Right Place, Right Time, Live at Tipitina’s, Mardi Gras ‘89
Dr John
Available from Hyena Records <http://www.hyenarecords.com>

REVIEW BY BILL NEVANS

This is a great CD in its own right, but the social and political context it’s released into in 2006 gives it startling weight. This music is charged with celebration, offered to us at a time of widespread struggle for survival, when celebration may, ironically, be the best way to survive. Dr John is a survivor against the odds and proud of it.

After Hurricane Katrina and government bunglers bashed New Orleans last year, Mac Rebennack (aka Dr John) stepped right up to the plate with both generous relief fundraising concerts/recordings and angry public words of protest. One of the Crescent City’s most favourite sons, Mac came home for both Mardi Gras and Jazz Fest this spring, doing his considerable bit to keep the world’s attention focused on what needs to be done to help New Orleans “come back even stronger”.

This CD — taken from Mac’s personal stash of concert tapes — finds Dr. John in grand form, as well. A super-tight N’awlins band builds the base for Mac to work his wonders from — Tommy Moran on guitar; David Barard, bass; Herman Ernest III, drums; Trazi Williams, percussion; Amadee Castenell, sax; Charlie Miller, trumpet. They are hot, jazzy, totally in tune with Dr John’s dancing piano and dreamy-dark voice. “Walk On Gilded Splinters” builds a shivery, spikey groove that chills the soul. The audience screams with joy and approval — you can almost see the sweaty bodies shuffling on their feet — each time Mac delivers a chorus. And his witty, rambling spoken asides are worth the price of this CD all by themselves. One can’t help but feel that his sneering put-down of a certain “jive-ass son of a bitch” could easily be applied to certain jive politicians who watched those awful waters rise and did nothing to help.

Producer Joel Dorn’s liner notes, certainly approved of by Dr John, make this specific: “When Katrina kicked the shit out of New Orleans last summer, the best ol’ George, America’s foremost hand puppet, could come up with was, 'Great job, Brownie.’ Welcome to the bottom of the barrel.” Just listen to the power of this recording. The subtext is this: They just should not have fucked with Dr John’s people and Dr John’s city. But hope, like music, like New Orleans, like Dr John himself, abides. And will triumph. This is triumphant music, to get us through this time, too. Savour it.

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