From an outsider’s perspective, Bob French is in a good spot. His beige, shotgun-style house in New Orleans’ Musicians’ Village is ideally situated on a corner lot, right in the thick of the Habitat for Humanity–constructed community.

A group of street musicians

It’s a neighborhood that’s changing every day, and from his porch the 70-year-old drummer can see it all: volunteers coming around, homes going up, and new neighbors spilling out onto sidewalks to gather and shoot the breeze. It’s not the same as when French lived in the city’s Tremé neighborhood, which — as he tells it — “got washed” in 2005 after Hurricane Katrina. But now he’s part of the city’s rebuilding effort, and after a couple months of settling in, these digs — which friends jokingly refer to as “the Governor’s mansion” — seem to work.

“This is home,” he says as he invites me in.

I sit down at his request. My two companions, Aleis Tusa, communications director for New Orleans Area Habitat for Humanity, and Calvin Johnson, a 21-year-old tenor sax player, also take a load off. We’d been hanging around across the street, chatting over the din of construction, when French discovered us.

Bob French between gigs

I am in New Orleans because of an interest in the city’s musical heritage, so it’s natural that I should want to meet French. Like some of the other neighborhood artists who Tusa and Johnson have eagerly pointed out, French is something of a living legend. The drummer has led the renowned Original Tuxedo Jazz Band since 1977, and he’s been gigging around town with that group and others ever since.

But after seeing him perform at the nightclub d.b.a. earlier in the week, I learned French has another role in the local music scene too: he deejays twice a week on WWOZ-FM, a radio station operated by the New Orleans Jazz and Heritage Festival Foundation. On the air he is, admittedly, outspoken on all things music. And even in the laid-back atmosphere of his living room, I can tell this much: if French has an opinion, he’ll make it known.

Living History

Papa Grows Funk on stage at d.b.a.

By most accounts, the roots of New Orleans’ unique musical tradition trace back to Congo Square, now a section of Louis Armstrong Park in Tremé. Back in the 1700s, when Louisiana was a French territory (later ceded to Spain), slaves were allowed to gather there, play their own styles of African music, and dance — a small luxury their counterparts in the United States didn’t experience.

“I play New Orleans music,” he begins, straightening up a bit in his chair. “We’re different from anybody else in the world.”

According to Ned Sublette’s new book, The World That Made New Orleans: From Spanish Silver to Congo Square (Lawrence Hill Books), that practice ended by the mid-19th century, after Louisiana had achieved statehood. But Congo Square’s legacy remains, particularly in the city’s renowned drumming tradition.

Today, New Orleans is probably best known for that early traditional style of jazz, also known as Dixieland. Its key characteristic, says John Rankin, a local guitarist and professor at Loyola University, is collective improvisation — three horns (clarinet, trumpet, and trombone) soloing together at the same time — over a rhythm section that includes some combination of guitar, banjo, piano, double bass or tuba, and, of course, drums.

Dancing and romancing while Papa Grows Funk
plays at d.b.a.

French’s regular Monday night gig at d.b.a. falls into that stylistic category. But he’s quick to point out that there’s more to New Orleans music than just jazz. “Rhythm and blues originated in New Orleans,” he says.

Sitting in an armchair, French’s ample frame doesn’t look too different than it did in the club — a little older, perhaps, without the “cool” cover of his drums, his brown skin a little less radiant without the luminescence of stage lights. Here he seems relaxed. But he still wears the same demeanor of casual confidence I noticed while watching him at d.b.a. There, from behind his kit in the corner of a small, low stage, French brings the energy, playing and emceeing at the same time. That energy provides an underlying current to the smooth groove of the classic jazz songs the band plays — an unidentifiable vibe that makes listeners want to add a shoulder pump to their already tapping feet, maybe even get up and dance.

I’d left d.b.a. after his band’s first set that night, and French admonishes me for it. “You left too soon. Things got kind of crazy. The band was sick,” he says, shaking his head, and in the process teaching me a key lesson about New Orleans music: if you want to hear the really good stuff, stick around.

