Top 5: Super Awesome Things About the Austin Suburbs



Austin neighborhood map

 I saw Paul McCartney way back in the '90s, so I'll miss paying hundreds of dollars for a seat at his performance here in the People's Republic. I'll thereby miss seeing a guy pushing 80 sing "Live and Let Die." I'm just about the biggest Beatles fan I know, but does that picture strike anyone else as kind of unintentionally funny?

So instead of Sir Paul, let's all talk about the things that make Austin's suburbs super awesome!







Oh, sorry, I nodded off thinking about that.

Please refer to the official Austin neighborhood map posted above. For present purposes, the suburbs include the area outside the box bordered by Research, Ben White, MoPac and Airport Blvd. north of the Lake. Otherwise, IH-35 is the eastern border. That area marked as "Grindr" on the map used to be Murderville. Yeah, that was Austin's best place to score crack without references after 3 a.m. Not so much now, thanks to middle class whitey and his HGTV and his Home Depot home improvement ethic. That area now features the usual traces of white "civilization": coffee bars, wine bars, restaurants, renovated bungalows, charcuteries, and clubs that sell a beer for more than $10. Goodbye Murderville, hello Martha Stewart Living. Unsurprisingly, the lower income homeowner/burglar bar aficionado finds that element distasteful and has fled to other areas. Oh, and sometimes I have to go to Justine's or East Side Show Room, because of course I'm gonna go there, so I had to expand my operational perimeter.

The "suburbs" don't, however, include places requiring a day trip. Like Copperas Cove. Or Bee Cave. Otherwise, this post would be nothing but barbecue joints and hiking trails. This isn't a Hill Country Top 5, in other words.

I originally intended just to rag on the 'burbs, because they need it. I know you're all up there grooving in Round Rock and Pflugerville, or down in Onion Creek and Hays County, tripping on your Juicy Juices and driving your sweet minivans and spending half your life at or going back and forth to soccer and baseball tournaments. But Paradise comes at a cost. In our case, Williamson County actually has (at least until the last election) prosecutors who railroad you into the death penalty. Its ridiculously sanctimonious and excessive low-level crime  prison sentences disproportionately take up scarce Texas prison space, forcing early release for career criminals and requiring other parts of the state to subsidize our 'burbs' Singaporian criminal views (how come yall haven't started caning defendants yet?). Speed traps. Olive Gardens and Applebee's at every corner. Toll roads as far as the eye can see. Whiteness. Pre-fab houses. Parking your near-monster truck in your driveway because you have to use your garage to store all your crap. Postage stamp sized yards. Malls. Strip centers. Tearing down every tree in sight. Judgmental head shaking at people who don't look like everyone else on your block. Family values.

Not that Austin proper doesn't have its many, many flaws. Far from it. Faaaarrrr from it. I've written about those a lot around here. In fact, so much so I thought it might only be fair to even the score a little.

But I decided instead to stay positive, as usual, and find the good amongst the rubble, as it were. Here's my Top 5 Super Awesome Things About the Austin Suburbs. Enjoy!
5. Arbor Theatre. It doesn't really have a web site. And its not really too far outside the box. But with the Dobie Theatre's demise, the Arbor is the best place to watch "indie" movies. No, not the Violet Crown, with its appalling douche factor. Plus, the Arbor has some history, and parking. No valets needed.

4. Nutty Brown Cafe. This is a pretty cool place to eat under shady oak trees and listen to some good music. There's usually a breeze, the huge back patio is fun, and the food...isn't awful. Actually, if you like Frito Pie, this is your place.

3. Hudson's on the Bend. What an incredible restaurant. Still the best place in the Austin area for game. It features a beautiful room and great service. Seems like I went there for New Year's Eve once. Can't for the life of me remember who with. If you know, please tell me. Anyway, its one of the few great restaurants dating back to those stone age days before I first came here for college. Today's menu includes such delights as venison sausage, lamb loin, pecan smoked duck breast with seared scallops, potato crusted redfish over oyster mushrooms...ok I must stop now. You get the picture. Delightful.

2. McKinney Roughs. About 20 minutes east of Austin on SH 71 one finds this amazing park, with incredible trails winding through native pine and oak forest, right along the Colorado River. I haven't been since the Bastrop fires of a few summers ago, and understand that the park has suffered some damage. But it remains open and no doubt still very enjoyable. For more fun, check out the Lost Pines Hyatt Resort next door. It features trail rides, a golf course, day spa and exercise room, huge pool and water slide area, great restaurants, nature and kid's programs, and every night they make smores at the big outdoor fire pit. Guests can use the McKinney Roughs park for free.

1. Lady Bird Johnson National Wildlife Research Center. Ok this is really the Jewel in the Crown. Located off Southwest Parkway, this University of Texas research center studies native wildflowers and other plant species. Its native style buildings contain really interesting displays, a cool to climb observation tower/rainfall collector, and the Center puts on all kinds of kid's activities. The Center's vast grounds come alive in colors throughout the spring as an explosion of wildflowers bloom throughout. Several easy trails allow you to get out and see them and other native species. Just really a great place to spend the afternoon. 

Hon. Mention: Georgetown courthouse square, RM 2222, Spicewood Springs/St. Edward's Park.

So there you go! Lots of great things about the Austin suburbs.

NEXT-uh oh. Top 5 Things About Dating Younger Women. Excuse me while I get my kevlar vest and riot gear. I can already tell that trouble is brewing ahead, in the form of...uh...Not Younger Women readers.

Top 5: Movie Scores

First off, respect to Oklahoma. I have some relatives up there, as do many of you. Prayers....

In the face of that, lets just move on with minimal fanfare to the Top 5 series. For the initial entry, let me lay out some of the ground rules. Well, they're not so much rules as guidelines. All these lists just kind of lay out my own personal preferences. Have I done some sort of academically researched, double blind, peer reviewed study to verify each list's accuracy? If you consider thinking about each list about 10 minutes before I start writing, or while I'm running, then yeah I totally did a study for all of them. These lists simply describe personal favorites, crazy as others may consider them. As with all things, your mileage may vary.

In fact, your comments would make these lists a little more interesting. What have I omitted? What did I include that makes you want to have me committed? Or accidentally run me over with your Mercedes five times? Comments are always welcome! If they're constructive, that is.

Oh, and I go in reverse order. Like NASA. Or Casey Kasem. 5, 4, 3, 2, 1.

For the first installment, we consider movie scores. I know, there's millions of lists of the "greatest movie scores." They're all wrong by the way. Let me drop some knowledge on you so you won't embarrass yourself should the subject arise in conversation. These five movie scores are The Best of all time. Naturally, foreign films aren't eligible for consideration. Any movie not made in English is, by definition, not worth mentioning or thinking about.

A movie score is not a movie soundtrack. I'm sure the UCLA Film School or some other nerdiversity has defined these terms somewhere. Whatevs. I, however, define a "movie score" as music specifically written for a particular movie, intended to highlight or enhance various scenes but not necessarily draw their own focus. A "movie soundtrack," on the other hand, consists of various unitary songs, each of which could stand on their own, and which the producers intend the audience to enjoy as such. So using my definitions, the songs in a musical would constitute a "soundtrack," because the movie wants the audience to enjoy the songs for themselves, maybe in addition to screen action, but certainly on their own. Likewise, all those incredible Simon and Garfunkel songs in The Graduate constitute a "soundtrack," because they (mostly) weren't written for the movie, they could stand alone apart from the movie, and you're supposed to focus on them. You might think of a "score" as the background music playing throughout a movie. Generally it lacks lyrics, except to the extent that there's a theme song that plays over the opening credits, and then that theme repeats throughout the movie itself.

