Carrying Zydeco
Guyland Leday and Goldman Thibodeaux
Represent Two Generations of Zydeco Musicians
September 3, 2009
by Cody Daigle
Courtesy of The Advertiser
“What is history? An echo of the past in the future; a reflex from the future on the past.”
— Victor Hugo
Standing side by side, they’re an unlikely pair. One is a tall, broad-shouldered man on the late side of his seventies in a purple button-down shirt and a white cowboy hat. The other is a slight boy of 11, still in his school uniform.
Slung over each of their shoulders is an accordion, and despite the contradictions in their appearance, something startling happens when they each begin to play. These two men, on opposite sides of their life’s journey, meld into one, trading notes, catching fragments of a shared melody, fleshing out a song that sounds as old as the instruments they play — two halves of a whole.
And the song they’re playing is a zydeco song.
The Southwest Louisiana Zydeco Festival, which turns 27 this year, celebrates the music of one of Louisiana’s richest cultural traditions. When the festival began 27 years ago, it was a simple creation: a flatbed truck refashioned into a stage sitting in the center of a large open field in Plaisance, a community just north of Opelousas. The flatbed truck provided a platform for a lineup of old-time zydeco musicians, and the festival’s original impulse was one of resuscitation.
“The original mission of the Zydeco Festival was to revive the culture through the music,” said Lena Charles, the Zydeco Festival director and president of the Southern Development Foundation, which presents the festival. “It’s a proud culture, and in the time the festival has been around, we think it’s been successful in its original mission.”
Charles isn’t exaggerating. Zydeco music is more than just a south Louisiana phenomenon. The music has spread to a national and international audience, and its once localized appeal has reached a wide audience. The music is also now recognized in its own Grammy category (a recognition that was won after seven years of lobbying by local musicians and music professionals), a category it shares with its musical sister, Cajun music.
“People ask me what’s the difference between Cajun music and zydeco music,’ Thibodeaux said. “Because, really, it’s the same song, the same melody. In zydeco, in Creole, there’s just a touch of the Blues. Just a touch.”
Mr. Goldman Thibodeaux
The music that once needed to be celebrated from the perch of a flatbed truck in an open field has grown into a respected musical commodity, and with that evolution has come a new generation of musicians investing their energies and talents in the sound. These younger musicians are pushing the sound into new territory and introducing it to a whole new generation of listeners, and it’s that transition, Charles said, that the Zydeco Festival is celebrating this year.
“We see our mission now as preserving the old culture as the new generation comes in,” Charles said. “Being the keeper of the old stories, making sure the new generation knows and preserves the old.”
When he sits down at the table for his interview, Goldman Thibodeaux adjusts his white cowboy hat and situates himself deep in his chair. His wife, Theresa, sits down with him, but she clarifies immediately that she doesn’t want to be in any pictures. Over the course of the interview, the two answer as one, finishing each other’s sentences and occasionally correcting a date or a name when the situation calls.
Thibodeaux is a first-generation zydeco musician, and as soon as he begins speaking, his intensely personal connection to the music comes blazing through.
“People ask me what’s the difference between Cajun music and zydeco music,’ Thibodeaux said. “Because, really, it’s the same song, the same melody. In zydeco, in Creole, there’s just a touch of the Blues. Just a touch.”
As Goldman recounts his lifelong connection to zydeco music, that touch of the Blues can be felt as he traces the path zydeco music has cut through his life.
His first band experience came in 1946, forming the Lawtell Playboys with fellow friends and musicians Calvin Carrier and Delton Broussard. Back then, Thibodeaux played the washboard and contributed vocals to the band’s output. He and Theresa criss-cross over memories of the time, including a brief anecdote about fashioning a customized scrubboard that he could play with both hands comfortably.
And casually, with a trace of mournfulness in his voice, Thibodeaux adds this about Carrier.
“The new generation, they’re our future,” Thibodeaux said. “But I hope they recognize old-timers like me. If you wait until I’m dead to send me flowers, what good does that do me?” Mr. Goldman Thibodeaux
“He didn’t want to give up playing,” Thibodeaux said. “He was playing four-hour gigs up until three weeks before he died.”
Carrier’s death from cancer — a transformative moment for Thibodeaux that solidified his commitment to music — was sealed with a promise to keep the Lawtell Playboys alive, a promise Thibodeaux has kept.
“He made me promise on a Saturday to keep the band alive,” Thibodeaux said. “He died on a Sunday morning.”
A touch of the Blues. Just a touch.
