The Redneck Riviera

Posted on January 16, 2011 by theurbanllama

From the boardwalk at Gulf Shores, the water welcomes visitors to take a dip.

After getting my feet solidly under me in Louisiana, I was ready to take my reality television adventure east, across the Redneck Riviera, consisting of Mississippi, Alabama and the panhandle of Florida.

While I was continuing to contact mainline law enforcement about participating in the “I Am The Law”reality show, I felt going to quasi-law enforcements entities was the better path to follow and would prove more fruitful. I pursued both options, but I had no hint as to the treasure trove of excitement I was about to unearth.

The Katrina Memorial in Biloxi.

Mississippi is a little over an hour from New Orleans, add another 30 minutes and you reach the heart of the Gulf Coast – Gulfport and Biloxi, Miss. If you drop south a few miles from U.S. 10, to Hwy. 90, the road hugs the coastline and places the ocean a football throw away. This is why Hurricane Katrina was so devastating to this region.

The massive wave essentially reached out and grabbed everything on the shore and pulled it back into the ocean. It’s readily evident by the amount of construction that the entire coastline is being rebuilt. This includes the casinos.

The Hard Rock casino was originally scheduled to open on the day Katrina hit. It was instead destroyed. Eleven casinos are currently open in the Gulfport/Biloxi region, with more on the way, including the Jimmy Buffet owned Margaritaville. The two most prestigious are the Beau Rivage, which is like the Bellagio in Las Vegas (not particularly kid oriented), and the rebuilt Hard Rock.

Sundown brings the lights up at the Hard Rock Casino.

Unless people live in this area, most are unfamiliar with the beaches and casinos that exist. They’re tier three casinos at best, nothing like Vegas or Atlantic City, but they are packed year around, and offer a level of entertainment this area wouldn’t enjoy otherwise.

Several have major concert spaces inside, it’s not uncommon to run into B list celebrities, like David Hasselhoff, and they bring in a ton of money. These casinos are essentially responsible for all of Mississippi’s tax revenue.

There definitely is a party scene here that shouldn’t exist, and wouldn’t exist if not for the casinos. This got me thinking about finding some angle involving them in the reality show. It seemed like good TV – taking what people perceive is found in Mississippi, then turning it on its head and showing all these folks partying like rock stars out by the pool overlooking the ocean.

To get a better feel for how the casinos operate, and what level of debauchery is out there, I went and spoke with a couple of the casino security chiefs. Derick Bonnet is a security supervisor at the Hard Rock, and he echoed that there is a healthy party scene, very upscale, but overall uneventful. With rooms hovering around $200 a night, plus what the average guest will drop on food, drinks, entertainment and gambling, the last thing security wants to do is throw them out. While the pool scene Sunday at the Hard Rock, known as “Detox,” would make a grown man blush according to Bonnet, the drama is low at the casino.

In recognition of George Ohr (the Mad Potter of Biloxi), the five-building Ohr-O’Keefe Museum of Art campus has been commissioned. Designed by renowned architect Frank Gehry, these structures were destroyed by Hurricane Katrina, but three of the buildings were opened in 2010, and the remaining two are scheduled for completion in 2012.

I had heard the IP casino took a different tact to handling their security. Several of its security personnel, including the chief, are former police officers and jail employees. They have a reputation for a much more “hands on” approach to how they handle difficult guests.

While Alfred Sexton, the director of security at the IP took a meeting with me. He had no interest in discussing his philosophy or reputation for handling casino security, nor did he want to discuss the types of incidences often encountered.

It became clear this wasn’t going to work for the show. Between not enough action or cooperation, and the gaming commission insisting that they be present at all times made me quickly move off this idea. I got the feeling that the folks here have a dirty little secret they want to keep quiet. Attention on what goes down here is the last thing anyone seems to want.

What I did learn was that instead of long-time locals serving in these casino jobs, many were transplants. A good number of locals had left after Katrina, having lost everything. When the recovery money started flowing, and the casinos were rebuilt, people from outside Mississippi started relocating to Biloxi and Gulfport for the jobs. There also was a significant number of locals who decided to get themselves lost in the chaos after the storm. This made me think of private investigators.

Rebel flags fly outside Beauvoir, the final resting place of Jefferson Davis, located across from the ocean on Hwy. 90, in Biloxi.

Sure enough PI’s are a booming business in this part of the country. Folks who either had huge debts, pending court dates, were on probation, parole, were facing paternity or child support suits, took the opportunity that the hurricane presented and ditched their identities. This is known as “Katrina amnesty,” and it has created a cottage industry for private investigators.

I spoke with a couple of the more reputable PI’s in the area, and they do have a lot of business. The problem with this story line is that successful private investigators need to remain anonymous and tend to be boring. When trailing a person the last thing a PI wants is a face that’s been splashed all over television – it’s a career ender. The job sounds sexy, but makes for lousy television.

The ocean vista in Biloxi as seen from Highway 90.

This was another example of one door closing and another opening. I considered who else was involved in the process of apprehending fugitives. The police have their hands full with day to day incidents. That’s when the idea of bail bondsmen came to me.

I looked up a few in the phone book, called a couple, and then went out to knock on some doors.

Located amongst a grouping of shabby, prefab strip mall office complexes, the majority of which had something to do with doctors offices or medical supplies, was D & D Bail Bonds.

There was no proper sign outside, only small cardboard ones suited for stapling to phone polls were scattered in a curtained window. I made sure I had everything necessary to do an interview – but would there be an interview? What kind of discussion do you have with a bounty hunter?

I walked up to the door with some trepidation. Anything could be on the other side. I needed to steel myself for whatever I might encounter.

I reached my hand out to grasp the door knob and paused, taking a deep breath and stepped strongly into the dingy lit world of bail bonding.

The office was one big room, with three smaller offices branching off to the left. File cabinets of all sizes, a safe and bulletin boards ringed the room. Towards the back was a primary business desk, at which sat the owner, Wayne Dowdle. Stationed around his desk, slumped in varying-types of chairs were the three other mates that make up D & D, Wayne’s wiry son Justin, a mountain of a man in Ben “Ray” Williams and the reserved Tim Odom.

Clearly I had interrupted a conversation, as laughing and boisterous crosstalk came to an immediate silence as all four men turned their focus upon me.

I didn’t want to give them any room so I rolled right into my spiel on the reality show. Wayne never looked up, keeping his head down and attending to his work.

There was brief pause when I finished, as all three thought I was full of shit, and had been put up to this as a prank by another bounty hunter.

Ben, or Ray as he prefers to be called, is the enforcer in this group. He’s also a character. At 6’4″, and weighing 250 pounds, he cuts an imposing figure. Tattoos spill out of both shirt sleeves, he’s thick like a refrigerator, and has a grizzled exterior that would indicate he might stomp you into bug goo if you don’t choose your words carefully. But beyond the rough exterior Ray is actually a big teddy bear. He’s light-hearted, smart, with a quick wit and self-deprecating sense of humor. It’s just most people don’t see past his size and tattoos.

Now don’t get me wrong, Ray will hurt you. He’s been a bouncer and served as an enforcer for a biker gang, but he prefers to utilize his intelligence and rapport to get the job done peacefully.

I could tell Justin was a character as well. He had a spidery type body; thin arms and long fingers that were always moving, a manic sense in his eyes, he smoked like a chimney, had a wicked Mississippi accent and wore a black Monster energy drink hat, with the big green neon “M” spun to about two o’clock on his nugget.

