Popular Culture Review Vol. 5, No. 1, February 1994 | Page 119
Popular Culture as Religion
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could be sociologically analyzed as tribe or as sect. The old white
elite society of the Boston Club, the elite Creole society of their
cousins the "high-yellow" brahmins, and the neighborhood clubs of
Blacks dressing Indian all quite thoroughly enable, define, and limit
their members' particular lives.^^ But all of these, like groups of
actual voodoo followers, as well as the nuiny Mardi Gras "krewes"
and less prestigious though more open local fellowships, are
individual parts of the broader kaleidoscope that is New Orleans as
an intense living whole.'^ If even a no-class white kid from Metairie
living for decades up north finds it a full-blooded and restorative
tribal culture whenever he returns, then no wonder s o shockingly few
natives ever leave for more than their college or service years. And
no wonder those who do expatriate say that if we live long enough,
we all go back home.
From Mardi Gras balls to king-cake garage gatherings, this
raucously polytheistic culture jjarties. "Laissez les bon temps roulez"
is motto because its spirit lives, transforming even N.F.L. contests in
the Superdome into something unique. Any day of a weekend that
isn't something's "festival" this year will be by next year. Weekend
and workdays alike, the native blues and jazz, the r & b and now
zydeco from the surrounding swamps are pervasive. Inhaled with the
air, they rhythmically provide background, listening and dancing,
mythic explanations of life, and ritual sharing of emotions. In this
place the live music and the food, those most ephemeral of goods, are
the most prized "material expressions." Beyond dispute, food holds
pride of place and function, is this society's holiest sacrament. Even
sexual conununion comes after or between the times for good food-its
preparation, enjoyment, and discussion. The "holy places" are those
where the food and music are served and enjoyed, from Galatoire's
and Dooky Chase to Mother's and your neightorhood tavern, from
Maison Bourbon and Preservation Hall to Tipitina's and the Maple
Leaf, and always back again to beignets and coffee by the river's
edge. Louis and Sidney Bechet are long gone. Professor Longhair and
James Booker more recently departed, but Wynton and Dr. Michael
White, Allen Toussaint and "Dr. John" all carry on the "high
priestly" function of the master musicians, as do many, many others.
Ellis Marsalis's whole jazz clan, like the Neville brothers' funky
family, still live and practice, play and teach in their original