Got it?

Lets proceed, shall we?

Here's my criteria: musically profound, enhances but not overwhelms the action, instantly memorable, evocative, impossible to imagine the movie without that music.

5.     Vertigo (Bernard Hermann). How great is this score? Its already universally regarded as one of the greatest scores of all time. Like many Hitchcock projects, it wasn't even nominated for Best Score at the Academy Awards. But when The Artist used about six minutes of the Vertigo score at a critical story juncture, it won Best Score of 2011. Think of the hypnotic and foreboding sense the music conveys over the opening credits, setting the movie's entire tone of events repeating through life. Think of the "back from the grave" scene when Judy, finally transformed by near psychotic James Stewart, walks out of the restroom into the neon green light as Madeleine. The music perfectly captures the euphoria Scottie feels at that moment as all his borderline maniacal love rushes back as he kisses her. Then in the final bell tower scene as Scottie drags Judy up to the top. The music just incredibly underlines the buildup to that shocking climax. You would recognize this music within seconds, and this movie is unthinkable without it. Like many of Hermann's scores, each character has his or her individual themes playing during their scenes. The themes weave into one another in a dreamlike, hypnotic way, just as Scottie and Madeleine seem to move back and forth between reality and madness. This score is simply impeccable.

4.     Lawrence of Arabia (Maurice Jarre). Imagine a score with a theme instantly recognizable within the first two notes, and that can carry a three and one-half hour movie without a trace of repetitiveness. That's the Lawrence of Arabia score. Most scenes play out in the desert, and the score perfectly conveys the desert's vastness and timelessness. Yet, it livens up to underscore critical action points. Imagine the scene when Lawrence finally retrieves the straggling Bedouin in the Nefud Desert's "Sun's Anvil." The music just conveys the power of that moment so forcefully.

3.     Breakfast at Tiffany's (Henry Mancini). Mancini's masterpiece. True, this does contain at least one "stand alone" song ("Moon River"), but the entire score perfectly captures that New Frontier, early 1960s sophistication that America has never regained. If one could imagine a music version of Audrey Hepburn, this is it. Highlights include the cool and elegant music playing as Hepburn and Peppard prowl Manhattan doing things the other has never done, the incredible music playing during what has to be the most amazing party scene ever filmed, and the gut wrenching music playing at the end during Peppard's speech in the rain outside the taxi ("because no matter where you go, you just end up running into yourself."). One afternoon during law school I was listening to KUT's old show, American Pop. It hasn't been on for more than 20 years, but was an incredible radio show featuring pop songs from roughly 1900 to 1960. That afternoon, the host just played the entire Breakfast at Tiffany's album. It stands on its own as a remarkable piece. Audrey Hepburn herself gave the best description. In a letter she wrote to Mancini after watching the movie for the first time with his music, she said "Your music has lifted us all up and sent us soaring. Everything we cannot say with words or show with action you have expressed for us. You have done this with so much imagination, fun and beauty." Exactly.

2.     Star Wars (John Williams). Who doesn't know this one? People who spent the last 35 years on a desert island maybe. Or imprisoned in some Chinese gulag (though even they probably saw a bootleg video at some point). If any music ever screamed "epic," this is it. It begins with one of the most powerful opening themes of any score ever written. Then it wraps all the following scenes together, providing each its own link to the main theme. As with other scores, individual characters have their own themes. Darth Vader's theme represents one of the most menacing pieces of music this side of Bach's Toccata and Fugue. Or Black Sabbath's Paranoid album.  The main theme, evoking Luke Skywalker, was played about a million times on TV and radio, even becoming a huge pop hit. Bill Murray turned it into one of his greatest Saturday Night Live accomplishments ("Star Wars! Nothing but Star Wars!"). Then there was that band in the Mos Eisley cantina. What the hell was going on there? Those Eeyore's Birthday Party freaks think that cantina is full of weirdoes. And why did that band know only one song? Even the seeming inconsequential "interlude" sections have power, such as right after the opening titles run and its just synthesizer notes evoking twinkling stars. How could Star Wars have been the same movie without that incredible score? It would have just been a bunch of freaks running around in costume (just like the ones who camp outside movie theatres every time a new one opens). The score gives the rest of the movie the emotional resonance needed to overcome the preposterousness of things like, well, all those Pete Rose haircuts for one. And Leia's buns. Its just magnificent.

1.     Gone With the Wind (Max Steiner). This is the greatest score ever, producing one of the best selling movie soundtrack albums. When you hear the main theme, you instantly think of Gone With the Wind. Despite running over three hours, it never flags at all. The music perfectly matches the mood and story on screen throughout. When originally released, and now when shown at the Paramount, the movie begins with a musical prelude, and after it ends, the music continues in prologue. The score includes original written material, and incorporates some of the popular period songs (like "Bonnie Blue Flag" or "Maryland My Maryland"). It winds loftily during lighter scenes, turns darker during the heavier scenes, and crescendos to enormous climax at the most gripping scenes. Can you possibly imagine the "not going to go hungry again" scene just ending in silence without that triumphant, determined ending leading to the intermission? Or the haunting music as Melanie dies (oops, spoiler alert!)? Or the delicate violin piece playing as Belle Watling and Melanie talk of their children in Belle's carriage? I could go on and on. Even reading the book, you still hear this music in your head it has such great impact. Its the greatest score of all time. Enjoy

NEXT: Top 5 Super Awesome Things About the Austin Suburbs

The Top 5's: Going 30 For 30

Chuck Barris Loves My Top 5 List idea

In my very first blog post, nearly six years ago, I wrote, "To evoke High Fidelity, I will include Top 5 lists for comment along the way."

And, I never did.

Those more cultured of you know that in the book (and movie), High Fidelity, the semi-slacker main characters spent much of their time creating Top 5 lists to pass the time. In lieu of working. Most lists involved music (they worked in a record store). Top 5 Songs About Death. Top 5 Side 1, Track 1's. Top 5 Musical Crimes Perpetrated by Stevie Wonder in the 80s and 90s. And so on.

Humans create lists. Or at least Americans do. Not sure about Ethiopians or Icelanders or such. I've never really figured out why, but we do. Its a universal thing. Grocery lists, invitation lists, non-invitation lists, Christmas lists, shit lists, chore lists. On and on. And we like to rank things too. College football teams, movies, Presidents, TV shows, songs, restaurants. David Letterman has had a Top 10 list nearly every show since the early 1980s. That's thousands of lists. We are list-makers.

Hey, in surfing while writing this post, I even discovered that someone has a Top 5 lists blog. That seems a little extreme. I bet that guy plays a lot of online poker. Plus, he's kind of a gay basher. So if that's your thing, by all means.... Turns out there's other Top 5 sites too. Like this. Or this. In the immortal words of Judge Smails, "don't you people have homes?"

I also once wrote that writing lists represents cheating. Its not really writing. Compiling separate facts into one unified whole doesn't count as writing. Its just collecting.

But, nonetheless, they do have a certain appeal. And I also need to train myself to write more frequent, shorter posts.