He reminded me a lot of the character Morgan O’Mally in “Good Will Hunting,” played by Casey Affleck. Both these guys can get some shit stirred up, but they have big boys behind them that are not afraid to fight their way out.

Justin also has a thing about using Tasers on people. He’s always got one with him. He’s not a big guy, but is very animated. The Taser just adds to his character.

He and his father have this system down, where Wayne, who looks like a middle-aged accountant, non-threatening in appearance or demeanor, will ring a fugitive’s door bell. When he answers the door, Wayne introduces himself like some door-to-door salesman and reaches out to shake hands, only he doesn’t let go of the fugitive’s hand. Wayne pulls him out of the doorway, where Justin is waiting to slap the handcuffs on them or will happily Taser them if they so much as flinch.

It’s worked amazingly well over the years.

Tim Odom falls more into Wayne’s mold. He’s got a few pounds on him, has that business casual look down with a southern twist, and a Bluetooth device on his ear. He’s the quiet guy in this group, but will get jiggy when required.

Together this is a rather unlikely batch of bounty hunters, but they get the job done and come home in one piece. Wayne serves as the father figure to this bunch. He’s the most cerebral and is focuses on the bottom line. It’s business after all and making money is what it’s all about. He prefers to use a laptop and cell phone to accomplish his objectives, but has no problem going hands on when necessary. He sets the tone and has the boys to back it up.

“Oh we can stir up some shit – I got a big ‘ole shit stirring stick,” said Ben “Ray” Williams.

After checking out my drivers license, they were all psyched about the idea of the reality show. They started calling other bounty hunters to see if they might be interested.

The mural outside the Just Us Lounge in Biloxi, where owners Lynn Koval and Tammy LaFontaine run A-AAROW Bail Bonds.

I had a chance to run around with these guys while they were attempting to apprehend a fugitive woman. We even used my truck as a surveillance vehicle.

Success in tracking down a fugitive has everything to do with getting out where the person lives and hangs out, and talking to them about who is being sought. Spread the word and get their face out there.

Our three car caravan made a stop at the apartment complex where her supposed boyfriend lived, and where she often stayed. I ended up getting a tip from a rather emaciated and damaged young blonde woman who was clutching a Bible – that our fugitive had swapped out her car for a truck owned by her family. Evidently I was less threatening looking than my counterparts.

Ray ended up convincing the fugitive’s boyfriend to meet us at the lighthouse parking lot in Biloxi. Conveniently D & D held a current bond on the boyfriend, which was just the kind of leverage that Ray likes to use in such situations.

“Watch me turn this guy on his girl,” said Ben “Ray” Williams. “It doesn’t matter how much you love someone, when you threaten to take away their freedom they will turn love in every time.”

It was sunset out on the beach when the boyfriend drove up. He and Ray had a quick chit chat. This guy looked strung out on crack, which was very probable.

Ray outstretched his arms to either side, like the scales of justice, and said, “In one hand I have your freedom, in the other I need your girl.”

He instructed the boyfriend that he will find his girlfriend and convince her to come back over to his apartment. Then to call Ray so they could get in place. He told the boyfriend that when they come busting in he could curse them and holler, so it didn’t appear he had rolled over on his girl. And Ray would throw him some money after to make it right.

The hand painted mural outside the Just Us is dedicated to the city of Biloxi, in remembrance of the damage caused by Katrina, and depicts several famous historical properties that were damaged.

Sure enough, when Ray threatened to revoke the boyfriend’s bond, you could visibly see this guy’s shoulders sink with the weight of the world on them and he sulked off thinking about how to meet both the demands of the law and his girlfriend’s trust.

All was quiet for several hours, but this fugitive woman had pissed Justin off. She had gotten under his skin and he can’t go home when that happens – he can’t relax, so he stays out till he catches them. He hit every flea bag hotel along the strip between Gulfport and Biloxi showing her picture around.

Finally it was learned that the woman was out turning tricks, in an effort to get enough money to be able to pay cash for a hotel room and crack cocaine. Justin got her mobile number from her boyfriend, then had a friend call her and pretend that he was a guy who met her last week in a club, but reminded the fugitive that they had been pretty high (which happened fairly often), so she might not remember him.

Justin’s friend told her, “he had a big rock of crack, a big dick and wanted to party.” Bizarrely this worked. Justin called Ray around 2:30 a.m., who was neck deep in the back bay fishing with some buddies. He dragged himself over to where the meet was supposed to down, and at around 3:45 a.m., the woman came rolling up in the parking lot and Ray snatched her out of the car as she was spitting and cussing.

Ray kept hold of her for a moment so he could express the amount of trouble she had put them all through over the last 36 hours.

There are two levels of bounty hunters. One is a less ambitious set, that only want to issue secured, local bonds, that likely will not require them to do anything. The other is like the crew at D & D. These guys will take most anything, and if you jump bond they will come find you – doesn’t matter where you go.

Within this second group there are two ways of doing business. One runs bail bonding like an office job, whereby a telephone and computer settle most issues. The second believes they are more like some sort of special operations tactical unit and rolls heavy handed.

The business types generally try to stay in touch with their clients, reassure them, and make sure they make their court dates, that way the bonding agents get their money. At D & D they could be seen as a counselor, or even secondary parent. Many of their clients are repeat customers. They’re in trouble and often don’t have a solid family unit to fall back on, so they end up knowing their bonding agents better than their family. It’s in D & D’s best interest to shepherd their clients through this difficult time.

Usually their clients want to take care of their business. They need to step up, go to trial and if found guilty, deal with the punishment, so they can get on with their lives. Of course some clients break bad, and that’s when a bonding agent puts down his brief case, puts on the bounty hunting persona and picks up a gun.

The historical Old Brick House overlooks the back bay in Biloxi.

Bonding agents are state sanctioned, and must take qualifying courses to be certified, but there is an extremely fine line between the people they are chasing and themselves. Several of the ones I met had addiction issues, borderline violence tendencies, and I got the feeling, had more likely found bail bonding as a way to make a living in a world where they were already comfortable, could continue with some of their anti-social behavior, but supposedly be on the right side of the law.

Bounty hunters, or fugitive recovery agents, wield considerable power. They carry badges, tactical weapons, can wear uniforms, bullet proof vests, drive unmarked police cruisers, and have the authority to kick in a door at 4:00 a.m. if they suspect a fugitive is hiding there.

They essentially are police officers unburdened by the constraints of probable cause.

In fact sometimes the police will toss the bounty hunters work at say a known house where meth is being manufactured, but that the police don’t have the probably cause to enter. The bounty hunters will take the house down under the auspice of looking for a fugitive and arrest all on the premises.

It’s dangerous work and the bad guys sometimes win. I equate it to the old Road Runner cartoon, where the sheep dog and coyote are sitting around sharing lunch together, but when the whistle blows they are pitted against one another. These bounty hunters are from the area where they work, in some cases they went to high school with the people they are chasing. They drink together in the same bars. But when they break the law, the bounty hunters know their kill, and the hunted know the hunters. And when all the dust settles, they’ll share a drink together again and laugh about it all.

The guys at D & D insisted I should also talk to Crazy Mike. By the way they were looking at each other and laughing I knew this guy had to be a treat.

