"They're Tryin' to Wash Us Away": New Orleans Musicians Surviving Katrina

Abstract

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 feel ings 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 mismanage ment 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 ex perience 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, pro vides 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 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 ram page 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