121123 George Porter Jr., New Orleans, LA

On December 11th, 2023 I was three days into a weeklong guys/family trip to New Orleans with my brother Alan and my cousin Kenny.  We were there ostensibly to see Kenny’s beloved Saints take on the Carolina Panthers at the local enormodome and with that chore already behind us I – as tour guide – was tasked with filling the days that remained.

Of course live music was my number one priority so after a day of exploring the French Quarter and eating muffulettas and beignets we hopped onto one of NOLA’s iconic St. Charles streetcars and endured a slow creaky ride to Oak Street, where it was just a short two block jaunt to the Maple Leaf Bar.

One of my favourite New Orleans traditions is catching one of George Porter Jr.’s nearly-regular Monday night shows at the Maple Leaf, and I also figured Porter’s ridiculously good in-the-pocket instrumental funk would make for a nice night out for Kenny and Al, neither of whom are very big music fans, live or otherwise (though Ken and I went to see Bruce Springsteen together once, and Alan was responsible for getting me into both Supertramp and The Cars back when I was about thirteen years old).  Plus, now that George had split his two-set night into two separately ticketed performances having tickets to the early show – which we did – meant that old geezers like us could be comfortably back in our hotel rooms watching television by 9:30.

(Which we were.)

The Maple Leaf Bar is just so great.  Friendly guy at the door and a friendly lady behind the long, well-worn bar that stretches along the left side of the room.  I ordered a Dark & Stormy and led my relatives into the adjoining room, a tin-lined low-ceilinged rectangle with a two-foot stage that would be jammed beyond comprehension if a hundred people squeezed into it, but on this night the venue held the two dozen of us in attendance just fine.

The band started playing promptly at one hour past the 7pm start time.  They began as a trio – George along with his fantastic drummer Terrence Houston and a keyboard player whose name eludes me – and for the next fifteen minutes the three of them traded solos over a rock-solid groove that had the audience fully engaged and noticeably swaying.  

After a couple of songs they were joined by a really good guitarist who alternated between a beautiful Gibson ES335 hollowbody and a nice boutique Suhr solidbody (you never see people playing Suhrs).  My gosh it was such a good show.  As many times as I’ve seen him I still can’t get over just how good of a bass player George Porter Jr. is.  He is quite simply one of the greatest funk players on Earth, and there we were gawking at him from just ten feet away.  Well, except my brother.  Shortly after the show began Al retreated to a barstool back in the other room, where he watched the show on a closed-circuit television screen that hung above and behind that long, well-worn bar.  

But who am I to talk?  Social butterfly that I am – especially at jammy-type shows; these are my people – I spent a fair chunk of the set meeting strangers outside on the bar’s small backyard patio.  I always like spending time on the Maple Leaf patio and I met some cool folks out there as I usually do, so despite missing some music I consider it time well spent.

Back inside I chatted briefly with Al and ordered another D&S before rejoining Kenny in the main room for the end of the set.  After the last note landed I thanked the musicians for a great show and Kenny and I sidled up to the bar next to my brother.  The doorman offered us a half-price deal if we wanted to stick around for the ten o’clock show but there would be none of that for us.  If I had been travelling alone I would have pulled out my wallet in a heartbeat (even though it used to be $10 for both sets), but I didn’t even bother asking the guys.  

And so we were just a quick and efficient ride back to the hotel, as we found ourselves in a streetcar that was the polar opposite of the one we had taken on our way to the bar.  Not only was the ride back smooth and quiet, we only stopped to pick up other passengers once and we didn’t hit a red light until we were almost at our stop.  It almost felt like a bullet train.  

In the end I’m not sure either Ken nor Al enjoyed the show as much as I did, but for sure they didn’t hate it.  And we couldn’t just sit in the hotel room watching television every night, could we?  

I’m calling it a win.