He is unpredictable to say the least. Mike and his crew have a hard on for physical contact. They roll fully armed, and ready to raise hell. This bunch wears their profession on their sleeves. In fact one guy in Mike’s crew has the word “Bounty” tattooed down one arm, and “Hunter” down the other.

I set the interview with Mike, and as I was leaving D & D, Ray told me to ask Mike about being shot at…

Mike is not small, nor is he the picture of health, but he exudes confidence and has a sharp sense of humor. He does have that hard charging personality and is enthusiastic about his job.

Wearing a wife beater that doesn’t hold his gut back, Mike’s badge dangles from his neck. He’s always armed and drives a tricked out old police cruiser. This all screams cop and he uses that to his advantage.

“There ain’t nothing more challenging than hunting a human being,” said Mike Willis.

Both these groups are effective. It’s just the last time I heard from Crazy Mike, he was seen on the hood of a car, firing his 9mm pistol into the car window of a suspect who was trying to run him down. Mike’s philosophy for getting the job done tends to elicit this type of reaction.

“If you’re making us come after you at 4:00 a.m., we’re going to have some fun at your expense,” said Willis.

Somewhere in between Willis and the guys at D & D, is Lynn Koval. She and her partner, Tammy LaFontaine, run A-AAROW Bail Bonds in Biloxi. Lynn is about 5’4″, medium build, with a no nonsense demeanor. She’s very approachable, but has a tough as nails interior she calls upon to get the job done.

The Just Us Lounge took water up to its roof, but has been rehabbed inside and out. Its the only gay or alternative lifestyles club along the Gulf Coast and is open 24/7. Van service is provided to get intoxicated customers home safely and if you or a loved one needs bail, the owners can help with that.

Lynn and Tammy run their bail bonding business out of their club, the Just Us lounge, the only gay club along the Gulf Coast. The Just Us is open 24/7. The only time its been closed was during Katrina, when they took water up to the roof. They’re always open, and that works well in the bonding business.

Tammy is a willowy brunette, who is related to Brett Favre, and brings a sophistication to this burly profession. She also is a great counter to Lynn’s persona. Tammy can hang out in bars and clubs and get close to male offenders, maybe buy them a drink, give them some hope they have a play with her and then Lynn will come in and hook them up.

Neither carry a weapon generally. Lynn often has an empty holster strapped to her waist, and says it’s all in how you carry yourself.

What all of these people have in common is they’re out doing a difficult job, that is not one many people want, but it makes their cities a safer place. The hours play hell on trying to keep a family together, it’s dangerous and unpredictable, but that works for these folks. They like the action.

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Sugar Bowl 2011

Posted on January 5, 2011 by theurbanllama

The bands were entertaining fans before entering the Superdome before tonight’s Sugar Bowl.

It’s January 4th, and that means it’s time for another edition of the All State Sugar Bowl. With the Ohio State Buckeyes and Arkansas Razorbacks playing each other, one thing you can count on is a ridiculous number of people to be dressed up in red.

Judging by the folks I’ve seen squeezing out of every hotel in the Central Business District, it appears occupancy is high. Every available outside cafe is full of fans tailgating as office workers weaved their way through the crowded sidewalks.

While there is some juice for this game, most of the local enthusiasm comes from people in town hoping to see a solid monetary start to 2011, as both these fan bases deliver droves of devoted fans, ready to splurge on high-end hotels, food, drink and souvenirs.

Most in the SEC have little appreciation for Ohio State. They routinely get beat like a drum by the top tier of this powerhouse conference. Arkansas is a middle of the pack SEC foe, but locals are supporting them because hometown favorite, the LSU “fighting” Tigers, battle in the same conference.

The Greeks at Arkansas get into the action outside the Superdome.

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Christmas in New Orleans

Posted on January 5, 2011 by theurbanllama

Located around the corner from my house at Jena and Gov. Nicholl’s.

It was chilly, windy and rainy on Christmas Eve, but I got out for a minute to take a couple pictures.

It’s chilly Willy!

That’s a lot of Santas.

Christmas alligator occupies the porch.

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Bayou Delight

Posted on January 4, 2011 by theurbanllama

While off the beaten path, the eats at Bayou Delight are well worth the drive into Cajun country.

On our travels we passed a Cajun roadside restaurant called Bayou Delight, http://www.houma.com/rest/bayoudelight, I asked Black about it and he said that’s the best around — and he was right. This is some of the finest food I’ve ever had the pleasure to eat. It’s nothing but comfortable inside, ESPN was on and a bunch of locals were hanging around talking, but English was the second language. Everyone was speaking Cajun French. It was awesome!

Now this is good eating in the neighborhood!

With appetizers like fried crab claws, crawfish kickers and shrimp en brochette, along with tempting classic Cajun dishes such as stuffed softshell crabs, alligator sauce piquante and shrimp Acadiana, making a decision was wicked hard. I knew this would be a ton of food, and heavy, so I stayed away from the appetizers and went with a house special, Catfish Crochet. These were thin catfish fillets, delicately fried and topped with a decadently creamy shrimp Acadiana sauce. It was insane!

To top off my adventure into Cajun country, a large religious group came in from Canada mostly, but had members from all over the world. They came to New Orleans to assist for a week with rebuilding houses after Katrina. This was merely a day trip to show them some indigenous culture out of the urban areas. It just so happened one couple had a son that was just starting his first year at the University of Iowa – of which I am an alumni twice over. Go Hawks! I had a great chat with a gentleman and his wife about Iowa City, Big Ten college towns and the plethora of drinking establishments basically on Iowa’s campus – all of which was translated into French for others in the restaurant to hear. Hilarious!

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BAYOU BLACK

Posted on December 29, 2010 by theurbanllama

Houma, La., is Cajun country, and it’s not hard to find authentically prepared eats. http://www.bntcajuncookin.com

It became obvious within a couple of days of being out in the field that mainstream law enforcement was not terribly interested in playing along with my search for police officers who were “out of the box” thinkers, with “big personalities,” to be shown on the reality television show, “I Am The Law.”

Anymore it’s hard to be a wild card cop – you’ll find yourself in a lawsuit and fired if you go waving a gun around (too many cell phone cameras about). Even small police and sheriffs departments now send their new recruits to state law enforcement academies, to ensure proper training.

This means two things. One, all officers tend to have a similar demeanor (stern), and two, they know better than to get involved with something like this show. It would be one thing if we were talking about “Cops,” where life as a police officer was being depicted.

These folks are more going after a Buford T. Justice-type character, made famous in “Smoky and the Bandit.” Even if I found an individual officer willing to participate, most likely their agency, city or state would put the kibosh on this endeavor before it got started.

The mural outside Boudreau and Thibodeau’s.

After speaking with numerous city, county and state law enforcement agencies I considered due diligence had been met, since none of them would hardly even grumble “NO” in my direction. What I found interesting was that virtually every agency had recently been involved in some form of malpractice that either resulted in police officials being fired or a suspect dying suspiciously while in custody.

Regardless, none of these agencies wanted any outside publicity, much less the attention that would come from a reality television show.This led to a broadening of the criteria to be considered for candidates on the show. Anything quasi-law enforcement was on board. And really anyone that had a big personality was worth checking out. This took me to Houma, La.

A discarded diving bell or abandoned flying saucer along the bayou.

Located 60 miles south of New Orleans, you might say it’s out in the middle of nowhere – and that would be correct. I felt this way too at first, but then came to realize Houma is actually the last stop before venturing into no man’s land.

