Coin Fortune

Mini tour report from New Orleans

The jangle you hear is the $15.25 in quarters left in my pocket from the most beloved laundromat on Bourbon Street.

I’m walking through the French Quarter like a pirate on payday. Coin in hand. Spending it on Diet Sprite.

The place is run by Miss Dinah. According to Yelp reviews of her services: the laundering patron saint of New Orleans oglers and cruise ship living cargo. She talks exactly the way you imagine her to, yanks your chain, and smiles.

She’s playing what I’m pretty sure is some great Ween record I’ve never heard. Some other customer asks, You always play great music. What is it?

My son got bored during Covid, Dinah says, and recorded a bunch of his favorite songs with his friends.

What the fuck!

David Geffen, if you’re reading this (surely you are), go to New Orleans and seek out the heir to the Suds Dem Duds coin fortune.

(And then ask me about all my friends’ unreleased records.)

Night one of two New Orleans shows down. On this visit already I’ve eaten my weight in Gulf shrimp. I’ve seen dollars pressed onto breasts. I’ve seen business elites drunk stumble in the street. There’s really nowhere else like here. Not in the US, not in France, not in Spain. Its own bayou roux.

The band in Dallas, TX, last week. Photo by Carmen Negrelli.

Thanks for being here. Here and here.

Spencer