Yesterday morning, just after 7:30 a.m., I cycled through bright sunshine and metal barriers, headed to backyard of Bonita Lieber and Chris Koehler, lead organizers of the Banana Bike Brigade and throwers of a righteous Mardi Gras house party. Just a couple hundred feet from the epicenter of shenanigans at 12th and Russell, their patio launching pad for the Banana Bike Brigade is a reflection of what’s weird and wonderful about public events when taken seriously, with their ancient bikes decorated in all manner of fabricated plastic and paper mache, foam and fur.
This was the third year I got to accompany them for the parade, a year removed from the Absolute Ultimate Pinnacle: riding in last year’s Birds & Bees bicycle armada, which netted the group first place among all floats. This year, on foot, I wandered with a group dressed up as jockeys and riding an assortment of animals including horses, alligators, snails and pigs. The group was channeling The Phreakness, their wrinkle on the 2016 Mardi Gras Grand Parade theme of sports; their retrofitted bikes taking second place overall.
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The prep for the day’s ride went according to past year’s, with participants rushing through final fix-its to their bikes and outfits, getting on the road to the staging ground south of Busch Stadium at roughly quarter-past nine. And though the parade began at 11 a.m., the BBB’s position at #42 meant that there was almost a three-hour stay in the staging grounds; with bikes outfitted with all kinds of side pockets, drinks were had and your faithful reporter was four shots in before 10 a.m.; by noon’s ride/walk, the drink count was well… over. (To that degree, I took part in Mardi Gras with the gusto of the 24-year-old community college student from Quincy who’s going to lose his friends and wind up phoneless and broke in some poor soul’s backyard dog pen in nearby Benton Park. But I digress…)
Walking in the streets after in the event, though, brought a different sensation than the sugar rush of love that you feel traipsing down Seventh Street. You do see all the young dudes pissing in gangways. You do see their GFs bumper-car-walking their way down Allen. You do hear Top 40 (or more aptly TOP FORTY!!!) blasting from those every-intersection sound systems, which look like that battle wagon from Mad Max: Fury Road. Once Soulard Mardi Gras stretches into the afternoon, the charms dissipate and the instincts of Survivor: Soulard Island kick in. At those moments, it’s time to find those friendly house parties, or simply aim west and out of the district, content to let that phase of the day play out as it does every year in all the glory of its too-muchness.
In reality, I act as if I’m somehow removed from the experience, though I’ve been going down to Soulard’s Mardi Gras since the ‘90s, though armed with a goodly sense of detachment. I’ve walked in the Fat Tuesday parade with the Mystic Knights, and survived the spirited Riot of ‘99. I’ve officially judged the floats (obviously a mistake in invitations was made that year) and finally saw the inner workings of Twelfth Night this winter. I can remember the days when breasts were bared, and would choose to forget my boozy ride home from the parade grounds through South Side back-alleys last year.
So I’ve been around. If it seems that I’m channeling stltoday.com uber-troll Greg Pucszek here, please know that it’s coming from a place of love. Here are seven suggestions, unasked for all, in how to create A More Perfect Mardi Gras.
One. In A More Perfect Soulard Mardi Gras, the Grand Parade would feature some doggone diversity, even if it has to be sought out. In some circles, this is dismissively called social engineering. In others, a misguided attempt at tokenism. But, friends, let’s admit that we have a problem of sameness in this parade’s human personnel. Maybe I’ve watched too much of HBO’s Treme, but my understanding of New Orleans Mardi Gras culture says that there’s something missing in our version. Adding a marching band from a historically black high school’s maybe the easy answer, but at least would be an attempt. With an event that’s known for a strong component of flavorful food, this parade’s featuring too much damned white rice (and, for that matter, pale ale).
Two. In A More Perfect Soulard Mardi Gras, floats that obviously show zero creativity in decoration are sent north on Broadway, instead of south. There, the infamous car crusher would smash their poorly-painted, sloppily concepted, lazily prepped trailer beds into tin cubes shipped off to Chinese bead factories. Riders would get off and watch the remaining floats with rest of the plebes, drowning their sorrows in those oversized hurricane sippy-cups. Seriously, a legit chunk of the floats look like they were decorated by the eighth-graders who forgot to build their volcanoes until the night before the science fair; the ones whose parents decide to not help. Alternately, the laziest floats could be set on fire by the Cassilly Crew, adding an eye-pleasing and emotionally-satisfying splash of color to the parade grounds.
Three. In A More Perfect Soulard Mardi Gras, the soundtrack would reflect the reality of Soulard. In this alterna-world, it’d be the Bottoms-Up Blues Gang or Tom Hall or Inner City Blues Band rocking those intersection stages, with volume turned up to 11, instead of DJ Parkway West blasting the collected hits of Demi Lovato at face-melting volume. Seriously, even if the city’s music bedrocks are forced to play “Iko Iko” and “Mustang Sally” on a loop, at least they’d get the paycheck. Speaking of which…
Four. In A More Perfect Soulard Mardi Gras, people would buy their liquid and solid foods from the bars that are linchpins of the community 24/7/365, instead of at plywood tents set up just for the event. One bar owner in the zone suggested that the event used to bring in $50-60,000 on Grand Parade day alone, with added thousands for the dog parade and Fat Tuesday. These days, the Grand Parade brings in half of that, but still requires you to staff up for a massive invasion for a minor skirmish’s worth of profits. Seriously, if you’re going anyway, spend your dough on people doing it in the district every day.
Five. In A More Perfect Soulard Mardi Gras, everything wouldn’t take place in Soulard. Wednesday, in this same space, we’ll highlight the First Annual Cherokee Street Mardi Gras, which is putting an emphasis on human feet, or contraptions powered by human feet. A human-scaled Mardi Gras provides something that the MEGA-sized floats can’t. You can’t not compare Mardi Gras here to Mardi Gras in New Orleans; it’s just not possible. And down south, people are participants as much as spectators. Maybe we lack the tradition of the Mardi Gras Indians, but we could find our own space with a half-dozen, smaller, human-scaled parades or fests all around the City, easing congestion in the main zone and allowing people, again, a more human-sized, participatory vibe.
Six. In a More Perfect Soulard Mardi Gras, Fat Tuesday would be more than just a footnote. And, apparently, this is actually happening, as there’s an old-fashioned second line and foot parade taking place on Tuesday night, from 6 to 7 p.m., with this neighborhood stroll moving from Nadine’s at the top of Soulard on down to Hammerstone’s. People in the street, together, being traditional = a proper celebration.
Seven. In a More Perfect Soulard Mardi Gras, street photographers wouldn’t wander around the party zone snapping shots of passed-out coeds and intersections of nonsense. Ideally, they’d be celebrating creativity in myriad forms. This is something that can’t be legislated and simply has to bubble up from The People. The Mystic Knights of the Purple Haze get it right. Despite their dogged (and not entirely undeserved) reputation for cockiness when it comes to float excellence, they’ve earned their rep as the bar-setters of the Grand Parade. This year, they adopted “Wrestling at the Chase” as their float theme, and here’s what sets them apart. Details like this: they had a “camera operator,” rolling around on a tripod, wearing a vintage Channel 11 jacket, sporting a prop that featured an actual image from “Wrestling at the Chase” on its monitor. It was a singularly-spectacular bit of prop-building, a master-stroke, a “I’m so St. Louis,” meme-ready bit of brilliance. A million more like that, and this Mardi Gras moves from drunky to divine.
See you at Nadine’s on Tuesday at 6. It’ll be the real deal stuff.
