It's late so I'm going to jump right in. It was a lot hotter today, and no clouds meant that it would be, and was, much hotter than the last couple of days. With it being a weekend, and with acts like the Strokes and Jimmy Buffett playing, I knew it would be extremely crowded.
Given the lateness of the hour, I'll skip my little onion sneak attack at the so-called "Please-U-Restaurant" rant and sob story. Suffice to say, I was neither amused nor pleased, and am officially boycotting the place. Suffering the wrath of Chris...I think they have no idea what they just did to themselves.
Also, I neglected to mention in my last post some good t-shirt slogans I saw yesterday: "In dog beers I've only had one." "I haven't finished writing my screenplay." "I put ketchup on my ketchup." "The Jefferson Airplane loves you." That last one was an actual phrase. The Jefferson Airplane did use that phrase; if I'm not mistaken it may have even been one of their album titles. But the point here is that at the 2011 New Orleans Jazz Festival, that's about as obscure as it gets. My "Otis Redding at the Monterrey Pop Festival" t-shirt from the Stax Museum thinks that's a little inside.
Today, as is the custom, I arrived around 11:00, in time for the Gospel Tent's morning prayer. Now this next bit is a little inelegant, but necessary. I used the port-a-potty (I know, gross) when I arrived, and the thing reeked of pot smoke. At 11:00 in the morning. Really? 11? You can't wait til, I don't know, afternoon? You got green fever that bad? You've got to spark up the minute you walk in the Festival? These are all signs that your life choices may not be conducive to achieving sustained success in your life.
As was true the last couple of days, the Shreveport CPAs were on the front row, with the 120 year old toothless black woman who had become their new best friend. The City of Love Music and Worship Arts Choir started the Gospel Tent's day. I suppose New Orleans is the "City of Love" in this context, though I've heard it called some other things. How many monikers can one city have? They wore Peter Max-style "LOVE" t-shirts with day-glo colors, and in a first, had two rows of women doing some booty shaking in front of the rest of the group. That's how I like my worship music, replete with booty shaking. Actually, it was relatively tame; I've seen more provocative NBA cheerleader routines. But Al Edwards would have been appalled. The Choir itself was very active and alive. To the point that they cut right through my self-induced benadryl haze, a by-product of the Grapes of Wrath-style dust bowl that has enveloped the Jazz Festival. Their passion was drawing people into the tent.
Next up was Troy Turner, in the Blues Tent. A word about the Blues Tent. I haven't seen a show in the Blues Tent in a couple of years. Part of that is because I'm not much of a blues fan, but part of it is because the Blues Tent is overwhelmingly crowded. There's no where to sit. In fact, there's nowhere to stand outside the tent on the concrete, where's there's no shade and you can't see the stage. The tent is too small, and they don't have enough chairs. Its gotten so bad that there's little point in planning to see a show at the Blues Tent after the initial round of acts each day. The Blues Tent is like that planet on Star Trek where they've outbreeded their planet's available land mass and everyone has to stand shoulder to shoulder and jostle each other for room (except they seemed to have enough space to build a fake Enterprise, which they used to confuse Kirk enough to where the Prime Minister's daughter could seduce him and then get a blood sample. Not sure they knew who they were dealing with...Kirk would have found a way to knock that one out, fake Enterprise or not. But what the hell were they doing wearing those white body suits-they looked like the "cut your johnson off" red body suit Moby wore in The Big Lebowski, or semen from Woody Allen's Everything You Always Wanted to Know About Sex). To paraphrase Yogi Berra (I think), its so crowded that no one goes there anymore. I think the last Blues Tent show I saw was the Ike Turner Revue. Rest in peace. But I did get a seat for Troy Turner, a local blues guitarist. Despite my relative indifference to the blues, Turner's set was really enjoyable. It bordered on rock, and he played some Stevie Ray Vaughan and Jimi Hendrix tunes. He played some other rock-blues standards, like "Baby Let's Play House," and "Going Down." This was not Robert Johnson blues. But as far as blues go, this was really good. Turner has great chops, and the band was up to the task. He's no SRV though. A woman sat near me, holding a little infant. The infant had to be less than three months old. Like Sweet Home Alabama, I thought "you've got a baby...at the Jazz Festival." This really isn't a great place for little infants. Its hot, there's thousands of people crowding all around you, lots of drunks, there's smoke, dust, and bright sun. Little kids are ok, because they can go to the kids' tent. But infants should stay home.
Before the next show, I treated myself to my "bad" meal of the day, Prejean's seafood stuffed mushrooms and pheasant, quail and andouille gumbo. As far as food that's horrible for you goes, this was mighty tasty. I look forward to it every year.