For Thibodeaux, that touch of the Blues doesn’t linger. He, without provocation, launches into an excited monologue about his experiences recording (Thibodeaux has three CDs released), and he relishes the details of each experience. Theresa adds a lot here, her excitement and pride over her husband’s music coming through.
"Misery Direct from the Heart was released in 2001,” Thibodeaux says.
“2000,” comes the gentle correction from Theresa.
“Okay, 2000. We recorded it, then, in 1999,” Thibodeaux says.
“That was his first record,” Theresa adds.
For the son of a sharecropper and the self-professed “craziest one” of his siblings, Thibodeaux’s love of zydeco music and his recent journeys in documenting it have been a rewarding third act for a man about to turn 78.
“Music, if you love what you’re doing — because you have to love what you’re doing if you’re going to do it right,” Thibodeaux said,” If you live your life right and thank the good Lord for it, you’ll get a good life in return.”
Thibodeaux says he’s done just that, living a rich life in both love and in music. But he does harbor one wish for younger generations wanting to continue the zydeco traditions.
“The new generation, they’re our future,” Thibodeaux said. “But I hope they recognize old-timers like me. If you wait until I’m dead to send me flowers, what good does that do me?”
A little hint of a smile sneaks across his face.
Part of that new generation of zydeco music is Guyland Leday, an 11-year old Opelousas resident who’s resume already is enviable by most people with musical aspirations.
“I play because I like to make people happy,” Leday said. “And make myself happy.” Guyland Leday
He’s performed at Carnegie Hall. He’s appeared on The Ellen Show. He’s been featured in a national commercial for Oscar Mayer. He’s got two albums. He’s been on Oprah.
Did we mention he’s 11?
With a remarkable resume like that, you’d expect something different from the young man who sits down at the table to talk. There’s a quiet reserve about him, a seriousness that never seems to come with kids his age, a whirring activity behind the eyes that suggests a mind constantly at work.
“I saw a picture of my great-grandfather playing the accordion, and then he came to me in a dream,” Leday says about how he started playing accordion at three years old. “He taught me how to play.”
And play he has, quickly impressing local and national audiences with his virtuoso accordion playing, all of which he picks up by ear. Leday has played shows in New Orleans, Chicago, Michigan, Tennessee and California (among others), and he shows no signs of stopping.
“I play because I like to make people happy,” Leday said. “And make myself happy.”
Leday’s trajectory in zydeco music has been a far cry from Thibodeaux’s. Already, the young musician has two recordings under his belt and he plans to continue making music into adulthood. His quick ascent reflects a world in which accessibility is easier than ever, a world where a YouTube video or a Web site can introduce a talented young artist to millions of people in seconds, a world where technology can make anyone a globally accessible commodity.
But there’s no hint of that enormity in Leday’s remarks about his music.
“It’s like a gift from God, the music is,” Leday said. “This music is just as good as R&B or hip-hop music. I want other people to learn about zydeco music. I want to bring this music to the world.”
At this point, Thibodeaux (who’s been sitting in on the interview since its beginning) asks to interrupt for a moment.
“I just want to say to Guyland, we love you,” Thibodeaux said. “You’re blessed. It makes me so happy to hear you say these things, because you’re our future. I love how you love your music.”
Leday listens to Thibodeaux and takes the compliment in with a barely noticeable nod.
When asked who his inspirations are, he mentions Lil’ Nathan and Corey Ledet.
Then, he looks over and adds, ”And Mr. Thibodeaux.”
Their dialog, which continued through a photo shoot after the interviews and a few improvised duets on accordion, is exactly the kind of dialog the zydeco festival hopes to engender here and everywhere.
This year’s festival theme, “La Musique de Zydeco Eait, Sale,” (roughly “Zydeco music is salty,”) is a nod to history, to the roots of zydeco and Creole culture among a people for whom salted meats were a pricey luxury.
“This music comes from a people that didn’t have a lot,” Charles said. “And look at us now. Zydeco music is mainstream. And the new artists are all so talented.
“Zydeco music is salty. We’ve gotten to this point, and we’re proud to be here.”
This weekend, that pride comes through in an impressive lineup of both old generation and new generation musicians, sharing the stage and continuing the conversation that started 27 years ago on the back of a flatbed truck in a field in Plaisance.
“We want to embrace the new generation and remember the original music, as well,” Charles said. “That’s what our festival is all about.”
It’s a conversation that was witnessed in miniature, between a old man and young boy, both on the accordion, both proof that history in South Louisiana is a living, breathing thing with a beat you can dance to.
