A very Canadian rock star story (New Orleans)

On Valentine’s Day 1995, Canadian band Barenaked Ladies were playing at the House of Blues in New Orleans.  Karen and I went to the show which was as entertaining as usual.  (Well, as entertaining as the last one I went to which is the only other one, mind you.)  After the show we chatted up Kevin, the guy who sells their swag.  When we discovered they were in town for the next four nights , we suggested to them in a hand-written letter that we would take them to Rock‘n’Bowl, a New Orleans institution where 10-pin bowling and Zydeco crossed paths.  Not expecting anything to come of it (I mean, hey, Kevin did get his Master’s degree in public administration, or professional schmoozing), we signed our names.  As I supplied the contact phone number, I had to change my outgoing message… just in case, ya know.

The following night I called Karen to give her the disappointing news: no phone call.   However, before I had a chance to say anything she excitedly burst out:

“You are not going to believe where I’ve been for the last two hours.”

When she told me I freaked.

She had been grocery shopping at the Winn Dixie on Tchoupitoulas when she happened to notice a tall, red headed fellow leaning over the pay phone.  She recognized him as Jim Creeggan, the Barenaked Ladies’ bass player. She went up to him, exclaiming “what the heck are you doing here???”  Turns out he had gotten a cab to drop him off at music venue Tipitina’s so he could buy tickets for the Subdudes show that night. However, as the tickets weren’t on sale until much later, he wandered along till he found the supermarket.  (And what a site it must have been to see a lanky, naïve , white carrot top Canadian loping along one of the roughest, most poorly lit roads in the city.)  He suggested that Karen and he go out for dinner, which they did.  He then tried to talk her into going to the show that night at Tips, but she demurred.

“You said what???” I asked incredulously.

After hearing this amazing story of destiny, we rowed back and forth for almost an hour until I finally wore her down, convincing her to “carpe diem”. Karen picked me up and when we arrived at Tips, the scene was just crazy.  People spilled over the sidewalk onto the street, everyone was drinking and enjoying the mild weather (gotta love the South in February), and there was a constant flow in and out the main doors. As luck would have it, when we peaked our head in the outside bar window, we saw Tyler, the Ladies’ drummer.  We got his attention by frantically waving our arms and yelling repeatedly that we were looking for Jim, JIM!  He finally understood us and returned shortly with his bandmate. With a big smile and wave in our direction, Jim headed towards the front door to meet us.  As luck would have it my rugby friend Shaun was working the door.  He introduced us to the other bouncer Bill, and we got in for free, saving us $11 a piece.  During the course of the night I went back and hung out with Shaun and Bill, and somehow Bill managed to score me a backstage pass. Conveniently, Jim spotted an “all access” pass on the floor, so all three of us were able to go back stage. Rumour had it that Jimmy Buffet was in the house, but he was nowhere to be found.  Oh well; someday I will track him down and give him salutations from my old rugby coach.

What a crazy night of dancing!  Jim was really cool, had a great sense of humour and loved to dance.  Not too many people recognized who he was, so the scene was pretty relaxed.  Tyler didn’t stick around too long, but before he I suggested he check out Rock ‘n bowl before leaving town.  To this he asked,

“Oh, were you the ones who left that note for us?”  to which I replied, aghast,

“You mean you actually got the note?”

Strange how life works, eh?

In between the sets we went outside for air.  The former owner of Tipitina’s came up because he had recognized Jim from the show.  Then this other, familiar-looking dude came up.  After he gave his greetings to Jim (sorry I missed your show, blah blah), I just had to ask him where he was from.  He was from Toronto and we had overlapped two years at McGill and knew people in common.  With the kind of night we were having I wouldn’t have been surprised to see my mother walk through the door.

The dancing continued. Karen preferred the safe refuge of backstage, but Jim and I tore it up on the manic dance floor. At one point a woman came up to me, gushing in a thick New York accent,

“Oh, he is sooo romantic!” referring to Jim.

I said that she should tell him, which she did.

“You are so romantic!  I married an Italian for 25 years and pffft.  She [me!?] is so lucky to have you, [turning to me], and I’m sure he knows how lucky he is!  You make such a nice couple!”

Like I said, Jim had a good sense of humour (fortunately).

Karen petered out around 2 am.  I offered to drive Jim back to his hotel, so Bill and I walked Karen to her car and Jim and I danced until the music ended.  After saying our good-byes (to Bill, Shaun, Rob, Michael, Noah the bass player in Phantom of the Opera, the bartenders, the cleaning staff, etc.), we walked the 15 minutes up Napolean to my place on Carondelet. The whole experience was sort of surreal; our conversation covered Toronto, my father’s concern for the band’s success, the music business, and the city of New Orleans.  I invited him in for some Cran-blueberry juice (I am not making this up), and we both marvelled at the magnificent accommodations you could rent for $700/month.  We ended up on my balcony where we sat and chatted, keeping a respectful distance.  I showed him my Mardi Gras beads, and when he admired the one with the hand-painted moons how could I not give it to him? I offered to give him a driving tour of Uptown and the fancy homes on St. Charles.  So we hopped in the car (after he snagged one of my perfect bananas en route through the kitchen) and drove down the road.  When we ducked into Tulane University campus I suddenly realized how tired I was. I drove him back to his hotel, we said goodbye, and I asked him if he had Karen’s number and that if he still wanted to we would take him out on Friday.

Turns out we never heard from him before he left town.  But a little over a month later, a surprise package arrived. As you would expect from a polite Canadian rock star, he sent us a thank you note, along with a CD.