So welcome to Summer 2013! Announcing the 30 for 30 Posting Series. Each day for 30 days, I'll post a new list. Maybe I'll have to double up sometimes to deal with life commitments and such. You know. But the idea is that for 30 days in a row, I'll truly make this Daily Affirmations. Then will take some time off to focus on my X Games career and Scrapbooking Club.

Here's the proposed list. If anyone has any better ideas, please feel free to forward them. I'll gladly substitute your requested lists for ones I've listed.

You should comment too, when you think I'm totally wrong, or left out something from a particular list. You'll more than likely be wrong, of course, but commenting will add dimension to the series as readers offer alternative choices.

I reserve the right to change the list based on my own whims. And to go off topic as events of the day may warrant. Like if something truly serious happens. You know. Like if a revolution happens. Or that "Top Gun" remake is announced. Or I get to meet Joan Rivers.

1. Movie Scores
2. Super Awesome Things About the Austin Suburbs
3. Things About Dating Younger Women
4. Rock and Roll Acts
5. Words or Phrases That Should Be Stricken From the English Language
6. American Cities
7. Cocktails
8. Things That Are Bad For the Look
9. Reasons Never to Go to the Mall or Oklahoma
10. Texas Longhorn Football Players (all time)
11. Dog Breeds
12. Soul Brothers (don't worry, I'll be VERY careful)
13. Pickup Lines
14. Bad Women's Hairstyles
15. Reasons Tom Cruise Should Come Out
16. Worst Hollywood Kid Names
17. Original Star Trek Episodes
18. Diseases
19. First Ladies
20. Cars (American)
21. Things to Do At the Beach or At an Exorcism
22. Things For Tim Tebow to Do (Other Than Play Football)
23. Things In Lindsay Lohan's Purse
24. Worst Athletic Performances in the Movies (a/k/a Guys Who Should Never Run In Public)
25. Willy Wonka Characters
26. People I'd Like to Meet
27. Things/People That Annoy Me
28. Worst Jobs
29. Biggest Douchebags
30. Bill Murray Scenes

And, for a little lagniappe, the finale:
  
   31.  Things That Make Life Worth Living

So I'll let this sit for a little while to see if anyone chimes in with different list ideas. Otherwise, I'll plunge right in with Top 5 Movie Scores.

See ya!

Jazz Festival 2013 Sunday: A Nice Day for A White Wedding

Hall and Oates

Well, another Jazz Fest, another wedding. Hasn't this been done before? Well, what can I say? "Young love." What says "romantic wedding" more than mud, porta potties, and beer lines? All in the same place?

But I'll get to that later.

D. L. Menard

This concludes my Jazz Festival posts for 2013. Savor it because I may not go back for awhile. This year has left me more inclined not to return to the Festival than I've been for some time. At least not on a four day basis. I've discussed the reasons already: crowds, heat, cost, crowds, the physical toll, aggressive staff, crowds. We'll have to see. I've become attracted to the prospect of attending the TCM Classic Movie Festival in Los Angeles next year, which takes place in late April. Air conditioning, seating, great movies, no chasing all over town, and you're treated with some modicum of human dignity (which by LA standards means you stand a good chance of not getting sold off to human traffickers or an organ harvesting ring). No mud, no porta potties, no shirtless drunk guy from Chalmette crushed up against you blowing cigarette smoke in your face and screaming "YOU RULE!!!" to whatever act happens to occupy the stage. I still wish I had gone to last year's classic movie festival, where the highlight was an interview with Kim Novak before a showing of Vertigo at Graumann's Chinese Theatre. Class.

New Orleans enjoyed another spectacular day that last Sunday, maybe even a little cooler than the preceding three, but very sunny. As I've written several times now, heat normally represents Jazz Fest's main challenge. Temperatures and humidity both usually reach the upper 80s. Standing all day like a scarecrow in the sun only aggravates it.  So I brought along clothes to deal with that kind of weather. This weekend, my main challenge was not freezing to death. Its a good problem, I suppose, but still sort of an alternative universe.

No one occupied my top secret, awesome parking space, and that proved a reliable harbinger of a good day. On entering the grounds, I could tell right away fewer people were attending. Having been out late with Ron the night before, I didn't manage to participate in the Gospel Tent morning prayer (held, I might add, earlier and earlier each day), but its ok because I did catch the incendiary New Orleans Spiritualettes. These seven ladies, clad in gold, really broke out the heavy gospel lumber. They belted out traditional gospel songs with abandon. The Gospel Tent was rockin' right from the very start today, and I remained a little longer than usual, along with an unusually thick first of the morning Gospel Tent crowd.

But I couldn't stay too long, because Jazz Fest had scheduled Louisiana and Cajun music treasure D.L. Menard in the same time slot over at the Fais Do Do stage. I've written about Mr. Menard before. This day's show was much the same. Classic, Cajun music from the bayou. Hey, if you met Hank Williams, like he did, you're the real thing. And in this world of fake, shallow, fleeting singers, Mr. Menard is the real thing. He's 80 years old if he's a day over 20, but still just as strong and positive as I remember. He's got a Cajun accent that sounds dredged right out of the Vermilion River.  He moves around stage just fine, and stood the whole performance. Just goes to show what a lifetime of dancing, crawfish, good music, and family can do for you. He called out people in the crowd by name, saying things like "I'm glad you got to see me, podner!" Like Dave Grohl, I enjoyed his stage rap just as much as the music. He explained that he no longer writes a set list before performances (most of which are at night), because he "learned to read during the day." He slipped back and forth between French and English. At one point introducing a song in French, then adding, "the way y'all understand it, it means 'the Green Oak Tree'. Understood?" Towards the end of the set, he announced that he would sing two more songs, "then we have to leave you. That's the only way we can come back." He played an absolutely spot on version of "Your Cheatin' Heart" as the last song. It wore the authenticity of thousands of miles and shows over 50 years. That's something no American Idol winner will ever have.

From there I went over to the Gentilly Stage to hear the "New Orleans Classic R&B Recording Revue." This featured four really old guys who sat in with what resembled a cruise ship band, each singing a couple of their one-hit wonder type songs. The set featured Frankie Ford ("Sea Cruise"), Al Johnson ("Carnival Time"), Robert Parker ("Barefootin'"), and Clarence "Frogman" Henry ("Ain't Got No Home"). This was both compelling and sad. These four guys are WAY past their performing years, sadly, falling into the "is he still alive?" category. Imagine how Willie would come off if he hadn't written like a million hits. But in all cases they could still sing. Al Johnson was sporting a glorious Hitler mustache. Guess he's trying to reclaim that one, huh? He and MJ. Still can't figure out what Michael was thinking there. Frankie Ford, who could barely stand unaided, much less walk across the stage, got things rolling, wearing a banana colored hipster suit, matching hat, and piano key scarf. He observed that it was Cinco De Mayo, and observed that all the Mexicans have now moved to Texas, because there's so many of them. OK then. Well, he's about 150 years old, and embodies the principle that once you've reached a certain age (or become a Democratic Vice President of the United States), you can for the most part get away with spouting whatever gibberish enters your head, and elicit only a semi-smiling, "aw, he's so cute" reaction from most people." Most people want to think of a grandfather as having more in common with the elderly Kirk Douglas than John Demuanjuk. One of these days I'd like to write about how views that once were just accepted as normal and mainstream can very quickly become "immoral" or "evil," but that its patently unfair to condemn those who've held such views for the balance of a lifetime when they don't change just as quickly. That doesn't mean the old view is or ever was "right" (signed, black slaves are 3/5ths of a person), it just means its not always fair to condemn people as evil when they don't change their views as quickly as the rapidly evolving American cultural norms.