It’s kind of an outpost community, situated on the edge of the abyss. I see the ocean in many ways as the equivalent of outer space – a vast unknown. Well for anyone that does business in the Gulf of Mexico, Houma is the place where you have your land-office, and where you resupply before going back out. It’s the jump off spot. That also means you have a bunch of fishermen and off-shore oil platform workers who come back from being out in outer space, that haven’t seen land or women in a while, and these boys have pockets full of money. You could say Houma can get a little politically incorrect in the evenings.

It took me a couple visits to find my way into the place. With a population of 33,000, it’s much larger than my target community, but with so many small towns orbiting this city, it seemed a good place to spend some a moment getting to know folks.

The sun peaks through the canopy of the swamp to shine down upon Mother Mary.

I hit the clubs first, but looking in joints like Pineros Sports Club (where I scored an invite to Lingerie Night from Miranda), was only turning up self-involved bar flies, who were embalming themselves with Grey Goose. I had better luck by talking with the Lifestyles editor at the local paper, and the folks over at the Houma Area Convention and Visitors Bureau. In both instances I heard the same thing, “if you’re looking for a personality big enough to build a show around you need to speak with Black.”

Now I don’t know about you but I’ve never met a person named Black. I said, “beg your pardon – Black.” Sure enough, Black Guidry was the man to see. He currently runs swamp boat tours, but prior to that he was a military man, special forces/Green Beret, and a former Louisiana State Trooper. This sounded promising.

I was told that Black often lunched at A-Bear’s Cafe, in Houma, and I might find him there. Sure enough, after describing my situation to Ms. Jane at A-Bear’s checkout counter, she directed me to the tall gentleman in the back. And this is where I met Black Guidry.

Black Guidry striking a pose outside the trappers cabin in Wildlife Gardens.

After a brief introduction, Black was excited to talk further about the project, and we arranged to meet the following morning at Bob’s Bayou Black Marina, http://bayoublackmarina.com, where his swamp boat tours originate. With this settled, and feeling triumphant, I went back inside A-Bear’s Cafe and ordered up a mess of red beans and rice, with a side of gumbo from Ms. Jane. Nothing like some tasty vittles to take the edge off.

I met Black the next morning at the marina, which is 20 some miles west into bayou country, locally referred to as Gibson, La. There’s a strange mix of folks at the marina, professional fishermen, along with recreational adventurers and oil pipeline workers, who repair equipment that snakes through the swamps. This also is a big duck hunting area, and multi-level liveaboards can be chartered here. I can only imagine 12 drunk guys with high-powered rifles turned loose on one of these bad boys in the swamp. That poor skipper.

A big fellow out for a swim – he’s fond of raw chickens.

Black runs, A Cajun Man’s Swamp Cruise, http://cajunman.com. While his boat is nothing fancy, just a flat-decked steel job, with some red carpeting, white benches and a canopy for shade, the tour is full service. In addition to gliding through the dense flora, and wild fauna, Black narrates throughout the journey, there’s an alligator feeding, and the Cajun Man sings a few songs in English and French.

One of the alligator pens at Wildlife Gardens, where the reptiles are raised for their hides and meat.

Over the years Black has picked up a fair amount of notoriety. He’s been seen and heard on all the networks, and the late Steve Irwin, aka The Crocodile Hunter, went out with Black to meet his alligators. Still, standing on his dock I felt I had discovered a remote treasure. Two things changed this idea.

One, I was informed that 20 miles down the road, in Thibodeaux, at Zam’s Bayou Swamp Tours, ABC filmed an episode of “Wife Swap.” Who knew? And second, Black himself had been featured in multiple Kia auto commercials run nationally and internationally. A clip for one is provided below.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HjiKv4A-7OY

Peacocks and other critters roam free at Wildlife Gardens.

Black remains an interesting character – part of a dying breed. The Cajun culture is running on its last true generation, and Black is doing his part to let people know this fabric of culture is bordering on extinction. It was blind luck that some advertising executives took his swamp boat tour and picked him to do the Kia ads. That was good publicity and good money, but doesn’t fix how the new generation of kids in Cajun country don’t speak French, and that corporate America has found its way into the swamps. Wal*Mart, video games, Internet and cable have taken a serious toll.

Still life in motion on Bayou Black.

Gibson, Thibodeaux and Houma aren’t what I thought they would look like. These folks don’t live in some hybrid-houseboat looking structures out on the bayou. They’re normal ranch and two-story jobs, that look like any other suburban home – it’s their backyard bayous that set them apart. You need a boat out here, but roads, canals and drawbridges allow folks to get around normally by car.

Black took me over to Wildlife Gardens, http://www.wildlifegardens.com, a unique wilderness bed and breakfast. Owned by Vernon and Betty Provost Eschette, visitors can reserve cabins out in the swamp, and enjoy hiking the nature trails, have access to the alligator farm and take in the sounds of the swamp nightlife from one of the screened in porches. It’s a different kind of relaxation experience. After I said my goodbyes to Black and all his friends, I wasn’t sure what I had for the show, but I knew I had something. Since then I’ve come to realize this slice of culture is too substantial and real for reality television, but the Smithsonian Institute is showing some interest. In the end, what I learned from my first foray into the reality television field was – – it’s hard to get lost in America anymore.

Meet Troy, he’s the stud in residence at Wildlife Gardens. Measuring 12 feet, Troy and his mate, Helen, produce 40 to 50 offspring annually.

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Reality on the Beach

Posted on December 25, 2010 by theurbanllama

Outside Southern Sting Tattoo, 60 miles south of New Orleans, in Larose, La., anger spills over about BP’s role in ruining the lives of so many locals.

Having never worked on a television show before, much less one involving reality programming, a bit of trial and error was to be expected. It all sounds so glamorous, but when you consider the task of finding a single person that fits the show’s criteria, out of a four state region, who is interesting enough to build a television show around, some of the shine comes off this diamond. It becomes an investigation.

A mock-fisherman soaked in oil, wearing a gas mask to ward off fumes from the polluted fishing waters of Louisiana, is part of the display outside Southern Sting Tattoo.

I was looking for someone involved in law enforcement, who is a little crazy and operates outside the box. The person needs to reside in a small community, but one where enough action occurs for it to be interesting. And most importantly, this person must be large and in charge!

At some point it’s time to stop planning, organizing and preparing. The only way to get this project rolling was to get out there and start talking to people. But this is a strange role I’m playing, and it is a role. I’m no salesman. I can chat people up when I’m hanging out, and can take people to that next level in a nightclub setting, but to come strolling into police stations, casino security offices, off-shore oil platform offices, random bars and cafes, in rural southern states, cold and uninvited, with a pitch about looking for a reality television show candidate, that required putting on someone else’s skin.

Welcome to Grand Isle, gateway to the Gulf, located 120 miles south of New Orleans.

I might as well have been peddling lottery tickets. I was seeking some unsuspecting person to pluck out of the obscured masses and turn them into some quasi-famous reality star. A pitch like this doesn’t sound real. People look at you strange, as if you’re offering something too good to be true. I needed to get my spiel down before heading out to the more fertile ground of south Louisiana, where I felt hunting for this person would be more fruitful. I needed to tighten and polish my content and delivery.

Venom for BP is posted along the road approaching Grand Isle.

To get my feet wet, I checked with contacts around New Orleans, police and security organizations, to see if any of them might have colleagues, friends or relatives living outside the New Orleans-metro area, but no luck.

