Motordude Zydeco at Eagles Hall

August 30, 2002
by Rolf Olmsted




Willy Jordan surprised me. At a time of some turmoil he invited me to go along with him to a Motordude Zydeco gig. I knew Willy as the leader-drummer-vocalist of A Case Of The Willy's, and I'd heard that he was in two other bands, "Yo, Pizza Face" (rock) and Motordude Zydeco. I shamelessly pursued it over three weeks while simultaneously publishing a critical review of A Case Of The Willy's and a review praising them. Rolfy likes Zydeco and Louisiana. I just don't know too much more than the great names of Zydeco and I haven't been in La Louisiane for 25 years.

Friday at 4:00 p.m. I got off work and fought my way through the tourist traffic jams up the Napa Valley and up the mountain to feed the ponies and animals. I washed up and changed clothes, and fought my way through the tourist lemmings across the mountains and down the Santa Rosa Plain to Cotati and managed to be right on time at 6:00 to meet Willy at the Tradewinds.

I knew there were cajun and zydeco dances in the Bay Area. Clifton Chenier used to tour through here playing Creole Catholic parish halls, and the African-American population of the Bay Area descends a lot from Louisiana and southeast Texas. But what I didn't know was the extent to which a whole culture survives un-noticed by the media.

And what started out as a six to eight hour local road trip turned into an two day voyage through the unknown in my own land, through several bands, into Zydeco and the Zydeco people, into the musical land of East Bay Funk music, and through the mind and heart of Willy Jordan.

"You want fish or Barbeque?"
"Uhh, tough choice. I'll go with Barbeque."

And through the streets and small frame houses of North Richmond he drove me to near the corner of McBryde and San Pablo to Bobby's Backdoor Barbeque (BOBBY'S BACKDOOR CAJUN B B Q 12891 SAN PABLO AVE RICHMOND CA (510) 232-9299).


When we went in the back door there was a line waiting at the window. The smell was wonderful. The hallway was World War I with many inexpert repairs painted a yellowed semi-gloss white with grime spots at hand points on doorframes. The walls were decorated with old handmade Mardi Gras masks. Mostly made of feathers and sequins, all of them had been used locally. A grainy black and white eight by ten glossy promo photo of Louisiana Zydeco artist Jules Broussard proclaimed "Jules shows how it's done!"

I ordered a sliced beef and links dinner combo with hot sauce, Willy ordered a ribs lunch plate. When the food was put into the containers I saw there was enough for what would turn out to be three meals. We went into the bar of what used to be Bobby's Bar and Willy bought me a drink (my first hard liquor drink in three years and about the third in ten years--still tastes bad). The bandstand was covered with sportsbar televisions and video games.


Willy told me the sad story. Bobby's used to be one of the real downhome Creole and Cajun bars with dances weekend nights. Old ladies and their families, men and women, Creole, Cajun, black, white, Chinese, Filipino, and Hispanic people from the surrounding working class neighborhoods danced hard to live Zydeco. One neighbor of the bar proclaimed themselves the Neighborhood Crime Watch and through a persistent political campaign was able to get Bobby's live entertainment license pulled ("They're dancing there so it must be sin"). Now women don't go there anymore and only the men are left, drinking and arguing sports. The men look like the ones in Roque's Blues Hall in Nacogdoches, La.
((Roque's page at Junior's Juke Joint)

As we left Willy said, "I want that sign." I went and looked at the wall.
It was a metal enameled white-with-blue letters announcement from a riverboat:


"All Gamblers and Fancy Ladies must register with the Captain before passing
north of the City Limits of New Orleans. Ord. No. xxxxx."
I want it too.

And down the freeway through the "Maze" to the exit and bridge to the island City of Alameda. Eagles Hall is an old California-style two story stucco fraternal building built before World War I. The second floor is a large hall with a fine hardwood floor.

When we arrived it became apparent the dances, which used to organized and run by the musicians, had been taken over by some kind of organization/association. There was a high strung skinny guy with a button down shirt and glasses (I wear 'em too) running around with a headset microphone and allegedly telling people the right way to 'Cajun' dance. It was like a Recreation Department Contra-Dance lesson. Ernest newcomers were trying out what he was teaching.

He put in about two steps for every one needed (it's the 'Two Step', not the 'Four or Eight Step'). Near as I could figure he wants to be Fred Astaire. Over on the sidelines the black people from Louisiana wearing Zydeco clothes were watching him with disbelief. When asked why they were sitting on that side they said Fred Astaire's speaker was not working on that side.

The Hall began to fill up with a varied and various crowd. All manner of people are part of the Zydeco scene. Many of the men were wearing Creole cowboy clothes. Many of the women were wearing dance skirts. Some had cowboy boots on. Many entered with a plastic bag with dancing shoes in them. Several women changed into flamenco shoes with the heavy strap and Cuban heels. The men favored black cowboy boots, black wing-tip oxfords with slick neoprene soles (a Rolfy dance favorite), or dressy black, better-quality bowling shoes with the slick soles. Serious dancing shoes.

And when the band began the Hall suddenly filled up with people. And from then on it was packed on the dance floor. Zydeco people never stop dancing.

"Jolie blonde, regardez donc quoi t'as fait,

Tu m'as quitte pour t'en aller,

Pour T'en aller avec un autre, oui, que moi,

Quel espoir et quel avenir, mais, moi, je vais avoir?

Jolie blonde, tu m'as laisse, moi tout seul,

Pour t'en aller chez ta famille.

