24 Apr Thinking Inside the Box / NOLA Report / Matador Playlists

At long last, Gentle Reader(s), it’s Matador Playlist time once again: The one, the only, the original, ask for it by name, accept no substitutes! Your Humble Narrator is back in the friendly confines of Ye Olde Matador Bar & Lounge and speaking of Friendly Confines, it is also opening day for Our National Pastime—the other beautiful game—so an auspicious occasion on multiple counts. Thanks to the mystical machinations and manipulations of the various entities involved, tonight’s game (Cubs vs. Diamondbacks) is blacked out here in New Mexico—a state with exactly ZERO teams in ANY major league sport—even though the game is being played 500 miles away in Phoenix, AZ. Go figure. The regular season got off to a rather irregular start for Your Humble Narrator, as the first two official games of the 2025 season (Cubs vs. Dodgers) were played in Tokyo. That’s Tokyo, Japan, not Tokyo, Indiana, so the fixtures took place in the approximate middle of the night on this side of the Pacific. My beloved Cubs dropped both games to the reigning Champs, but it’s a long season and they’ve got 160 games to try and bounce back. Fingers crossed.

If you have been wondering where in tarnation YHN has been for the past few weeks the simple answer is ‘Not sitting at the computational device banging out convoluted drivel for this blog.’ The more detailed answer is New Orleans, Houston and points betwixt and between. In search of a break from the parched winter weather of Santa Fe I headed down to Ink South to ride the InkCycle, wander through Audubon Park, ponder weighty issues of the world from my perch pon Ye Olde Sitting Oak, commune with Goose and Swan, and soak in all the unique beauty and insanity of my benighted hometown. All these things took place but my desire for the balmy climes of the Crescent City in late winter were confounded on multiple occasions by blasts of freezing temps and rain which had me switching the Ink South A/C system from Cool to Heat and back again on a nearly daily basis. C’est la vie, c’est la guerre, as the Commodore would say.

New Orleans in the February/March time frame typically means one thing above all other things, and that thing would be Carnival. To the best of my understanding, the parameters of the Mardi Gras season are determined by whether or not the Pope sees his shadow when he emerges from the Vatican and this year the prognostications and ruminations determined that Fat Tuesday should fall upon March 4th. Being resident at Ink South during Carnival Season necessitates a state of mind that I have dubbed Thinking Inside the Box. ‘What Box?’ you might ask, and well you might. The Box is the area of New Orleans that encompasses the entirety of the East Riverside and Touro neighborhoods and a small portion of the uptown edge of the Irish Channel. The Box is an approximate rectangle delineated by Tchoupitoulas Street to the south, Louisiana Avenue to the east, St. Charles Avenue to the north, and Napoleon Avenue to the west. If you have the privilege of residing and/or working within the Box the comings and goings of daily life are governed with an unforgiving iron fist by the parade schedule. This is because the primary route for the majority of olde school/Uptown parades involves forming up on Tchoupitoulas then rolling north on Napoleon to St. Charles, then proceeding downtown/east all the way to Canal Street. An alternate route has emerged that involves parades forming up further uptown on Tchoupitoulas and moving up Jefferson Avenue to Magazine, thence east to Napoleon where they then follow the time-honored route up to St. Charles and then on downtown. Weekday parades typically start to roll at around 5:15 PM and the weekend parade lineups commence at 11:15 or 11:30 in the morning. On Mardi Gras Day Zulu rolls bright and early at 8:00 AM with Rex right behind, followed by assorted truck krewes until mid-afternoon.

So here’s the bottom line folks: When the parades kick into gear and you’re dealing with the Box, if you’re In you can’t get Out, and if you’re Out you can’t get In. Plan accordingly or gnashing of teeth, uttering of oaths and expletives, and the rending of garments shall surely follow.

This year I ventured out (on foot) to the perimeter of the Box on a few occasions to catch a few night parades (Babylon, Muses, Proteus) and I walked the perimeter of the Box on the Sunday before Shrove Tuesday to see Thoth and a bit of Bacchus. On a couple of occasions I endeavored to penetrate the perimeters of the Box whilst astride the Ink Cycle and that proved be a bit of a chore, risking life and limb to navigate betwixt and between floats, marauding marching bands and thronging hordes of Chads.

