The theme for today was “when’s it going to rain”? Dark clouds hovered overhead all day long, and storms were forecasted in the early afternoon, but no rain. Until around 5:00, then it started and stopped and restarted and restopped until the end of the day. Maybe it was the rain, or maybe just the town, but that’s when things started to get a little…unusual. Two couples right next to me got into huge fights (one girl actually hit her boyfriend), then totally made up (which is just how things usually work with my girlfriends, except for the totally making up part). After the shows, I saw three yuppies (two girls and a guy), carrying their nearly passed out fourth yuppie guy friend back to the car, mumbling incoherently as his friends dragged him at top speed across Carrollton Avenue in front of oncoming traffic. Then, I made the questionable call of stopping at McDonalds for a diet coke, and got in line behind a God’s honest tweaker. This guy really noticed my “Tex-Anns” shirt, and wanted to know if the “Tex-Anns” play in Austin or Houston. With your average drunk you can just ignore anything they say, but your tweaker can go berserk and try to pull your thyroid gland out of your body with no provocation, so its best to talk to these people if they confront you. When I told him they’re in Houston, he asked where they play, to which I responded Reliant Stadium. He said that’s where he saw the Astros play in the World Series about eight years ago. When I made what could have been a fatal mistake of correcting him, he asked if they played the Red Sox. No, wrong again. Wrong on everything. When he got to the cashier, he ordered half the menu and seemed to have a whole lot of trouble understanding anything at all she said. When I saw his open wallet it was stuffed with hundreds, which was pretty weird for a guy with a slicked up mullet and dirty looking Ralph Lauren polo shirt. Thank God the NOPD was there, by the window, rocking the Chicken McNuggets. I think they would have finished a little more quickly to help me if they heard me screaming as my thyroid gland got pulled out of my throat. So today was unusual even for New Orleans.
Let’s start with some loose ends from yesterday. Those of you who went to flickr to check out yesterday’s pictures will have seen a couple of duck nest photos, one showing a few untended eggs. According to this morning’s paper, the Jazz Festival construction crews putting together the temporary bleachers for the Acura stage noticed the mallard nesting near the bleachers location. They also noticed that she was tending about eight or so eggs. So, making omelets out of those eggs, err, bad analogy, they just put some police barricades around the nest and let the mallard come and go. The article said the mallard leaves the nest untended during the day and comes back at night. Sounds more like a dad than a mom. Was she at work or something? Happily, no one alerted the Sierra Club or the Environmental Defense Fund, so there was no federal litigation trying to enjoin Jazz Fest until the organizers prepared an environmental impact statement and got the necessary 38 federal agency permits to have a concert near a duck.
Also, it turns out that the food vendors aren’t having such a great year. This apparently has occurred due to torrential rains last weekend, which I gather made people not feel like eating. Its not like they didn’t come (read yesterday’s post-first weekend experienced record crowds). The vendors apparently had to throw out a lot of product, and that along with rising food and fuel costs and higher rental fees, has made it dicey for a lot of the vendors. Their answer-raise prices. A plate of sautéed spinach costs $5. A smallish bowl of gumbo-$5. And so on. The higher prices undoubtedly are making people buy fewer items, including me. Well, at least its high prices for relatively good food. I shudder to think of the Festival having to include the turkey leg/corn on the cob/funnel cake crowd because the good food vendors can’t make money.
Today it’s a lot more crowded, which is somewhat unexpected given the thunderstorms prediction. For once I’m prepared with a poncho, the purchase of which I hope will ward of said storms. Seems like an older crowd too, a really older crowd. Like where were all the RVs when I walked in?
I started again at the Gospel Tent, having found another great parking place (not so quite as good as yesterday though). Again, they began the day with a prayer and devotional song, so I’ll try to carry on that way of starting out tomorrow and Sunday. Then followed the first performers of the day, the Gospel Inspirations from Boutte, Louisiana. It was the standard gospel choir and music, although a bit more R&B than I would have expected. I’d have stayed a bit longer, but I got unexpectedly donutted by a group of punkish high school kids apparently skipping school, replete with their nose rings, teal colored hair, and their sweet Robin Zander/Ric Ocasik Chess King fashions. I’ll see these kids again next year when they serve me my coffee after they move to Austin, but for now I guess they’ll be using Daddy’s credit card to get even with him.
