The smell of beer and sweat flavors the warm humid air as the crowd swerves hips and thick thighs in percussive response. The band enticed to dig lower, growls and swears in abandonment of the standard melody line.

And the band plays:

"LORD, LORD, LORD"
"Lord, Lord, Lord, You been so good to me
Lord, Lord, Lord, You been so good to me
Lord, Lord, Lord, You been so good to me

You saved my soul from sin and shame."

And all his boys'll sing:

"DIDN'T HE RAMBLE"
"Didn't he ramble, Didn't he ramble
He rambled all around,
in and out of town
Didn't he ramble, Didn't he ramble
He rambled 'til the butcher cut him down'."

Racially, we're typical of any pirated seaport or sailor's resting spot. Lots of Spaniards and the French, mixing with the native Indians plus African slaves and "free people" of color. Dubbed by the locals as "The City That Care Forgot", this casual abandoning of the standard blood line, so to speak, created not only a unique culture, people and music, but a great place to live . . . and die.

That's the burial afforded the people helped to carry the music along in New Orleans. 'Cause everybody knows the music is the key . . . the "roux". If you cook, you understand. If not, the "roux" is the basic seasoned stock that can take you in any direction you want to cook. Some island cultures, I've heard, keep the same "roux" to start out their meals for years. Every day something new added, while all the time slowly simmering. Well, that's just like out ancient customs in which we still find joy.