The concept of the ‘Chad’ was new to me, in name at least, for the phenomenon is not new at all but has become increasingly controversial in recent years. The appellation ‘Chad’ designates a parade goer who, in broad strokes, is generally white, boorishly middle class, emboldened by a certain sense of civic entitlement, aggressive and highly territorial in regards to the terrain the Chad and his/her attendant Chads have staked out along the parade routes. If the parades start to roll in the 5:15-5:30 PM weekday window, the Chads will begin to delineate their fiefdoms around 9 in the morning. On weekends the Chads begin to congregate pre-dawn. They lay down tarps, stakes, ropes, coolers, parade ladders, scaffolding, lawn chairs, camping cots, and themselves to establish dominion over their preferred realm of Mardi Gras real estate. This is most often on the neutral grounds of the avenues surrounding the Box, including St. Charles Avenue where the street cars (which provide actual transportation to actual working New Orleanians in addition to serving as tourist trollies) continue to run on parade days up til a few hours before the krewes roll out. The Chads also congregate behind the police barricades on the narrow strip betwixt and between the banquet (sidewalk, to you Yankees) and the street, crowding their gear in between the towering oak trees and erecting rows of modified parade ladders that are often chained together to create impenetrable walls. Woe unto those who should be so foolish as to transgress upon the holy ground of a Chad’s designated realm. Collectively, these individuals are referred to as the Krewe of Chad.

Over the past decade (decades?) the Chad phenomenon has grown steadily to the point where people were hauling living room furniture, tents, grills, refrigerators, gas-powered generators, sound systems, televisions, chemical toilets and lawd-only-knows what else down to the neutral ground. It didn’t take a genius to figure out that in some/many cases these exercises in excess have served a dual purpose in which people dragged out their threadbare sofas and barely-operational appliances with the full intention of leaving them behind for the city to haul away—free of charge—when the parade was over.

The city council finally began to recognize that the situation had gotten out of hand and a raft of ordinances were enacted last year to rein in the profligacies of Chad-dom. Parade goers were prohibited from setting up until four hours prior to parade time and tents, appliances, furniture, scaffolding, roped perimeters, viewing platforms, ladders over six feet tall, chaining rows of ladders together, and open flames were banned. The ordinances were intended not only to curb what had become a significant public nuisance but, in the wake of the dreadful New Year’s Day terror attack on Bourbon Street, a potential security hazard. Carnival Season 2025 began the rollout of the new restrictions but the four-hour time limit was not yet being strictly enforced. Still, walls of ‘Mardi Gras ladders’—the usual hardware store item customized with a wooden seating box at the top, usually reserved for three or four Chad-lings—lined both the banquet and the neutral ground. Even if only six feet tall and not chained together these obstacles still make it nearly impossible for lowly pedestrians such as YHN to see or fully appreciate the street-level action. It will be interesting to see how things pan out next year when the full measure of the Chad-curbing measures will be in effect. Stay tuned…

On Mardi Gras I headed out on the Ink Cycle in the only direction afforded me by the restrictions of the Box: East across Louisiana Avenue—the only major thoroughfare bordering the Box not clogged with revelers and parade traffic. I docked up the conveyance at Lafayette Square and covered the rest of the distance to the Quarter on foot where I teamed up with the Commodore at Jackson Square. The upper portion of the Quarter was surprisingly quiet but it was still early and the forecast for the latter portion of the day was dire: High winds and thunderstorms were predicted to commence by mid-afternoon and some less-determined individuals had apparently opted to lay low. Wimps!

The Commodore had decided to go with the Costume Most Fowl that he had rocked back in 2022—Giant Chicken. I had carefully assembled an outfit that all native-born New Orleanians (of a certain age, at least) would likely appreciate with rheumy-eyed nostalgia: Dixie Beer Delivery Guy. The costume began with my custom-tailored, personalized Dixie Beer working man’s shirt, to which I added a vintage Dixie Beer chapeau along with appropriate pantaloons and sturdy work boots. These items were accessorized with a rather ridiculously oversized Monty Pythonesque ginger mustache affixed pon my upper lip with spirit gum. The coup de grâce was a pristine though sadly empty Dixie Beer case. When the news of the impending demise of Dixie had come down the pike a couple of years ago I had hustled out to Rouse’s and acquired two cases of Dixie. The boxes, the bottles, the bottle caps and an equally pristine six-pack have all been carefully hoarded away and will be available for some future NOLA-centric Netflix production to rent out for an appropriately exorbitant fee.

