This record steps out from behind a tattered shade like a hooker hanging her plump thigh over the crowd below. As each succeeding side is thrust out — shamelessly or with passing modesty — the grime in the pavement starts to hiss and sizzle with anticipation.
By the second cut, you're in, swanking like a pimp from the corner of Tulane to the fringes of the quarter. To say these sounds jive with the spirit of the crescent city goes way beyond some collection of strolls and 2nd line retro kitsch. This album plays both sides of the coin creating a third in the process. In the box, out the box, kick a hole in the box. If artistic freedom has shit to do with the big easy being a global music center, it's between your hands right now.