After the S.S. Carnival Princess' night-time entertainment concluded, I wandered around the grounds, enjoying the newly expanded Native American Indian section. For many years, they got a small awning. They'd do some dances in front of said awning, and people would cluster around. This year, in a really smart move, the Festival removed some large standing paintings of jazz legends (which people mainly just used for shade as they ate lunch), and gave it over to the Indians. I will resist the temptation to make a "reservation" joke here (really, that's in bad taste), and observe that this is long overdue. Like most other places, Louisiana was peopled with any number of native tribes, whose innovations and adaptations helped build Louisiana.

But my wandering time came to a close when it was time to return to the Acura stage for New Orleans' own, the legendary Meters. Or, at least, three out of four of the Meters, billed as the "Meter Men." Leo Nocentelli, George Porter, Jr. and Zigaboo Modeliste. Funny. You know, like the meter man who reads your electric meter at home? Anyone? Honestly, I don't know what Art Neville's deal is. What else does he have going on? Did he and Christine McVie form a secret society dedicated to hating the bands that gave them careers? They should invite David Lee Roth. Except for him being such an enormous douche and all. Did Art need to plant his asparagus crop that day? What the hell? Art performed with Charles and Cyrille the first Jazz Fest weekend as "The Nevilles" i.e. without Aaron and his oh so subtle face tattoo. So he presumably was in town or nearby. But he had more important things to do, so some white dude who looked like an extra on the Central Perk set of Friends played keyboards. Turned out it was the dude who used to play keyboards for Phish. Which makes perfect sense. Take an element out of one of the most meandering, pointless, beach ball bouncing jam music and insert it into possibly the greatest funk band ever assembled. What could go wrong? As it turns out, nothing. The Meter Men were spot on, really rocking a hard, funky groove. Honestly, other than Booker T. and the MG's, can you think of anyone with a harder groove? This band played most of the same songs as the group from Wednesday night, but much more tightly, and grittier. Zigaboo laid down a brutal and nearly violent drum assault. And wore a baseball cap with his name, "Zigaboo," sewn into the crown. How Baller is that? Wearing clothes with your own name on them? Of course, how Four Year Old Child is that? With your mom writing your name in all your clothes, just in case, well, you know...accidents and stuff. Despite the fact these guys (except Whitey on keys) have all passed 70, they played all the classic Meters tunes, displaying impressive stamina. The crowd screamed "Fire on the Bayou" along with that chorus, which I always like. Quint Davis introduced them, once again signaling a de facto official designation of the Meter (Men) as an Important New Orleans Act. 

Next up was someone I'd been looking forward to seeing and who proved worth the wait. Jeffrey Osborne. You may have heard his '80s hit, the slow, silky ballad "On the Wings of Love." Imagine every crappy "smooth jazz" song you've ever heard (I guess I could have just said "smooth jazz"), liven it up and give it soul, and that's Jeffrey Osborne. No relation to Ozzy. What can I say but that dude was smooth. Everyone gets all verklempt (really, not an appropriate description) in this town over Frankie Beverly, who took the stage after Osborne to close the Congo Square Jazz Festival. But Osborne impressed me far more. First, finally, a performer who dressed the part. He came out in sweet brown slacks and shiny brown dress shoes, a coral dress shirt, and light blue jacket with coral windowpane pattern. So this guy had unsurpassed threads game. Like Tony Bennett and Allen Toussaint, other impeccable dressers I've seen at the Festival. Congo Square, by the way, was utterly packed, and as Osborne moved from side to side and hit particularly challenging notes, women in the crowd swooned. Loved it. Now, I have to describe this scene because it really stood out VERY noticeably. So here you go, without drawing any conclusions or inferences. So, the Congo Square crowd was almost entirely black. Very few white faces to be seen anywhere, except at the very front of the stage in the premium badge area for those who paid an obscene amount for the privilege. For me it felt kind of like the Dexter Lake Club scene in Animal House ("OTIS!! MY MAN!!"). Yet, just two stages over, at the Gentilly Stage where Hall and Oates were just beginning their set, it was as white as the "Osmond Family Christmas in Branson" special. What...a contrast. Like I said, I don't want to draw any conclusions. But the question kept worming through my mind (like an awful song you can't get out of your head), "how did we get to this place?"

I'd have stayed longer at Jeffrey Osborne admiring the suit and digging the tunes, but my inner guilty pleasure 80s white guy pop side could stand it no longer. On to Hall and Oates! Would be-poster band for Stuff white people like. OK, first, they started about 15 minutes early. So I just caught the tail end of "I Can't Go For That." Oates has regrown his mustache, so all is right with the world again. He was wearing a retro "Live Aid" t-shirt too, which, while proto-douchey, merits excuse because, after all, he and Hall did actually play at Live Aid. Remember? (Wait, you people were alive during Live Aid, right? Dammit! I am getting way too old. Guess I'll share some of my Lions vs. Christians at the Colosseum stories one of these days.). They were the backing band for Mick Jagger and Tina Turner's duet. And Eddie Kendricks and David Ruffin from the original Temptations joined them for about half their set. Anyway, back to the 21st Century. So, this incarnation of Hall and Oates played all the songs, but, as was the apparent trend, in a much less slick and synthesizer heavy manner. Nope, Daryl Hall was jamming repeatedly with chunky guitar blasts. Oates too. Mid 40s chicks with dolphin ankle tattoos and braided hair looked slightly disturbed at all the feedback, interfering with their attempts to get their dance on. Don't get me wrong, its still really good White Soul, but where was all this ruckus coming from? Well, turns out Hall has been making some actual creative waves of late. He's got a show called "Live From Daryl's House" where he just brings in musicians of all sorts and they all jam on camera. Even though Hall and Oates did crank it out, and Hall strikes some pretty bad ass poses, he does come off a little bit edgy for someone with a song on The Wedding Singer soundtrack. But overall the crowd loved it. Everyone sang all the songs. The band was extra tight, and they proved a nice 80s counterpoint to the Fleetwood Mac's 70s anthems from the day before.

At this point, my Jazz Festival was largely done. Normally the Neville Brothers play the last set of Jazz Festival, but due to the aforementioned Aaron split they vacated that responsibility. Plus, they had kind of mailed it in the last few years anyway. So I basically had planned to leave a little early and run along Bayou St. John as the sun set. But instead I first went to the Grandstand and the Lagniappe Stage one last time to listen to the New Orleans Klezmer All-Stars. Well, this native bunch is just a bunch of Jewish guys playing rocked up versions of Jewish music. And like other Klezmer performances, the chair dance definitely broke out. Unlike other Klezmer performances, however, this one featured a Jewish wedding. Well, of course it did. With people dancing the horah, and a huppa, and the chair dance. What the hell? Don't get me wrong. Getting married at Jazz Fest would be straight out of the Chris Reeder Wedding Guide, if such a thing existed. You avoid the cost of a church, flowers, decorations, food and drink, entertainment, tables and chairs, etc. You keep away the crazy aunts and the annoying co-workers because everyone has to pay the price of a ticket to attend. But you still get a great crowd at your wedding because there's a bunch of people there anyway. So I get the logic. But then what explained the guy who looked like Tiny Tim who spent most of the time moving about in some sort of a cross between dancing and having an epileptic fit? Or the best man, wearing a Western cut tuxedo (think of the tuxedo version of something Hank Williams would have worn on stage) with white shrimp boots? Or the super hot yet super strange looking Wiccanesque chicks milling about the entry to the stage? Guess they didn't get the message...Stevie Nicks was here YESTERDAY! I threw myself right into the throng (obvi!) and as the Klezmers played on, stranger stuff kept happening. A kind of manic energy gripped the whole scene, like there was no way of knowing what would happen next. It was such a great way to end Jazz Festival, as I headed out of the Fair Grounds, into the setting sun reflecting off the bayou. To go run. Ugh.

