Sunday, 8 July 2012

Album Review: Joe Falcon - Cajun Music Pioneer


The Cajun people are feral French-Canadians who live in and around the swamps of Louisiana.
     The floorboards in their houses don't meet and you can look through the gaps and see swamp water with a film of iridescent motor oil, dead leaves, a toad.

Joe Falcon grew up fishing for reptiles down the plug hole in the bath tub. He would bait his hooks with catfish whiskers and sit beneath the shower fitting, tap poking into his back, waiting for a tug on the line, a decisive bite from one of them slithery green swamp things.
     'Oh mon Dieu!' He'd scream and jump to his feet. Somehow the powerful struggling of the hooked lizards always took him by surprise. They would emit evil guttural screeching sounds as the hook pierced their flesh, and Joe could hear their claws scrabbling for purchase on the bottom of the house. Pulling hard on the fishing line, he'd hiss back down at them through the plug hole and stamp his feet, whistling and yelping in excitement and fear.

Later in life he made the acquaintance of a Professor of Zoology at a local university, who assured him no such lizard existed.
     'Don't exist!? They were my sole source of protein!' Joe exclaimed (in French probably).

On Joe's fourteenth birthday, his grandfather passed down to him his old accordion. It was a beautiful instrument.
     'Got me back into your Grandma's good graces on more than one occasion, Joe.'
     His Grandfather winked suggestively and held a pair of imaginary tits, greatly exaggerated in size, out in front of his chest. Then he squished them up towards his mouth and flicked his tongue in and out as if to lick the nipples, or something. Joe's smile drained of mirth, whilst his teeth continued to show. It was really horrible. His Grandfather was actually quite unhinged, come to think of it.
     Joe thanked his Grandfather and turned away sharply, hoping to quickly cleanse himself of the disgusted sick feeling in his gut. But his eyes immediately fell onto his Grandmother, who was smiling at him. Warmly enough, but nevertheless... She had lost her teeth some years back, and all she could really eat these days was toad meat. In eating so much toad, she had become a bit of one.
     Joe started playing his Grandfather's accordion frantically. As long as he concentrated on the accordion, he didn't have to think about his Grandparents having Bayou swamp pensioner sex. He wrote a lot of songs that way.

To wrap this up: technology happened, he got to record some of his music. I listened to it, liked it. My favourite recording is Cajun Music Pioneer because the bass is a bit messed up and it sounds really loud and powerful. Ten out of ten, one-hundred percent. Poptastic. Bye.

Umm. All I know about the Cajun people is nice music, and the film, Southern Comfort. Sorry. Oh, and I think they burn food or something.

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