It
seems there’s one thing that all fine Americans and people everywhere around
the world have in common: the need to have a title. The Derailers are no
exception. Individually and collectively we’ve worn a lot of hats, but the
title given to us for our participation in the 1996 Atlanta Centennial Olympic
Games, was one I would have never dreamed of hanging on the rack. We were
dubbed — and I have the badge, commemorative pin, and certificate to prove it
— “Cultural Olympiads.”
The ACOG committee didn’t give us any specific guidelines as to what “Cultural
Olympiads” were supposed to do other than play about eight 50-minute sets over
the course of six days. One of our events was eating the deli tray from hell
each day. Another was sneaking beer into an otherwise essentially arid
Centennial Park. The only place you could legally get a beer or hold one in
your hand was in Bud World, right next to Coca Cola Land, just up the way from
Nike Planet. The problem was that Bud World was much too small for the millions
of thirsty people on hand. The ACOG volunteers were very good at looking the
other way when we would put our barley pops in the back stage coolers amongst
the Cokes, Crystal Springs Water, and the Powerade, the last of which I’ve
become addicted to.
The whole Southern Crossroads experience was a great one. The folks from ACOG,
The Smithsonian Institute, the Texas Folklife Resourcers — everybody involved
— treated us royally and set everything up in a relaxed and efficient manner
that allowed the artists to intermingle and learn from each other. Getting to
and from our performances was clockwork. Hotel room, lobby, shuttle bus, golf
cart, back stage, stage, and then reverse the process. I’m glad we were able to
leave the driving to the professionals; traffic at times was pretty horrific.
One of the shuttle drivers from New York put it best, “These are the most
undrivingest people I’ve ever seen.”
We arrived the night before the program was to start. We were wrung out from
our very good yet tiring week in Nashville and we had arrived in Atlanta just
in time to check in at the Hotel and make our gig at the Star Bar. When we
returned to the hotel, I turned on CNN and was greeted by the tragic news of
TWA Flight 800. Welcome. Forecast, grim.
JULY 18: The new day greeted me harshly. That all changed with a cup of coffee
and hand shake. The hand belonged to legendary Cajun artist and maker of
rocking chairs, the great D.L. Menard. He and the Louisiana Aces were going to
be playing after our set. Leo Abshire is their fiddle player and Horace Trahan
plays the accordion. D. L. right away said something that he and Leo would say
time and again during that week: “If it ain’t fun, we stay home.” That’s where
our friendship started and we just took it from there. Meeting Mr. Menard was a
Godsend.
After their show, we watched Scotty Moore play. That was a treat to hear him
play those classic licks he played on those Elvis sides and to ride the shuttle
back to the hotel with him. The night before The Pure Texas Band had jammed
with him in the hotel bar into the wee hours. Scotty had to take off, so it was
up to the rest of us to continue the jam session. That night after some hot
wings and cheese sticks, the Louisiana Aces, The Derailers, Howard Kalish, and
Philip Pajardo played music `till we couldn’t keep our eyes open anymore.
JULY 19: There were so many acts of all kinds involved in the Southern
Crossroads program that I can’t name all of them. Bands from all over the world
playing all different kinds of music. I wish I could have seen more of the
performances. Fortunately, there were alternative means of at least getting a
taste of the various flavors. We were riding a shuttle with The Freedom Singers
and as we approached the drop off point they started to sing a spiritual in
perfect four-point harmony. Their voices had the most amazing feel and they
sang at almost a whisper and I tell you, I had chicken skin from head to toe.
JULY 20: At this point the gigs at the park had become a blur. Ride in a golf
cart through a sea of people; too many of them saying “What’s up Elvis” and
“Can I have a ride?” After our last gig that night, the rest of the band —
Brian Holfeldt, Vic Gerard, and Terry XXXXXX — went over to watch Brian
Setzer. I went back to the hotel and started playing music. D.L. was protecting
his voice so he only played guitar, despite our efforts to coax him into
singing by playing his favorite Hank Williams songs. I would call Saturday
night the peak jam night and maybe the most fun I’ve ever had playing music.
Just about everybody was there taking turns. The rest of the Derailers made it
back and added their licks. Sarah Brown played some string bass Highlights were
Leo and Howard playing “Faded Love,” with everybody joining in to sing the
chorus. Scott Walls stole the show singing “The Other Woman” and wrapping up
the evening with a killer version of “Sleepwalk.” Big smiles all around. I got
the feeling that a lot of the musicians hadn’t had the chance to just sit
around and pick in quite a while. And I think it was the first time some of the
onlookers had seen anything like it. That is what the music is all about. It
begins and ends on the back porch.
JULY 21: The next night, I found myself in what became known as the pow wow
corner. Eddie Swimmer is a hoop dancer. He, his drummer, and Ulali were singing
49’s, which are more or less Indian party songs. They’re Indian chants mixed
with impromptu English lyrics and the subject matter is normally about being
heartsick. Sometimes they get kind of bawdy. They would do a few songs and then
Horace would do a song, then everybody would join in on the beer drinking
country songs ala Jones, Haggard, Hank. We also sang Amazing Grace,
which to me summarizes how this whole mix fit together so effortlessly. The Pow
Wow went on until dawn.
JULY 22: D.L. and the Louisiana Aces left a few hours after the pow wow ended.
Ol’ Leo and Horace were there to the end. Those guys made a situation that
could have been tiresome at best, or miserable at worst, the time of a lot
people lives. Or at least a fond memory. If you want to have a boring,
feel-sorry-for-yourself time, make sure you don’t invite any traditional Cajun
musicians, because I guarantee you, you’re gonna have a good time.
I’m thankful I had the honor to meet D.L. and Leo. I feel it was the reason I
was there. Hanging with those guys was a great lesson for me. They’ve been
playing music a long time and they still love it. They have children and
grandchildren and homes, and they’re happy — sparks in their eyes, spring in
their steps.
JULY 23: One last jam session is under way as well as another pow wow. I was
too tired to participate but I enjoyed hearing the sounds. The next batch of
Cultural Olympiads were checking into the Ramada Inn Six Flags, our hotel. The
same hotel that was home to prostitutes and crack dealers just weeks before we
arrived. Oh well, time to go.
The only place you could legally get a beer was in Bud World, right next to
Coca Cola Land, just up the way from Nike Planet.
If you want to have a boring, feel-sorry-for-yourself time, make sure you don’t
invite any traditional Cajun musicians, because I guarantee you, you’re gonna
have a good time.
This article appears in August 16 • 1996 and August 16 • 1996 (Cover).