By Jeffrey Jones NEW ORLEANS, Dec 12 (Reuters) - Trombonist Craig Klein recalls ripping open the door to his house 14 months ago and finding a second calling. It was just weeks after Hurricane Katrina and Klein had returned to clean up the damage caused by 10 feet (3 metres) of water on the house in Arabi, a community on the east bank of the Mississipi that was devastated by the flooding river. While hauling out soggy furniture, his friend Armand Richardson, who is known as Sheik, picked up a crowbar and took a few swings at a moldy wall. "I said, 'Sheik, you're a one-man wrecking crew," Klein, one of New Orleans' busiest musicians, recalled. "He said, 'Yeah, that's us, man -- the Arabi wrecking crew.'" It was the start of what's become an institution of musicians helping musicians in the aftermath of the disaster that tossed the city's soul -- its music scene -- into limbo. More than a year and 110 gutted homes later, Klein's Arabi Wrecking Krewe has attracted dozens of volunteers to get jazz, R&B and brass band players on track to rebuild their houses by ripping out nearly everything but the studs free of charge. Luminaries such as soul singer Irma Thomas, trumpeter Leroy Jones and bandleader and clarinetist Dr. Michael White have all had work done by the "krewe" -- the spelling used by groups that put on Mardi Gras parades in New Orleans. TEAR IT UP, TEAR IT DOWN Most of who those have donned facemasks and picked up tools are themselves drummers, trumpeters, pianists and sousaphone players who tear it up on the bandstand just hours before doing the dirty work of tearing it down at a house. Besides his band Bonerama, which features four trombonists playing inventive arrangements of tunes by everyone from Thelonious Monk to Jimi Hendrix, Klein works with Harry Connick Jr. and an array of other artists. His colleagues are as busy, but he has no trouble assembling a team. During the New Orleans Jazz & Heritage Festival last spring, the krewe cleaned out five houses. After the storm, Klein, like many colleagues, feared the unique scene, where jazz, Afro-Cuban and Caribbean styles mix as easily as those who play them, could be lost with so many people forced to flee ruined neighborhoods. "I really thought I would be doing something else. I said, 'Man, it's over with. We'll never know it as it was'," said the 46-year-old father of four. His outlook brightened as he and his associates gutted houses, he said. The effort fits with New Orleans traditions of communities helping their own, like the social aid and pleasure clubs that have held jazz funerals for musicians and others for more than a century. The krewe is one of several grassroots relief groups that rallied after the storm to help musicians get back on their feet with new instruments, gigs, legal advice and housing. Katrina's floodwaters submerged 80 percent of New Orleans and damaged as many as 150,000 homes. In the aftermath, toxic mold coated the ruined interiors. Musicians -- seen by many as the lifeblood of the city's key tourism economy -- were scattered around the country. Fifteen months later, many still travel back from Baton Rouge, Houston and other centers for regular work in New Orleans, where more than 90 clubs again offer live music, even though the population of musicians is still about half the pre-Katrina number of about 450,000. Some players say they've never been busier, at home or on the road, with the city's music taking center stage following the disaster. But for local working musicians, that does not necessarily translate into rich paychecks. 'THEY HELP KEEP MUSIC SCENE ALIVE' Drummer Lawrence Batiste would have had to either slowly and painstakingly finish the job of gutting his house in the upper Ninth Ward himself, between caring for his disabled son and playing gigs, or pay a contractor at least $2,000. Half a dozen volunteers from the krewe blitzed it in a few days, said Batiste, 68. "They help keep the music scene alive. They helped the musicians get some of that worry off their minds, when you lose your home and everything," he said. "Craig has helped ease that. All I'm worried about now is getting rebuilt." Before taking the stage with fellow Arabi Wrecking Krewe all-stars at a Thanksgiving concert on the bank of the Mississippi River, singer-songwriter Susan Cowsill said hard work has brought the music community closer at a crucial time. "We've all been together before as musicians and we never really helped each other out like this," said Cowsill, whose family pop band had hits in the 1960s. "Everyone's happy to sit in with each other but no one ever came out to mow the other guy's lawn." The krewe's legend has spread. A Netherlands-based traditional jazz combo, the Hurricane Brass Band, raised about $12,000 for the cause. Other donors have sent tools and gift certificates to home improvement stores. Now, with so many of the houses gutted, the focus is shifting to arranging roofing, siding, electrical and plumbing as the task of rebuilding begins in earnest and musicians bring their families back to town, Klein said. That's especially key with many musicians underinsured and being forced to deal with the slow pace of government grant money being made available to homeowners, he said.
