Art Review: New Orleans Museum of Art

‘Laissez les bon temps rouler,” I hummed as my plane landed in New Orleans. I found good times in New Orleans in my own egghead, teetotaling, church-mouse way, mostly going to museums. I think the Big Easy must have sighed, if not sobbed, in disappointment. Little raw material in me. Jazz is good, but Chopin’s better, and I go to bed early. My clubbing days are not only gone but never happened.

Each day I was out and about by seven, 7 a.m. that is, having the French Quarter to myself, except for the small army hosing the streets and sidewalks from the last night’s debauch. I think the French Quarter is charming, the wrought-iron balconies fabulous, and I saw it all at its freshest. Oh, yes, and then there’s the Voodoo Museum. Irresistible. As Methodist as I am, I keep a list of people who’ve done me dirt – it’s so long and varied that it’s got its own Excel spreadsheet. Voodoo, I discovered, chagrined, in New Orleans, is a religion, and a religion of peace. Where have I heard that before? And “a religion of peace” is not my idea of voodoo.

About the Author

Brian T. Allen

Brian T. Allen is National Review’s art critic.

‘Laissez les bon temps rouler,” I hummed as my plane landed in New Orleans. I found good times in New Orleans in my own egghead, teetotaling, church-mouse way, mostly going to museums. I think the Big Easy must have sighed, if not sobbed, in disappointment. Little raw material in me. Jazz is good, but Chopin’s better, and I go to bed early. My clubbing days are not only gone but never happened.

Each day I was out and about by seven, 7 a.m. that is, having the French Quarter to myself, except for the small army hosing the streets and sidewalks from the last night’s debauch. I think the French Quarter is charming, the wrought-iron balconies fabulous, and I saw it all at its freshest. Oh, yes, and then there’s the Voodoo Museum. Irresistible. As Methodist as I am, I keep a list of people who’ve done me dirt – it’s so long and varied that it’s got its own Excel spreadsheet. Voodoo, I discovered, chagrined, in New Orleans, is a religion, and a religion of peace. Where have I heard that before? And “a religion of peace” is not my idea of voodoo.