Sundays are the big day in Central City in the Spring. Second lines are rolling. The are boys are out cruising in packs of tricked out cars with switchblade doors and massive rims, or motorcycles and four-wheelers, or (curiously) horses. The ladies are out strolling, dressed to impress. Back-of-the truck vendors are hard at work, selling grilled sausages and cold Heinekens. (Some of the more ambitious enterprises even offer a range of mixed drinks, with the choices splayed across the roof of the truck cab.) The whole neighborhood is out—see-and-be-seen.
This past Sunday, our friend Jorin's club, the Revolution, second lined. The weather was perfect. The crowd was huge. The outfits were glorious. I tried to catch some pictures. (Though most of the photos are of the surrounding scene, less of the second liners themselves. The crowds were so thick—and I was encumbered by a sleepy four-year-old perched on my shoulders):
Sharp-dressed youngsters ahead of the second line: the little prep in the foreground, the two young second liners in the back.
It was packed. This was as close as I got to the second liners. (Peach and baby blue—sharp. Note the three-toned hats.)
The Rebirth Brass Band, immediately behind the second liners. Another band headed the procession. (A two-band second line is a big production. The whole thing was a big production. At one point, one of the second liners threw fistfuls of dollars into the crowd.)
Traveling in packs, behind and around the second line.
Showing his best trick for the camera.
I like the surreality of this shot—men casually perched on horses in front of the (recently rebuilt) Melpomene projects in the heart of the city—the weird mix of old and new and urban and other.