The older I get, the less I am surprised by anything. It takes a lot to impress me. I have been listening to Louisiana music for over 50 years and writing about it (and music from other environs) since I was in high school, conducting my first rock star interviews at the Royal Orleans hotel (an establishment later to be immortalized in a Led Zeppelin song of the same name). In all that time, I have been blown away (musically, as opposed to meteorologically) by Louisiana performers twice.
The first time was during the 1970s when I convinced my employer James K. Glass man, the publisher of the defunct weekly Figaro, to sponsor a New Orleans songwriting contest. Our rules were simple—contestants could submit one song somehow related to New Orleans utilizing a single instrument and recorded on a cassette (the CD still being in the future). We arranged for Allen Toussaint, the best songwriter in New Orleans, to be the final judge. The winner would receive an expensive guitar and a slot of recording time at Toussaint’s celebrated studio, Sea-Saint. The finalists would perform their songs, one by one, at a concert held at Tipitina’s.
The response was incredible with nearly a thousand local songwriters submitting cassettes. Toussaint wasn’t going to sit and listen to a thousand cassettes so we had to narrow the field down to a manageable size. One song, entitled “We Got the Watermelons” and featuring a black woman singing to the accompaniment of some sort of percussion instrument (later revealed to be a Coca-Cola bottle hit with a drumstick), was everyone’s favorite. We picked the finalists and sent the tapes to Toussaint. Later, we retrieved his winner’s name, in a sealed envelope to be opened at the Tipitina’s recital.
Tipitina’s was packed for the show because all the budding New Orleans songwriters invited their friends, families and supporters, hopeful that they would be the lucky one anointed by the most successful songwriter in Louisiana history. The songs were funny and funky and sensitive and surreal. The room exploded when the “Watermelon” lady (whose name has been lost to history) performed. It was a magical experience—the place filled with New Orleans musicians and along comes this woman with a Coke bottle singing an updated street chant and everyone is just slaughtered.
After the “Watermelon” lady, an intern from Ochsner Hospital sang his entry, a pleasant country-western ballad about the beauty of Spanish moss and other local cliches. There was polite applause. The crowd was still buzzing from the intensity of the “Watermelon” lady.
We opened the envelope to announce Toussaint’s pick. The winner was the intern. Nobody could believe it. Toussaint, fortunately for him, was not in attendance. How could this genius of New Orleans sounds be so out of touch with what local audiences desired? The recital was a defining moment in my musical education and in the interim, it should be noted, Toussaint has not since written a single hit song.
Shall we fast-forward approximately 25 years? One day, I received an email. It was from two 17-year-old twin sisters from Covington, Casey and Jessica Sanchez. They explained that they had recorded three songs that might be heard on their web site (www.sancheztwins.com) and that I might want to listen to them. At approximately the same time, Clint Maedgen, a local musician for whom I have enormous respect, arrived at my office.
“Let’s check this out,” I told Clint, and we navigated to the twins’ web site. The girls were very cute but I didn’t expect much. We clicked on the first song, “Late Last Night.” WHOA! Immediately, Clint and I were shocked: it sounded as polished as anything on the radio, as slick as Christina Aguilera and way, way better than Britney Spears. No tricks were involved—these girls could really sing! The song hooked you like all great pop songs should. Because they were twins, it was like hearing two Christina’s at once. How could a couple of high school girls create something like this?
The other two songs, “Love Of My Life” (a ballad originally recorded by Queen) and the flamenco/R&B “Watch Out,” were equally fine. All three songs could be played on the radio right now. The girls wanted advice but all they really needed was a good lawyer—there was nobody in New Orleans capable of furthering their careers.
I contacted the Sanchez twins and asked if they could come over to my home in Abita Springs for an interview. They arrived, tan and beautiful, with their dad, Gary Sanchez. They attend Fontainebleau High School, from whence graduated Paul McCoy, who won a Grammy this year for his collaboration with Evanescence. I was relieved to learn that their father was a drummer and that both of his parents had been professional musicians. As much as Gary Sanchez realized the enormity of his daughters’ talent, he understood what a sordid and unethical business the music industry is.
Gary explained that the girls had been singing since they could talk: “When they were small children in their carseats, I would turn the radio on and they could sing just about anything on the radio verbatim. They were just learning to talk and they would sing as much as they would talk. It was almost by osmosis. I kept leaving the radio on and they would sing along. And they developed preferences: ‘No, dad, turn ‘Somewhere Over the Rainbow’ back on. There were a few things they really liked to sing along with.”
Casey and Jessica continued the story: “Our cousin Deanna married a California producer, Gavin Fisher, and we told him that we sang and would like to put a CD together. Our mom sent him a little clip of our song over the Internet. Then he sent us a beat that he thought would sound good with it. We sent emails back and forth and he came up with beats for the whole song and we just loved it! He’s very good!”
After this cyberspace composition was completed, the twins flew to Long Beach, California and Fisher’s studio, SuperFly Sound (no relation to the New Orleans concert production firm), where they spent two days cutting their vocal tracks: “Since it was the first time, the studio was intimidating. Being in the room by yourself with the microphone is kinda freaky but after we started singing for a while, we loosened up and it was easy. When we went in there, we were holding back a lot and Gavin and our dad knew it. They would say, ‘Come on, y’all—you know you can hit that note!’ You have to pretend like there’s nobody there.”
Do the Sanchez sisters believe that Louisiana’s glorious musical past has influenced them? “Definitely. Not that there are really people to look up to because if you look at The Person Who Came From Here [Britney], she’s not somebody we want to look up to. Her music’s very good–we just don’t like the way she puts herself out there. It’s just a little much. We’d rather be role models for everybody. But Louisiana’s all about music.
“Our daddy exposed us to Queen when we were very little and ever since, we’ve loved Queen—their style and music. We look up to Christina Aguilera mostly. She’s got some pipes! She’s awesome! Her talent makes us want to pursue this. She’s not a great role model but she’s got such a great voice. Britney’s pretty much a studio creation.”
After a brief tour of my bamboo garden, back in my living room, Gary Sanchez suggested that the twins sing for me, a cappella. I said, “Wait—I have to tape this.” They began singing “Amazing Grace.” I have heard countless renditions of this song in my lifetime, including Aaron Neville’s rhapsodic version sung from inches away. Casey and Jessica’s “Amazing Grace” was just amazing, harmonically taking small twists and turns as they soared together to its conclusion—a sound that only twins could make with two voices all but identical. For the second time and not since the “Watermelon” lady, I knew that I had witnessed stars. Stars so bright they don’t even require electricity or electric guitars. I was devastated by the thermonuclear power of Casey and Jessica. Roll over, Britney, and tell Christina the news!
