Art Neville. Poppa Funk. The Original Uptown Ruler. Artie (pronounced “R.T.”) as his friends and family called him, has taken his final bow. I knew the day would come when we’d have to bid this amazing gentleman farewell and I relished every second I was blessed to spend in his presence. The cycle of life continues to call so many of New Orleans’ musical architects back to their Creator and Poppa Funk has now joined the ranks as one of New Orleans’ most powerful ancestors. Free from the aches and pains of old age. 

    I write this from a friend’s couch in Denver, many miles away from my current home in the 13th Ward of Uptown New Orleans, just a few blocks from where the Nevilles lived. I have wonderful friends here in Colorado who always make me feel at home, but no matter how much they appreciate his music, none of them can really understand what this loss is like for us Crescent City locals. On the right day, the whole city of New Orleans feels like a family. With musicians its even more so and that spirit diffuses to all of us. Art Neville was undisputedly the patriarch of this community which we all celebrate. Though I wasn’t blessed with a close personal friendship with the man, I saw him play and brushed shoulders with him so many times that he still felt like family to me in a way. His title of “Poppa Funk” was so fitting because thats truly what we saw him as. When I’d stand in the audience at Tipitina’s and see him beaming that big, beautiful smile from his Hammond B3 bench as we danced to his songs, it felt like we were all his children. In many ways we were. Thats just the depth of kindness Poppa Funk treated his fellow human beings with. He could sense the love coming out of people and always gave it back tenfold. He did that all over the world, but even more in his hometown. You could feel it every time he stepped onstage and when he came off it. 

    I’ve heard that Art Neville was not only an accomplished musician in his early teens but also the strongest, toughest boxer in the Calliope Projects. Aaron Neville has said that when he was a kid if anybody ever tried to pick on him he’d just say “if you mess with me I’ll go get Arrr-tiee!” That was apparently all it took to thwart bullies in the Calliope back in those days. Art Neville protected his music and his beliefs in the same way. His strength. His courage. His soulfulness. His love. It always prevailed through the many tribulations one faces in the music industry, in the world in general and as a man of color who lived through some treacherous times in our nation’s history. But nothing could kill his spirit. Especially not death, as we see by the impact he left on all of us. Every time I saw him play I knew I was seeing a living piece of American history and took each performance as a blessing. I was right. 

    I live just a few blocks from Valence St. Where Art resided until his final breath. I walk down Valence regularly and I think of Poppa Funk every time I do. Mutual friends have pointed out his house to me over the years but I can’t remember which one it is and I don’t need to. Just knowing I’m on the same street as him makes my day seem just a little bit cooler. No matter how far around the world Poppa Funk travelled he always brought a piece of the 13th Ward with him. It’ll never be quite the same without him.

    My first time seeing Art perform was a benefit concert at Tipitina’s in 2003 with Buddy Guy and Dr. John. It was super sold out so I crawled through a hole in the fence and past the dumpsters to sneak in. I got busted but out of kindness the Tip’s staff member let me stay. That show was life-changing. As were so many I saw Art play. After that I tried to make every one of his gigs that I could. I was beyond thrilled in 2005 when Jazzfest announced an original Meters reunion on the lineup. I stood in the same spot for 6 hours the day they played without leaving for food, drinks or a bathroom just so I’d have a proper vantage point. Snooks Eaglin and Buddy Guy played before them… What a day! Later that summer Katrina hit and I found myself in San Francisco for a few months. While out there The Meters announced 2 nights at the Fillmore, one of my favorite rooms to enjoy music in. I immediately secured tickets for both and those shows still are some of my favorites I’ve ever attended. They played “Africa” but changed the lyrics, when they sang “take me back to the motherland” they shouted “New Or-leans!” I turned around and Jon Cleary was standing right behind me rocking out. “Hey, Jon! You moving back?” I asked and he just laughed as he told me “Of course!” They went on to encore with “Big Chief” and I believe “All On A Mardi Gras Day.” Art was singing his heart out and burning up the keys. Someone in the crowd handed George Porter a parasol and he second lined across the stage with it. If there had been any doubts at all in my mind about whether or not I was going to return to the city of New Orleans before that, they all melted away that night at the Fillmore as my musical heroes took me to church. 

