Soul Rebels Brass Band have a story. And fuck, the white middle classes who will be fawning over this lot as they make their way around Europe, love a tale of triumph over adversity. Like the blues singers who went blind and lost all their fingers, only to grow more fingers, which they also lost, who made amazing dustbowl tales of misery, SRBB have extreme discomfort and tragedy backing them up.

Basically, all you need to know is that they’re from New Orleans and were punched straight in the gut by The Flood, left to whistle by a slow reacting government and using music to drag them out of one kind of funk and straight into another.

However, to focus on this doesn’t really do the Soul Rebels justice. It wouldn’t matter one jot if these guys just happened to be out of town while misery knocked on the door because, when they strike up their invigorating blend of N’Orleans jazz, Lee Dorsey funk and shameless enthusiasm for a good time, you’re not exactly wringing your hands and thinking of tough times.

Of course, it is pretty trite to sweep the fall out of Hurricane Katrina away like it never happened, but it seems pretty ridiculous to focus on it when the music this outrageously good band make stands up all by itself.

So what’s the deal?

Well, imagine one of those great New Orleans marching bands. You’ve seen those on the TV right? Maybe you’re lucky enough to have seen one in the flesh. Fact is, one of the finest sights in the known universe is New Orleans jazz in full-flow. New Orleans is the forefather of modern music and pretty much invented that ability to be tight-as-a-gnat’s-ass-but-still-loose-as-hell thing that makes your hip drop and your finger snap.

If it wasn’t for the music of ‘the most Northern Caribbean town’, we’d all be stood motionless nodding at violin solos. Blecch.

So where do the Soul Rebels Brass Band fit into all this? Well, they’ve clearly learned everything there is to know about this funky-ass trad. jazz… but mercifully, they’ve decided to update it and interpret it rather than making a mere facsimilie of a music that, in fairness, doesn’t reach our shores nearly enough.

By taking huge slabs of all that’s good about New Orleans music – that hit of brass that pins you to the back of the venue, coupled with a funk that makes you fight the tide and back to the stage to dance like a goon – the Soul Rebels marry their horn section with old-skool rap, cheeky cover-versions (how about a tops-off party mash-up of Eurythmics ‘Sweet Dreams’ and Rockwell’s ‘Somebody’s Watching Me’ for a closer?) which would make The Roots die with envy.

Because it’s that earthy groove they have which is just so irresistible. They’re not only channelling music from a hundred years ago, but the ghost of The Meters and Dr John sits in the seat, with nods to Doug E. Fresh and Grandmaster Flash and those great horn breaks utilised by Eric B & Rakim.

Yet, as good as these little nods to pop-culture are, the really money lies in the original material. The standout track from their set, from their forthcoming LP (out September 13th as the group liked to holler repeatedly), potentially called ‘I Made It’, saw the skewed funk RnB of Dudley Perkins and the hookiness of ’70s Stevie when he wasn’t horsing around making insipid ballads.

And like all goodtime jazz, this wasn’t an exercise in noodling away on instruments, determined to show off how many notes you can cram into half-a-second (that said, these guys can really fuckin’ blow), rather, it was all about giving the audience a big friendly slap across the chop with those huge brass stabs, before breaking you down into a gibbering wreck… and before you know it, they have the whole room indulging in a dance routine, sliding across the floor, left to right.

The venue itself – one of the coolest venues in the country right now – went from a stance of ‘go on, impress us then’, to wringing with sweat and dancing bodies… it seems that, should they get their arses in gear, the Soul Rebels could just about take over the world, blasting people out of office from the sousaphone, leaving everyone else to march along and have an absolute ball.

If you can imagine the impact Ozomatli had on crowds, double it, square it and you’re in the ballpark of how much fun SRBB are to see. And they’ll be in London and Scotland for the next week (see dates here) and you’re strongly advised to go see them because, basically, they’ll tear your head clean-off and leave your torso twitching on the ground.

There’s no better band on the circuit right now. You’ve been warned.

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Awesome or Off-Putting is a weekly delve into cryptozoology, ufology, aliens, medical marvels, scientific wonders, secret societies, government conspiracies, cults, ghosts, EVPs, myths, ancient artifacts, religion, strange facts, odd sightings or just the plain unexplainable.

Just like Jack the Ripper terrorised London in late 1888, another serial killer had people terrified to be alone in their New Orleans homes. He left a trail of dead bodies covered in axe wounds – and he would even send letters to the local paper taunting the police.

The following is the gruesome tale of the Axeman of New Orleans.

On the morning of May 22, 1918, two brothers heard the cry of their other brother and ran to his bedroom to see what was wrong. When they arrived, their brother Joseph Maggio, lay soaked in his own blood, dying in bed. His wife was already dead, having sustained axe wounds to the head and neck so severe she was virtually decapitated. Joseph died not long after their arrival.

This was the first known attack of the New Orleans Axeman. Seven more attacks followed – one on a two-year-old girl sleeping in her begging mother’s arms. All attacks happened in the victim’s homes. Not everyone died, however. Witnesses were left, but nobody could ever identify their assailant. The Axeman would apparently gain entry to the home by patiently chiselling his way through a panel in the rear door.