Si t'aurais pas ecoute tos les conseils de les autres

tu serait ici-t-avec moi aujourd 'hui"

['Pretty blond, look at what you've done,

You left me to go away,

to go away with another, yes, than me,

What hope and what future am I going to have?

Pretty blond, you've left me all alone

To go back to your family.

If you had not listened to all the advice of the others

You would be here with me today.....

 

The infectious sound of the two step filled the Hall and I was happy to see the old time dancing I grew up with. I was in the last year or so of High School when the twist came in and people stopped touching hands when they danced. Now I can't find a partner who can do a simple twirl. I found the place for the dancing I love. Too bad my back was killing me, I'd popped something lifting something heavy at work. I was sidelined.

Motordude Zydeco is Billy Wilson, diatonic and piano accordion ('cadjin'); R.C. Carrier, rub board ('frottoir') and vocals [and, yes, he is one of the Carriers of Lake Charles, La.]; John Graham, guitar; Dennis Callaway, bass (covered with alligator and amphibian stickers), and Willy Jordan, drums.

R.C. does the vocals with droll Creole drawl while doing the rub board rhythm using old-time figure-eight bottle openers. Billy Wilson is a fantastic squeeze box player. John Graham is a hard working rhythm guitarist in this setting, and when he is able to break loose he can really do leads on top of this fast chugging rhythm. Dennis Callaway and Willy Jordan keep the non-stop rhythm going. And Motordude plays a truly full densely packed rhythm wonderful to dance to. Willy plays much more simply in Motordude Zydeco than he does in A Case Of The Willy's. His explanation is that Motordude plays 'primitive' Zydeco. Since they get more rhythm in a few bars than many bands do in a whole song, I'm not sure what he means.

I am not familiar enough with Zydeco songs to describe the tunes that were played. The crowd obviously knew many of them and the band had an air of playing favorites on some tunes. I don't know how to explain the incredible rhythm and drive of the music, nor how to describe the incredible non-stop playing of Billy Wilson. What a musician!

And they did a waltz in the first set that was so good, slow and sad, yet light and airy. No one today seems to be able to play or dance in 'three' except creoles, cajuns and bluegrassers.

And with a bad back I sat against the wall trying not to re-tweek my lumbars. Around me the men all asked all the ladies to dance in turn, every man dancing every dance and asking a different lady with each dance. Most men sat out a dance here and there, but it was clear that sitting like I was doing was a social mistake. Around me women made it clear that they were open to my asking them to dance. I felt I should wear a sign saying "I have a bad back." It dawned on me that I was seeing a Louisiana Creole country social tradition in action, and I marveled at the persistence of tradition and music as culture.

It's the men who are the stylists on the floor. Being a stylist is manly stuff. Men who are good dancers and stylists are asked to dance by the ladies. Many men had creole cowboy shirts on, but some men had dress shirts or T-shirts.

And the whole thing is completely integrated racially, gender-wise, age-wise. Everybody dances with everybody. Young men ask older ladies to dance. Considering how attractive dancing older ladies are they aren't suffering a bit. Older men ask young ladies to dance and the young ladies dimple at them. The whole dance has community safety and rules while allowing lots of social room. It's what I'd like for all of America and the world. Let the good times roll.

Up on stage the band was struggling with the sound system. Fred Astaire was running it and had turned the high and middle frequencies way up. It was clear that he had little idea of the requirements of sound reinforcement. Or that the sound on stage isn't the same as in the hall. I am constantly amazed at the number of people who feel they can run sound equipment because they scored high on the verbal skills portion of the SAT test. And who don't comprehend that musicians have years of experience adjusting levels and frequency response one per cent at a time for maximum response. Quite simply, you don't automatically turn things all the way up. Muddy sound isn't good sound. RC Carrier's vocals were lost in the mix and there were constant struggles with the microphones.

At the break Billy Wilson went and got his own equipment to amplify his accordions and the sound improved.

Meanwhile many of the general dance crowd left, talking of swing music camps and other general events. The traditional Zydeco crowd stayed. With the floor clearer I was really able to admire the truly fine dancers.

"Hey, hey, Truly, Do you want to dance?"
(A song about a girl who never got to dance)

"You never have a dance

You never take the chance"

And the band did a remarkable slow blues in waltz time, achingly sad. "Everybody got to go". It was something very special with an emotional solo by John Graham. Only Zydeco can do the blues in three quarter time.

I watched men charming women on the dance floor with moves so good their fellow men called out to them in appreciation. Those little smiles on the ladies lips ("I'm not impressed, I'm just smiling and have my shoulders up for no reason at all." Yeah, Honey).

And the band did the Clifton Chenier classic "Hot Tamale Baby". Many of the finest dancing ladies circulated and asked the best men stylists to dance. Late in the evening the dancing was both serious and funny at the same time, with people trying steps and teasing in the moves. The really fast and furious
moves got done then. The late crowd stayed to the very last note, changed their shoes, and talked about next week's Zydeco events as they filed out.

I helped Willy with his load out and waited a few minutes while he took care of business. He got into the car and turned to me "People ask me why I play Zydeco, I love it, it's my tradition, and it pays the rent." Then he said, "It's now one o'clock, we'll be at the Tradewinds by last call. Then in an amazing feat of levitation up the freeway we were. Willy bought me a whiskey, my second drink of hard liquor in three years, it still tasted terrible. Willy said "You're going to be at the Cajun Festival in Sebastopol
tomorrow, right? You've got to see the other bands." "Yeah, Willy, I will."