No Damsels in Distress
by Nick Pittman
Offbeat Magazine, March 2007

Cleoma Breaux Falcon’s daughter Lulu once told the story of her mother kicking a man in the eye while she performed onstage because she was fed up with his pestering. She also remembered Cleoma always cooking her breakfast, even after playing the night before, and always meeting her at school with a hot, home-cooked lunch.

Few women were bold enough to play the rowdy dancehalls, and they had to be tough. It was almost unthinkable for a woman to perform in any public sphere, and if they did, it was under the supervision of a chaperone of a male family member or spouse. Still, they were expected to be mothers, lovingly devoted to their families. Predominantly female Cajun bands are rare.

Bonsoir, Catin prove women in Cajun music don’t need a man’s watchful eye and there is no limit to what they can be—strong, sassy, downright sinister or sweet with a fragile heart.

“You’re either a hard ass or you’re a dainty flower. The reality of it is that it’s not true,” says lead singer and accordionist Kristi Guillory. Along with Guillory, who fronted Reveille while still in high school and currently fills the accordion slot with the Lafayette Rhythm Devils, the band brings together top female talent. Christine Balfa, leader of Balfa Toujours and daughter of the late Dewey Balfa, provides the guitar and shares vocal duties. The fiddle of Anya Burgess, of the Magnolia Sisters and Celjun, merges Cajun bayous and old time sounds. Bassist Yvette Landry, also of the Lafayette Rhythm Devils, shares the rhythm section with drummer Jude Veillon. Though Veillon, the lone male, gigged with Guillory in Reveille, he’s no one’s brother, father, husband or even cousin.

“It honestly doesn’t hurt,” says Guillory of the band’s female status. “We’ve gathered a lot of attention in that respect. We’ve had people call us who have never heard us. They’re like, ‘Oh wow, what a cool concept.’ So, it looks good. But after they hear the music, it sounds good, too.”

Their debut record, Blues à Catin, kicks off with a Guillory-penned title cut about life on the lam after committing murder for a nickel. It’s a hard-to-ignore hint that they aren’t damsels in distress. Like Cleoma, they prove they have a softer side. When they love, they love hard. When love fails, they take it harder—crying on one song, plotting vengeance on another. Most times, they drink. Honky-tonk flavored songs by Johnny Sonnier, Belton Richard, Nathan Abshire, Sheryl Cormier suggest the ladies can drink the entire Cajun boys club under the table. Shaking off any notion they are a novelty act, Bonsoir, Catin grabs hold of their audience with powerful performances, sassy personality and tight musicianship.

“There’s something about (it). We all tend to listen to each other. The process of what comes out is a little more intuitive,” says Guillory. “It’s almost like you are having a conversation with your girlfriends.”