Trombonist, singer, and human nitroglycerin canister Glen David Andrews is ferrying upriver with a fiery cauldron of Crescent City jambalaya stuffed with gospel, R&B, brass band funk, jazz, blues, and likely some of that stuff scraped off Frenchmen Street Sundaymornings. A character who could only be from New Orleans, Andrews likes to say he was born in a second line and will go out the same way. Fellow NOLA icon Mac Rebennack might say he’s got “poysonality” like Tabasco’s got cayenne—over-the-top charisma that, combined with a raspy growl and blaring horn assault, can commandeer a barroom in seconds, inciting mayhem, likely reviving corpses unless they’re nailed to the floor. It’s been three years since Andrews’ last album, Redemption, a widely praised career landmark that linked personal renewal with that of the post-Katrina city. Meanwhile, he’s been body-surfing the most refined settings—the Dakota included.