That simply hastened my eventual move to check out the Bluerunners at the Fais-Do-Do stage. More rock than zydeco, but really entertaining. The area was packed by 11:30 with lots of dancers, and more than a fair share of very odd looking characters, and keep in mind I live in Austin. Despite that, the Fais-Do-Do stage had a sea of portable chair sitters today, quite a difference from yesterday and past years. These are the older, slower fans, looking to stay put and listen to music while they, I don’t know, talk to each other.
When the Bluerunners concluded, I went to the folklife area and watched some native dancers from the North Carolina coast, the “Tuscarora Stompers.” I learned they don’t live in teepees and their dances are all named after animals the Great Creator made. Which is weird because lots of ‘60s dances were too (the fly, the monkey, the funky chicken, the penguin, the pony….). The small crowd watching seemed to get into it, and many accepted the invitation to join in the dance line (although this was not line dancing, actually, technically it was, sort of like the “locomotion”).
After watching the second line, I went to Congo Square to sample Theryl “Houseman” deClouet. The one from Louisiana, not Wisconsin. He’s a straight up soul vocalist, sounding a lot like George Benson but with a Memphis groove.
First lunch consisted of pecan catfish menieure. Thoroughly unremarkable, it didn’t even taste like catfish.
I ventured to the Economy Hall tent for a bit, surprised to find it absolutely packed. But I have found what would appear to be an ongoing AARP meeting. This is where the oldsters are hanging out, fitting because Economy Hall focuses on 1900-1930 jazz music. Lots of 10 piece brass bands and people trying to do the Charleston. Its also where parents take their little kids; I saw one very cute little girl literally dragging her mother to the dance floor to dance (pictures on flickr).
From there I went to the Gentilly Stage to hear Brent Dennen. I guess this guy is supposed to be a rocker, but couldn’t really focus on his music because his looking like the bastard love child of Michael Moore and Jack Osbourne with requisite 10 degree hat tilt and 1974 ABA afro had me so distracted I just couldn’t concentrate. As best I could tell, it was some sort of loud, semi-obnoxious pop sounding swill. The sad thing is knowing this guy gets chicks he has no business getting (which is to say, any woman at all) just because he plays guitar. Sort of.
On to the long-awaited D.L. Menard performance, but not before watching a live blacksmithing demonstration. These two guys were making a long, sharp pointed tool of an unknown variety. One guy pumped air into the forge, while the other Saint Nicholas looking guy was beating the tip against the anvil. Kind of weird having people gather around to watch you work. Somehow I doubt I’d draw that big a crowd just by setting up my desk and a computer at Jazz Fest. Can’t see people lining up to watch me write my usual 50,000 daily e-mails and take phone calls.
Then D.L. Menard took the Fais-Do-Do stage. The pride of Erath, Louisiana, Menard was encouraged to pursue a career by no less than Hank Williams. Now THIS is the real Cajun, and this is what every Cajun group should be. Everyone was dancing and having a good time. Menard is the real deal, with such a thick Cajun accent I could barely understand his cries of “hot diggity dog,” or his other crowd raps. He and his band had a lot of fun, with Menard calling out to people in the crowd he recognized. At one point, his keyboard player called him a living legend, and Menard said “I’m just happy to still be living.” Menard turned 76 yesterday.
But he was scheduled against another living legend, Richard Thompson, founding member of the British folk group Fairport Convention, and whom Rolling Stone has called one of the top 25 guitarists in the world. Thompson played several happy-go-lucky, upbeat pop ballads. Uh, not so much. This guy makes Townes VanZandt seem cheery. Pretty much this is music to sweep a girl back on to her feet. Oh, and every guy in this facility over 50 and with a dirty goatee is here too, focused on Thompson like a laser beam and not wearing shirts either God save us.