There were some apparent break-in attempts that were foiled. A chiselling sound was heard by a few home occupants who then frightened the would be killer away. On multiple occasions, axes were found abandoned at those scenes.

Pandemonium, understandably, began to take hold. To explain things a bit, here’s a splurb from Prairieghosts.com:

“By this time, hysteria was sweeping through the city. Families divided into watches and stood guard over their relatives as they slept. People went about with loaded shotguns and waited for news of the latest “Axeman sightings”. On August 11, the killer was seen in the neighborhood of Tulane and Broad, masquerading as a woman, the rumors said. A manhunt was organized but without success. On August 21, a man was seen leaping a back fence but despite a quickly organized search party, the fiend escaped.”

Some people began to think the killer was more than human – that he was a demonic beast sent from hell to do the devil’s bidding. The Axeman knew this, and fed these fears in a letter to a local paper. He said:

“Hell, March 13, 1919

“Esteemed Mortal:

“They have never caught me and they never will. They have never seen me, for I am invisible, even as the ether that surrounds your earth. I am not a human being, but a spirit and a demon from the hottest hell. I am what you Orleanians and your foolish police call the Axeman.

“When I see fit, I shall come and claim other victims. I alone know whom they shall be. I shall leave no clue except my bloody axe, besmeared with blood and brains of he whom I have sent below to keep me company.

“If you wish you may tell the police to be careful not to rile me. Of course, I am a reasonable spirit. I take no offense at the way they have conducted their investigations in the past. In fact, they have been so utterly stupid as to not only amuse me, but His Satanic Majesty, Francis Josef, etc. But tell them to beware. Let them not try to discover what I am, for it were better that they were never born than to incur the wrath of the Axeman. I don‘t think there is any need of such a warning, for I feel sure the police will always dodge me, as they have in the past. They are wise and know how to keep away from all harm.

“Undoubtedly, you Orleanians think of me as a most horrible murderer, which I am, but I could be much worse if I wanted to. If I wished, I could pay a visit to your city every night. At will I could slay thousands of your best citizens, for I am in close relationship with the Angel of Death.

“Now, to be exact, at 12:15 (earthly time) on next Tuesday night, I am going to pass over New Orleans. In my infinite mercy, I am going to make a little proposition to you people. Here it is:

“I am very fond of jazz music, and I swear by all the devils in the nether regions that every person shall be spared in whose home a jazz band is in full swing at the time I have just mentioned. If everyone has a jazz band going, well, then, so much the better for you people. One thing is certain and that is that some of your people who do not jazz it on Tuesday night (if there be any) will get the axe.

“Well, as I am cold and crave the warmth of my native Tartarus, and it is about time I leave your earthly home, I will cease my discourse. Hoping that thou wilt publish this, that it may go well with thee, I have been, am and will be the worst spirit that ever existed either in fact or realm of fancy.

“The Axeman”

And do you know what the locals did next? On the appropriate night they played jazz music until the sun came up. Can’t say we blame them.

After the Jazz-fest a few more attacks occurred, but then the Axeman killings ended abruptly – nobody knows why. There has been speculation as to the killer’s identity, but even with several surviving victims, no suspect ever been confidently fingered.

Well, almost none anyway. We’ll close with this last bit from Prairieghosts.com (again):

“More than a year after the Axeman’s final appearance, a former New Orleans man named Joseph Mumfre was shot to death on the Pacific Coast. He had been killed by a woman named Esther Albano, who was later discovered to be the widow of the Axeman’s last victim, Mike Pepitone.

“The police began working to try and untangle the mystery that probably linked Mumfre’s murder to the Axeman case. Some curious coincidences were revealed during the investigation. Mumfre had once been the leader of a band of blackmailers in New Orleans who had preyed on Italians. He had also been (for a separate matter) sent to prison just after the first axe murders in 1911. In the summer of 1918, he was paroled — at the same time the Axeman appeared again. Immediately after the Pepitone murder, Mumfre had left New Orleans for the coast and strangely, the Axeman had vanished as well.”

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The world wants Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie to get married so badly that it'll pretty much believe anything.

Like that Brad Pitt/ Angelina Jolie wedding that was supposed to have taken place in New Orleans on Saturday, for example. You know, the one that never happened.

Star magazine, which claimed Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie got married on Saturday, has now admitted that the whole report was a bunch of cobblers all along. The Pitt/Jolie non-wedding is pretty much good news for all sorts of reasons, though. Not only will it allow for another furiously inept media scrum the next time Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie don't get married, but – girls – this means that you can start kidding yourselves that you have a shot at Brad Pitt again! Exciting!

The list of Brad Pitt/ Angelina Jolie non-weddings is as long as it is tear-jerking. Who could possibly forget that time that Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie didn't get married in a Buddhist ceremony in Los Angeles? It was a beautiful service. And then there was the time that Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie didn't get married in Italy – the best man's speech really was a hoot and a half. And then there was the wax Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie non-wedding. That wasn't so good. The cake tasted like wax. In fact, now we come to think of it, it wasn't a cake at all. It was a slice of wax Jeremy Beadle's head. Urgh.