Later people.

NEXT-the Top 5's.

Jazz Festival 2013 Saturday: Rebel Without a Camera

Stevie Nicks

Louisiana sailors

Saturday in New Orleans was absolutely glorious. Sunny, slightly chilly in the morning. San Diego weather. Its some sort of weird time warp when its 65 at the Jazz Festival. Usually I'm dying, standing in 90 degree sun for eight hours.

Unfortunately, record crowds thronged to the Festival to enjoy the unprecedented weather. My first inkling came when I saw that people had already taken my super secret awesome parking spot. That's never happened. Then, the thick crowds made it difficult to walk at a normal pace into the Fair Grounds.

Combined with the fact I spent most of the morning trying to clean my camera, I missed the morning prayer again. That's usually a bad omen and today it heralded a fairly disappointing day.

The organizers, and Mother Nature, mostly fixed the mud problem, except for most of the Fais Do Do stage, on which they poured sand, hay, and even pine needles. Some big muddy swaths still remained, but the walkways and most stage areas were mud free. I also fixed, or at least resolved, my own mud problem, having spent the better part of the morning with q-tips and damp rags knocking off the mud. It seemed to take pictures just fine. I'll take it in for a steam cleaning, or whatever you do, once I get home.

I initially went to the Gospel Tent and enjoyed a few songs from the Wimberly Family Gospel Singers. No local school choir, these five guys brought the energy and the rock to their gospel music. The leader sounded a little like Harold Melvin (of the Blue Notes). And even more impressively, they wore some really stylin' gold shirts. Like something to wear to Mormon Temple. Robust.

From there I went to the Revivalists at the Gentilly Stage. Normally not my cup of tea, but the Times Picayune recommended them so I wanted to check it out. This "techno funk" band struck me as a cross between the Red Hot Chili Peppers and local band Bonerama. The Screetch from Saved by the Bell-looking lead singer (how exactly did that happen), has a penchant for jumping into the crowd, must to the consternation of the rent-a-cops.

In case you were wondering, cigars are still a thing, obviously. All weekend I've seen fat guys (its never skinny guys) smoking away. Its not 1995 still is it? Maybe in New Orleans. Another thing I've noticed? Apparently its a thing for young couples to just throw down and majorly suck face. Like making out standing up. Not a peck on the lips. Not a hug. But chewing your partner's face off. I saw this one guy who I thought literally was going to swallow his date whole? When did this all start? I missed it. But I guess you should get used to seeing it, or averting your eyes.

Anyway, the Red Stick Ramblers were next up. This Cajun band, as I understand, occasionally guests on the HBO series Treme. The huge early crowd at the normally more sedate Fais Do Do stage attested to fame beyond the Cajun prairie. More remarkably, people finally gave in and started dancing in the large dance space to stage left. Which just goes to show the universal rule. whenever Cajuns meet, there will be dancing. And something made in a pot.

After the Ramblers, I ate and milled around the Louisiana native craft area for a bit during the schedule lull. This area contains local craft demonstrations, including blacksmithing, woodworking, furniture making, and other Cajun and creole arts. I also saw a Senegalese percussion circle in the Congo Square area.

I tried to enjoy a bit of the Dukes of Dixieland at the Economy Hall tent, but the crowd was so incredibly large it took away the enjoyment.

So instead I returned to the Fais Do Do stage to enjoy Breaux Bridge's Yvette Landry. I first learned about her as the bass player of Bonsoir Catin, an all woman traditional Cajun band. Today she fronted her own band and played guitar, as part of her expanding solo career. Its not exactly country or zyedco. I'd call it "contemporary Cajun." Ballads about men who did horrible things (one song suggests burning a man's house down as an appropriate remedy for lying...that's a bit extreme, right?), and reserved waltzes and two steps.

Here begins the complaining.

I'd planned to hear Terence Blanchard at the Jazz Tent and Eric Lindell in the Blues Tent. But the overflow crowds in both areas made that impossible. Every seat was taken, every standing area spot was taken, even the concrete pavilion area that lacked any view inside was totally filled with people sitting in their portable seats. I'm not sure what point that accomplishes. I could go to the park for free and listen to my ipod. This happens fairly often now, that Jazz Fest sells tickets to a slate of shows without adequate opportunity for everyone to enjoy every show they want. Or in my case, charges a premium for tickets that provide the only realistic opportunity to enjoy the act.

In short, Jazz Fest has outgrown itself. One thing I noticed about last year's ACL Festival was it didn't have this kind of crowding. Except for the night time headliner concerts, such as the Red Hot Chili Peppers. That's because ACL limits its ticket sales, while Jazz Fest just keeps on selling tickets. As the Festival's popularity grows, they try cramming more people into the same space. Which means that its harder to enjoy shows. As a practical matter, seeing a popular act at the Blues Tent requires one to stake out a spot all day. This requires an entire team who can keep a block of seats all day while you go to the restroom or eat. For those like me, who don't want to bring a staff to the Jazz Festival, it becomes more and more frustrating. Then when you throw in belligerent security and other staff, which I won't go into, it really takes the fun out of the experience.

So, harnessing my positive life attitude and can do spirit....

I'll try again. So, making lemonade out of lemons, or something like that, I milled around some more, and went to the Lagniappe Stage to enjoy a fife and drum band. Yes, that's right, I came all the way from Austin to hear a fife and drum band. Sharde Thomas and Rising Star. Three drums and a fife player. You know, like Yankee Doodle went to town? Yeah, that. I'll give them this, its not the same old thing. To make it just a little weirder, they played several well known rock songs. Like the Troggs' "Wild Thing," or Cream's (and many others') "Sittin' On Top of the World" and so forth. Well, at least I got to sit down in the shade.

I went on to the Gentilly Stage to listen to local favorites, Galactic. This is a definitely up and coming high energy, brassy, rock/funk band. Imagine the funk, non-lame version of Chicago.   They get really dirty. Musically and lyrically. I really enjoyed seeing them at the Festival a couple of years ago, so someone (you know who you are) gave me their last CD. I loved the show, but the CD sounded more like someone having a Tourette's attack than music. But this show returned to form and was much better than the CD. The guy from Living Color, which was also in town, joined them to sing most of the songs. I enjoyed the funked up version of "I Am the Walrus."

Despite really enjoying Galactic, I didn't want to miss any of Fleetwood Mac, who had on their own initiative moved up their appearance time by half an hour so as to expand their set. First surprise? Christine McVie isn't touring with them. Turns out she hasn't appeared with Fleetwood Mac in maybe 15 years. Who's gonna sing "Over My Head"? No one. Only her "Don't Stop," that wretched Bill Clinton theme song, made the set list. Which is a shame because she wrote the Fleetwood Mac songs I most enjoyed: "Over My Head," "You Make Loving Fun," "Go Your Own Way," "Songbird," and "Say You Love Me." What else does she having going on that's SOOOO important she can't go be a rock star? Gardening? Knitting? Child, please!

