The Soul Queen of New Orleans
Last night I was party to a rare treat for a Chicago northsider: a live Irma Thomas performance. She headlined the first night of the Old Town School of Folk Music's Folk and Roots Festival near Lincoln Square. The last time I saw Irma live was about six years ago when she played one of the evening programs at Lincoln Park Zoo. She comes to Chicago only too rarely.
Her set featured a nice mix of her older songs (she even took some requests, although she didn't oblige Jeff's shout-out for "Break-a-Way"), selections from her latest CD, and her second-line set-piece--always a show-stopper. The highlight of the set for me was the encore: a rendition of "Sing It!" That song is off the CD of the same name that she did with Marcia Ball and Tracy Nelson, and it melds an upbeat tempo with poignant lyrics in perfect Irma fashion.
For those who have not been introduced to the Soul Queen of New Orleans, do yourself a favor: go out and find one of her recordings. Her title is not hyperbole. She has a rich, bluesy alto voice that brings you to tears one minute and has you dancing the next. She can convey heartbreak like no one else. She can exude joy. And she is one of the warmest, most down-to-earth people you will ever meet, should you get the chance. I had that good fortune at the Bottom Line in New York back in the early 90s, and I was able to reprise it last night. A friend who writes for and edits a national music magazine wrangled a few of us access after the show. The meeting was brief, but sweet. What a lovely lady.
The first time I ever saw Irma perform (or heard of her at all) was in the late 1980s when I caught her set at the New Orleans Jazz and Heritage Festival. It was the first time I attended Jazzfest, although it became a yearly event in my life for the next four or five years. Among the wealth of talent I took in that weekend were the Balfa Brothers, Boozoo Chavis, the Hackberry Ramblers, the Zion Harmonizers, and James Brown (who was funky and amusing, although the 15-minute homage to himself where the backing vocalists grooved and chanted "James Brown, James Brown" over and over and over and over was a bit much). But Irma was the highlight. Someone (or many someones) in her organization had hand-decorated paper napkins--hundreds of them!--with raindrops, musical notes, and Irma's name, a nod to her song "It's Raining." Members of the crew distributed them to the huge crowd around her stage so that we could all wave them as we danced the second line during her set.
A year or two later, I discovered the Lion's Den. It was the nightclub Irma and her husband/manager Emile Jackson ran across from the NOLA lock up. In fact, the Lion's Den shared a building with a firm called Bail Bonds R (turn the R backwards) Us. But the rough neighborhood didn't keep her devoted fans from flocking there on Jazzfest weekend evenings to worship at the feet of the Soul Queen and dance their own feet just about off. And Irma repaid our devotion with her voice and her charm and her humor. And by feeding us! You heard right--she and her cousins would cook up a huge mess of red beans and rice and serve it up to the crowd during breaks in the music--and it was all on the house! Talk about a lagniappe!
And now the Lion's Den is history, it and all the memorabilia of Irma's long career on display there swept away in the flood that claimed Irma's house as well. By sheer force of luck, Irma was working in Austin when Katrina struck, so she was out of harm's way. But she lost just about every material thing she had. And yet, she was as warm and as personable and as open and as funny last night as I have ever seen her. Obviously, the storm, the flood, and the aftermath couldn't do permanent damage to her spirit. And for that, all of us--all of her fans and all of those who simply haven't yet discovered her--should be thankful.
Thanks, Irma, for dropping by the north side and singing for us!
Her set featured a nice mix of her older songs (she even took some requests, although she didn't oblige Jeff's shout-out for "Break-a-Way"), selections from her latest CD, and her second-line set-piece--always a show-stopper. The highlight of the set for me was the encore: a rendition of "Sing It!" That song is off the CD of the same name that she did with Marcia Ball and Tracy Nelson, and it melds an upbeat tempo with poignant lyrics in perfect Irma fashion.
For those who have not been introduced to the Soul Queen of New Orleans, do yourself a favor: go out and find one of her recordings. Her title is not hyperbole. She has a rich, bluesy alto voice that brings you to tears one minute and has you dancing the next. She can convey heartbreak like no one else. She can exude joy. And she is one of the warmest, most down-to-earth people you will ever meet, should you get the chance. I had that good fortune at the Bottom Line in New York back in the early 90s, and I was able to reprise it last night. A friend who writes for and edits a national music magazine wrangled a few of us access after the show. The meeting was brief, but sweet. What a lovely lady.
The first time I ever saw Irma perform (or heard of her at all) was in the late 1980s when I caught her set at the New Orleans Jazz and Heritage Festival. It was the first time I attended Jazzfest, although it became a yearly event in my life for the next four or five years. Among the wealth of talent I took in that weekend were the Balfa Brothers, Boozoo Chavis, the Hackberry Ramblers, the Zion Harmonizers, and James Brown (who was funky and amusing, although the 15-minute homage to himself where the backing vocalists grooved and chanted "James Brown, James Brown" over and over and over and over was a bit much). But Irma was the highlight. Someone (or many someones) in her organization had hand-decorated paper napkins--hundreds of them!--with raindrops, musical notes, and Irma's name, a nod to her song "It's Raining." Members of the crew distributed them to the huge crowd around her stage so that we could all wave them as we danced the second line during her set.
A year or two later, I discovered the Lion's Den. It was the nightclub Irma and her husband/manager Emile Jackson ran across from the NOLA lock up. In fact, the Lion's Den shared a building with a firm called Bail Bonds R (turn the R backwards) Us. But the rough neighborhood didn't keep her devoted fans from flocking there on Jazzfest weekend evenings to worship at the feet of the Soul Queen and dance their own feet just about off. And Irma repaid our devotion with her voice and her charm and her humor. And by feeding us! You heard right--she and her cousins would cook up a huge mess of red beans and rice and serve it up to the crowd during breaks in the music--and it was all on the house! Talk about a lagniappe!
And now the Lion's Den is history, it and all the memorabilia of Irma's long career on display there swept away in the flood that claimed Irma's house as well. By sheer force of luck, Irma was working in Austin when Katrina struck, so she was out of harm's way. But she lost just about every material thing she had. And yet, she was as warm and as personable and as open and as funny last night as I have ever seen her. Obviously, the storm, the flood, and the aftermath couldn't do permanent damage to her spirit. And for that, all of us--all of her fans and all of those who simply haven't yet discovered her--should be thankful.
Thanks, Irma, for dropping by the north side and singing for us!
posted by Cathy VanPatten at 7:10 PM
2 Comments:
Irma appeared at Lincoln Park Zoo in 1999. You were working at McDougall Littel at the time. You blew out your knee at that concert, if I recall.
Ah, you are correct. At least, partially. I had just recovered from a bout of runner's knee (brought on by running only every other day on the indoor track at the McGaw Y, which at that time was 24 laps to the mile and severely canted--because the direction changed every day, I ended up running the same direction for weeks on end, wreaking havoc on the old patella). Unfortunately, I was a tad too rambunctious in my second-lining that evening. Another few weeks of recovery followed, alas!
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