Ask New Orleans' unflappable Iguanas about their new record If You Should Ever Fall On Hard Times and having to pull together after the debacle of hurricane Katrina and you're bound to provoke an enlightening conversation. "Making and finishing this record feels really good," Rod Hodges says, the Iguanas' songwriter, guitarist/accordionist." It's like we survived and it feels like a proper ending to that little episode."
Little episode, indeed. The Iguanas were on tour in Massachusetts that fateful week of August 2005 when Katrina was preparing to lay down the worst natural disaster that this nation had ever seen. When it became evident that the storm wasn't going to blow over but had mushroomed into epic proportions, the focus shifted to getting families out of harm's way and into safety. By the time the band arrived at Boston's Logan International Airport on Monday, August 29, returning to New Orleans wasn't even an option. The airport had closed and the city was under its first ever mandatory evacuation order. So, instead the Iguanas boarded flights to Houston, Memphis and Atlanta to reunite with their displaced families and loved ones.
Of course wherever they were, all stayed glued to CNN watching the ensuing events unfold, feeling helpless and realizing that their beloved city would never be the same. "Refugees, victims, exiles. Like a scene from the Bible, we sat by the river of Babylon and wept for the city. Everything you've known is gone," reflects Rene Coman, Iguanas' bassist.
"I kept thinking about The Grapes of Wrath. It all felt so gothic - people spreading out across the country with just a few clothes in overnight bags. Those were the fortunate ones. Many had much less than that."
"When my wife left, she figured she would be back in a couple of days," recalls Doug Garrison, Iguanas' drummer. "And I figured we would all be back in a couple of days. We didn't know that we wouldn't be back for ten months. And even to this day, people are still wandering around, going 'What happened?' It was just such an uprooting thing, to be gone for a couple of days and when you come back, the whole city is gone."
Understandably, the situation was beyond nightmarish but that began to change when Steve Wertheimer, proprietor of Austin's Continental Club, reached out to the Iguanas and their families. "'Hey listen Joe, I don't know what you're going to do but we got a bunch of people here that are willing to put the families up, get the kids into this great elementary school'," Cabral says, recalling the conversation with Wertheimer. "Steve said, 'There are people with apartments, etc., so let us know what you need.'"
Still dazed from the shock of it all, the shot-in-the-arm morale booster was just what the doctor ordered. Soon every Iguana and his family found themselves in Texas' capital city where they could operate easier as a touring band that still had plenty of dates on the books. In between out-of-town gigs and standing in line at relief agencies and insurance companies, the Texiles were formed, a rotating cast that not only included the Iguanas and traveling trumpeter Eric Lucero but Dumpstaphunk's Tim Green, the Radiators' Ed Volker and various other New Orleans comrades. Cyril Nevil, as well as Austin's twang monster Redd Volkaert and swamp voodoo mystic Papa Mali, also stopped by on occasion.
Eventually, Cabral, Coman, Hodges and Garrison returned to the Crescent City to begin rebuilding and getting their lives back on track, if there was such a thing. Only Hodges remained in Austin, moving back two years later when the time was right. Even though the storm had waylaid plans for a new record, the idea of such an undertaking at this point seemed utterly impossible.
"We were doing some songwriting all along but it took a while to get over that trauma," Coman reveals. "Everybody was really gentle and careful with each other because we could all feel how fragile we were. But after awhile you form some scar tissue and start getting your center back where you can do some work again."
By summer 2007, the scar-tissued Iguanas began making demos at Cabral's house, which, literally, was a war construction zone. "We were recording demos and there were saws in the background and people were working on the house." Cabral says. "Oh, it was heavy, living in a Fema trailer in the front yard, trying to write tunes, trying to do gigs, rebuild the house, dealing with insurance, dealing with all the bureaucracy that comes with the assistance at the federal level. It was a lot, man."