Drinkin' and Dancin'

Funk, which Sublette refers to as New Orleans’ “latter-day musical lingua franca,” is a word French doesn’t mention. But Rankin says funk is present in much of the city’s music.

A buggy take passengers on a ride

“Generally, New Orleans music has a great beat,” he explains. “Funky, but not like ‘Get down!’ funky. More like ‘All riiight.’ Know what I mean?”

“Uh-huh,” I lie.

“Basically, if you can drink to it and dance to it, it’s widely accepted,” he adds. “We’re not so much a listening audience. We don’t sit there passively and take things very seriously. We just want to have fun.”

Jan Ramsey, publisher of the local music magazine OffBeat, sends me uptown looking for funk. There, she says, at Maple Leaf Bar, is where I’ll find the Rebirth Brass Band, whose longstanding Tuesday night gig is still one of the biggest draws in the city — and definitely funky. “It’s a big scene,” Ramsey says.

A band performing in the street in not an uncommon sight in the French Quarter

At the Maple Leaf, an old shotgun-style building with a back courtyard in which to cram extra people, I’m not surprised to find it crowded. What does catch me off guard is the sheer diversity. The fans who file in next to me as Rebirth takes the stage defy categorization: young and old, the ultra-stylish and the more modestly dressed, and nearly all ethnicities. And when the band plays, they all start to move.

“Watch out, hippies dancing,” says one of my fellow audience members as beers slosh around and people bump elbows, shoulders, and hips. But everyone is guilty. As the power of the music fills the air, it takes hold of the crowd and moves them like marionettes. Tuba takes hold of willing legs and makes them do steps that I’m pretty sure you can’t learn in a class.

Ramsey chuckles as she explains that this uninhibited motion is a characteristic particular to New Orleans audiences. She recalls watching local blues guitarist Walter “Wolfman” Washington perform in Atlanta a few years back: “You could tell who the New Orleans people were by the way they moved.

Baptism by Fire

When we leave French’s house, Calvin Johnson gives me a lift back to the Quarter. The University of New Orleans student, who will soon be the youngest homeowner in Musicians’ Village, was born and raised in New Orleans. Wearing jeans, a T-shirt, sneakers, and an enormous smile, Johnson comes off as a regular college kid. Performing, however, has taken him all over the country and the world — even though he has yet to complete his bachelor’s degree. Johnson says that’s not unusual among local musicians.

Snug Harbor provides safe harbor
for music fans

“In other places,” he explains, “music is put on this academic platform. You have to complete all your prereqs, and do all the other courses, and then you get a job. In New Orleans, you get up on stage first, and you get broken in. You get baptized by fire. Then the old-timers tell you, ‘Now see what you did? That was wrong. Now you know not to do it again.’”

Before dropping me off on busy Royal Street, Johnson gives me his own two cents on the subject I’m pursuing. “Music is the thread that holds New Orleans together,” he says. “That’s the commonality between uptown and downtown.”

In just a few days, I’ve seen evidence to support his claim. It seems that no matter where I go in the Crescent City, music is there with me. It’s there on Royal Street and throughout the Quarter, thanks to myriad street performers. It’s down on Frenchmen Street in the Marigny, in clubs like d.b.a, Snug Harbor, and the Spotted Cat. Even in more formal settings like the Ogden Museum of Southern Art and the Columns Hotel, music and music lovers are present.

They’re also at Mid-City Lanes Rock ’n’ Bowl, a bowling alley with a stage and a dance floor. I’ve shown up at the Rock ’n’ Bowl on Zydeco Night, when musician Brian Jack is performing.

French, Rankin, and Ramsey had all stressed that zydeco is not New Orleans music. This catchy style of roots music actually originated in Southwest Louisiana, but Big Easy audiences have kind of adopted it. After I make it up to the main floor of the Rock ’n’ Bowl, I can see why. Couples cover the floor, all caught up in an activity I’d never witnessed before: Cajun dancing. It’s impossible to even get near the stage to watch the band, but nobody seems too concerned about that.

