Ferdinand Alberti will be visiting New Orleans soon. For those of you who haven't met Ferdi, he is my publicist, a friend, a colleague, and a downright intriguing fellow.

Ferdinand is from Budapest, Hungary where he studied both music and economics at Cornivus University of Budapest and the Franz Liszt Academy of Music. He soon became the most decorated bassoonist in all of Hungary, mastering a plethora of styles from Alt-Prog Glitch Rock to Avant-Garde/Semi-Post-Modern Waltz-Bop.

Two years after graduating and working as a freelance bassoonist in downtown Budapest, Ferdi moved to Calgary, Alberta to work as both a financial consultant for Canadian Pacific Railway and a reserve bassoonist for the Calgary Philharmonic Orchestra. Ferdi enjoyed the challenge of juggling two very dissimilar career paths as well as an unrestrained social life. He acquired the nickname "Burnie" for his tendency to work all day, party all night, and always show up early the next day (think: 'burn' the candle on both ends).

Ferdi would arrive bright-eyed and bushy-tailed at 8:00 AM at Canadian Pacific Railway and listen to all of the executives' concerns. By noon, Ferdi would give a presentation offering convincing solutions and outlining specific paths of action to achieve a proactive financial paradigm shift within the company, increase synergy to produce greater disruptive innovation, and effectively collaborate expectations. Ferdi would then head to afternoon rehearsal with the CPO where he would incur a certain respectful resentment from the other double-reeders, as his skills were clearly unrivaled. Ferdi chose to maintain the roll of "reserve" or "alternate" bassoonist, as the hours were shorter and the commitment not as complete. This enabled him not only to keep his morning corporate job but also to maintain his debaucherous social life.

The (In)Famous Night Life of Ferdinand Alberti

For Ferdinand, the day of the week held little value. A Tuesday night is a Friday night is a Monday night. There was little routine to what Ferdi did during those nocturnal excursions. He had no regular watering holes, no preference for this bar or that venue, and most notably, no regard for local alcohol laws or restrictions. And his festive techniques were delightfully innovative, to say the least. He would pay off security guards at museums, churches, and libraries to hold raves, shindigs, shebangs, wingdings, and box socials within their confines. He would hire clowns, monkeys, sloths, beatboxers, magicians, acrobats, and griots. On one Autumn Wednesday night, he randomly selected an acquaintance and had him followed around by a group of hired background singers who would melodically repeat the last few words of every statement uttered by the victim. Calgary hadn't previously been known as a 24-hour any-day-of-the-week party town until news of Ferdi's wild weeknight ragers spread. In fact, Ferdinand may be single-handedly responsible for the renaissance of the weeknight drinking culture in Calgary, Alberta.

Epiphany

One drunken, humid summer Thursday night at a laser tag facility on the outskirts of Calgary, Ferdi stepped out for some fresh air. He walked aimlessly but purposefully uphill, as was his strange tendency at the time. He continued for hours and eventually arrived at the foot of the Canadian Rockies. He claims to have then seen a floating orb of light beckoning him with gentle song and comforting warmth to proceed into the mountains. He followed the orb, with its cherubic harp glissandos and effervescent uterine heat, up for a couple miles when it suddenly disappeared behind a tree and extinguished its light. Soon after, a jungle lion emerged from behind the tree, yet Ferdi remained unalarmed by his presence. Even as the lion approached, Ferdi felt no fear. On the contrary, Ferdi felt increasingly calm and reassured the closer the lion's approach.

There comes a time in every man's life when he must choose between convenience and audacity. Ego or Id, Brains or Balls, Salad or Steak. This was not that time for Ferdinand. The easiest decision of his life was to approach this lion with open arms, warmly. As warm as a mother's womb. So warm it warmingly suggested warmness to an otherwise warmless warmth generator.

So, Ferdi gave the jungle cat a hug--a big bear-like hug. Firm but gentle (as they say), confident yet compassionate, both tried AND true.

This feral cat reciprocated the maneuver. A non-sexual display of interspecial affection ensued, brief as it were. "Ferdinand, spirit warrior," the lion spoke. "The light ever shines bright in you. You must spread your corporal illumination internationally, so that all peoples of the world may absorb it and benefit from its glow. " With that, Ferdi released his embrace, stepped back a few paces, and fell to his knees. He cursed the heavens, blamed the gods, and impugned the elements.

"Why, cruel fate, must you lay so heavy a burden upon these tired shoulders? Curse this bioluminescence and the Herculean task it implies."

It was then that a bright green light grew intensely from Ferdinand's abdomen and burst out from all of Ferdinand's orifices. Yes, even the buttonhole. Ferdi began to rise up in to the air, several feet above the neighboring trees.

"I accept my fate! I shall spread to all mankind this viridescent light which emanates from deep within my bowels!" Ferdinand screamed as it reverberated through the mountains. He descended gently to the ground and was given one last directive from the loin.

"You must take a southerly trip, to the Sodom and Gomorra of the Mississip. Seek the velvet lantern before the next full moon. You must make haste, for it cometh soon. To the land of food, friends, and concert halls; pack plenty of baby powder, for your ass and balls. You will find a man deep down Lousiana, who makes music songs on his electronic pian'a."

These events inspired Ferdinand to quit his jobs and move temporarily to New Orleans, where he and I met one hazy Thursday night under a flickering streetlight. I was busking for change, playing songs on my melodica--such songs as A Night in Marakesh by Curtis "For Here or To-Go" Thomlinson, Monday Masquerade by Cantaway "Philipshead" Butterton, and Don't Pull My Chain by Hank "Ankleweight" Johnson. I simply said Hello to Ferdi, a stranger to me at the time, as he passed by. He stopped suddenly upon hearing my voice. He started rambling like a derelict about my voice resembling that of a lion--a jungle loin from the Canadian Rockies, no less. He explained that it was through me that he shall start his journey of spreading green-colored light, which dwells within him, to all of mankind. Confused, I offered him the job as my publicist instead…and the rest is history.

It has been several months since I last saw Ferdi, but he intends to come back here to New Orleans this week. I'm not sure which day he arrives. But, if you feel a cold northerly wind inexplicably hit your face in the midst of the blistering New Orleanian summer, it just may be the harbinger of one Ferdinand Alberti--publicist, colleague, friend, spirit warrior.

Drew Meez on the Keys

Ferdi is coming back to New Orleans!

The (In)Famous Night Life of Ferdinand Alberti

Epiphany