As we meandered our way through the Quarter towards Esplanade the level of activity and energy on the streets steadily increased. By the time we reached the corner of Royal and Dumaine we ran into the Krewe of St. Anne headed in the opposite direction. Things got festive very quickly and we bopped and weaved along with the brass bands for a while as the crowd of revelers increased to shoulder-to-shoulder capacity. St. Anne eventually rolled on and we crossed over into the Faubourg Marigny. This was where the real action was—the crowds spilling out of the houses and bars blended together into one big bacchanalian street party. My Dixie Beer Delivery Guy outfit went over well and many a thirsty pedestrian inquired hopefully if there was any actual beer in the case. A few people asked the Commodore and I to pose together for photographs and we were dubbed collectively ‘Dixie Chicken’—an appelation that had not even occurred to me.

The Commodore had parked in his customary locale near Elysian Fields and Chartres so we bid each other a fond adieu and I started to wind my way back towards Canal Street. It was still early but the winds were picking up and the clouds were scudding overhead with increasingly velocity. By the time I crossed into the CBD the winds were getting treacherous and the microbursts blowing down the sides of the former One Shell Square nearly knocked me off my feet. At one point my priceless Dixie Beer chapeau went flying and I chased madly after it down Camp Street with the words of Tom Reagan in ‘Miller’s Crossing’ running through my haid: ‘There’s nothing more foolish than a man chasin’ his hat.’ Well, that’s as may be, but a man still gots to do what a man gots do.

On other matters of local import and interest, you might recall that I had previously mentioned the controversy and legal peril that had been swirling around mayor LaToya Cantrell. There had been speculation that she would be indicted on a variety of charges of corruption and assorted malfeasance before the end of 2024, or alternatively, following the Stupor Bowl in February. Well, neither one of those scenarios ultimately came to pass and now Her Honor is facing into the final stretch before she terms out in November. What happened to the federal prosecutors and their dirty laundry list of cut-rate payola and financial footsie? There’s been no reports of any substantive changes in the potential charges but with every passing day that she remains unindicted the momentum seems to swing further in Cantrell’s favor. Since Goblinreich 2.0 kicked into gear the federal prosecutors’ office has been thrown into disarray (shocking, I know) and conventional wisdom has it that the more time that passes the less likely it is that charges will ever be filed against Cantrell. NOLA.com observed that the actual dollar amounts involved were pretty pitiful by traditional standards of governmental sleazery—about $17,000 all told—and the statute of limitations is quickly running out on some of the potential charges. As Miss Irma done been advising us lo’ these many years, Mayor Cantrell most certainly realizes that Time Is On (Her) Side.

So, LaToya may end up sliding out of office in the fall without having to do the perp walk—yet another sordid entry in the city’s extensive lore of Civic Infamy. As the mayor waits out the days with the sword of Damocles still hanging over her head she carries on with the basics duties of her office but studiously avoids any meaningful contact with the media. If you can’t beat ‘em then just stall, stonewall, keep your head down, and don’t say nothin’ to nobody.

On a more pleasant front, I can report that Goose and Swan are as ever, though I did have one scare regarding Swan. On my last bike ride before heading home to the high desert I was at my customary stopover at Ye Olde Sittin’ Oak, which is just behind the tee for the 10th hole on the Audubon Golf Course. The black billed whistling ducks had arrived in their late winter multitudes in the area of the lagoon that Goose and Swan typically call home and the noisy neighbors had apparently motivated Goose and Swan to relocate over to the large pond (or water hazard as the case may be) by the 10th tee. I was acutely aware of the potential danger to Goose and Swan of whizzing golf carts and golf balls, especially since the grade of golfer at Audubon appears to be pretty low and the imbibing of inebriational beverages while on the course is commonplace. After a few duffers had slopped their balls into the water and had moved along I noticed something odd in the distance across the pond—a waddling white object that appeared to lurching towards the water in a rather awkward and unusual manner. I got up from the Sitting Oak and moved onto the green for a better look and, from what I could tell, it appeared to be Swan. Swan was moving in a strange way and looked to be holding one wing in a somewhat unnatural position. Had Swan been hit by an errant golf ball? Clipped by some poltroon in a golf cart? I couldn’t be certain, but I was very alarmed.

There had been a burst of excitement in the park recently due to the arrival of a family of great horned owls in the grove of oaks along the downtown side of the park near where Coliseum Street runs intersects with Exposition Boulevard. The wildlife specialists who oversee the park had taken notice and had roped off an area surrounding the two oaks where the birds were nesting. They put up a sandwich board advising interested park goers to watch for the fledglings who were still in a stage of pre-flight fluffiness and to call park security should they see anything that seemed amiss. Dozens of people had been turning out to ogle the new residents through binoculars and take Instagramable photos with telescopic lenses.