Rosie Ledet performs at Rock ’N’ Bowl

I shuffle over to the crowded bar and try to figure out the dancers’ method, a near-impossible task because they all seem to be doing something different. Feet step, hips sway, and bodies twirl — it’s hypnotic, but indecipherable. One of the dancers, a man, catches me watching and tapping my feet and comes over to ask me to dance.

I hesitate. “I don’t know how.”

“Come on,” he says, in a singsong voice. “It’s really easy!”

I give in and take a turn, following his lead as we finish out the song. As we dance, he introduces himself as Ben and says he’s been attending zydeco nights like this for years, first at Tipitina’s, until he was “banned for life” from that classic New Orleans club for “having too much fun.” Now, he comes to the Rock ’n’ Bowl every week.

When we finish dancing, Ben congratulates me on a job well done and hands me a small square envelope before heading back out onto the floor. I open the envelope and inside is a gold doubloon engraved with my teacher’s name, bestowing on me the honorary title of “Certified Cajun Dancer.”

The Experience

It doesn’t take me long to learn that there are certain advantages to being on Bob French’s good side. Habitat’s Tusa, before she introduced me to him, had warned, “He will talk about you on the radio. He’s done that to us before.” So when French asks me to come by his show early on a Friday morning, I figure it’s better to be there than not.

VaVaVoom perfrms at the Ogden Museum

When I arrive, he is just inside the door of the WWOZ building, holding a shopping bag full of CDs, and we wind our way upstairs and into the room where the deejays do their thing. Its walls are lined with shelves of CDs and a few old posters. French’s colleague, Middleton O’Malley, is on the air when we walk in.

French and O’Malley seem to have a kind of brotherly relationship, constantly poking fun at each other, but with an obvious underlying respect. “I don’t know how he does it, but this guy gets some damn good groups together,” O’Malley says, turning to French.

A couple of times a year — usually during Mardi Gras in late winter and the Jazz and Heritage Festival in the spring — musicians will come down from other states to play with French’s band and learn New Orleans music. The style of outsiders, French explains, usually isn’t quite as improvisational as that of homegrown artists, but he’s often impressed by how they pick up on the groove. “They do pretty good,” he says.

I talk to French on the air about some of the clubs I’d been to, and he seems satisfied with my performance too. “You’ve been on the radio before,” he accuses. I shake my head in denial. “Well then,” he says. “This is the experience.”

Leaving the station, I find the city is awake and into its own groove: midday. But even among the discordant clamor of traffic, tourists, and vendors, I feel like I am in a very good place.

Getting there: Continental offers daily nonstop service to New Orleans from its hubs in Houston, New York/Newark, and Cleveland.

Night or day, there’s always something going on in the Big Easy. But at some point you’ll want to squeeze in a nap. New Orleans offers travelers a variety of hotel experiences in the midst of all the action.

Hotel Monteleone. Located in the French Quarter, this historic hotel has long been a favorite of well-known writers. The Eudora Welty Suite, the Truman Capote Suite, and the Ernest Hemingway Penthouse commemorate just a few of the authors who spent time in the hotel’s famous rotating Carousel Piano Bar and Lounge. 214 Rue Royal, 504.523.3341; hotelmonteleone.com

Soniat House. Past and present collide in this small luxury hotel, created when the owners combined three 19th-century Creole townhouses. The rooms feature antique furnishings and European fabrics, while boasting the one thing no modern traveler can live without: wireless Internet access. 1133 Chartres St., 800.544.8808; soniathouse.com

Windsor Court Hotel. This luxury hotel has become an art destination in its own right. Museum-quality pieces hang everywhere, from the lobby to the posh Polo Club Lounge. 300 Gravier St., 888.596.0955; windsorcourthotel.com