Thompson having been a major wash out, I instead head on to Joseph “Zigaboo” Modeliste, who was just finishing. Straight ahead R&B at Congo Square. Check the lead guitar player’s photo. That’s one stylin’ mo fo (signed Rick Perry).
After some $5 jama jama (I like saying “jama jama”), I looked forward to a long Art Neville set. Review: “meh.” He mailed it in. I thought the guy was asleep, except that he kept talking between songs, which at first I thought was him talking in his sleep, but apparently others around me seemed to understand what he was saying. Even Aaron’s guest appearance on a couple of songs couldn’t save the day. It pretty much sounded like a taped loop muzak performance of Fats Domino’s “I Hear You Knocking But You Can’t Come In.”
As I write this at my hotel, the Fawn Lebowitz scene from Animal House is coming on TV. This is one of the greatest scenes ever filmed and I will pause to watch it for the millionth time before continuing. “She was going to make a pot for me!”
I’m back. OK, after waking up from the Art Neville show, I went over to enjoy the last couple of songs from Ingrid Lucia at the Lagniappe stage. Much better show. She’s a vocalist singing standards in a jazz vein. She got a recommendation from Gambit Weekly, the local weekly alternative paper. Another Jazz Fest find.
Out to get my third lunch of the day, and I decide to go overboard and get both crawfish enchiladas AND crabmeat stuffed enchiladas. Something of a disappointment. I think at the restaurant its probably better, but its not so great in mass production.
Then I went to the Blues Tent to check out John Hammond Quartet. Pretty much a white guy sitting on a stool playing blues guitar, old style blues. The place was packed, so without anywhere to sit and without getting much from the show, I headed to the mostly empty Jazz Tent to sit around and get ready for Stevie Wonder. Just as I sit down, the skies open and the rains pour. In comes hundreds without any rain gear looking to get out of the rain. Talk about your great timing-for once I’m exactly where I need to be. It stops raining around 5:10, right before I head over to Stevie Wonder.
Where its absolutely packed. And muddy. Nonetheless, I plunge into the crowd. Jazz Fest head Quint Davis handled the introduction (a rare honor). Stevie started by saying his mother died two years ago last May 31st, which kind of brought me down, then asked everyone to observe a moment of silence for Katrina victims. Then he started talking about how exciting Barack Obama’s candidacy is, which sort of wrong-footed it for me. Then came about four “smooth jazz” style songs, one of which was a protest smooth jazz song, if there can be such a thing. Then he played what seemed like a 20 minute version of “Ribbons In the Sky,” complete with an odd sing-a-long. So far, not so good. You know, it seems to me that if Stevie Wonder wants to change the world, he can do it a lot more effectively through the pure joy of lyrics like "You Are the Sunshine of My Life" or "Isn't She Lovely" than through another tired harangue against the goverment. But then he launched into “Higher Ground,” at which point (ironically) it resumed storming. The rest of the show had off and on rain, creating more and more mud. But the music kept improving. After “Overjoyed” came “Don’t You Worry About a Thing,” “Signed, Sealed, Delivered,” “Sir Duke,” “I Wish,” “My Cherie Amour” (my favorite Stevie Wonder song-the crowd sang the first verse), “Isn’t She Lovely” (with the crowd singing the la, la, la, la, la, la parts), Boogie On Reggae Woman” (during which said woman smacked her boyfriend), and “Superstitious/I Love You More Today than Yesterday” with Irma Thomas accompanying. Oh, and the old Eddie Murphy impression of Stevie Wonder is dead on accurate. That’s exactly how he plays, with a big smile and head rocking back and forth the entire time. Stevie said pretty much the following at the end, which I think is a good place to end this. He said that he loves each and every person in the crowd, but that as much as he loves us, God loves us even more. And that whatever problems and challenges we face, we shouldn’t be afraid to win.
Tomorrow-Dirty Dozen Brass Band, Ruthie Foster, Diana Krall, Subdudes, Marcia Ball.
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