So as the show began, some meathead security guy passed through the crowd and told people to put down any camera that wasn't a phone camera. Apparently, Fleetwood Mac is a cutting edge, hot band who wants to control all their images. Cause we're all still doing anything we can to buy Stevie Nicks posters. Heh...still! Anyway, I complied. For a while.

The band was mostly the actual members.  Unlike a lot of classic rock groups playing the casino or cruise ship circuit who consist of about half the original players and haul around about 10 other hired gun musicians, Fleetwood Mac only brought along a keyboard player, a second guitarist, and a couple of backup singers. Otherwise, they played the music. Using actual real musical instruments, not taped, and not on some computer. Kind of a foreign concept these days I know. This revealed that they haven't just been sitting around watching Oprah all these years. Lindsay Buckingham turns out to be a pretty damn good guitarist. Meanwhile, Mick Fleetwood really rocked his huge drum kit. They played all the non-Christine McVie hits you remember, in a much grittier, rocking way. This set lacked all the smooth classic FM production and polish. They stripped these songs down to their essentials, and both Buckingham and Fleetwood soloed extensively.

The members have weathered time fairly well. Mick Fleetwood looks like Wavy Gravy or Ian Anderson, albeit with a bandanna. And with extreme crazy eyes. He's playing a huge gold plated (probably just colored gold) drum kid with about 10 symbols and a huge gong. Though she's lost weight recently, Stevie Nicks still kind of evokes latter day Sally Struthers. Lindsay Buckingham, douche that he is, looks like Art Garfunkel and John McEnroe's idiot bastard child on steroids. Lindsay, my man, black leather and skin tight t-shirts undoubtedly look fierce on Sunset, but at Jazz Fest, they make you look like an enormous tool. John McVie was Entwistle-esque in his personality-less performance. Taking the ACT is more exciting.

Stevie Nicks must have changed outfits about three times. Once she made a huge production, during "Gold Dust Woman," of putting on some sort of gold colored web looking wrap. She should have just stood next to Fleetwood's drum kit. Top hats, different shawls (that's probably not the right word). All with the base outfit that made her look like some sort of Wiccan spider. Yall know the get up I'm describing, right? Its the one she's been wearing for about the last 35 years or so. Geez, lady. Even baseball teams change their uniforms every few years or so. Except the Yankees. Who suck. All I could think of was the South Park episode where everyone mistakes a goat for Stevie Nicks. Still, one can't deny her influence. Florence (and the Machine) is doing a Stevie Nicks thing all these years later.

During the last couple of songs, I pulled out my camera for some surreptitious shots. And within a few minutes, the security guy got in my face and started yelling at me and told me he would throw me out of the festival. This during the last song of the last act of the day. Inspired by Steve Martin, I just said "I forgot, sorry" and looked right at him. Pretty bold of me, lying to a musclehead wearing a highlighter colored t-shirt. I could be on Cops, right? He just walked on. That's my version of being a bad ass. Good lord. On the way out of the Fair Grounds, I saw three New Orleans police officers manhandling some huge barefooted Samoan looking dude out of the Festival. He must have had a camera too.

TOMORROW: Hall and Oates. Tomorrow's post will be delayed. I'm packing tonight.

Jazz Festival 2013 Friday: I'm Not Willie Nelson

Willie Nelson

That's the punchline of one of the funniest jokes I've ever heard. I'll give you the setup at the end as an inducement to keep reading. Shameful.

OK, I actually have some things to write about. Other than, you know, the (alleged) history of American music substituting as a review for some local band, or "hey did you ever notice" social commentary based on some random event I saw that day.

Basically, it was a day of highs and lows.

Someone likes the mud

And no that's not a drug reference.

To start off, I've been freezing all day. And I spent much of the afternoon and evening caked in mud. I've been this cold before, and I've been this muddy before. But I've never been this cold and this muddy at the same time. Yesterday's front stuck around today in the form of morning rain and then 60 degree temps with constant wind. That doesn't sound like much, until you factor in that everything at the Festival was wet, then muddy. And when you take into account that I prepared for 90 degree days, I didn't have the proper clothes to deal with the elements. My feet were soaked all day, and that's not too comfy. I had to run all over the West Bank to find a functioning raincoat, which was the only thing keeping me out of the deep freeze. Nothing like squishing with every step. Yeah, I found some "shrimp boots" but stupidly decided not to buy them. Bad idea.

Then after chasing around looking for raincoats and dashing over to the Festival in time for the opening, I found out they delayed the opening by an hour. So, standing around for an hour in line waiting for it to open. I saw proof positive that this isn't a local festival--a woman was waiting in line wearing an Atlanta Falcons jacket. That's grounds for an ass kicking in most parts of town. About the only thing worse would be wearing an Alabama shirt in Baton Rouge. I met two older ladies from New York who come down every year for the festival. We talked about the "superstorm" and other stuff. The two drunk guys behind me were talking about fishing. And how their bloody mary buzzes were wearing off. Important stuff. I thought the one guy in cammo gear was really going to have a freak out if the bar didn't open soon. Oh, and then this young couple, also behind me, got into a really uncomfortable fight. Basically revolving around him objecting to her wanting everything so highly organized, and her objecting to him. I tried to tell the guy to back off, but he just kept on talking. With the inevitable results. Dude, when Chris Reeder knows its time to shut up before you do, you really need to rethink your whole approach to women.

Once in, it quickly became apparent that the extra hour the Festival organizers took to prepare the field was a complete waste of time. The place basically looked like the Ho Chi Minh trail. (modern reference). Or Port Arthur. Whatever they did, it didn't work. So very quickly in, everyone was in mud up to their knees.

But why let a little squishiness stop you from enjoying the day? First I went to the Holly Williams show. I had no idea who she is. Turns out she's related to that Williams. The Hanks. She doesn't really trade off it though, other than keeping the name. It definitely wasn't the family's style music. Basically, it was introspective country ballads about love and life. Though she did play "I Saw the Light." Her voice reminded me of Shelby Lynne. By the way, whatever happened to her?

Next up was the New Leviathan Oriental Foxtrot Orchestra's annual appearance at the Economy Hall tent. As you may recall, these folks all wear Captain Stubing outfits and play music from the 1900-1920 era, along with weird instruments like the theramin. Its like the music in every Woody Allen movie. Or what you'd imagine you'd hear on the Titanic. And not ridiculous Enya "music." Oldsters and youngsters alike packed the place, as they do every year. Kids danced with their parents, along with older couples. Everyone loved it and cheered every song. Its great that these songs aren't dying along with the generation that produced them.

This left me only enough time to hear a couple songs from the Iguanas. One thing about the mud...it forced the thicker crowds into narrower, less muddy walkways. That made it harder to move around from stage to stage. So it was more difficult to see as many acts. I don't really know what the Iguanas are about. They're a long-time, very successful New Orleans club act. I vaguely remember seeing them back when I lived here. And I remember not really liking them much. Today, one song was some sort of Latin dance song. The other was a rock and roll song. What's going on here guys? But I didn't give it enough of a listen.

OK, next it was on to eat and then catch the Mavericks. They've long been a favorite, but I thought they broke up. Turns out they recently reunited. I never realized there's about 30 members. It was some kind of circus with things happening all over the stage. One guy thought he was Eddie Van Halen. The keyboard player was some sort of performance artist. The lead singer was about the size of two people. All in all, they're more energetic and rocking than I remember. And..a little more Latin too. Imagine Ray Price combined with Los Lobos. Festival director Quint Davis emceed, giving their show the official imprimatur of Importance.