Divine inspiration helps steel the will of local residents.

After a couple days I had exhausted my possibilities in New Orleans, but was comfortable with walking into anywhere and giving my pitch. Now it was time to get out of my comfort zone and head south into the bayous, where the weirdness factor would go way up.

I first elected to re-trace my path to Grand Isle, where I had traveled previously to write a story on the BP oil spill. Once you clear Houma, located 60 miles south of New Orleans, the highway ends and Louisiana One (LA-1) picks up, which is only two lanes. It winds through a variety of small villages and townships, like Larose, Cut Off, Galliano, and Golden Meadow, before the road ends at Grand Isle.

These towns all fit the size and demographics for where I might find somebody for the show, but there is little action in these areas. Most of the law enforcement in these towns operate speed traps to catch the city folk racing down or back from the fishing mecca that is Grand Isle. Not exactly scintillating television.

Grand Isle resident Darleen Taylor allows Sponge Bob and his friends to speak for the frustrations felt by locals after the BP oil spill.

What I found were Goth-inspired tattoo artists, angsty want-to-be mixed martial arts fighters, bored police officers, unemployed fishermen, and pissed off marina, restaurant and hotel owners.

The BP graveyard set up in a Grand Isle resident’s front yard in July 2010.

The reality in Grand Isle, and all along the road leading south, was BP’s oil spill had delivered a serious blow to these communities still recovering from Hurricane Katrina. They rely on fishing and tourism to survive, and that’s been true for generations. Within five years, all that had been wiped away by a hurricane and an oil spill.

Grand Isle graveyard transformed, September 2010.

The loss of a former life weighs heavy on local residents.

The soul of Grand Isle on display.

In the end, these folks had plenty of reality in their lives without me trying to distract them with questions about eccentric law enforcement officers. I was able to talk with several interesting people, and developed some leads that would take me to Houma, La. next. As I drove away I thought how ideal life had been in Grand Isle – and wondered who would be looking out for these people now that the news cameras had left.

The beaches had reopened by September 2010.

Sunset in Grand Isle.

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Back in the Saddle

Posted on October 28, 2010 by theurbanllama

OK the Iowa City trip took a bit longer to complete than originally intended. My venture north summed up how the entire journey would ensue – ragged, but full of glory.

I left New Orleans at 7:00 AM, with the idea of getting to somewhere north of Memphis, Tenn. I figured if I get to a point where I have eight hours or less driving left for the following day, that’s an easy pull into Iowa City. I can get up early and be there by mid-afternoon the following day. Besides it’s Saturday, and there’s a ton of college football on throughout the day and evening – I can find some carry-out and chill in a hotel overdosing on sports.

This is a long drive, but easy – just a straight shot north. If only there was such a thing as auto-pilot, because this path has few twists or turns, and I could recline in the back on my computer happy as a clam. This path across the United States isn’t overwhelmingly scenic, but there are enough cities, rivers, bridges and landmarks to break up the landscape.

In total, it’s a 925 mile trip, and takes me from the toe of Louisiana, through the length of Mississippi, including Jackson, the capital, and past Oxford, where ‘Ole Miss University is located. I briefly enter Arkansas, then cross the Mississippi River into Memphis, Tenn.

Being a barbecue-a-holic, Memphis is a mandatory stop for a fix of hickory-smoked pork. As far as BBQ joints per capita go, Memphis offers the most comprehensive selection of BBQ on every level of anywhere in the country. I prefer pork to brisket and sausage (not that there is anything wrong with them), but that eliminates Texas for me. I prefer wet ribs or pulled pork, with a tangier-based red sauce, which takes the Carolinas out of the argument. I’ll give a nod of my hat to Kansas City though, they are a close second to Memphis.

It doesn’t matter if it’s early, late or I’m not even hungry – I stop in Memphis regardless. Depending upon the time of day, and what day it is, dictates what is open. This is the South, and places are closed on funny days and often keep strange hours.

One of my favorites is the Cozy Corner, http://www.cozycornerbbq.com, whose rib tips are off the hook, and would feed an army. There’s always funny shaped people in here picking up carry out orders of rib tips in particular, for lunch, and it makes me wonder what they must consume for dinner – the entire rest of a pig?!? I can get my eat on and all, but I can barely dent an order of rib tips. They usually end up being four meals, and that’s without sides.

Also the Cozy offers BBQ Cornish game hens. Where else can you find that on a menu?They also offer a ridiculous smoked BBQ baloney sandwich and BBQ spaghetti.

http://www.roadfood.com/Reviews/Overview.aspx?RefID=220

The Cozy works well if you’re pressed for time. The carry-out is quick and they’re located near the interstate. If you have the time to sit down and dine I usually choose Rendezvous, http://www.hogsfly.com/TheRestaurant.php, located in an alley across from the Peabody Hotel, and their famous marching ducks,  http://www.peabodymemphis.com/peabody_ducks/index.cfm.

Rendezvous is recognized for their dry rub, charcoal fired ribs – I still prefer them wet, and they will accommodate that request with a tangy sauce, but regardless, these ribs are killer!

I also should mention the staff at Rendezvous. This place is an institution to the people of Memphis, and to all who visit the city just to dine at Rendezvous. To say they have little staff turnover at Rendezvous is an understatement. Some of the waiters have been here for 45 years. Check the link on the restaurant’s Web site, and read the brief bios – you have fathers and sons both working at Rendezvous. It’s a special place to dine and one of a dying breed in America.

As a wild card when traveling through Memphis, there is the occasional trip where I’m just burned out on BBQ, but not to worry. There’s fried chicken.

Gus’s Fried Chicken belongs on the list with the best fried chicken in the country. I am blessed by living in New Orleans, where Willie Mae’s Scotch House is located. This James Beard award-winning chicken shack is roundly recognized as the best country fried chicken in the land, but on any given day, Gus’s spicy fried chicken is as good or better.

http://www.seriouseats.com/2007/08/the-best-fried-chicken-might-b.html

Since it was early, and I was trying to make time, I made a quick stop at Cozy Corner and got back on the road. I’m cutting across the narrow, vertical expanse  of Tennessee, paralleling the river. It’s remarkable how little time it takes to drive across the state. In no time I’ve entered Missouri.

The St. Louis Arch rises above the downtown.

This is good and bad. I’m happy for the progress, but now I have a long path through the meaty length of Missouri. The only reprieve is St. Louis – where I can witness some civilization, the famed St. Louis Arch, Anheuser-Busch, the Cardinals’ new stadium and most importantly, presents another opportunity to pick up a snack.

I grew up on White Castle hamburgers, but the franchise has the good sense not to over-expand, so I can only get them when traveling. I definitely have the CRAVE, and picked up four cheeseburgers and an order of their golden fried onion rings.

It’s raining like hell at this point, sheets of water, so much so that all the cars are pulling off the road. I couldn’t be happier. I have my White Castles, and it’s easier to dress them when not talking on my cell phone and trying to drive at the same time.

Budweiser in the House!

Once I got into Missouri, I started chatting on the phone more with my Iowa City peoples, and they’re fired up for the nationally televised game between the Iowa Hawkeyes and Arizona. Their enthusiasm convinced me to drive the whole way. Since the game is in Tucson, it’s getting a late, West Coast kickoff. The rain is a pisser for making time, but if I go pedal down, I’ll make Iowa City before the game is over.

BudWolf, found munching and drinking on the corners of the Anheuser-Busch distillery.

