David Toop is an Englishman who plays and writes about music. This is his thirteenth book. At close to 350 pages, it is a lot of writing for a 33-minute album. But it’s about right for a deep cultural examination of New Orleans and American music. The full title of the book is Two-Headed Doctor, with the subtitle Listening for Ghosts in Dr. John’s Gris-gris.

A blurb on the back cover states “Two-Headed Doctor is a forensic investigation into a single LP: Dr. John, the night tripper’s Gris-Gris.”

It certainly is a forensic examination. No stone is too small to look under. Toop provides a century of context in the recording history of New Orleans, ghost stories, voodoo tales, studio memories, being a session player in Los Angeles, and more. The context is deep and the recording history is extensive. Part of the two-headed Doctor theme is the inclusion of Harold Battiste, the producer of the album. He has a long and colorful history in the music business and, like Mac Rebennack, is from New Orleans. It took the two of them to make this album work. Battiste provided the studio tricks that deepen the ambiance.

The author reveals Dr. John’s sources for the voodoo-related lyric content. This helps understand what the songs are about, including the themes.

There is a wealth of information in the book, but it takes a lot of reading to tease it all out. Toop tells us about records and characters that he finds particularly inspiring and/or influential and relevant. It’s like tracing watersheds to see where the water goes. Sometimes you have to wade in the tall weeds.

The album is more about texture and color than it is about music. The textures are given as much attention as the music. Another important aspect is spatial depth. Harold Battiste’s production adds depth and space to the music so that we feel that we are in a place with the performers. That place feels like a graveyard, and the time feels like the deepest night. This goes far beyond The Beatles records where space and time were manipulated by panning stereo left and right and back. Here we have the weird sisters chanting, far away and near at the same time. There are rattles and clangs, and spectral music drifting in from a distance and fading away in wisps. Some of this music is visceral and gripping, while some of it drifts through the scene on the way to somewhere else.

If you want to take a deeper dive into this period of Mac Rebennack’s work you should also have a copy of his autobiography close by. Under a Hoodoo Moon: The Life of Dr John the Night Tripper by Mac Rebennack, John; Rummel, Jack; Dr John, St. Martin’s Press, 1994.

Related useful reading is Love and Theft, (Eric Lott, Oxford University Press; Twentieth edition {July 31, 2013}) a similarly close examination of the blackface minstrel era, which is foundational to any understanding of American musical and theatrical culture. If you think that blackface minstrelsy is a thing of the past you are mistaken. It provides the architecture of the American entertainment scene. We have more in common with those old racist tropes than we might realize. This book sheds light on a past that is not remembered often enough as the new crowds out the old. Of course, as always, the new closely resembles the old.

An appreciation, interpretation, and review by John Mulligan

Why would anyone want to read a 349-page book (plus notes) about making the first Dr. John album, Gris-gris? It is a relatively obscure album, except for the surprising resilience of the song I Walk on Guilded Splinters, which has been covered by everyone from the Neville Brothers to Humble Pie and more.

Gris-gris kicked off a long and productive career for Mac Rebennack, from 1968 to 2019. Along the way he went from being an obscure sideman and producer to a hero of New Orleans music and the city, along with The Meters, the Neville Brothers, Allen Toussaint, and others. In some ways, these musicians re-invented the history of New Orleans music. By doing so, they reinvented America’s whole idea of New Orleans and its culture. Gris-Gris is the first concrete step in that process.

The old school of New Orleans musicians was led by Pete Fountain, Al Hirt, and the Preservation Hall Jazz Band. They all played Traditional Jazz and Dixieland Jazz, two terms for the same thing. They represented good times in a way that suited the 1950s and early 60s. They became a big part of tourism for the city. i

Gris-gris is rooted in homesickness and nostalgia for a past that may or may not have ever been. This is how nostalgia always works. Mac Rebennack had been in jail for a drug offense. When he got out, he found that the music and recording scene in New Orleans was essentially dead. The city had cracked down on drugs and it hit the musician community hard. Mac did what everybody else did. He headed to Los Angeles, California, in hopes of finding work in the recording industry there. You can imagine what that was like. Anybody who fled New Orleans after any kind of catastrophe knows the feeling. New Orleans offers community, and everybody fits in somewhere. The people, the food, the music, and the city itself offered something no other city could. Certainly not Los Angeles.

Rebennack had been active in the New Orleans music business from an early age. When he moved to L.A., he was able to reconnect with musicians from his hometown. One of those was Harold Battiste, an arranger and producer. Battiste had become the Musical Director for Sonny and Cher. He wrote all the arrangements for them and produced their records. He had known Mac Rebennack in New Orleans, so when Mac turned up in L.A. looking for work, Battiste snapped him up. He worked on Sonny and Cher’s records. He added some incidental music to Chastity, Cher’s first movie. As he worked, he became part of the L.A. music community.

But Mac had a dream. Isn’t that how life goes? Everything is finally getting straightened out, but now you have a dream. And, of course, it’s a crazy dream. He’d had it for a while, but now that he was an expatriate of the rich world of New Orleans, he had to create a new world that he could live in.