Then it was local favorite Papa Grows Funk. I'd heard of this group but never actually seen them. After reading good reviews, I resolved to check them out. Well, yes, its "funk." While its pretty good when its uptempo (though lots of the songs sound like some sort of porno soundtrack), its still kind of like a bad Neville Brothers song without the harmonies. Most songs, though, were ponderous, dark dirges that frankly bored me.

Marcia Ball was playing around the same time, and gave yet another great performance. When does she ever have an off show? Its bound to happen at some point, right? But in all the years and all the shows I've seen her, I've not seen one flat performance. She always gives you your money's worth. That's no doubt why she's a Louisiana and Jazz Fest legend. And sadly, the DJ on WTUL with tonight's shift couldn't even pronounce her name right. Shameful.

Then it was on to Gal Holiday and the Honky Tonk Revue at the Kids' Tent. This is a recent Jazz Fest find from a couple of years ago. Western swing, jazz, country...its all fun and its the kind of music you might hear at the Broken Spoke. Lots of covers (George Jones, Johnny Cash, Elvis Presley), and some original material. They really connect with kids. I think its because they play fun music and talk directly to the kids. And Gal Holiday wears super bright clothes.

Finally, the day closed with Willie Nelson. He just turned 80, in case you haven't heard, but is still going strong. This guy's going to outlive us all. He played Jazz Fest last year so I was a little surprised he came back so soon. But I guess at 80, with all the miles he's put in, there may not be too many more Jazz Fests. The show was great, the huge crowd swimming in the mud loved it. I couldn't quite figure out something though. His heroes have always been cowboys, but he doesn't want mothers to let their babies grow up to be cowboys. That contradiction just doesn't make any sense. Maybe its Waylon Jennings' fault. Everyone sang all the songs, and Willie actually played some really nice guitar solos. Marcia Ball and Holly Williams came out at the end and joined him on "Will the Circle Be Unbroken." A great end to the day's music.

So, near the end of the show as I'm standing right next to what looked like a swamp, Willie threw his headband into the crowd. And, guess who caught it? This guy. That's right. Me. I own Willie's headband. Unfortunately, it was sort of like fans trying to catch a home run. About 10 people fell on top of me in the melee, pushing me into said swamp. To show you how weird I am, as it was happening, all I could think of was the old Steve Martin line, "Into the mud, scum queen!" I could have dealt with that fine. But my expensive Canon camera and telephoto lens also wound up in the swamp. Ordinarily that would have totally ruined my weekend, but after all, I got Willie's headband. Someone told me later he doesn't sell those things on his web site or anything so it should fetch a good price on eBay. Which I won't do. I wiped off my camera later with a damp rag, but its still covered in dried mud. So if anyone has any ideas on how to clean it enough to make it the rest of the weekend, please let me know.

Before I freeze to death.

OK, back to the title. David Sedaris told this joke about a year ago at his Austin reading. Here's the set up: "What's the worst thing you can hear when you're blowing Willie Nelson?"

TOMORROW: Fleetwood Mac, Terence Blanchard

Jazz Festival 2013 Thursday: People Have the Power

The people have the power
The people have the power
The people have the power
The people have the power
The power to dream / to rule
to wrestle the world from fools
it's decreed the people rule
it's decreed the people rule
LISTEN
I believe everything we dream
can come to pass through our union
we can turn the world around
we can turn the earth's revolution
we have the power
People have the power ...

--Patti Smith, "People Have the Power"

Today I heard Patti Smith stand in front of a microphone and sing this song to a huge crowd, all standing in the rain and singing every word as she performed. No lip synching, no choreographed dancers, no douchebag standing around screaming stuff during the song.

Beyoncé's biggest hit is "Irreplaceable." Here are some of the lyrics:

You can pack all your bags we're finished (you must not know 'bout me)
'Cause you made your bed now lay in it (you must not know 'bout me)
I could have another you by tomorrow
Don't you ever for a second get to thinkin'
You're irreplaceable?

 Ohhhh kaaaaayy.

This is why I checked out of popular music a long time ago. That and the "artists" don't actually, you know, play musical instruments.

As you may have figured out, the New Orleans skies opened up on Jazz Festival today, dumping crazy rain on the Fair Grounds where it takes place. Putting sand down on the more heavily trafficked paths didn't do much to improve the footing, but it did make the place smell like wet horse. Which is not that great. On the other hand, the rains kept the crowds and the temperature down. In fact, it was about the coolest Jazz Fest day I can remember, except the day in 2005 I saw Isaac Hayes, which really was one of the most spectacular days ever, on many accounts.

Before I get into the day's events, I want to address Kimberly's point about Billy Joel not being jazz. Long ago, without actually acknowledging it, the Jazz Festival started relying on crowd-drawing "headliners" to bankroll the Festival. Headliners draw ticket buying crowds in numbers sufficient to pay the bills (the Festival is, to my knowledge, a non-profit corporation). The Fest powers that be don't particularly bother to make sure that these headliners have any real connection to jazz music, or even musical styles originating in Louisiana (which is what the Festival actually showcases, explaining the presence of gospel, blues, rap, and Cajun musical acts). This would explain how the Foo Fighters wind up playing something ostensibly called a "jazz festival." So the name "Jazz Festival" is more of a brand name at this point than a true description. Though, to their credit, the Fest organizers haven't radically departed from the premise that the musical acts should at least have some thread of a connection to Louisiana musical styles. Bear in mind, Louisiana has spawned or nurtured a lot of musical styles (the range from Louis Armstrong to Jerry Lee Lewis to the Neville Brothers to Dewey Balfa takes in a lot of territory). So its not too difficult to connect a lot of music to Louisiana. On the other hand, the Festival hasn't been too cynical about booking. Its not like Metallica has ever played here. Or Yo Yo Ma.

Today as I walked up to the Fair Grounds, I saw some kids playing "Simon Says" at the church playground. What year is this? 1972? How come these kids aren't sitting in front of a TV? Or ensconced in some sort of "we are all equal and everyone is beautiful" indoctrination course? Geez. Doesn't Simon Says have "winners" and "losers" after all? How can everyone's human dignity be affirmed by branding someone as a "loser"?

I arrived in time to participate in the Gospel Tent's morning prayer, after the stage crew sang "This Is the Day The Lord Hath Made." First up was the Eleanor McMains "Singing Mustangs" Gospel Choir. I like that all these inner city schools have spawned active and accomplished gospel choirs. Its inspiring seeing all these kids participating in an after school activity that doesn't involve playing X-Box or hanging out in the streets. And they're all really good too, so they gain that sense of accomplishment. Another great thing about the Gospel Tent is that its really the only Jazz Fest stage that's truly local. It began at the very first Festival when Brother Sherman Washington, leader of the Zion Harmonizers, volunteered to organize a gospel stage. Through his leadership over all these years, the local gospel music and church community has run the Gospel Tent ever since. Though some national acts play from time to time, it almost entirely features New Orleans born and based musicians. The Gospel Tent's energy level may not approach that of the other stages, but its most certainly more consistently energetic, and by far is the most genuine and non-commercial place in the Festival.

