Talk about a daily grind. How's this for a blues marathon. He's on the job six days out of seven with only Sundays off and performs four, forty-five minutes sets nightly, except for the weekend when he's called upon to do six. It can make a normal man lose his enthusiasm for the job. But not Al Carson, the gentle giant of a blues belter, who's been at it for eight long years at the Funky Pirate on New Orleans' notorious strip and promenade--Bourbon St . "I consider myself extremely lucky. How many people go to work unhappy with what they're doing. This is what I live for--to sing the blues," he said.

And believe me, there is precious little blues left on this gantlet of souvenir shops, strip joints, karaoke bars, T-shirt emporiums, and fast food restaurants that assail all passersby. Or real music of any kind, for that matter. The Japanese tourists must think that New Orleans invented Motown, hip-hop, or country and western. Here, all genres of music are watered down to suit the least common denominator. Sometimes it's even unrecognizable.

Early on, Big Al did have some competition up the block at the Old Absinthe Bar in the person of the fine blind guitarist/vocalist Brian Lee, who could command almost such a host of loyal followers. But Al stands alone now because New Orleans in its infinite wisdom and mercy allowed some entrepreneur to completely gut the interior (removing historical fixtures and artifacts) of this edifice, infused with the all character and ambiance of the 18th Century and on the National Historical Register, and transform it into a garish, neon-lit daiquiri hut. Gee, how could Bourbon St have survived so long without such a recent needful addition? As far as the city fathers are concerned here in the Big Easy, necessity is the mother of invention. And tradition? Don't worry about that. Let the chips fall where they may.

But just because Al remains as the last true bluesman doesn't mean he can rest on his laurels. Competition is fierce here and if the crowds don't materialize every evening, he may find himself replaced by some young turks who are willing to play for much less. Since he's protected his turf for nearly a decade in this hostile environment, he must bring something special to the table. There's no cover at the nondescript Funky Pirate and after the beefy bouncers hustle and then usher the customers in, it's Al's duty to keep them interested, id est--drinking. And the libations which pay the freight are not cheap.

And many here are first-time shoppers and not blues fans at all; so Al has to quickly convert this crowd of non-believers. On the spot, he, with his band, the Blues Masters, must create a whole new generation of blues disciples. And Al is invariably up to the task. Never compromising his principles, he masterfully captivates the assembled multitude with his enormous repertoire, vocal talent (a gravelly baritone), and sheer force of his personality. "This is a blues bar," he says, chiding a client who demands a pop tune, and then politely but firmly returns to the night's play list--"Sweet Home Chicago," "I'll Play The Blues For You," "The Thrill Is Gone," and "Killing Floor." But being kind-hearted as most big men are, the very ample Al, seated throughout the performance on his personal "throne," will occasionally grant his subjects a request, throwing the throng a well-timed bone such as "Mustang Sally."

Big Al all too well knows the risks of earning a living as a musician and like his mentor, famous Crescent City bassist Walter Payton(the father of trumpet prodigy, Nicholas), must wear many hats in case the rug is unceremoniously pulled from under him, like losing such a bread and butter gig at the Funky Pirate. Over the years, he's prepared himself well for just such an eventuality and remains on call, at the top of the list in everybody's little black book from vocalist, to instrumentalist, to studio hand. As his story unfolds, the reader will probably be astounded by the breadth of his musicianship as well as his involvement on both the local and world stage.

Alton "Big Al" Carson was born in New Orleans on October 2, 1953. His mother became highly influential in his musical development as she was (and still is) active in area gospel choirs and both she and his grandmother encouraged him in his pursuit of the trumpet at William O. Rogers Elementary School. Although there was no music program as such, he and several classmates demonstrated their aptitude to such a degree that they were obliged to further their education at local schools such Phyllis Wheatley. At the latter institution under the tutelage of Guy Lear, Al blossomed and by junior high at Andrew J. Bell and later at Booker T. Washington High he had become quite a proficient tuba player, also thanks in great part to private lessons from the aforementioned Walter Payton, a musician in great demand in the Crescent City. In fact, Al was so advanced for his age that he was playing in the high school band when in junior high and the college band (Xavier University, where he again studied the bass under Payton) while still in high school(graduating in 1972).

It was while attending Xavier that Al began performing professionally with a succession of brass bands, relationships that would endure well into the 90s when he finally gave up marching. One of the first was with the famed Doc Paulin and then the Treme Brass Band. "I remember when Benny Jones [snare drummer] broke from the Dirty Dozen[wherein he was a charter member] and formed the Treme with his uncle, Lionel Batiste. Sometimes, it would be just the four of us--Lionel on bass drum, George Johnson on trumpet, Daryl Adams on saxophone, and I--out on the streets on mornings and afternoons playing for tips," said Al. I then asked Al if he was ever confused with another well-known hefty player, Tuba Fats. "No, I was always the pretty one," he added with his characteristic hearty, infectious, laugh.