Guyland Leday and Goldman Thibodeaux
Represent Two Generations of Zydeco Musicians
September 3, 2009
by Cody Daigle
Courtesy of The Advertiser
Guyland Leday, left, is only 11 years old, but he’s already released two albums and been featured in a national TV commercial and a broadcast of The Oprah Winfrey Show. Goldman Thibodeaux, right, who is about to turn 78, has been playing zydeco music since 1946, when he formed the Lawtell Playboys with Calvin Carrier and Delton Broussard. (Photo by Brad Kemp)
— Victor Hugo
Standing side by side, they’re an unlikely pair. One is a tall, broad-shouldered man on the late side of his seventies in a purple button-down shirt and a white cowboy hat. The other is a slight boy of 11, still in his school uniform.
Slung over each of their shoulders is an accordion, and despite the contradictions in their appearance, something startling happens when they each begin to play. These two men, on opposite sides of their life’s journey, meld into one, trading notes, catching fragments of a shared melody, fleshing out a song that sounds as old as the instruments they play — two halves of a whole.
And the song they’re playing is a zydeco song.
The Southwest Louisiana Zydeco Festival, which turns 27 this year, celebrates the music of one of Louisiana’s richest cultural traditions. When the festival began 27 years ago, it was a simple creation: a flatbed truck refashioned into a stage sitting in the center of a large open field in Plaisance, a community just north of Opelousas. The flatbed truck provided a platform for a lineup of old-time zydeco musicians, and the festival’s original impulse was one of resuscitation.
“The original mission of the Zydeco Festival was to revive the culture through the music,” said Lena Charles, the Zydeco Festival director and president of the Southern Development Foundation, which presents the festival. “It’s a proud culture, and in the time the festival has been around, we think it’s been successful in its original mission.”
Charles isn’t exaggerating. Zydeco music is more than just a south Louisiana phenomenon. The music has spread to a national and international audience, and its once localized appeal has reached a wide audience. The music is also now recognized in its own Grammy category (a recognition that was won after seven years of lobbying by local musicians and music professionals), a category it shares with its musical sister, Cajun music.
“People ask me what’s the difference between Cajun music and zydeco music,’ Thibodeaux said. “Because, really, it’s the same song, the same melody. In zydeco, in Creole, there’s just a touch of the Blues. Just a touch.”
Mr. Goldman Thibodeaux
The music that once needed to be celebrated from the perch of a flatbed truck in an open field has grown into a respected musical commodity, and with that evolution has come a new generation of musicians investing their energies and talents in the sound. These younger musicians are pushing the sound into new territory and introducing it to a whole new generation of listeners, and it’s that transition, Charles said, that the Zydeco Festival is celebrating this year.
“We see our mission now as preserving the old culture as the new generation comes in,” Charles said. “Being the keeper of the old stories, making sure the new generation knows and preserves the old.”
When he sits down at the table for his interview, Goldman Thibodeaux adjusts his white cowboy hat and situates himself deep in his chair. His wife, Theresa, sits down with him, but she clarifies immediately that she doesn’t want to be in any pictures. Over the course of the interview, the two answer as one, finishing each other’s sentences and occasionally correcting a date or a name when the situation calls.
Thibodeaux is a first-generation zydeco musician, and as soon as he begins speaking, his intensely personal connection to the music comes blazing through.
“People ask me what’s the difference between Cajun music and zydeco music,’ Thibodeaux said. “Because, really, it’s the same song, the same melody. In zydeco, in Creole, there’s just a touch of the Blues. Just a touch.”
As Goldman recounts his lifelong connection to zydeco music, that touch of the Blues can be felt as he traces the path zydeco music has cut through his life.
His first band experience came in 1946, forming the Lawtell Playboys with fellow friends and musicians Calvin Carrier and Delton Broussard. Back then, Thibodeaux played the washboard and contributed vocals to the band’s output. He and Theresa criss-cross over memories of the time, including a brief anecdote about fashioning a customized scrubboard that he could play with both hands comfortably.
And casually, with a trace of mournfulness in his voice, Thibodeaux adds this about Carrier.
“The new generation, they’re our future,” Thibodeaux said. “But I hope they recognize old-timers like me. If you wait until I’m dead to send me flowers, what good does that do me?” Mr. Goldman Thibodeaux
“He didn’t want to give up playing,” Thibodeaux said. “He was playing four-hour gigs up until three weeks before he died.”
Carrier’s death from cancer — a transformative moment for Thibodeaux that solidified his commitment to music — was sealed with a promise to keep the Lawtell Playboys alive, a promise Thibodeaux has kept.
“He made me promise on a Saturday to keep the band alive,” Thibodeaux said. “He died on a Sunday morning.”