Finally I crossed the Des Moines River and entered Iowa. This leaves the long, dark, wet, and cold 90 miles up the Avenue of the Saints, from Keokuk to Iowa City. It sucked because I was out in the middle of nowhere and my cell service kept cutting in and out. The radio is telling me to take shelter and watch for sky to ground lightning, which is playing hell with my AM radio reception.

It was quite a light show I must say, but overly dramatic – and I couldn’t hear the damn game!

In order to keep apprised of the Iowa score I’m having to text, which works fine in any weather. You gotta love texting – it comes through in a pinch.

I make downtown Iowa City at 11:30 PM, so 16.5 hours of driving – and the third quarter is just ending. As I park the Element a raucous cheer erupts throughout town. Iowa City has around 50 bars in a five block square, essentially integrated with the campus, where 30,000 plus students run wild. All of these bars are packed with Hawkeye fans. When they cheer its loud and you can feel it.

Cardinal’s stadium in downtown St. Louis.

I’m slightly stunned after being in my travel bubble for so long. I’ve talked to folks on the phone most of the way, but that’s not nearly the same as walking into a packed college bar, with a couple hundred people who have clearly been drinking since dawn and are incensed by their football team. There’s also a live band playing in the back performance room of the Blue Moose Tap House, http://bluemooseic.com.

It’s sensory overload.

I meet up with my friends and try a drink, but there is no way I can catch up with this crew. And my adrenaline is burning off after having completed my drive.

Iowa intercepts a pass and runs it in for a touchdown. The Hawks are up with a minute and a half left. All they have to do is hold Arizona. This is when you begin to worry as a Hawk fan. And sure enough Arizona marches right down the field to score. Game over.

Thankfully I had a place to crash. We got some beer, chatted it up some, but I was worthless at this point – it was bedtime by 2:30 AM

The reason I made this journey was to interview my good friend, and talented musician, David Zollo.

http://www.myspace.com/davidzollo.

Iowa’s piano man

He’s a wonderful piano player, who fronts his own band, The Body Electric, and is currently in the studio recording his most ambitious CD to date.

I hung out with David and his band for three days at Flat Black Studio, in Iowa City. Owned by Luke Tweedy, who runs the board, Flat Black is a custom-built studio Luke and his cousin, musician William Elliott Whitmore, constructed in the attached garage to Luke’s house.

It’s a very comfortable environment for artists and Luke runs a fun shop. I had a great time watching Dave construct his songs. Laying bass and drums down first, then layering guitar and piano next and adding scratch vocals to make the songs functional.

I hadn’t seen this done before. Usually lower budget bands have to essentially cut their tracks live, with minimal takes, to save time and money.

This is an important record for Dave, and he’s taking his time with it.  One of his lead guitar players lives in Chicago, so The Kid will re-cut most of the original guitar and bass lines, to add fatter solos. Dave also is having horns added, by a friend in Omaha. Then Will Whitmore, and some other folks are looking to contribute some duets, then Dave will add his final piano takes and vocals, after hearing the inspiration building beneath each song.

Here is where modern technology is hugely beneficial. By recording digitally, instead of on tape, the scratch tracks can be e-mailed to the additional musicians not living near by, and they can add their creativity, e-mail them back to Flat Black, and not incur travel expenses.

The songs are amazing, lyrically. Dave’s been through a lot in the last couple years, and he’s poured those experiences into his writing. He’s currently touring in Italy, and the disc is slated for release in early 2011. I will have a story to go along with the release date in the alternative monthly publication, Little Village, http://littlevillagemag.com/content.

While in Iowa City, I stayed with my friends Cliff and Andrea.

Cliff and Andrea watching Trombone Shorty at the Iowa City Jazz Fest

They’re da Bomb! Thanks y’all! We did journalism grad school together, and it was great seeing them again, and having a moment to hang out. We didn’t have too many moments of clarity, but that’s a good thing.

Cliff and I hit a great show early in the week at a somewhat clandestine club called White Lightening. It’s an artists enclave, in an old warehouse, tucked behind some apartment buildings. With Iowa City having recently passed a 21-only law for those allowed into bars, all-ages basement shows, house parties and gigs at White Lightening are gaining in popularity. There’s a Quick Trip on the corner of the alley, so you can pick up beer and wine before hitting the show.

Local electro-synth tapers, Wet Hair, provided the opening tunes. The late show was Grass Widow, a psychedelic punk-surfer chick band from San Francisco. They were a three-piece band and a ton of fun. We had a blast till like 3:00 AM.

http://www.myspace.com/grasswidowmusic

This trip was very eventful. I managed to get up to Cedar Rapids to see Dave Zollo play, with my writer-friend Andre Perry. That was mandatory after seeing Dave piece together songs for three days, it was like a slow tease – similar to a distillery tour. They take you past all this alcohol being crafted, you get a thimble full or two, but when the tour is done I need a full drink. Same feeling with the recording process. Dave and his band put on a great show at the Piano Lounge, and Andre and I ended up partying at the Yacht Club and the Mill in Iowa City till the early morning hours. I believe I slept in my car that night.

Mark and I fueling up at Pat O’Brien’s in New Orleans on Saints Super Bowl weekend

I also got some time to hang with Dave’s older brother, Mark. We go way back, to the trouble we caused as undergrads, and continue to wreck at our advanced age. We had a great time watching some NFL and blasting tunes. And I got to hang with their Dad, Rick, which is always an eclectic pleasure. The man knows his literature and music.

In the midst of all this socializing, I was also on deadline to provide content to the alternative weekly publication in New Orleans, Gambit, for its fall restaurant review guide. I ended up speaking with 75 restaurants in the greater-New Orleans area, and wrote brief 70-word descriptions for each. These were published in the October 12 issue.

I must thank Marsha and Rob Vollkommer, my wife, Mïa’s, family. They live in Galena, Ill., and by the time I got to them I was worn out, short on time and desperately close to my deadline for Gambit. Galena is somewhat remote, especially out in the territory where Rob and Marsha live, so my cell phone and broadband reception was sketchy at best.

They were kind enough to allow me to abuse their landline and Internet so I could contact the majority of these restaurants. I ended up finishing the reviews at a truck stop just north of St. Louis.

Below is a link to the reviews. They are broken up by neighborhood. I did most of the restaurants starting with the letter ‘M’ and continuing through the letter ‘P’. I believe in the end we reviewed over 900 restaurants, not including any major restaurant or fast food chains.

http://www.bestofneworleans.com/gambit/gambits-fall-restaurant-guide/Content?oid=1359746

While it was great to spend time with so many friends and family, I also want to mention our clan lost one of the patriarchs of our family while I was traveling. Mïa’s grandfather, Bob Merritt, of Carroll, Iowa, passed away on Sept. 20th, the Monday after I arrived in Iowa.

Bob was a great man – funny, intelligent, talented and incredibly knowledgable about Iowa. I wouldn’t say I knew Bob well, mainly because we didn’t see each other that often. Carroll is in the northwest portion of Iowa, and removed from, well, everything. Other than a couple visits Mïa and I made for pleasure, all our other trips to Carroll involved funerals, which aren’t always the best moments for idle chit-chat.

But Bob was always approachable, hospitable, loved his easy chair and the Iowa Hawkeyes and Iowa State Cyclones. He lived a long, successful life, and was blessed by his lovely children and their many grandchildren and great-grandchildren.