I rode over to the owl site to get the Audubon Park Security number off the board and then rode back over to the Sittin’ Oak to see if I could get a better look at Swan. I called the security number and reported my concerns about Swan, who was now paddling about in the pond—not in any obvious distress, but still holding one wing at what I thought was an odd angle. The person who answered the phone promised to forward my observations to the appropriate avian overseers. I texted a couple of photos so that they could see exactly where Swan was at the moment, and then headed home. Upon my recent return to town I was full of trepidation about Swan, but thankfully, blessedly, when I headed into the park on my first bike ride, there was Goose and Swan in their usual locale, both looking hale and hearty and majestic as ever. Whatta relief!

I returned to Santa Fe the weekend after Mardi Gras, enjoying the additional benefit of crossing from Central time back into Mountain on the day that Daylight Savings Time started (or ended??—I can’t ever keep that straight), therefore sparing myself of the onerous task of having to reset my watch. Pretty slick, no? I’ll have to see if I can pull this feat off again in reverse come November.

On the Thursday following my return I found myself laying on the floor in my office on a chilly late afternoon enjoying the incomparable luxury of radiant heat and weighing the possibilities of my being able to rouse myself with sufficient time and energy to prepare for a long night in the Matador DJ booth. I realized that I could not summon forth the required resources (or, more likely, could but did not want to) and I texted Katia to let her know that I would not be in attendance that evening. The next Thursday was the third of the month—Goth Night!—and that left me two more Thursdays before it was time to head southeast again. Thursday the 27th of March turned out to be a very good night (Thank you, Roger Rabbit—wherever you are!) and the evening’s playlist appears in its full extent below. By the following Thursday, 4/3, the Spring Break crowds had dissolved back into the flatlands and the Mat was quiet. Around 10:30 I looked up to realize that I/we had managed to scare off everybody in the joint, including a trio who were apparently in such haste to exit the premises they left behind two untouched cocktails and an full icy cold beer—or perhaps they just realized they had neglected to take the pot roast out of the oven. Either way, I take such accomplishments with a certain amount of pride and Katia and I high-fived in recognition of our momentous achievement. 

I advised Katia that if things remained on the chill side I would probably make an early night of it and bail out at midnight. Sometimes just getting to bed early is reward enough in and of itself. So, if you’re looking at the playlist for April 3 thinking ‘Hey, what the effin’ ‘eff be going on here?’, do not be alarmed. You are getting the full list for the evening in it’s entirety, abbreviated though it may be. If all goes to plan (as if there actually were a plan) I expect to be back on the job at the Mat on May 22nd (I’ll be back before that but the 15th will be La Noche del Goth once again).

Stay tuned, keep the faith, don’t let the bastards get you down, and keep them cards and letters coming in. (The YouTube links for both 3/27 and 4/3 playlists are below. Go ahead—click on them. You know you want to!)