A touch of the Blues. Just a touch.
For Thibodeaux, that touch of the Blues doesn’t linger. He, without provocation, launches into an excited monologue about his experiences recording (Thibodeaux has three CDs released), and he relishes the details of each experience. Theresa adds a lot here, her excitement and pride over her husband’s music coming through.
"Misery Direct from the Heart was released in 2001,” Thibodeaux says.
“2000,” comes the gentle correction from Theresa.
“Okay, 2000. We recorded it, then, in 1999,” Thibodeaux says.
“That was his first record,” Theresa adds.
For the son of a sharecropper and the self-professed “craziest one” of his siblings, Thibodeaux’s love of zydeco music and his recent journeys in documenting it have been a rewarding third act for a man about to turn 78.
“Music, if you love what you’re doing — because you have to love what you’re doing if you’re going to do it right,” Thibodeaux said,” If you live your life right and thank the good Lord for it, you’ll get a good life in return.”
Thibodeaux says he’s done just that, living a rich life in both love and in music. But he does harbor one wish for younger generations wanting to continue the zydeco traditions.
“The new generation, they’re our future,” Thibodeaux said. “But I hope they recognize old-timers like me. If you wait until I’m dead to send me flowers, what good does that do me?”
A little hint of a smile sneaks across his face.
Part of that new generation of zydeco music is Guyland Leday, an 11-year old Opelousas resident who’s resume already is enviable by most people with musical aspirations.
“I play because I like to make people happy,” Leday said. “And make myself happy.” Guyland Leday
He’s performed at Carnegie Hall. He’s appeared on The Ellen Show. He’s been featured in a national commercial for Oscar Mayer. He’s got two albums. He’s been on Oprah.
Did we mention he’s 11?
With a remarkable resume like that, you’d expect something different from the young man who sits down at the table to talk. There’s a quiet reserve about him, a seriousness that never seems to come with kids his age, a whirring activity behind the eyes that suggests a mind constantly at work.
“I saw a picture of my great-grandfather playing the accordion, and then he came to me in a dream,” Leday says about how he started playing accordion at three years old. “He taught me how to play.”
And play he has, quickly impressing local and national audiences with his virtuoso accordion playing, all of which he picks up by ear. Leday has played shows in New Orleans, Chicago, Michigan, Tennessee and California (among others), and he shows no signs of stopping.
“I play because I like to make people happy,” Leday said. “And make myself happy.”
Leday’s trajectory in zydeco music has been a far cry from Thibodeaux’s. Already, the young musician has two recordings under his belt and he plans to continue making music into adulthood. His quick ascent reflects a world in which accessibility is easier than ever, a world where a YouTube video or a Web site can introduce a talented young artist to millions of people in seconds, a world where technology can make anyone a globally accessible commodity.
But there’s no hint of that enormity in Leday’s remarks about his music.
“It’s like a gift from God, the music is,” Leday said. “This music is just as good as R&B or hip-hop music. I want other people to learn about zydeco music. I want to bring this music to the world.”
At this point, Thibodeaux (who’s been sitting in on the interview since its beginning) asks to interrupt for a moment.
“I just want to say to Guyland, we love you,” Thibodeaux said. “You’re blessed. It makes me so happy to hear you say these things, because you’re our future. I love how you love your music.”
Leday listens to Thibodeaux and takes the compliment in with a barely noticeable nod.
When asked who his inspirations are, he mentions Lil’ Nathan and Corey Ledet.
Then, he looks over and adds, ”And Mr. Thibodeaux.”
Their dialog, which continued through a photo shoot after the interviews and a few improvised duets on accordion, is exactly the kind of dialog the zydeco festival hopes to engender here and everywhere.
This year’s festival theme, “La Musique de Zydeco Eait, Sale,” (roughly “Zydeco music is salty,”) is a nod to history, to the roots of zydeco and Creole culture among a people for whom salted meats were a pricey luxury.
“This music comes from a people that didn’t have a lot,” Charles said. “And look at us now. Zydeco music is mainstream. And the new artists are all so talented.
“Zydeco music is salty. We’ve gotten to this point, and we’re proud to be here.”
This weekend, that pride comes through in an impressive lineup of both old generation and new generation musicians, sharing the stage and continuing the conversation that started 27 years ago on the back of a flatbed truck in a field in Plaisance.
“We want to embrace the new generation and remember the original music, as well,” Charles said. “That’s what our festival is all about.”
It’s a conversation that was witnessed in miniature, between a old man and young boy, both on the accordion, both proof that history in South Louisiana is a living, breathing thing with a beat you can dance to.
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