“A project had been forming in his mind for some time, almost an opera, a folklore opera like the old medicine shows that traveled the circuit but more ‘respectful’, as he once said.” (Toop, David. Two-Headed Doctor, page 119. Chapter: Inventing New Orleans.)

“Dr. John was ‘…not only the gris-gris and the santeria, the orishas, and the Candomble, but all of those things mixed in with the Mardi Gras Indian thing, which has got all that mixed in too, anyways,’ Rebennack told Peter Shapiro, “also adding into it some old minstrel show stuff….mixing it all up and presenting it as some kind of show was always in the back of my head. Actually, it was in the front of my head.” (Peter Shapiro interview with Mac Rebennack. Quoted by David Toop in Two Headed Doctor, page, 172.)

There it is: a folklore opera, like the medicine and minstrel shows, but more respectful. It was also a time of opportunity. Popular music was changing, and psychedelic music was a big part of it. So, Mac went psychedelic with a minstrel show as performed by Mardi Gras Indians, as they called themselves then and now. It was going to be some kind of show.

So, if we look at Gris-Gris as a “folklore opera,” it gives us a framework. That’s good, because, at first glance, the album seems shapeless. Let’s look at it through the folk opera lens and see what we get.

I

First, the main character introduces himself. “They call me Dr. John, known as the Night Tripper,” he croaks. “The last of the best, they call me the gris-gris man.” The track is echoey and slow. There’s a mandolin in there. The chorus chimes in with “gris-gris gumbo ya ya” in a haunting deep groove. Meanwhile, the good doctor rhymes out his catalog of “remedies of every description.” He promises to “cure all y’all’s ills.” Then, his sales pitch ended, he shuffles off the stage as the backup singers chant more softly, fading away in the mist of the bayou.

II

A powerful drumbeat introduces “Danse Kalinda Ba Doom.” The lone drummer is joined by the other musicians. They all start playing.

This whole song conjures up the rites of Congo Square. This is a location where slaves congregated on Sundays, their only day off. They had a market where they could sell things. Music and dance naturally became part of the day’s activities. The people played on whatever they could find and use as instruments. They played the rhythms of their homeland, conjuring up their past when they were free. It was a spiritual experience. In this song they dance the kalinda, which is a type of dance that could be used against one’s enemies. You could “dance kalinda” against an oppressor or a rival. A variety of percussion instruments, mandolins, flutes, and other unidentifiable instruments create patterns and movements. It is otherworldly and compelling. After a few minutes they wind down, and the hushed vocal section, which has a defining role in the whole record, gently ushers the dancers and drummers off the stage in a graceful fade.

III

Now a pop group takes the stage with a lilting, wobbly organ, and the gris-gris man, now wearing a top hat, starts singing about a character named Mama Roux. A roux is a flour-based thickener needed to make a proper gumbo. A roux is also a form of magic, as it is created through transformation. Flour and butter combine to create something that neither alone could be. “She was the queen of the little red, white and blue,” he sings. This may or may not be a reference to mirepoix, a 3-vegetable base added to the roux to make gumbo. The lyrics shift to talk about the spy boys the Mardi Gras Indians used to locate other tribes that are out parading. The good doctor now tells the spy boy to run off and not get in the way. The queen is coming. Meanwhile the singers croon, “Mama Roux.”

IV

A new scene is set. Torchbearers come out, holding their flames high. A mandolin introduces a nice little musical figure. They perform Danse Fambeaux, a song about how the old king can’t do the limbo. The lyrics might refer to the wounded king. This sets forth the problem to be solved. Why can’t the old king do the limbo? The musicians make animal noises, from birdsong to a pig grunting. The title of this dance is misleading. It should be Danse Flambeaux, the dance of the torches. Dr. John will have his little wordplays.

Bonfires are traditional at the time of the summer solstice, which is also the eve of the feast of St. John the Baptist. On stage here, we have torches. The upcoming feast of St. John the Baptist is important to the setting, as the Baptist makes the world ready to receive the King.

V

Croker Courtbullion is next. The doctor takes a break as the musicians gather on the stage. This is often referred to the ‘free jazz’ number of the album. The difference is that it has an instrumental hook and a repetitive chant of the title, supplied by the backup singers. The animal imitations heard in the previous song make an even stronger return here. Nature is a part of the scene. Chaos plays a part. The women sing, but they do not sing words. They give the music a shape, but they can’t control the musicians. It turns out that a courtbullion is a food preparation, a liquid for cooking tender meats, such as fish. It is not always meant to be eaten but is essential in preparation. The word croker refers to a bag made of rough material, like burlap. The meaning of the phrase may be an improvised broth for cooking, which is what the musicians do. They improvise, and they are cooking. They could be said to be conjuring. Perhaps they are conjuring up old Jump Sturdy.