It's safe to say that over that two-decade span that Big Al has served stints with all the noted Big Easy brass ensembles, including Teddy Riley's Olympia (with whom he recorded), Barry Morton's Eagles (also a recording), the Tuxedo (then fronted by the late Herman Sherman, now trumpeter Greg Stafford), Clive Wilson's Camellia (with whom he made his first of many trips to Europe to the Asconia Festival in Switzerland in 1974) and last, but not least, the late Layton Martin's Spirit of New Orleans which also entailed TV spots and a couple of CDs.

While still at Xavier, he not only began experimenting with the slide and valve trombones but also singing. And he credits one teacher in particular for cultivating his vocal talents. "I was in the jazz band at the time and the director, John Fernandez, began featuring me during the concerts. I must have done all right because the audience always enjoyed and appreciated me," said Al.

Thus having confidence in his voice, Al began his first R&B group, Better Half, in 1974. In fact, despite his numerous other activities, he was never without such an outfit even up to the present. By the early 80s it was Rare Blend, featuring numbers by uptown soul crooners like Major Harris, Joe Simon, Bobby Bland, Barry White, the Isley Bros., Latimore, Luther Vandross, and Z.Z. Hill. In the late 80s, Rare Blend evolved into Rare Connexion. "Call it what you will--oldies or old school. But I tell you what, we had an engagement that lasted thirteen years on Saturday nights at the Fourth Edition club on Franklin and Jasmine in Gentilly and really packed them in. They just pulled the plug on it recently," said Al, who with this band headlined many a JazzFest and other annual New Orleans extravaganzas like the (Afro-American) Essence concert series. But this was not the only band format by which Al would be extended an invitation to play the big venues of the Crescent City.

In addition to his own R&B groups, Al was involved in some of the more memorable aggregates in New Orleans, especially at the renowned Joe's Cozy Corner at the end of St. Philip in the Treme neighborhood, a late night watering hole presenting the best of traditional music on Sundays but in a location not for the faint of heart.

According to Walter Payton, he inaugurated the Snap Bean Band in the early 90s featuring Big Al on the vocals, Shep Sheppard (from the Treme Brass Band) on sax, and Smokey Johnson on drums, the latter who had a big instrumental hit in the mid-sixties on Nola (706) "It Ain't My Fault." Often the great session percussionist for Cosimo Matassa, Johnny Boudreaux, would substitute for Johnson. Having an enormous repertoire, the band could handle jazz classics, pop standards, traditional jazz, and soul. A sample of this material (excluding Al) can be obtained at the Louisiana Music Factory on Decatur Street where Walter Payton and the Snap Bean Band recorded Red Top (504-76) live in 2000.

About mid-decade, after Walter went on the road and Smokey suffered a debilitating stroke, the proprietor, "Big Joe," asked that Big Al continue with his own band, which then included another heavyweight, guitarist Harry Sterling, whose signature stinging attack on such R&B numbers of the day like Tony Toni Tone's "If I Had No Loot" or Prince's "Kiss," as well as "Down Home Blues" or Clarence Carter's "Strokin'," never failed to please the crowd;" so much so, that this engagement extended to three years. Sterling, by the way, still faithfully accompanies Al at the Funky Pirate. About the same time frame when Al initiated his first R&B band, his new-found vocal skills also enabled him to be recommended by the Knox brothers to the Kid Johnson Big Band, a large ensemble which performed at carnival balls, social pledges, and Krewe parties. Enduring well into the 80s, it would be a fifteen-year stretch of steady employment for Big Al.

If he didn't have his hands full enough in the 70s with the big bands, the brass bands, and his own R&B combo, there was still room on the calendar for some musicals. "Over on Toulouse St. at the Toulouse Theatre in the late 70s, Vernel Bagneris was presenting his production, One Mo' Time, for the first time and I think it ran for about six years. After Walter joined the New York company at the Village Gate (off-Broadway), he trained me to do his tuba charts and eventually I learned Vernel's singing passages and even played the part of Poppa Du," said Big Al.

As One Mo' Time increased in popularity, there were, according to Walter, no less than five of these ventures occuring simultaneously throughout the world--a national touring act for grand arenas, a whistle stop "bus and truck" tour, a Canadian(Toronto) Village Gate presentation, the aforementioned New York City engagement, and a London stage show. As Al describes it, he must have done it all because he performed at smaller venues all over the U.S. like Rockport, IL, big rooms in Baltimore and Boston and the Sands Hotel in Las Vegas, the Village Gate in Toronto, and even went overseas during a three-year association with the show. Only Al can explain how he was able to juggle these other long-term commitments during the time. But he probably wouldn't have minded giving the Funky Pirate a rest if Vernel chose him to reprise his role in a current Broadway revival (with the same Walter Payton in the orchestra) which suddenly closed in April. "No hard feelings. I guess he [Vernel] just wanted to stick to the original cast," said Al.

During or just after his tenure with the show (79-81), a Norwegian group, the Magnolia Jazz Band, requested that he be part of a New Orleans trio which included female vocalists Thais Clark (who now performs at the Palm Court on Decatur St.) and Topsy Chapman that would tour the whole of Norway. "I had a great time and they treated us like royalty. Not too long ago, I was honored when they asked me to appear as vocalist on their 20th anniversary CD," he said.

