with salacious laughter and smoke that flowed like condensed milk on the stagnant air.

After the show, the lighting girl—a vision in blue dreads, innocent eyes, and translucent tattooed skin, approached me with her pet snake. “This is her first show,” she said, placing the small, rainbow boa constrictor in my hands. “I want you to name her.” I could feel the spirit of New Orleans winding around my fingers—beautiful, cold, dangerous, and mysterious. I named her “Isis,” after the Bob Dylan song.

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