Luckily, the recording process went smoother with longtime pal and venerable Nashville producer Justin Niebank helming the controls. In September 2007, the Iguanas trekked to the Music City where fourteen solid tracks were recorded at Martina McBride's prestigious Blackbird Studios. "Oh, it was a great experience," Cabral says. "It was an amazing space that was very conducive for us doing our thing and making music."
From there, the Iguanas took the session's master tracks and loaded them onto their laptops. Using the Mac-based recording program Logic, Cabral and Coman added various harmony vocals, percussive and horn parts and then shipped them to Niebank who dropped them on the main recording platform for mixing. At one point, Cabral and Garrison did field recordings at Loyola University to capture some melodic percussion, particularly xylophones and vibraphones. One of Coman's last overdubs was a Delfeayo Marsalis trombone solo on "Her Red Fishnets," an arrangement that swells with timpani, bells and Mellotron on the majestic finale. With sounds culled from various undisclosed locations, Coman jokingly refers to this process as 'Guerilla recording, finding what you need wherever you can.' Finally, Niebank applied the finishing touches at his home studio.
The impeccably mixed If You Should Ever Fall On Hard Times not only picks up where 2003's widely acclaimed Plastic Silver 9-Volt Heart left off, but extends sonic themes and textures into serious, deep grooves that can only be described as 'signature Iguana.' The Iguanas have truly raised the bar with a broad palette of styles ranging from crunchy, edgy rockers; funky soul strutters; and succulent West Coast R&B to trad conjunto; dreamy cruisers and hard boppin', conga-powered jazz supported by a myriad of Latin beats. The arrangements are dense with subtle embellishments and honorary Iguana Eric Lucero consistently contributes gorgeous, if not breathtaking, trumpet lines.
At the very heart and soul of the Iguanas are Hodges' ingenious, bilingual lyrics that are the totality of imagery. Though the disc boasts several Hodges gems, the impressionistic "Okemah" - an ode dedicated to his deceased father - is undoubtedly the proceedings' crowning moment. The song's dying protagonist hazily relives chapters of his life and visits his homeland once more while pleading to be released from life. Periodically, the medicine, assumably Chemo, kicks in, thus detaining him from his wishes and pummeling him back to dreamland.
With such great sardonic lines as, "I am not a crook / I own everything I took," Hodges' horn-swelling mariachi "Back in the Limelight" could be aimed at any number of politicians who fall from grace and attempt to recover their stature. For Coman, it reminds him of former Louisiana governor Edwin Edwards who is currently in the middle of serving a 10-year prison stint at age 81. "He's one of these larger-than-life Louisiana characters. Even though he was completely involved with graft and taking money out of the public trough for years, people still love him. You can hear it on talk radio, people calling in and saying, 'Yeah, he was a good governor. Yeah, he stole but he did a good job.'"
"And now there is this big move to get him out," he continues, explaining how the song really fits the situation. "People say that he would be no threat; he's so old; but those guys have a way of coming back to life. He'd get out and a year later, he could be right in the middle of the society page and a big consulting contract."
But you certainly can't comment on Louisiana politics without mentioning hurricanes, which is covered in Cabral's Spanish-sung, Afro-Cuban styled "El Huracan y Pin Pon." Inspired by the litany of storms and evacuations prior to Katrina and subsequently thereafter, the lighthearted tale centers around a guy who vows to stay put with his meat-eating dog Pin Pon.
Although the roots rockin' title track "If You Should Ever Fall On Hard Times" could be linked to the storm's devastation based on title alone, that's not the case. Instead, Hodges sketches a tender scene where one person pledges unconditional support to a departing loved one who's about to embark upon life's next journey.
Despite the direct hurricane reference ("El Huracan y Pin Pon") and the various allusions to it -including the cover art that symbolizes rebuilding - this is not a hurricane record. "It's more just a vibe," explains Garrison. "The band went through some changes. And a lot of this stuff is intangible; it's not just something that you can necessarily write about. It's a life experience that we all shared and then when we came together and starting writing tunes, it was just osmosis."
