Jerry Lee and Stevie Wonder are looking forward to meeting you at Jazz Fest this year. Which is a bit odd because they won't actually be there again this year. But, the memory lingers on.
This blog began as a means by which I could share my vacation exploits with my three friends. One has since moved on, leaving two friends hanging on every word about my exciting vacation trips. The fact that more people don't read those posts is really staggering. With writing like "I reached the summit around 3:30. It was beautiful. Really, really beautiful. Just really great scenery. Then I turned around, ate a sandwich and hiked the rest of the day. Did I mention it was really beautiful at the summit?" Riveting.
The first significant expansion of scope, other than breaking down important Star Trek plots and likening social issues to Dirty Dancing, was to over-analyze my New Orleans Jazz Festival experiences. Turns out that not only am I an expert on these and numerous other subjects, I'm also an expert food and music critic. True story. Not letting the fact that no one asked stop me, I've taken it upon myself these last few years to share my most intimate, detailed, road-wizened tales of Jazz Festival-going with you. By that of course, I mean bringing the same razor sharp descriptive powers to Jazz Fest blogging that I do to all my travel posts. "Then I saw Bonsoir Caitin, a traditional cajun band. They were good. Really good. Really, really good. Then I ate a crawfish pie, and then I went to Kings of Leon and they sucked, which was bad because it was hot." Kind of like a book report by the captain of the 8th grade football team, but whose Mom was too busy planning her Southern Living party to help him write it. Or exactly like a Rolling Stone music review, only the exact opposite.
But they're fun to write, and because I take notes during the day, writing and subsequently reading these posts helps me remember my Jazz Fest experiences a little longer. It seemed for awhile that no one was reading until last year, when an especially angry and motivated Sugarland fan, whose wit sadly did not match his or her emotional level, wrote to object in the strongest possible terms to my review of Sugarland including the "how to tell that your band sucks" game. In fairness, I may have gone a little far with stating that the town of Sugar Land, Texas wants the band to get its name out of their mouths. But, hey, "tough stands on tough issues" is the Daily Affirmations motto. (Actually, "you can be my wingman anytime" is the motto, its just that its so...well...dubious).
Where was I?
Jazz Fest. OK, well, it's back again, and I leave for New Orleans on Wednesday for another year under the sun. Once again, I'll be attending the four-day second weekend (having missed Simon and Garfunkel, the Allman Brothers, and various other name acts this past first weekend). Look for posts each night (though Sunday's post usually is delayed because I have to spend that night packing). It'll be another year of sunshine fighting with rains for mud pit supremacy. Another year of awesome, amazing, incredible, death by food. Another year of discovering incredible new bands. Another year of catching old musicians again, or seeing some of the old favorites for the first time. And another year of damn near causing myself to need back surgery from all the standing around. If only I could send 25 year old Chris in my place. Sadly, I think that guy got sidetracked somewhere in Rapides Parish in the buffet line at Ryan's Family Buffet. Man, Alec is really some place to leave, err, "live."
Anyway, for someone inclined to experience music as a passion, rather than just something to dance to or have playing in the background, Jazz Festival stirs the soul and renews the spirit. Each year gives a reawakening of the senses. Every time I attend, I celebrate a new rite of spring. And by that I mean, hot girls in cutoffs.
And awesome music. Past Jazz Festivals have allowed me to go on a proverbial tour of a living Hall of Fame: Aretha Franklin, Jerry Lee Lewis, Stevie Wonder, Rev. Al Green, Isaac Hayes, Sam Moore, Ike Turner, the Dixie Cups, Solomon Burke, Paul Simon, Elvis Costello, Tony Bennett, Randy Newman, Junior Walker, Charles Brown, Carole King (with special guest Slash...yeah, you read that right), Allen Toussaint, Dr. John, the Neville Brothers, Carlos Santana, Neil Young, Wynton Marsalis, Mose Allison, John Mayall, Irma Thomas, Solomon Burke, the Ohio Players, Percy Sledge, the Five Blind Boys of Alabama, the Zion Harmonizers, Tito Puente, and a list that goes on and on. Jazz Fest also allows its faithful the opportunity to sample a wide variety of musical styles beyond the crowd-pulling headliners, ranging from zydeco to traditional jazz, from blues to ragtime, from gospel to folk. Jazz Fest has opened the door for me to learn about countless other players I'd have never encountered otherwise. Anders Osborne, Dash Rip Rock, Treme Brass Band, Rebirth Brass Band, Theresa Andersson, Bonsoir Caitin, Irma Thomas, the Radiators, Ernie K-Doe, Better than Ezra, Beausoleil, the subdudes, the Iguanas, the New Orleans Klezmer Orchestra, Feufollet, D.L. Menard, John Boutte, Deacon John, Buckwheat Zydeco, Amanda Shaw, the New Leviathan Oriental Foxtrot Orchestra, and, again, countless others.
This year looks to be one of the best yet. The headliners are top quality, but not necessarily so famous that they'll draw a crush of fans just to see them. Signed, the Dave Matthews Band. Interesting headliners this year include Widespread Panic, Elvis Costello, Jose Feliciano, Aretha Franklin, the Gipsy Kings, Pearl Jam, Jeff Beck, Van Morrison, B.B. King (against the Neville Brothers...sorry, I'm listening to Lucille), Richie Havens (sadly also against BB King, and for some bizarre reason at the Fais-Do-Do stage), and of course, the Nevilles. Jeff Beck represents my own personal jewel in the crown this year. This guy took over for Eric Clapton in the Yardbirds, had three solo albums with Rod Stewart that presaged the entire Led Zeppelin catalog, and has reigned at the top of the guitar slinger heap for nearly 45 years. I saw Pearl Jam in San Antonio a few years ago, and frankly they mailed it in. But they've had at least one strong release since then, and will be worth a listen. And then there's the Queen of Soul. You can bet I'll be riding on the Freeway of Love in my pink Cadillac come this Friday at 5:35. Find out what it means to me.
Finally, there's the food. Oh.My.God. What food! Or to be more precise, the greatest thing EVER. Prejean's andouille, quail, and pheasant gumbo and crab and crawfish stuffed mushrooms. Crawfish Monica. Crawfish Pie. Crawfish Bread. White chocolate bread pudding. Cajun duck po-boy. Shrimp and grits. Pies of all kinds. Pralines. I'll be coming back with a spare tire around my waist.
A brief stop in Lafayette Square, near the Fifth Circuit Court of Appeals, to check out Marcia Ball playing will open the adventure on Wednesday night. I hope to see Ron this weekend as well. But each night as I walk across the pedestrian bridge over Bayou St. John into the sunset, near City Park, I'll be walking in the clouds of yet another Jazz Festival renewing the spirit, the soul, and the Ile d'Orleans (hey Quebec, ours was first, and it's way cooler, so pipe down).
Laissez les bon temps rouler! We're gonna pass a good time!
1 comment:
nice pic
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