After charting a course for the day, I went to the Congo Square Stage (one of the larger of the numerous Festival Stages, generally featuring African or world music, or more contemporary African American music), to check out Grupo Sensacion, a Cuban/Latin group. The place was pretty empty, by Jazz Fest standards. Already it was evident that the impending rains would keep away the big crowds.  I'm not too familiar with Cuban music but enjoyed the few songs I heard today. They had a couple dancing along to the music, and they appeared pretty talented. It wasn't strictly Cuban but seemed to take in a wide swath of Central American styles.

After they finished, I went on to see Mia Borders at the Acura Stage (the largest Festival stage). She's another New Orleanian with a guitar and a pen, kicking out her own deeply felt, profoundly stated songs. Whatevs. I really enjoy hearing all these songs of deep social import, each of which leads to an announcement that you can buy her CD at the merchandise tent. Don't these people know that no one buys CDs anymore? To be fair, Mia Borders is by no means a particularly egregious example of this phenomenon. I mean, if you can play the guitar and have multiple tattoos or piercings and wear pointedly non-conformist clothes, isn't there some law that you're automatically a Serious Artist? In all seriousness, I did mostly enjoy her show. I would liken her style to funky blues. The Black Crowes crossed my mind, as did Bonnie Raitt. The comparison was fairly obvious, but she's an up and comer on the New Orleans music scene.

From there I moved over to the Gentilly Stage to hear Meschiya Lake and the Little Big Horns. Get it? Little Big Horns? I'd never heard of her, but I'd seen on line that she was a must see. Glad I did. Boy was this ever unexpected. This was the same kind of 1900-1920 style jazz music one normally hears only at the Economy Music Hall Tent. She has a somewhat fierce vocal style, as if the singing doesn't really match the music. Accompanying her was also another couple dancing to those crazy new "jazz" tunes. Oh, and she has about one or a thousand tattoos, including multiple face tattoos. The face tattoo is basically how you say to the world "I will never work in an office. Or a pre-school."

Then I caught just a bit of Rosie Ledet and the Zyedeco Playboys. Rosie has a huge south Louisiana following and with good cause. I liked her straight ahead yet cool singing style. Usually with zydeco, it seems to me like the playing comes before the singing. But not with Rosie Ledet, who has a great voice. The thick crowd, somewhat unusual for the day, confirmed her stature. The rains had already started and the whole place was becoming muddier as the day wore on.

Next it was back to Congo Square for the last couple of songs from the Hot 8 Brass Band. This is a truly local group, much larger than the normal brass band. Both in number and size. Lets just say the "beedus" will deplete this group fairly soon. They evoke the other brass bands that have become so popular in New Orleans over the last 20 years. Later tonight while jogging, I saw the band unloading its equipment and walking in the Warehouse District. I guess there's a musician spectrum. At one end is the Hot 8 Brass Band, wearing silk screened t-shirts with your band name and moving your own equipment. At the other end is Sting. Well, at least the Hot 8 doesn't have any pompous, self-absorbed, preening douchebags. Like some other people I could name.

In my notes at this point, I have some diatribe about the "cult of New Orleans," that all the national musicians fawn over here. I had some line comparing New Orleans to Escape from New York that was pretty good. Let's just skip that for now.

And move on to Blended Voices, at the Jazz Tent. This featured legendary New Orleans jazz queen Germaine Bazzle, as well as local greats Phillip Manuel and Leslie Smith. With a large jazz orchestra, they covered a range of standards. Some they sang together, but mostly they sang solo, or "unblended."  I try to catch Manuel every Festival, ever since his Nat King Cole tribute show. Bazzle is basically the queen of premier local jazz club, Snug Harbor. Dreamy jazz ballads in the rain (as the storms had come back by this point).

On to the Lagniappe Stage (in the Fair Grounds grandstand building) to catch Ingrid Lucia. Who looks suspiciously like my friend Martha Beaudry. Every year I want to hear Ingrid Lucia's full show, and every year I only catch a couple of songs. I stayed a little longer today. She sings jazz standards too, though a little more up tempo with a swing influence, and she has this coquettish falsetto voice, like Marilyn Monroe in Some Like It Hot (modern reference).

On the way to Widespread Panic, I caught a little bit of the Delfeayo Marsalis show. Apparently there's only two musical families in this town: the Nevilles and the Marsalises. Its like they're the rival car dealership families in town. Anyway, Delfeayo is a trombonist, and was supported by a full jazz orchestra. Unlike other band leaders, he sat with the other band members. I didn't really stay long enough to get a full listening, but it struck me as fairly conservative, traditional big band jazz, less swing and more ballad. And how middle aged white guy am I? I liked that all his band members wore suits. Suit up!

OK, Widespread Panic. They've got this widespread following as the pre-eminent "jam band." I've never heard them until today. Though there's no arguing with success, and though the place appeared packed with entry-level brokers and commercial real estate account managers, I have to say I just don't get it. Actually, I do get it, I just don't agree with it. They've got four songs, and each one lasts about 45 minutes and sounds the same as the other three. The members just kind of stand there the whole time, motionless and expressionless. There's no show, as such. This is just musical cotton candy. The Jimmy Buffet of jam bands. Now, if this weren't already so long, I'd write about how these criticisms might appear to apply to the Grateful Dead, but they really don't. The Dead were much stronger songwriters, and Jerry was a virtuoso guitar player.

Finally, as noted above, I concluded with the Patti Smith show. This show really rocked. Despite having been performing for four decades, she still infused the songs with real passion and energy. Oh, and she's 66 years old. Not at all mailing it in. She still has her fastball. Unfortunately, she also looks like Henry Winkler. Patti Smith has an important place in music history. Before there was Joan Jett, Pink, Chrissie Hynde, Jewel, Deborah Harry, Kate Bush, Alanis Morrisette, or Annie Lennox, there was Patti Smith. She was more than just another rock singer. She was, and is, an actual poet, writer, and playwright. Highlights included a lengthy cover of several songs from the incredible Nuggets box set, Gloria, Because the Night, and Dancing Barefoot, in addition to People Have the Power. She made a point of dedicating one song to New Orleans, which normally would provoke me to eye rolling, but explained that after Sandy hit New York and New Jersey, they could really understand what New Orleans had endured with Katrina, and said New Yorkers still remember that New Orleans was hit. That doesn't warrant eye rolling. Towards the end, as People Have the Power wound down, she went into a rant about how people really do have power to fight governments and corporations, which she exhorted people to remember. This struck me as inspirational. While Carlos Santana's political rant left me irritated at best. The difference? Santana's rant was literally an appeal to vote for a candidate, Obama, while Smith's was more general. Santana's also little more than fawning, unquestioning, idol worship. I mean most of his rant was just embarrassingly over the top, and never-ending (even finding its way into songs, as he literally tried to lead cheers for Obama). Smith's was relatively brief, and more even-handed. And being a little subversive is totally rock and roll. Smith really exhibited a command of the stage, which is a rare quality. She showed that you don't have to litter the stage with dancers and mayhem to entertain. She was intense without becoming histrionic. She talked to the crowd some, and obviously was enjoying the show. Unlike a lot of other headliners who plainly are just there for the check. All in all, it was a great show and the day's highlight.

I lingered a bit afterwards, to buy t-shirts for various folks. At 7:15, 15 minutes after the fairly firm 7:00 cutoff time, Widespread Panic was still playing. I guess when you're in a groove, you just lose track of time.

Tomorrow: Willie Nelson and Marcia Ball.