Brother John Is Dead

“Jock-a-mo-fi-no ai na-ne.” The first time I heard these peculiar, yet fascinating words they were being sung by Justine Bateman and The Mystery in the 1988 motion picture “Satisfaction.” Being twelve years old my musical tastes, like my body, had yet to reach maturity. My personal musical catalog consisted of hair metal and whatever Top 40 hits were being played n 104.3 WZYP out of Huntsville, Alabama. I would eventually learn this infectious song they were singing had a mysterious title, “Iko Iko”, an odd story line, and bizarre lyrics. I didn’t know what it meant, what it was about, and who sang it, but I knew I liked it. As odd as it may sound coming from a little white boy growing up on Chicken Creek in Tennessee, this peculiar little song awakened something in my soul that would take many years to mature, manifest, and understand. I had no way of knowing it at the time but this was the first stirring of a passion that still burns within me three decades later. 

It would be many years before I would come to understand the history and significance of Iko Iko, and the meaning of those lyrics which sounded more like a chant. The origin of the song is as mysterious as the lyrics. There are as many explanations for the origin and meaning or the lyrics as there are versions of the song. And there are a lot of versions of this song. Some say the lyrics come from West Africa, or Yoruba, or Creole patois. There is little dispute that it made its way into pop culture via James “Sugar Boy” Crawford’s 1953 recording and then became a hit for the Dixie Cups in 1965. “Sugar Boy” Crawford said he heard it as part of the Mardi Gras Indiana tribes chanting and taunting one another on the streets of New Orleans. Everyone seems to have a translation of the lyrics into English, but the one that is stuck in my throat and ringing in my ears tonight is, “Jock-a-mo-fi-no ai na-ne, Brother John is dead.”

June 6, 2019 just went from being a lazy Thursday to the day Mac Rebennack, better known as Dr. John, died. Brother John is dead. The month of June hasn’t been kind to New Orleans, beginning with the passing of Leah Chase, the Queen of Creole Cuisine, and now the loss of another legend. In just five days New Orleans has lost a Queen and a Dr.

Long before I heard the name Dr. John I was captivated by the enigmatic piano playing muppet character Dr. Teeth, whom I would eventually learn was based on Mac. Looking back on my childhood it was almost like this city was luring me like a siren’s song, speaking to me in a language that a child could comprehend. Through catchy and confounding lyrics sung by pretty girls, and wild and wacky puppets on a children’s television show, New Orleans was summoning me, not to my doom, but to the joie de vivre, the joy of living. A couple of years later I would meet my eventual best friend and his family, who moved to Tennessee from just outside of New Orleans on the north shore of Lake Pontchartrain. I didn’t know it at the time but the die was cast and my fate was set. Those who know me today know that although my body was born in Tennessee my soul came from New Orleans.

The first time I remember hearing Dr. John came in my early twenties, when ironically, I picked up Harry Connick Jr’s album “20” from the Wal Mart discount bin. That album has what is still my favorite version of “Do You Know What It Means To Miss New Orleans?” I knew and loved Harry Connick, Jr. but I was intrigued by this other raspy, almost growling voice that was playing off Harry’s smooth crooner sound. Reading the album liner notes I learned the duet was with Dr. John and my journey with the Night Tripper began.

The first time I saw Dr. John in concert it was free and I was on the front row. At the time we were living in Valdosta, Georgia and I found out that there was going to be a Mardi Gras celebration in Panama City Beach, Florida. As much as I wanted to be in New Orleans for Mardi Gras I had to settle for this. The silver lining, or should I say gilded lining, was that Dr. John was performing a free show. It was a very cold night and that kept the crowds at home, which meant I had no trouble making my way to the front of the stage. It wasn’t the greatest show I’ve ever been to, but it was great because I was in Florida, during Mardi Gras, with my wife, and I was getting to check an artist off my concert bucket list. Being front and center was just lagniappe. 

The second, and sadly tonight, final time I got to see Dr. John live was just one year later, but it was one to remember. It was April 2015 and my wife and I were taking our first solo vacation in a very long time. Our destination was New Orleans and Jazz Fest. A perfect week was capped off with her favorite, Lenny Kravitz, and one of my favorites, Trombone Shorty, but the thing I remember most is the stop we made on the way back to the car at the end of the festival. As we made our way from the Acura stage on the southwest side of the fairgrounds to the Gentilly stage at the northeast corner we had a moment that tonight became a treasured memory. The sun was setting, the breeze picked up and we decided to take a break to listen to Dr. John paying tribute to Louis Armstrong with the Blind Boys of Alabama. There was a moment just before the end of the show where I was enjoying the mixture of the smell of food, the music, the wind, and the sunset, that only Jazz Fest can provide, and I thought to myself, “It just doesn’t get any better than this.” It was truly the right place and the right time. By this point in my life I had learned to stop and take it all in when it is special, so I allowed this fleeting moment to become etched into my heart. If I close my eyes I can almost transport myself back to that moment. Such a night.

I would never, and I will never, get to see Dr. John in concert again. Fortunately I’ve got those two memories, and thanks to Peaches Records I’ve got a vinyl copy of his Gris Gris album, which I can play anytime I choose. There’s no need to get out the record tonight. WWOZ is doing a fine job of playing tribute to Dr. John. It’s good to know if I don’t do it, somebody else will.