Had Enough of Silly Love Songs?
Now that February is here, we're in the throes of another Hallmark-esque holiday filled with cheesy store displays, even cheesier movies, and corporate encouraged emotionality.
Valentine's Day is a little like Christmas. If you have all the prerequisites, you'll be fine, but if you don't it's extra depressing to be blue on a day that's ostensibly about merriment. If you're single, you'll have a new reason to feel like a shmuck. If you're already with someone, it's probably going to be just another day.
Music is always the great salve for a broken, wounded, barren, or squeezed heart. In that spirit, this selection of New Orleans music offers the flipside of all that Valentine's Day jive about romance by sneaking in some romantic desperation by means of a killer groove or subtle lyrical twist.
The Neville Brothers, "Yellow Moon"
If you find yourself too busy blissing out to that undeniably funky, intoxicating, buoyant melody and snake-hipped groove, you can easily be forgiven for missing the speaker's desperation. Begging the eponymous orb, supposedly a symbol of peace and happiness, to inform him of the whereabouts of a mysterious Creole woman who seems to have stepped out on him. He frantically wonders what this free-spirited lady is and what she's doing by asking, "Can you tell me / Is the girl with another man?" The answer is probably yes.
Louis Armstrong, "St. James Infirmary (Gambler's Blues)"
Usually with a song like this, especially in the olden days, it's sentimentalized. I'll miss my sweet baby so, why oh why did she have to go, etc. Instead, he coldly dismisses her. "Let her go, let her go, God bless her / Wherever she may be," which suggests that she wasn't exactly saintly. Tellingly, that's all, and then he rather coldly starts bragging about himself and fantasizes about how good he wants to look when his own time comes.
Ernie K-Doe, "Mother-in-Law"
NOLA's own self-styled "Emperor of the Universe" reminds us that even if you and your sweetheart get along like two peas in a pod, there's always someone else who inevitably gets involved. They tend to become your family, too, which can be a blessing. It can also mean that now you've got a whole new set of people to disappoint.
Dr. John, "Such a Night"
A charming little ditty that sounds like it could have come from a musical that would have only existed in the mind of the good doctor, until you notice that the apple of his eye is on the arm of his best buddy. He's casually, and apparently consensually, intending to cuck the poor fellow. How romantic. And it's not like he's even that special, either. The chorus "if I don't do it, you know somebody else will" is cold as cold can be.
Jean Knight, "Mr. Big Stuff"
So far, it's been dudes expressing their romantic disgruntlements, so let's let the ladies have their say. Technically, this is a Stax single, but Knight was born and raised in New Orleans. Nobody's pushover, she confidently blows up this pompous jerk's spot by scoffing at his pretensions of wealth and lady killing. It's an empowerment anthem. It's about not letting someone else's self-regard make you swoon. "When I give my love, I want love in return," she matter-of-factly states. Amen, sister.
The Dixie Cups, "Chapel of Love"
This song almost comes off like a dirge. "Today's the day we'll say I do" is sung in a near-monotone. Usually given this kind of romantic situation, you'd expect a different tone, especially in a pop song sung by women. "Gee, I really love you / And we're gonna get married" could have been phrased with a bit more giddiness or rapture as opposed to sounding like her daddy's standing in the corner with a shotgun. "And we'll never be lonely anymore" doesn't sound like much of a ringing endorsement of this union, either.
Patti LaBelle, "Lady Marmalade"
A rare number one hit twice over, originally produced in 1974 by the great Mr. Allen Toussaint with The Meters as the backing band and then for the Moulin Rouge soundtrack in 2001. Patti LaBelle struts her way through the tale of an interracial encounter with a sex worker, the "color of café au lait," who deftly seduces a john on Bourbon Street with some saucy talk. Apparently, the trick has the time of his life on those black satin sheets, which is all well and good. Yet given the fact that when the square returns to "do a 9 to 5 / Living his gray flannel life," he finds suburbia so boring and bland that he can't stop dreaming of the one time he got laid by a Black woman—and for pay, at that. Pathetic. Lady Marmalade obviously meant more to him than he did to her.
Irma Thomas, "Ruler of My Heart"
Those supple, elegant harmonies, ominous bassline, and haunting piano trill all set an evocative scene for the Soul Queen of New Orleans to do her thing. It captures how it feels to know that someone else has you in the palm of their hand. You're powerless to do anything but wait for the possibility of their return. You can just about feel the abjection of sleepless nights filled with longing and cigarette smoke and an otherwise empty room.
Mystikal, "Shake Ya Azz"
Sexist objectification or playful call to shake booty? You be the judge. Either way, this raucous little ditty comes "straight out the Crescent." Flowers and heart shaped boxes, it ain't. Something else might be heart shaped, though. Opening with the immortal line "I came here with my dick in my hand / Don't make me leave here with my foot in yo ass," Pharrell's production bounces behind Mystikal's James Brown-esque rasp. Pair with Juvenile's classic "Back That Azz Up" for some thematic, historical, and geographical continuity. Stamp that on your next candy heart.
