The day the music died

When Katrina blew her fury across New Orleans in August 2005, she ripped the very heart out of the city. The music.

Before Katrina, music had pulsed through the veins of New Orleans. It spilled out of every club, seeped into every street, and nourished every tight community. But it was those tight communities – places like the Lower Ninth Ward, St Bernard's, and Treme districts – that were engulfed when the levees broke. And it was those communities that many of New Orleans' musicians were forced to flee.

Katrina scattered them far and wide – to New York, Houston, Atlanta, Dallas. Thousands, it is thought, are yet to return. Ben Jaffe, director of New Orleans' venerable Preservation Hall, says his jazz band was hit hard. "Our trumpet player stayed in New Orleans, our clarinet player stayed, our pianist stayed, but our drummer left town, and our banjo player left town. Most of them lost their homes." Officially, New Orleans’ population is half its pre-Katrina level.

According to the Renew Our Music Fund – one of a number of charities helping musicians get back on their feet – of the 5,000 full-time, professional musicians who lived in the city before Katrina, about 3,000 are still displaced.

Veteran musician, songwriter and producer Allen Toussaint, known around the world for songs like Ernie K-Doe's Working In A Coalmine, was one of those forced to leave.

A veteran of Louisiana's long legacy of hurricanes, he weathered the storm in the Astor Crowne Plaza Hotel on Canal Street, before leaving for neighbouring Baton Rouge.

Toussaint eventually settled in New York, where he is living while his house is rebuilt.

"The Hurricane Katrina knew exactly where I lived," he says. "It knew exactly where all the important things that I lived with daily were, and it found them and it baptised them all."

Despite the impact the exodus of musicians had on the city's music scene, Toussaint says he is confident it will come back. "New Orleans hasn't died. At this very moment there are musicians playing in Jackson Square, out in front of the Cathedral, all up and down the French Quarter and many other places."

To the casual visitor, seeing clubs like Vaughn's, the Spotted Cat, Donna's, d.b.a, and Sung Harbour writhing with live music, it would seem the scene is already back there.

But, nearly two years after Katrina, the reality is very different.

As the tourists have begun trickling back to the French Quarter – but at half pre-Katrina level – so have the gigs. And those who go looking will still find the same quality music in the shape of bands like Glen David Andrews and the Lazy Six, Joe Lastie's Lil' Jazzmen, Trombone Summit, or Kermit Ruffins.

But the streets are a little quieter these days. Fewer venues are offering live music, and those who do are not open as often. Musicians claim they are also being paid less.

It is down to the fall in tourists and poorer locals who feel they can no longer afford door charges or tips for the band. Even Preservation Hall, a Mecca for visiting jazz fans, now only opens four nights a week.

Glen David Andrews, trombonist and leader of The Lazy Six, admits Katrina's legacy is still hurting musicians. "This is my second gig this month – two gigs in one month – you can't pay rent like that, but I'm going to make it work. "Before Katrina I was a living musician, since I was 16-years-old. I'm 27 now and I feel like I'm ten years back. Literally."

But even if work can be found, the fact remains that many musician's homes are still in ruins. The rebuilding so far has been ad-hoc. Like a sticking plaster on a severed limb.

Most of the areas flooded two years ago are a mixture of renovated properties, and gutted homes awaiting repair while their owners live in trailers in the garden. Others remain untouched, and every few metres an empty site tells its own sad tale. Many of the poorer areas are still like ghost towns. Even middle-class areas like Eastover, with its 4000 sq ft homes, are still lifeless. The floods did not distinguish between rich and poor.

It is only money to rebuild the homes that can ultimately help. Musicians – like anyone – need somewhere to live. Until then, locals say, the communities will remain shattered, and the music scene weakened. "This is supposed to be America. The great America and look at what's happening," says Andrews, who himself spent 18 months living in a trailer after his house was flooded. "It's not just about the music, it is about the music community, the people who play the music."

"You've got to be at home. You've got to do jazz funerals, you've got to play Mardi Gras, you've got to do Jazz Fest." But thousands of people are still waiting for cash from the Road Home Programme before they can start to rebuild. It is coming through, although painfully slowly for many, and not without a little controversy. The question on most people's lips is: "Where is the money?" Many are angry. and fear it will never come through for them. In the meantime, musicians have been helping themselves in an attempt to rebuild their fragile livelihoods. Non-profit organisations, many run by musicians, have sprung up, helping other artists to replace lost or damaged instruments, find gigs, provide transport and accommodation, or cover health care and housing costs.

The Tipitina's Foundation, the charitable arm of the world-famous New Orleans music venue, has distributed about $1.5m, while Renew Our Music, and New Orleans Musician's Relief Fund (NOmrf) are also there. The aim is simple: to get musicians back working and living in New Orleans.

The musicians who are yet to return are mostly elderly who need access to healthcare, or younger musicians with families. "Ultimately it may mean we lose an older generation," says Jaffe, who co-founded Renew Our Music in the days following Katrina. "They are the ones I learned to play music from, learned how to cook from. Those are the ones I feel saddest about losing."
BBC Online