But however beautiful the past Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie non-weddings were, they couldn't possibly shine a light on Saturday's Pitt-Jolie non-wedding. That was the pretend wedding to end all pretend weddings – we know this because Star magazine said so.

According to Star, Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie got married in New Orleans this weekend and it was lavish. So lavish, in fact, that the wedding actually managed to somehow loop through all conventional notions of time and space and ended up never having actually existed at all. According to the New York Daily News:

Star magazine breathlessly reported over the weekend that Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie had finally tied the knot in a lavish ceremony in New Orleans. When other reporters could find no evidence of the nuptials, Star editor Candace Trunzo insisted to the Daily News that the mag's sources were rock-solid. Sunday afternoon, faced with denial upon denial, Star finally backed off. "After further investigation, the sources are not standing by their story," Star wrote in a terse retraction on its Web site. Trunzo did not return calls for comment on the soured scoop, but her competition was more than happy to stick it to her. Us Weekly magazine declared the story utter "bulls–t."

But does this non-wedding mean that Brad pitt and Angelina Jolie really are getting married soon, or is this just another total fabrication on the magazine's part? There have been recent reports that a Pitt-Jolie wedding isn't too far off, and we can only pray that these reports are accurate.

Because if Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie really do get married then it means that when they inevitably split up there'll be a messy divorce, and we've had a divorce-shaped hole in our lives ever since the McCartney-Mills divorce ended. Plus if Brad and Angelina get married then it means that any future adoptions will miss the step where Brad Pitt petitions for legal guardianship and, as we all know, stories about technicalities in international adoption law are as dull as shit.

Most of all, though, we want Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie to get married soon because we're pretty certain that Jennifer Aniston will spontaneously combust the instant they do. Make it happen, Brangeloni.

Read more:

Brad Pitt, Angelina Jolie wed? Nope! - NYDN 

Brad Pitt is continuing his quest to rebuild New Orleans in his own image – a bit like God did with mankind, only pinker and more bricky.

As part of his $12 million Make It Right campaign to build a series of cheap, sustainable homes to rehouse those affected by Hurricane Katrina, Brad Pitt has been to New Orleans to unveil a whole host of brand new homes that will… wait, that's not what Brad Pitt unveiled at all. In actuality, Brad Pitt unveiled a load of bright pinks blocks to obliquely remind people about the floods. But the houses are coming, honest, and Brad Pitt has pledged $5 million of his own money to build 150 houses by next summer.

Hang on, that's a good thing. This isn't what hecklerspray does. Damn you for not doing more stuff we can mock you for, Brad Pitt. Damn you to hell.

Ever since Newsweek singled him out as a Great American, Brad Pitt has dedicated himself to only doing good things, like helping Angelina Jolie adopt all the babies in the world and making surefire hit TV shows about humanitarian aid workers in the Sudan and, you know, stuff.

But what's closest to Brad Pitt's heart is the rebuilding of New Orleans following Hurricane Katrina. Brad Pitt announced his plans for sustainable, affordable New Orleans houses back in April 2006, and has returned to the scene regularly since to check up on the developments.

But this weekend Brad Pitt returned to New Orleans once again to rattle his tincan at the public to get more money for more homes. And, to help him, Brad Pitt has made sure that hundreds of eight-foot-high pink blocks have been scattered around the Lower Ninth Ward of New Orleans.

It's an installation, you see, and some of them light up. And they represent, um, things. And they'll totally make people give Brad Pitt money for more houses. Oh, look, we don't know. But at least Brad Pitt knows exactly what the blocks are meant to symbolise, as he told the New Orleans Times-Picayune in probably the most needlessly flowery language we've ever heard:

"Right now there are scattered blocks, like they were scattered by fate's hand, symbolic of the aftermath of the storm. But we will be flipping the homes, essentially righting the wrong. Why pink? For me, it screams the loudest. It says that this place, where so many people thrived, is still sitting there like a barren wasteland, and we can change that."

Brad Pitt is undoubtedly doing something very important here, but "scattered by fate's hand"? No, no, we mustn't mock him. Brad Pitt is right this time. "Scattered by fate's hand," though. Nnngg. We've never been so conflicted. This is giving us an aneurysm, we swear.

Anyway, the pink blocks are Brad Pitt's way of raising awareness to make groups and organisations pledge more money to the campaign to build more homes and rehouse even more of New Orleans' flood-ravaged population. It's a noble cause, and to show how much he's become invested in the campaign, Brad Pitt has already donated $5 million of his own money along with producer Steve Bing, to guarantee that 150 homes will be built by next summer.

Incidentally, we hope that the $5 million that Brad Pitt has pledged includes the combined total of the money we paid to see Troy, Mr & Mrs Smith and Ocean's Thirteen at the cinema. We'd be able to sleep so much better at night knowing that Brad Pitt didn't just spend that £22.50 on something nice for himself, you know.

Read more:

Pitt In The Pink – E! Online