VI

After all this weirdness the stage is once again cleared, and another wild character makes an entrance. Her name is Jump Sturdy. The Night Tripper is narrating, as an observer. “She came out of the swamps like a crazy fool.” It seems that if she had stayed in the swamps, she would be okay. She has more power than she knows. She went to the fire department and all the fire alarms went off. She doesn’t seem to control it. She raised her arms on a clear day by Bayou St. John and caused an electrical storm. She ran into Queen Julia Jackson on the street, who killed her with a brick.

Queen Julia Jackson was a real voodoo queen in New Orleans. She confronted Dr. John backstage in 1972 and insisted that what he said about her in his song was a lie. Dr. John had a reverence for the women of voodoo, and I’m sure he repented to stay in her good graces.

Why did Jump Sturdy have to die? The story concludes abruptly, with little explanation. What is explained is that her power is wild and uncontrolled. She’s malicious but she means no harm. She comes in from the swamps, which represent the deep subconscious, and creates chaos. It is a youthful, undisciplined form of Dr. John. For the king to emerge

these chaotic impulses must be put in check. There is more power that can be harnessed once the impulsive, chaotic nature is discarded.

VII

Having dispatched Jump Sturdy, leaving her body on the stage prostrate before the mighty Queen Julia, a mist now covers our vision. A gris-gris man emerges from the bayou. It is not any old conjurer. It is Dr. John, the Night Tripper. He no longer wears a top hat. Instead, colorful large feathers stick out of his headdress. This is no entertainer. He is accompanied by the backing chorus, who now appear as priestesses. There is percussion everywhere. Dr. John lists his threatening and revelatory powers, the priestesses answering in their turns, avoiding unison singing. It sounds more powerful that way. Most words slip by us, nonsensical and meaningless, but certain phrases come through. “Walk through the fire/Fly through the smoke/See my enemy/At the end of they rope/ Walk on pins and needles/See what they can do/Walk on gilded splinters/With the king of the Zulu.” This is a fully realized magician. The voice is stronger, more assured, than at the beginning. The scene is set with skulls and walking sticks. The Doctor seems to be festooned with animal skins and feathers, and he grins at us in the darkness. He holds a potion that is steaming, like dry ice. As the song winds down the music fades out. Animal sounds are heard. Then slowly the music and the Doctor’s voice fade back in. “Walk on gilded splinters,” he whispers softly, over and over. What seems like animal imitations turn into the sounds of a man falling asleep, gradually, then fully. Has he fallen asleep, or have I?

The End

As always, the show ends and the record is over. The curtain falls yet again. That is our story. It is a story of transformation. The snake-oil salesman of the first song is now a magician. He is fully in charge of his destiny. He is surrounded by the three priestesses, he has seen Queen Julia kill Jump Sturdy, an unschooled and unaware woman of chaotic power. She was no match for the Queen. This is the climactic episode, where a part of the soul is killed to free up the power and the ability to take effective action.

Ahmet Ertegun, the record label executive, is said to have asked “How am I supposed to release this boogaloo crap?” It was released and it sold poorly, as predicted. But Walk on Guilded Splinters refused to die. Dr. John or Mac Rebennack if you will, played it at every show he played, for the rest of his life. It inspired cover versions, none of which approached the masterpiece level of the original. Back in 1968, I was listening to free-form rock radio on WABX out of Detroit. They liked to play Guilded Splinters late at night when all their listeners were surely stoned. The song still lives. It is afforded a reverence that is unusual for boogaloo crap.

The whole album had antecedents that made it seem a little less outlandish at the time of its release. Free jazz was getting airplay on WABX. There was a whole style of music called exotica, which was mostly evocative sound-effect music. Jungle sounds were not that unusual. The arranger for Sonny and Cher’s music was Harold Battiste, who also arranged the music for Gris-gris. The mandolin was a telltale thread, as was the harpsichord. The harpsichord was such a staple on psychedelic records that a music company produced an electronic keyboard called the Rocksichord.

Gris-gris was weird but there was plenty of weird music in 1968 and 1969. The Incredible String Band used instruments that were considered strange in pop music. Jefferson Airplane played very strange music as their albums got farther out. Everything was happening. What’s a little Gris-gris among friends? This was an age when the recording studio, post-Sgt. Pepper’s, was routinely hailed as just another instrument. Much of the mood and effect of Gris-gris is due to a couple of simple studio tricks. One is the Vari-Speed, which allowed the producer to slow down all the tracks. Much of the eeriness on Gris-gris is due to this slowdown. There is also an electronic sound manipulator which alters the sound of the reed instruments. This, coupled with the slower speed, made the instruments sound unidentifiable and evocative. It was possible to create a whole world out of a combination of production techniques and the talents of experienced New Orleans musicians. They always find the groove.

The whole thing worked like magic. Mac Rebennack was transformed into himself. This record birthed his public career, and he never let go of it. He and the New Orleans musicians of his generation rewrote the history of New Orleans music. They brought Professor Longhair to the forefront, and with the help of the Meters and the Nevilles and Allen Toussaint, among others, they added a new kind of funk to the whole gumbo of the music. They ushered in more changes and revitalized the city.

– John Mulligan

(from John’s Substack blog, A Series of Notes)