So many years ago I hate to admit it, I was driving home to New Orleans from Florida. Iâd been at Ft. Walton Beach on a college break, and the drive seemed endless. It was spring, with that warm – but not yet hot – heavy Gulf air that barely moves the leaves on the trees. A very dark night.
I pulled off the highway just west of Biloxi at some little hole in the wall bar, just planning to take a break for a few before finishing the little remaining trip.
I hadnât been there ten minutes when some guys came in, also apparently on a road trip â and suddenly there was a lot of noise and motion. They were, it seemed, carrying some sound equipment and instruments, and they felt like partying – and man, could they party!
I got home that night very very late â cuz âthose guysâ? turned out to be the Neville Brothers, and we had a blast in that little podunky place.
That night is one of my enduring memories of the Gulf Coast; casual beyond belief, friendly, spontaneous, surprising. Iâll always associate home with the Neville Brothers – which makes it hard for me to imagine them in Austin and points beyond. Permanently. Sighâ¦
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