"A lot of bands will write and record songs with a means to an end in that they want to get as many people to like it as possible," Garrison says, explaining the Iguanas' approach to their craft. "All we do is just try to be honest and write what we feel and play what we feel. And up to now, it's been pretty successful."
Little episode, indeed. The Iguanas were on tour in Massachusetts that fateful week of August 2005 when Katrina was preparing to lay down the worst natural disaster that this nation had ever seen. When it became evident that the storm wasn't going to blow over but had mushroomed into epic proportions, the focus shifted to getting families out of harm's way and into safety. By the time the band arrived at Boston's Logan International Airport on Monday, August 29, returning to New Orleans wasn't even an option. The airport had closed and the city was under its first ever mandatory evacuation order. So, instead the Iguanas boarded flights to Houston, Memphis and Atlanta to reunite with their displaced families and loved ones.
Of course wherever they were, all stayed glued to CNN watching the ensuing events unfold, feeling helpless and realizing that their beloved city would never be the same. "Refugees, victims, exiles. Like a scene from the Bible, we sat by the river of Babylon and wept for the city. Everything you've known is gone," reflects Rene Coman, Iguanas' bassist.
"I kept thinking about The Grapes of Wrath. It all felt so gothic - people spreading out across the country with just a few clothes in overnight bags. Those were the fortunate ones. Many had much less than that."
"When my wife left, she figured she would be back in a couple of days," recalls Doug Garrison, Iguanas' drummer. "And I figured we would all be back in a couple of days. We didn't know that we wouldn't be back for ten months. And even to this day, people are still wandering around, going 'What happened?' It was just such an uprooting thing, to be gone for a couple of days and when you come back, the whole city is gone."
Understandably, the situation was beyond nightmarish but that began to change when Steve Wertheimer, proprietor of Austin's Continental Club, reached out to the Iguanas and their families. "'Hey listen Joe, I don't know what you're going to do but we got a bunch of people here that are willing to put the families up, get the kids into this great elementary school'," Cabral says, recalling the conversation with Wertheimer. "Steve said, 'There are people with apartments, etc., so let us know what you need.'"
Still dazed from the shock of it all, the shot-in-the-arm morale booster was just what the doctor ordered. Soon every Iguana and his family found themselves in Texas' capital city where they could operate easier as a touring band that still had plenty of dates on the books. In between out-of-town gigs and standing in line at relief agencies and insurance companies, the Texiles were formed, a rotating cast that not only included the Iguanas and traveling trumpeter Eric Lucero but Dumpstaphunk's Tim Green, the Radiators' Ed Volker and various other New Orleans comrades. Cyril Nevil, as well as Austin's twang monster Redd Volkaert and swamp voodoo mystic Papa Mali, also stopped by on occasion.
Eventually, Cabral, Coman, Hodges and Garrison returned to the Crescent City to begin rebuilding and getting their lives back on track, if there was such a thing. Only Hodges remained in Austin, moving back two years later when the time was right. Even though the storm had waylaid plans for a new record, the idea of such an undertaking at this point seemed utterly impossible.
"We were doing some songwriting all along but it took a while to get over that trauma," Coman reveals. "Everybody was really gentle and careful with each other because we could all feel how fragile we were. But after awhile you form some scar tissue and start getting your center back where you can do some work again."
By summer 2007, the scar-tissued Iguanas began making demos at Cabral's house, which, literally, was a war construction zone. "We were recording demos and there were saws in the background and people were working on the house." Cabral says. "Oh, it was heavy, living in a Fema trailer in the front yard, trying to write tunes, trying to do gigs, rebuild the house, dealing with insurance, dealing with all the bureaucracy that comes with the assistance at the federal level. It was a lot, man."
Luckily, the recording process went smoother with longtime pal and venerable Nashville producer Justin Niebank helming the controls. In September 2007, the Iguanas trekked to the Music City where fourteen solid tracks were recorded at Martina McBride's prestigious Blackbird Studios. "Oh, it was a great experience," Cabral says. "It was an amazing space that was very conducive for us doing our thing and making music."