 Matador Playlist 3/27/25 via YouTube 

Matador Playlist 3/27/25

Charles Bukowski – Grammar of Life

Barbara Lynn – Teen Age Blues

Bauhaus – Kick in the Eye

Eddy Arnold – It’s A Sin

I’ve Had It – Black Flag

Il Buono, Il Brutto, Il Cattivo – Ennio Morricone

White Sand – Boss Hog

Left of the Dial – the Replacements

Gut Feeling (Slap Your Mammy) – Devo

Take the Skinheads Bowling – Camper Van Beethoven

Printhead – the Fall

Smells Like Teen Spirit – Nirvana

Facet Squared – Fugazi

Ya Se – Fea

Love Is For Lovers – the dBs

In the Dark – Billy Squier

Shadrach – Beastie Boys

‘Cause I Sez So – New York Dolls

Tupelo – Nick Cave & the Bad Seeds

Thunderstruck – AC/DC

John, I’m Only Dancing – David Bowie

I Wanna Be Your Boyfriend – the Ramones

Rockin’ Rufus – Ramon Maupin

Giant Kitty – Shonen Knife

Love Pipe – Red Elvises

The Guns of Brixton – the Clash

Acid Bird – Robyn Hitchcock & the Egyptians

007 (Shanty Town) – Desmond Dekker

Baby Blue – Badfinger

Waiting Room – Fugazi

True Blue – Rod Stewart

Pictures of You – the Cure

My Way – Sid Vicious

Before the Next Teardrop Falls – Freddy Fender

Heaven Knows I’m Miserable Now – the Smiths

Rebel Girl – Bikini Kill

To Hell With Poverty – Gang of Four

Street Fighting Man – the Rolling Stones

Come On, Let’s Go – Girl In A Coma

Ziggy Stardust – David Bowie

Suffragette City – David Bowie

Personality Crisis -the New York Dolls

Kung Fu Fighting – Carl Douglas

Low Self Opinion – Rollins Band

We the People – A Tribe Called Quest

Petition the Lord With Prayer – the Doors

Dead Rats, Dead Cats – the Doors

Break on Through – the Doors

Can’t Hardly Wait – the Replacements

Dirty Deeds Done Dirt Cheap – AC/DC

Surfin’ Dead – the Cramps

Bohemian Like You – the Dandy Warhols

Waitin’ for the Bus – ZZ Top

Jesus Just Left Chicago – ZZ Top

Papa’s Got A Brand New Bag – James Brown

Rowche Rumble – the Fall

Demolicion – Fea

Concrete Jungle – Bob Marley

My War – Black Flag

Southern Girls – Cheap Trick

Jah War – the Ruts

In Dreams – Roy Orbison

Freedom! ’90 – George Michael

The KKK Took My Baby Away – the Ramones

Ojitos Lindos – Bad Bunny

Lovesong – the Cure

Burning Down the House – Talking Heads

Gasolina – Daddy Yankee

Make Love, Fuck War – Moby & Public Enemy

Titi Me Pregunto – Bad Bunny

Jump Around – House of Pain

Harley Quinn – Fuerza Regida 

Lust for Life – Iggy Pop

Limbo – Daddy Yankee

I Fink U Freeky – Die Antwoord

Trenecito – Lapizito

La Bamba – Ritchie Valens

Bebe Dame – Fuerza Regida

Friday I’m In Love – the Cure

MAMIII – Karol G

Praise You – Fatboy Slim

El Coco Rayado – Alameños de la Sierra

C’mon C’mon – the Von Bondies

Dancing With Tears In My Eyes – X

World Without Tears – Lucinda Williams

Buona Sera – Louis Prima

Happy Trails – Roy Rogers & Dale Evans

Taxi – Bryan Ferry

Matador Playlist via YouTube

Matador Playlist 4/3/25

Grammar of Life – Charles Bukowski

Breaking Glass – David Bowie

Cool Cat – Queen (for Katia & Jonah’s kitty)

Mujer Moderna – Fea

The Revolution Will Not Be Televised – Gil Scott-Heron

For What It’s Worth – Girl In A Coma

When I’m With You – Best Coast

Friday, I’m In Love – Yo La Tengo

Trick Everybody – Big Bill

Pink Pony Club – Chappell Roan (request)

Warning Sign – Talking Heads

Love & Happiness – Al Green

Ride Wit Me – Nelly (request)

Static Age – Misfits

Respectable Street – XTC

Modern World – Jonathan Richman & the Modern Lovers

Dumaine Street – Trombone Shorty

September Gurls – Big Star

Electricity – Captain Beefheart

It’s the End of the World As We Know It – R.E.M.

Dusted – Leftfield (feat. Roots Manuva)

Autumn Sweater – Yo La Tengo

Planet Caravan – Black Sabbath

I Ain’t Sayin – Dinosaur Jr.

Gin In My System – Big Freedia

What’s My Age Again – blink-182

Thunderstruck – AC/DC

I’m Not A Punk – Descendents

Paralyzed – the Legendary Stardust Cowboy

The Look of Love, Pt. 1 – ABC

Sound Guardians – Lightning Bolt

66 – the Afghan Whigs

Loser – Beck

The List – Mighty Mighty Boston’s

Nowadays People – Captain Crunch & the Crew

It’s My Life (Dub) – Liquid People vs. Talk Talk

Clean Up Woman – Betty Wright

Lightning Strikes (Not Once But Twice) – the Clash

Wade in the Water – Big Mama Thornton

Bumpy Road – the Destruction Unit

Scars – Papa Roach (request)

Born to Lose – Johnny Thunders & the Heartbreakers

Outta Me – Bikini Kill

The Agony of Victory – NOFX (request)

Freedom of Choice – Devo

Nearly Lost You – Screaming Trees

The Rover – Led Zeppelin

Modern Love – David Bowie

Revolution – the Beatles (request)

Everyday People – Sly & the Family Stone

The Kicking Machine – the Melvins