    One time at Voodoo Fest in 2006 the Meters played on what in those days was the WWOZ stage. This was one of the first big festivals after the storm. The original Meters had just reunited for the first time in a few years that previous Jazzfest and it was a big deal that they were playing Voodoo.  Scott Borne and I had helped with a live broadcast earlier that morning. Choosing the early shift so that we could get off in time to see the Meters. We ascended to side stage where we’d been coming and going for most of the day. But security decided to tighten the reigns for the Meters set. However, it was the Meters and we weren’t going quietly into the night. They’d ask us to leave one area and we’d politely go then relocate to another one, trying to stay as close as we could to our favorite group. It usually took security about 3 or 4 songs to figure it out. We’d soak in the glory of the world’s greatest funk band up close and personal until we got kicked out then repeat. Finally after the 5th time they asked we finally surrendered and moved to the crowd for the final few songs. Afterwords I was standing outside the hospitality tent as Poppa Funk cruised by in a golf cart and waved. Next thing I know its stuck in the mud and Art requests assistance as the driver is yelling about how they’re trying to get Art over to the main stage to sit in with the Red Hot Chili Peppers. I yelled “I got ya, Art!” As I chucked a fresh double whiskey drink on to the ground (it was open bar… but still!) and rushed over as quick as I could. “Don’t worry, Poppa Funk! I’ll get you out!” I focused all my strength like some drunken hulk and pushed hard as I could. The golf cart rolled out of the puddle onto solid ground. Art turned around and said “Thanks, bruh!” And flashed me a Peace Sign as he rolled out. I saw him onstage with the Chili Peppers 10 minutes later and I of course had a fresh whiskey drink in hand and the satisfaction of having helped my hero. 

    10 years later I had the honor of announcing him to the stage with the Funky Meters. I can’t remember what all I said on the mic but it was my usual exaltation of all things Art Neville and George Porter Jr. Art was older and his health was declining. It wasn’t too long after this (maybe a year or so) that he retired from performing all together. I knew this would likely be the last time I’d personally get to be that close to him. He was in a wheel chair and I made sure he had ample room to get on/off the stage ramp with it. He thanked me as he rolled by and held out his hand, I shook it, looked into his eyes and told him I loved him. Now that might’ve creeped out some artists, but Ar-tie could tell that I meant it as he looked me in the eyes and smiled that big, beautiful smile that was so genuinely him. His eyes beamed that love right back to me just like they did when he’d see you dancing to his music in the crowd. But this time he meant it just for me and it warmed my soul. Still does.

    Most of my interactions over the years with him were pretty brief for I never wanted to hold him up in any way. Just seeing him smile and wave as he walked by was always enough to make my night. The few words I said were usually a variety of exaltations and “thank you’s” for the music he’d blessed us with that night and forever. He always thanked me in return. He was so gracious to his fans. Broadcasting that love right back with even more soul and power. That always came out in his music. Truly some of the most wonderful art that the world has ever heard. When he opened his mouth it was like the voice of God. Deep, full and just oozing with soul. He could’ve tripped and fell on a B3 organ and it still would’ve sounded like gold. That’s how amazing of a talent he was. Art Neville represented New Orleans in the best way possible and personified what music is meant to do: Heal people, bring them together, help them celebrate their joy while rising above their tribulations. He never hesitated to call out injustices with his songs and always stood up for what was right. Art Neville faced plenty of hardships in his 81 years but never let it steal his light. That always came out when he performed. Thats why his music spoke to so many. From the working people of New Orleans to the most famous of rockstars. His funk was universal. 

    Art had been plagued by some serious health issues in his later years. He persevered through as much of it as he could, literally playing his heart out until his body would just no longer let him. I’m glad he doesn’t have to endure any more pain. Legends never die in New Orleans, they just march on. Art Neville lived the longest, fullest life he could have imagined and I’m grateful that it ended where it all began… Right there on Valence Street. 

-Stuart “Soul Stu” Raper

July 2019