Photo by Alex V. Cook
“Where is this place?” I asked the no one in my car the third time I circled the block, looking for Louisiana reggae veteran Henry Turner Jr.’s new listening room. I’m used to this happening to me down bayou-strung highways and backwood holler bypasses; but I live less than a mile from the address on North Street where Turner was holding the grand opening of his listening room, a music venue where Turner plans to showcase local and regional musicians looking for a place to experiment and get exposure.
Such is the way of Baton Rouge, a city split by an invisible race/class wall that runs down the center of Florida Boulevard with not a lot of transaction going between them. Black and white worlds brush up together cautiously, in fear of friction. The thing I like about Turner is that those walls don’t phase him much. I’ve seen him perform with his band Flavor at countless venues and events; and each time the audience is diverse, a sea of throbbing soul survivors bobbing on the tide of reggae.
One could say it is the mission of reggae. The music transcends its Jamaican roots to attract everyone to its throb; but then Turner, the music’s local emissary, does as well. I finally find the right door—just down from Ancona’s Stop & Save and Marino & Sons Plumbing Supply—that door being painted up by someone named Rapp Dirty.
The room is an old rental hall that has seen better years but is the perfect incubator for a listening room—makeshift but ample stage area, bar to the side laid out with trays of white beans and cornbread, plenty of room to accommodate long tables and dancers. For a second, I’m taken back to the North Boulevard incarnation of Tabby’s Blues Box. Unfamiliarity is torn away like a paper towel once you are in the door.
A longtime tour-mate of Turner’s, Johnny Midnite is playing blues on an acoustic when I saunter through, looking for all the familiar faces. There are plenty of people, but I don’t know any save for a few media folk there for the opening. That’s how it can go in the clique-y Baton Rouge musical landscape.
Turner’s band Flavor consists of enigmatic drummer Ronnie Houston, whose weathered voice is like a lost Victrola recording, bassist Patrick Joffrion holding in the groove, and backup singers Jenessa Nelson, Ras Wayne Vicks, and Dianna Wills. It’s a great crew to back up Turner’s cheery storytelling as they lurch into “Ugly Man,” “in his mind, knows he’s ugly, but he knows what to do to get the ladies,” banters Turner. “There is one everywhere we go; we are looking for an Ugly Man precinct captain for Baton Rouge if you want to apply.”
As they delve into “Fat Baby,” I’m mesmerized by Wills’ stately delivery, carrying the blues in her smile as she swings her tambourine in time. Each tune builds into a gospel-like fervor—one number about healing power of hemp (it is a reggae band, after all) turns revival-grade spiritual, like the room is going to levitate any minute.
“We are starting a communication right now,” announces Turner at the break. Outside, I notice a sign made from a painted guitar over the door, the sole marker for the place on this otherwise non-descript battered block of North Street. Here’s hoping the string of Thursday night showcases Turner is planning on hosting there takes hold and brings some more people over that invisible wall to join in on the conversation happening just around the block.
Henry Turner Jr.’s Listening Room
2733 North Street
Baton Rouge, La.
facebook.com/HenryTurnerJrListeningRoom
Live music at 8 pm on Thursdays, 9 pm on Fridays
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