From there, the Iguanas took the session's master tracks and loaded them onto their laptops. Using the Mac-based recording program Logic, Cabral and Coman added various harmony vocals, percussive and horn parts and then shipped them to Niebank who dropped them on the main recording platform for mixing. At one point, Cabral and Garrison did field recordings at Loyola University to capture some melodic percussion, particularly xylophones and vibraphones. One of Coman's last overdubs was a Delfeayo Marsalis trombone solo on "Her Red Fishnets," an arrangement that swells with timpani, bells and Mellotron on the majestic finale. With sounds culled from various undisclosed locations, Coman jokingly refers to this process as 'Guerilla recording, finding what you need wherever you can.' Finally, Niebank applied the finishing touches at his home studio.
The impeccably mixed If You Should Ever Fall On Hard Times not only picks up where 2003's widely acclaimed Plastic Silver 9-Volt Heart left off, but extends sonic themes and textures into serious, deep grooves that can only be described as 'signature Iguana.' The Iguanas have truly raised the bar with a broad palette of styles ranging from crunchy, edgy rockers; funky soul strutters; and succulent West Coast R&B to trad conjunto; dreamy cruisers and hard boppin', conga-powered jazz supported by a myriad of Latin beats. The arrangements are dense with subtle embellishments and honorary Iguana Eric Lucero consistently contributes gorgeous, if not breathtaking, trumpet lines.
At the very heart and soul of the Iguanas are Hodges' ingenious, bilingual lyrics that are the totality of imagery. Though the disc boasts several Hodges gems, the impressionistic "Okemah" - an ode dedicated to his deceased father - is undoubtedly the proceedings' crowning moment. The song's dying protagonist hazily relives chapters of his life and visits his homeland once more while pleading to be released from life. Periodically, the medicine, assumably Chemo, kicks in, thus detaining him from his wishes and pummeling him back to dreamland.
With such great sardonic lines as, "I am not a crook / I own everything I took," Hodges' horn-swelling mariachi "Back in the Limelight" could be aimed at any number of politicians who fall from grace and attempt to recover their stature. For Coman, it reminds him of former Louisiana governor Edwin Edwards who is currently in the middle of serving a 10-year prison stint at age 81. "He's one of these larger-than-life Louisiana characters. Even though he was completely involved with graft and taking money out of the public trough for years, people still love him. You can hear it on talk radio, people calling in and saying, 'Yeah, he was a good governor. Yeah, he stole but he did a good job.'"
"And now there is this big move to get him out," he continues, explaining how the song really fits the situation. "People say that he would be no threat; he's so old; but those guys have a way of coming back to life. He'd get out and a year later, he could be right in the middle of the society page and a big consulting contract."
But you certainly can't comment on Louisiana politics without mentioning hurricanes, which is covered in Cabral's Spanish-sung, Afro-Cuban styled "El Huracan y Pin Pon." Inspired by the litany of storms and evacuations prior to Katrina and subsequently thereafter, the lighthearted tale centers around a guy who vows to stay put with his meat-eating dog Pin Pon.
Although the roots rockin' title track "If You Should Ever Fall On Hard Times" could be linked to the storm's devastation based on title alone, that's not the case. Instead, Hodges sketches a tender scene where one person pledges unconditional support to a departing loved one who's about to embark upon life's next journey.
Despite the direct hurricane reference ("El Huracan y Pin Pon") and the various allusions to it -including the cover art that symbolizes rebuilding - this is not a hurricane record. "It's more just a vibe," explains Garrison. "The band went through some changes. And a lot of this stuff is intangible; it's not just something that you can necessarily write about. It's a life experience that we all shared and then when we came together and starting writing tunes, it was just osmosis."
"A lot of bands will write and record songs with a means to an end in that they want to get as many people to like it as possible," Garrison says, explaining the Iguanas' approach to their craft. "All we do is just try to be honest and write what we feel and play what we feel. And up to now, it's been pretty successful."