Asconia which led to the Norway tour much later in 1998 resulted in yet another peregrination throughout Germany, this time with bunch of Teutonic lovers of Crescent City music fare--the New Orleans Heartbreakers. "Yeah, I was over there [Asconia] with my own group, the Blues Masters, when I spotted this funky German outfit in front of a hotel. I sat in with them and we hit it off right away. Next thing you know I'm on the road with them and even recorded a CD with this crew in my own hometown--The New Orleans Heartbreakers Meet Big Al Carson," said Big Al.

Frankly, I was surprised at all his recorded output. I knew that Al was selling a CD as a souvenir to all the tourists at the Funky Pirate--The Bluesmasters Live At the Funky Pirate Featuring Big Al Carson (naturally the supply was exhausted and on reorder the last time I visited). But I didn't realize he already had two such volumes.

And although I pride myself with keeping abreast of the New Orleans music scene, I had not an inkling about his Mardi Gras (run by Warren Hildebrand) records material. This uptown home-grown label has captured on tape some of the greatest Zydeco performances ever, including Fernest Arceneaux, Jude Taylor and the Burning Flames, and Selwyn Cooper and the Zydeco Hurricanes. And it can also lay claim to being New Orleans' music biggest booster, recording local acts of merit that no other companies would touch because of "marketability concerns" (read dollar signs) or the such. And despite its reputation for catering to regional music, Mardi Gras does occasionally hit the big time, creating a national sensation, like the novelty number "Bill" by Peggy Scott-Adams (Miss Butch #209). Over the years, Mardi Gras has not only recorded for posterity the brass bands and traditional jazz but also some of the finest efforts of natives James Rivers, Marva Wright, Walter "Wolfman" Washington, and Johnny Adams. Now one can add the name Big Al Carson to this illustrious list. Al, himself, can't seem to recall all the the titles and dates but is included in a 90s series of disks, compilations, with the theme Bourbon St.--Bourbon St, Bourbon St. After Dark, and Bourbon St. Blues. Then there is, Embraceable Melodies, a collection of smooth standards in the Johnny Mathis style, as well as another anthology, Take Your Drunken Ass Home, whose melodies, I'm sure, are much less embraceable than the former. Finally, there's a Christmas album.

And Christmas holds a special significance for Big Al, since he's the head Santa Claus at Riverwalk now for eight years. "I'm a real natural for the part and kids flock to me. Needless to say, I look forward to it every year," said Big Al, who has recorded yet another Christmas CD with the Lars Edegran Jazz Band entitled (of course) Santa Claus At Riverwalk. By the way, with Lars he also issued a more "serious" undertaking as a member of the Riverwalk Jazz Band. "Don't forget to mention the flack I received when I graced the cover of Offbeat [a weekly entertainment guide] in my Santa suit surrounded by a bevy of scantily clad beauties. Very controversial," he added with a sly laugh.

I already knew that, by now, he had quit parading but I wondered about whether or not he could still produce a note on an instrument. "Well, there was this big Louis Armstrong shindig [100th birthday commemoration] at the Mint last year and people came up to me and marveled at my playing. Although I hadn't picked up a horn in months, people thought that I had been diligently practicing my chops," he responded with a chuckle.

Somewhere toward the end of the interview I happened to mention the word "versatile," describing his ability as musician to survive shifting public tastes and this word released another flood of memories. "Versatile? You ain't heard nothing yet. Before the Funky Pirate I was up the street at Maison de Bourbon as a member of Steve Yoakum's Dog Pack, a Dixieland outfit. Heck, I even did a Spike Jones tribute at the Masonic Temple Theatre [a cultural arts center]. How would you describe his music? I had a cameo in the Big Easy motion picture starring Dennis Quaid. And I did commercials for both Southern Comfort and Mitsubishi. I even helped in a video, 'On Bended Knee,' which was shot in New Orleans for the Motown vocal group, Boyz II Men. And I got a lot of publicity when E Entertainment came down and filmed a segment on the Funky Pirate for their Mardi Gras documentary. You gotta do what you gotta do to stay out there. But I love it all," he said.

"Did we forget anything? Any recording? Any tour?" I inquired.

"Well, as for the first question, I don't know if anyone can fully answer that one, since I've probably helped everyone out from brass bands to big bands to blues bands. And did I also mention I went to Denmark with Billy Cross?" he asked.

"Al, you're probably going to have to wait a while so that sometime down the road I can write a book. I only have so much space. I may not have gotten all the facts right or all the details in correct order, but I think anyone who reads this article is going to learn something that he didn't know before--that Big Al Carson is more than just your average entertainer on Bourbon Street. He's going to remember that you are a true pillar of the New Orleans blues community," I said.

"Larry, all I can say is thanks for remembering me," he said.

I know it's been nearly a year, but I always keep my promises," I said. Larry Benicewicz

bios from www.bluesartstudio.com