My condolences go out to Marsha and Jon, Bob’s surviving children, and to the rest of the family. Below is a link to the obituary that Marsha wrote, which was published in the Carroll newspaper.

http://www.carrollspaper.com/main.asp?Search=1&ArticleID=11012&SectionID=3&SubSectionID=3&S=1

Upon returning to New Orleans, Mïa and I had taken in a British house guest. One of my family’s oldest friends in Kentucky, Judy Turner, whose oldest son, Jeff, lives in Minneapolis, and whom Mïa and I stayed with when traveling the country after Katrina in search of a graduate school for me, is married to Nicola (who is British). Her younger brother, Sam Hinton, recently completed his legal education and earned a seven month appointment with Reprieve (http://www.reprieve.org), an international non-profit organization that assists disadvantaged death row inmates with their legal representation.

Being New Orleans is less technologically savvy than many cities, it can be difficult to find housing through normal online avenues, such as Craigslist, so Mïa and I offered to put Sam up until he could find a home.

It was a pleasure having him stay with us, and we made sure Sam got to the proper food and fun anyone coming to New Orleans should enjoy. He also had the misfortune of visiting the Angola State Penitentiary, for their annual prison rodeo. I had nothing to do with this mind you. I’m well aware of this disturbing event. It’s one of those attractions that many wish could be un-see after witnessing its depravity. Sam’s comment was something along the lines of, “shouldn’t the U.N. step in and do something.”

And finally the reality television gig continues, so I will return to that story line briefly in subsequent posts to fill in the details. Thanks for hanging in there and I’m planning to post several quick hitters today and tomorrow to get caught up, and then we’ll move forward with the Halloween festivities in New Orleans.

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Death Don’t Fail Us Now: Eagles of Death Metal Play Voodoo

Posted on October 26, 2010 by theurbanllama

433full-eagles-of-death-metalDon’t let the name fool you – the Eagles of Death Metal are about as grim as Abba. Armed with one of the more deceptive names around, these SoCal cool cats are only interested in getting the dance floor moving.

In some hyper-70s universe, the Eagles of Death Metal (EODM) come at you with their falsettos, crunching guitar chords and hip swivels. Hop aboard the Go-Go Express, it’s a non-stop ride of stripper beats, mixed with glam rock ala T-Rex and the New York Dolls, that bellows bravado and sex appeal.

“Our sound is like if Bachman Turner Overdrive and Chuck Berry raped Little Richard’s and Keith Richards’ small intestines,” said EODM co-founder Jesse Hughes. “There’s definitely some sound-rapage going on with us.”

They hook you with their stripped down Rolling Stones-like guitar riffs, circa Some Girls, drop in a little of the Big Bopper on the refrains, and add a huge dose of Bon Scott era AC/DC.

Just like Scott sang on T.N.T., “ Lock up your daughter, lock up your wife, lock up your back door and run for your life,” the Eagles of Death Metal are swooping in to get their swerve on brother!

Eagles-Of-Death-Metal-PressThe band is the brainchild of Queens of the Stone Age front man, Josh “Baby Duck” Homme, and South Carolinian, Jesse “Boots Electric” Hughes. Like QOTSA, the EODM have a revolving cast of characters, including Dave Grohl, and Jack Black.

“Eagles of Death Metal is like the Special Forces of rock n’ roll,” said Hughes. “ All the associated bands are one big family, and we all have our role to play when called upon – besides who wants to say no to playing the fun show.”

Hughes handles vocals and rhythm guitar, joined by Dave “Darlin’ Dave” Catching on lead guitar. Usually Brian “B.O.C.” O’Connor anchors the bass, but he was recently diagnosed with cancer and is undergoing chemotherapy. In his stead is Abby Travis, along with Joey “The Sexy-Mexy” Castillo on drums.

The band, formed in 1998, in Palm Desert, Calif., first recorded that year on Volumes 3 & 4 of The Desert Sessions – Homme’s now legendary eclectic recording project started in 1997, at a vintage studio in Joshua Tree, Calif.

heart-onEODM took a step back when Queens of the Stone Age took off, but refocused, and in 2004, the tongue-in-cheek Peace, Love Death Metal was released. While successful with advertisers, it was their follow-up in 2006, Death by Sexy, where the band found its alt-garage desert rock stride. That sound was distilled and purified to a higher grade on their most recent release, Heart On, in 2008.

You’ll have to excuse the guys for the band name and song titles – they’re having a bit of fun with you, and themselves. All egos are checked at the door, and they’re cracking each other up with campy innuendo about the pompous trappings of rock n’ roll stardom, blowing out all the stereotypes with Hughes’ bitching pompadour, dense porn-star mustache and tighter than tight jeans.

“Man I was a right-wing square growing up, and didn’t get laid much in high school,” said Hughes. “I was over at the porn star karaoke show Tuesday night – I’m trying to make up for lost time now.”

With song titles such as Whorehoppin’ (Shit, Goddam), I Gotta Feeling (Just Nineteen), and I’m Your Torpedo – this isn’t poetry, just booty moving tracks about getting laid. Many of the songs come in at under 3:00 minutes, and hit hard and fast, like punk tunes.

Jesse "Boots Electric" Hughes.

Jesse “Boots Electric” Hughes.

The Eagles of Death Metal are particularly recognized for their incendiary live performances, and Hughes’ charismatic interaction with the crowd.

“Our shows are the best part of getting your girlfriend pregnant,” said Hughes. “We had to pull out of Voodoo last year because I had to go to rehab, so I’m really looking forward to both these shows in New Orleans, to see which one ends up being better.”

Friday night Vtech & Filter Magazine presents the Official Voodoo-After Party at One Eyed Jacks (615 Toulouse Street), featuring the Eagles of Death Metal, Fitz and the Tantrums, and Cary Ann Hurst. They can also be seen Saturday night at Voodoo Fest in the Bingo! Tent, at 9:30 p.m.

“This is the coolest job in the world,” said Hughes. “I get to shake my dick on stage and smile as part of my career – – Yeah I’ll take that.”

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Published by:  Gambit New Orleans | Vol. 31, N0. 43, p. 15 | 10-26-10

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MGMT Join The Ritual at Voodoo Fest

Posted on October 26, 2010 by theurbanllama

MGMT 4Touring in support of their latest release, Congratulations, MGMT, bring an ever-expanding electro-psychedelic pop sound to the Voodoo Fest stage. Their party-favor induced hallucinations, fables of disenfranchisement and tribal bonding with the current generation make for a raucous live performance.

Founding members Andrew VanWyngarden and Ben Goldwasser were freshman at Wesleyan University, in Middletown, Conn., when their sonic collaboration began. By the time they graduated in 2005, what started as dorm room experimentation with noise-based electronica had accelerated into a full-blown psychedelic pop universe.

After touring extensively in support of their Time to Pretend EP, the band was signed by Columbia records in 2007, and paired with the Flaming Lips producer Dave Fridmann. The result was their smash debut, Oracular Spectacular.

MGMTThis tripped out, acid-singed journey through MGMT’s three-dimensional imagination gave listeners a glimpse into the band’s parallel land of pleasure and spite. While the surface sound is filled with happy swirls of David Bowie-esque falsettos, the lyrics depict a darker realty MGMT is confronting.

On Weekend Wars, there’s a coming to grips with a self-entitlement that runs contrary to what is required to succeed in life. Still they don’t take it all too seriously, and poke fun at the ridiculous excess that comes with rock stardom.

