Alex McMurray

Alex McMurray is the singer/songwriter soul of New Orleans. Proof is in the love he was showered with when he returned from a sojourn.

First, he left us for a year-long stint in Japan and returned to a welcome home party at The Circle Bar. Next, he spent all of last month in New York City playing in French dives and having surgery on his lungs for an undisclosed illness.

When I see you again I’ll be walking

When our girls are grown I will be here

I’ll walk through the door on a Sunday morn

Will I see you in some foreign field?

In the morning I will hear you laughing

And the guns will seem nothing more than a dream

When I see you again will you be waiting

To cover me in gentle kisses

The tears will have stung, but still we’ll be young

When I see you again

Under the stars when the night is clear

My heart will always be near

Up on the line you know I’ll miss you

In my sleep I’ll turn to kiss you

I promise that I won’t be long

If you promise me that you’ll be strong, dear

And push from your heart all of your fears

Will I see flowers on the table

And all the things as I have known them

Don’t you see you or I simply cannot die

Until I see you again

McMurray says that Banjaxed, the title of his first solo album, is Irish slang for being “frustrated or stymied via a fuckup, usually involving booze.”

McMurray admits that Banjaxed is a “little bit dreary,” and, at times, it is. “Effortless Binge” is standard Alex McMurray fare, but like most of his solo album, it is a bit more vulnerable, both lyrically and musically, than his previous efforts. I typically shy away from songs that include holidays/neighborhoods/themes that are exclusive to New Orleans, but McMurray’s “The Day After Mardi Gras Day” is the most accurate description of the empty feeling that creeps in immediately following Fat Tuesday I’ve ever heard.

When metaphysical Elizabethan poet John Donne wrote "no man is an island, entire of itself," he was referring to the collective plight of mankind and the certainty of death. Now, when Royal Fingerbowl singer/songwriter/guitarist Alex McMurray howls "No man is an island/On the other hand, I'm an island," he's referring to the lonely, sordid circles outside civilization which transcend such lofty clich�s.

These "Bad Apples" orbit the Faubourg Marigny scene-the fringe of the French Quarter-where classic New Orleans sounds and youthful invention mix in a mumbo gumbo of funk, jazz, R&B and blues. It was there in 1995 that Red Bank, N.J., carpetbagger McMurray fibbed (claiming he had a band when, in fact, he didn't) in order to land a gig at a sketchy Thai dive called the Dragon's Den. Things fell into place, and with a little help from drummer Kevin O'Day and bassist Andrew Wolf, the...

Okay, I'm going to write a review of the latest Royal Fingerbowl album without mentioning Tom Waits.

Okay, I can't.

Yes, Royal Fingerbowl sound like Tom Waits. Particularly the Tom Waits of the "Heartattack and Vine" period. The vocals are scratchy, the band is scruffy, the lyrics are triumphantly low-rent. "Happy Birthday, Sabo!!" Royal Fingerbowl's debut of a few years back, was played a lot for guests of Casa de Hoffman, and everyone wanted to know where I scored those unreleased Waits tapes. It was a great album, filled with faux-schmaltzy ballads (like the one that goes "Oh, I wish I was in old Manahawkin', on that train bridge walkin', over to yooooooooooou") and goofy comedy ("A Month of Sundays," dedicated to a youngster's summer break replete with references to "snots.")

Now we've got their follow-up. Does it survive the sophomore jinx? Well, not really. But that may just...

Check it.

With just one inexpensive demo tape, Royal Fingerbowl, a trio from New Orleans, attracted the attention of a New York record company. They've been hailed as one of the best bands to come out of New Orleans since the early-'90s emergence of Better Than Ezra...

All bands like to claim their sound is totally unique, but few actually achieve true originality. The New Orleans-based rock trio Royal Fingerbowl--who warm up for Little Feat Thursday, Feb. 5, at 8 p.m., at Le Moyne Manor--comes pretty damn close, however, even while wearing its influences proudly on its collective sleeve. The band's debut CD Happy Birthday, Sabo! (TVT Records) boasts a baker's dozen dark tracks ranging from the straight swing of "A Fistful of Love" to the sad waltz of "Ozona, TX" to the bold blues of "My Money."

Fingerbowl owes its off-kilter artistry to charismatic guitarist and songwriter Alex McMurray, although the Royal rhythm boys--bassist Andrew Wolf and drummer Kevin O'Day--contribute at every turn as well. They embellish McMurray's twisted vision with quirky stop times and unexpected tempos, as in the polka-esque "Munchentown."

Critics across the country...

The graveled voice and equally dirty guitar work of Alex McMurray puts grit into this pawn shop fingerbowl. Several different horns, organ and accordion, mostly...

McMurray, a New Jersey native and 13-year resident of the Crescent City, may come off as a boozy, degenerate goofball, the very definition of a class clown gone dissolute, a cut-up given to nonstop drinking and smoking as he crawls his way across the nightscape.

But that might not explain the resonance of the quirky cast of characters he's created, or the musical appeal of the eclectic settings given to his collection of story songs, given life by a singer variously reminiscent of Tom Waits and Louis Armstrong. McMurray wields a mean Gibson ES 335, too.