|Lady Baby Miss & The Tigerman, NOLA|
We were on a mission. It was Mariella's 21st birthday and she had just finished her first legal drink, a Jack & Coke, and my sparkly wings were feeling cramped. So we left The Maison, a jazz bar on Frenchman Street, in search of Siberia, the venue Pile played a week or two earlier. On our walk to the French Quarter, I had seen black on white pressed posters exclaiming something along the lines of "Siberia! Show! Sunday or Saturday or anyday maybe!" When we left The Maison, we searched the poster filled poles and walls for sign of Siberia. We had to find the address that would tell us where we wanted to be. We found it, ripped it off and headed toward St. Claude, walking among a stampede of neons and living skeletons. We had to cross St. Claude to find Siberia but some sort of energy was keeping us below the entranceway to The Allways Lounge. This pull was a muffled blues with, could there be a piano inside as well? "But Siberia" I said and Mars yanked me into the dim and glowing lounge.
There was a small stage to the left dressed with red velvet curtains. The grim voice was coming from a mummy playing a keyboard. Her bass player was a cheetah unicorn and the drummer had tattooed sleeves of what I couldn't make out. Mariella ordered us two more Jack and Cokes and danced. I lit a cigarette. The band called themselves Lady Baby Miss and The Tigerman. The mummy had a similar haunting dream voice as Shilpa Ray. Their set was smooth and dark with only a touch of frills (the cheetah-unicorn played a melodica for one song). Their hazy sound was neatly packaged with simple drum beats and trodding bass. Mars danced in her golden glitter while I sipped my drink happy that our ears led us to a place that was just right.Lady Baby Miss & The Tigerman from margaret bateman on Vimeo.