Fresh Loaf

To say that I’m more than a little geeked about tonight’s Rebirth Brass Band show at Smith’s Olde Bar is an understatement. It’s not just a chance to get a much needed breath of New Orleans air and put a little boogie in my bones; it’s a chance to revisit a totally different kind of nostalgia.
You see, it was almost exactly nine months ago that, emboldened by a little box in my pocket and a few beers in my gut, I hopped up onstage and proposed to my girlfriend. Having only lived in Atlanta for about seven months, I couldn’t think of anything remotely or familiarly Atlanta-ly romantic to pop the question. I needed a setting. I needed a mood. I needed familiarity. I needed a little bit of New Orleans.
The idea popped into my head a week after doing a story about the New Orleans brass band scene post-Katrina for CL in anticipation of successive appearances by Rebirth and the Dirty Dozen at Smith’s, which seems to have a soft spot in its heart for New Orleans musicians. Days later, with an engagement ring on the way and my windows of opportunity before the holidays closing fast, I started to panic. It was either going to be this weekend, I figured in mid-November, or I’d have to wait till New Year’s Eve. If you’ve met my fiancée, you could understand the need to rush things along.
So on a lark I got back on my cell phone and redialed the digits of tuba player/co-founder Phil Frazier. “Phil, it’s David Lee, again,” I said sheepishly. “Say, I’ve got this wild idea. How crazy would it be if you stopped your show mid-set, and let me hop up onstage and propose to my fiancée. Wouldn’t take more than 10 minutes, I swear. How crazy would that be?”
Phil laughed. “Um, I get that request all the time, man,” he responded. “No problem.”
No problem. Cool, I thought. So I go get the ring, and make my simple plan:
I called a few of my closest friends, and tried to emphasize the importance of their making the show, mainly under the guise of catching some New Orleans music I’d been annoying them about since moving here. But when I asked my now best man to bring a video camcorder, he somehow added things up.
We had to make a party before the show, so I had to keep calm while making small talk and re-rehearsing my speech. I later learned that nobody, not even my girlfriend, sensed I was nervous or distracted. Now that’s a nice acting job.
We got to the club and I made a bee line for Phil, who was hanging out next to the stage. I introduced myself, and he seemed to get the idea. Until, just as I walked away, he asked, “Now, what are the names again?” I told him, and returned to my group.
So the band got onstage and did their thing, and I cannot describe succinctly enough how fun a Rebirth show is except to say if you like your funk syncopated, horn-driven and a little raggedy, with an emphasis on improvisation and passion, you’re in for a treat. Their Tuesday-night gig at the Maple Leaf Bar is a rite of passage for every college student — every music fan, really — in New Orleans.
My girlfriend and I made small talk, and I took comfort in it being too loud to really talk so I could focus on my little half-baked speech. The idea was to use it as an excuse for a toast to both our nine-month anniversary and her upcoming birthday. It might just fool her.
And then, the panic attack set in: What the hell was I thinking? Proposing to the love of my life in front of 300, slightly drunken, barely graduated strangers? What if she freaks out? What if the crowd doesn’t cheer but heckles? (It’s happened before, lemme tell you.)
What if she says no?
Bad idea, I thought. This was a mistake. What a dumb-ass. (It’s happened before, lemme tell you.)
Then I thought, you just bought a ring, and if you don’t do it now, you’re screwed somehow. I don’t know how, but somehow.
Suddenly, the music stopped, and the lead singer started talking to Phil in the back. Phil shrugged. The lead singer leaned in and said something. I could read Phil’s lips plain as day:
“I can’t remember!”
Great. He’d forgotten my name. I guess that’s my cue.
So I grab her by the hand, look at her with a strangely stern and flustered face and say, “Come with me.” As we approached the stage, the lead singer stumbled through an invitation, “Um, is there a couple here tonight? … Dude wants to say something?” Great. Just as we made the stage and stepped up, he muttered into the mic, “I dunno … something about getting married? … I dunno … Fuck marriage, man.” (I later learned she didn’t hear this. I almost fell off the stage before I made it.)
So I hopped up, my girl in tow. I fumbled through my speech, somehow trying to tie a thread from being new to Atlanta and making new friends but listening to these old friends from New Orleans (like we’d ever met before), and what better time to bring all this together … Well, you get the picture. Meanwhile, she basically had a spasm attack. She was completely caught off guard. The camera, however, recording every surprised bob and weave she made while freaking out at my marriage proposal, showed my girlfriend never let go of her beer. Good stuff.
She nodded yes, I put on the ring (after being reminded by the lead singer you have do those things), and the Rebirth swung right back into action with a cover of “Just the Two of Us.”
The crowd? They basically went nuts, cheering, all 300 of them. I got pats on the back and hugs from total strangers.
Atlanta was starting to feel like home.
Tonight, I’m going back to Smith’s, because I’ve got to check back in with Phil. Somebody’s gotta play the wedding reception, don’t they?

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Tags: music, new-orleans, Rebirth-Brass-Band.