Let’s make some music, make some money, find some models for wives. I’ll move to Paris, shoot some heroin, and fuck the stars ~ MGMT, from Time to Pretend.

This celebration in the face of desperation is the twist that makes MGMT so compelling, and earned them two Grammy Award nominations.

MGMT 5Now living in Brooklyn, NY, VanWyngarden and Goldwasser recruited producer Sonic Boom, from the space-rock band Spaceman 3, to build upon the success of their first disc. The result was their release earlier this year, Congratulations.

While their sophomore effort has been greeted with mixed reviews, it continues to gain traction. Much of the criticism is venom over MGMT not basking in their success, and simply following the formula of Oracular Spectacular, and producing another batch of hit-laden psych-pop.

To MGMT’s credit they instead took a deeper look inside where this success delivered them, and are comfortable in not leaving behind their true identities.

Congratulations has a heftier feel to it, with less trance-pop, and more substantial underpinnings of bass, guitar and drums, which are handled by three additional musicians when MGMT is on tour.

The drug use is always up front on both recordings, and is part of what binds these artists with their audience. Whether it’s the echoed vocals, or that the handshake they share with their fans doesn’t come in the conventional style, but takes place with what’s slipped under their tongues.

Like one of their art-rock forefathers, the Velvet Underground, MGMT shares Lou Reed’s affinity for living in the here and now, as noted in their mantra below.

This is our decision, to live fast and die young…We’ve got the vision, now let’s have some fun ~ MGMT, from Time to Pretend.

Come see this psychedelic universe in motion at Voodoo Fest on Halloween night. MGMT play at 5:30 PM on the appropriately named Sony Make.Believe stage.

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Published by:  Gambit New Orleans | Vol 31, No. 43, p. 16 | 10-26-10

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The Road to Reality

Posted on September 17, 2010 by theurbanllama

Aiyeee! I’ve been away for too long – sorry folks. I unexpectedly had to go back out on the road to do some secondary filming in Gulfport, Biloxi and Ocean Springs, Miss., for the reality television show. Hence my absence from blogging. For those not familiar with with what I’m referring to, allow me to explain.

When I first published the Urban Llama, it was in the midst of accepting a production assistant job on a reality television show with Sirens Media.

http://www.sirensmedia

The show, entitled “I Am The Law,” as explained to me, would be based upon an individual or group, who resides in a small southern town and works in the law enforcement field.

That’s straight forward enough.

Now add in the person involved needs to have a big, boisterous, outsized personality, that is LARGE and IN CHARGE!

That’s slightly sketchier. Welcome to the reality part of the scenario.

They also should be accomplished at what they do, and achieve results through unconventional methods.

The “unconventional methods” part hasn’t been so well received by rank and file law enforcement.

What particularly sets this show apart from things like “Cops,” is the producers not only want to be on the beat with its cast members, but also come home with them and involve their family and possibly friends.

This also hasn’t been terribly popular with law enforcement.

Cops, sheriffs and state police tend to be very protective of their families. With good reason, they deal with bad people, and are involved in some ugly situations. It’s easier for the families to not know the gory details of what the police encounter on the job because spouses and children would worry even more – and for officers it keeps their families protected and pure from all they deal with daily, so they can return home to an unsoiled environment.

Here's the revised flyer we designed to handout and post for the show.

Sirens is located in Silver Spring, Maryland, and is the creation of partners Rebecca Toth Diefenbach and Valerie Haselton Drescher. As stated on its Web site, “Sirens Media is a forward-thinking, full-service production company dedicated to the creation of programming with a bold, innovative, and (our favorite) sassy edge.”

There are two sides to Sirens, one is more salacious, the other focuses on investigative and law enforcement-based programming. This is the side where our project falls, though it most likely will straddle the line between the two sides.

Who doesn’t enjoy salacious law enforcement?!?

http://sirensmediajustice.com

Its clients include MTV, A&E, Bravo and Discovery – and are responsible for such programming as, Real Housewives of New Jersey, Prison Wives, Witness to Waco and Suburban Secrets.

I don’t have a strong opinion on reality television, mostly because I don’t watch it. I’m unplugged from cable. The only reality shows I’ve ever seen are sporting events – but having recently earned my master’s degree in journalism, I’m excited to work on any project that has media attached to the name.

My friend Sara, who lives in Washington, DC, and is a veteran freelance writer for television, hooked me up with this opportunity. She is part of my Jazz Fest crew of friends, and is familiar with my nightlife wanderings from our nocturnal adventures during festival time.

Sara mentioned to Sirens they might want to use someone local, and I do get out and about you could say. I’m always up for finding a strange new place for food or music, and love talking up strangers. Sprinkle in some journalism and I’m suddenly a production assistant – whatever that means.

My task was to go into the field and find somebody interesting enough, that wasn’t too dangerous or uncontrollable, that the network could build a show around. This sounded like a narrow enough focus – at least while I was still sitting on my couch.

No doubt it’s exciting to have an expense account and be turned loose to hit hole-in-the-wall bars, taverns, dive restaurants, anywhere that characters are known to hang out. But when you actually hit the road, and approach a town of even 500 or 1,000 people, with no leads on where to go or who to speak with, the task at hand becomes more complicated.

Much less when I hit an urban center like Mobile, Ala., where the population is around 200,000. I didn’t have a lot of time – two weeks to cover four states (Louisiana, Mississippi, Alabama and Florida). I needed to make fast friends fast.

These are small Deep South townships, some not even incorporated – and here I come rambling down Main Street with Radiohead blaring out the car window, an eyebrow piercing and asking a bunch of questions.

Actually I switched out the Radiohead for Lynyrd Skynyrd and the Allman Brothers. Can I tell you Lynyrd Skynyrd just sounds better when played in the Great State of Alabama! It just does – can’t explain it exactly.

I had concerns I might show up in these towns and it would be a feeding frenzy. Here I come waving this magic lottery ticket known as reality television, and with the poor economy, and that I was traveling along the Gulf Coast, which has been doubly wrecked by Hurricane Katrina and the BP oil spill, maybe the whole town comes running.

Surprisingly, less people want to be involved in this stuff than you think. My director of development explained it this way. For the most part, those that pursue us to be on the show, usually are not what we’re looking for, and those that are the best candidates will require convincing to come on board.

I understood what this meant immediately. And while reassuring, it also caused a shiver to go down my spine. I felt slightly dirty – but it made me smile as well.

In the end the project’s focus broadened considerably before it narrowed again, and a producer quit along the way. But I have to say the people I met on the road were amazingly pleasant and helpful – I only felt the need to stop and buy a handgun twice.

Even the police were polite, not helpful mind you, but polite.

And all the folks at Sirens were fantastically accommodating and supportive of my endeavors. Having not done anything like this before, there was some trial and error, but this process was more fun to be involved with than I could have imagined.

I’m pulling for my bounty hunters – that one or a group of them makes the cut. It was a long road from cops to bounty hunters, a path filled with alligator trappers, moonshine busters, conspiracy theorists, casino roughnecks and a boatload of eccentric alcoholic rednecks (if you feed them they don’t bite).

Hang with me and I’ll post some stories and photos from the road over the next couple days. I leave for Iowa City tomorrow on a new freelance assignment, so I may lose a day or two in travel, but I’ll get it all up.

Remember our reality television show motto: Go hard, or go home!

Words to live by. Subtle isn’t it…

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