Next up was D.L. Menard, the Cajun Hank Williams. That's not hyperbole. He actually performed with Hank Williams. Menard is a perennial Fais-Do-Do stage favorite. Apparently his granddaughter has joined the band. And the pedal steel player's tween-age son, who plays guitar, speaks and sings what seems to me like fluent Cajun french. The crowd loved it. Menard announced that this year he turned 79, and wants to live another 30 or 40 years, "because I just keep getting better and better." Midway through the show, a Kris Kringle looking guy (I later learned he was doing the blacksmithing demonstration in the Louisiana heritage area) rolled up and waved to Menard. Menard shouted out to him and, in his typically mangled english speech said "they done told me you was dead. I'm glad to see you're still kicking." All the song call outs were in french, as were all the lyrics. We may as well have been in an Iberia Parish dance hall on a Saturday night. Oh, and finally someone played "Jole Blon" at the Fais-Do-Do Stage. How long did that take?
But Marcia Ball was playing at the Acura Stage, so I went over there in time to see Irma Thomas, Soul Queen of New Orleans, join her on stage to sing "Sing It." (Of course, that seems like less of a big deal now that I just saw a commercial for a personal injury lawyer in which Irma Thomas is singing a song about how he's the best lawyer in town). I'd hoped she'd stay longer, but it was just the one song. Otherwise, it was basically the same show that she played Wednesday evening in Lafayette Square. It was interesting that one of her last songs, which complains about how oil company development has ruined the marshes and estuaries, was performed prominently at a festival sponsored by an oil company. Shell to be exact. Guess Shell didn't know, or care.
Back to the Fais-Do-Do Stage to check Geno Delafose and French Rockin' Boogie. This is a case where the band name exactly matches their music. It was french, and it was rockin' boogies. Though it was also equal parts Cajun and zydeco, with some boogie thrown in. For example, they used an electric guitar and bass. Delafose had an irrepressible smile, and really seemed to enjoy the performance. The crowd loved it and everyone was dancing. In the dust.
I bailed on that show early because the Times-Picayune recommended Khris Royal, playing in the Jazz Tent. Notwithstanding that he misspelled his name, it was a great show. I would call it fusion, with a rock sensibility. Brown plays sax, and was joined by guitar, drums and keyboards. It was really energetic, very musical, and I couldn't stay awake. Again. So much for the Toto theory, because these guys were really good. I think its the fact that its so hot, and the tent was in the shade where I could sit. And I've been up really late writing each night. I stayed for the balance of the show, which was very dynamic.
Next was Allen Toussaint. He needs no introduction. Toussaint was one of the leading New Orleans R&B writers, producers, and performers. As one of the legends of New Orleans music, he could call on anyone to guest, and that included Jimmy Buffett, who came out for one song. Some unknown rapper dude came out too, wearing one glove that appeared to come from a gorilla costume. That was a little weird. Toussaint played a pretty typical set. The crowd was more polite than enthusiastic. It appeared to be a bunch of Jimmy Buffett parrot-heads waiting for their hero to show, wearing his Tommy Bahama gear and singing songs about drinking beer and laying out in the sun. Not exactly Leiber and Stoller.
Then it was on to Trombone Shorty. This guy, Troy Andrews, has been around seemingly forever. There's a picture hanging in the Jazz Tent of a five-year-old looking Trombone Shorty wearing shorts and holding a trombone. He's really evolved from trombone and trumpet player to front man. Though playing nearly all covers (such as "Shout"), he really commanded the stage and drive the crowd into a near frenzy. That was one of the most spirited crowds of this year's Festival. For the last song, all the band members switched instruments, with Andrews playing drums. And playing them very well. This guy's incredibly talented. And a Harry Connick-style prodigy who actually panned out. Pay attention Disney. This is the way to develop young talent. Later, in front of the tent where the Festival sells CDs and books from Festival artists, a long line snaked around the corner of people waiting to get his autograph.
During Trombone Shorty, a woman who appeared to be in her 50s came up to me and said she wanted to see whether I was Charlie Sheen, and said she and all her friends think I look just like him. That's great. Winning, duh!
After getting some red beans, it was time to check out the Strokes. I'd heard about them for some time, but never heard any of the music. The crowd seemed to be about 10,000 college and high school students. They started about 10 minutes late, which is pretty rock and roll of them. Once they took the stage, the shrieking started. I'd never heard that before, the sound of hundreds of girls screaming at the top of their lungs. It was unsettling. Had I unwittingly stumbled into a Justin Bieber concert? No, there were musical instruments on the stage, so that couldn't be it. But all around, girls were jumping up and down gasping, like their dad just bought them a new Mustang convertible. The group came on stage, looking like they just came from rock and roll central casting. The lead singer was wearing a black leather jacket. In New Orleans. In May. In the afternoon. Hey, douche, its hot out here. Lose the Fonzie jacket already. The lead guitar player had Cousin Itt hair and some sort of cheap green sunglasses. Otherwise, with his hair, guitar and mannerisms, he obviously was mimicking Jimmy Page. Music is about creativity, but styles are about plagiarism, so if you have to copy someone, you could do a lot worse than Page. The other guitar player looks like David Sedaris, wearing suspenders. He also looks like he could have gotten an accounting degree from UC-Davis. They had their studied indifference vibe down pat, what with the laconic gazes, Brian Jones back to the audience thing, talking to each other off mike, and mumbling to the crowd between songs. Nonetheless, this is something there's very few of anymore--a real, honest to God rock band. The crowd was going crazy, which is exactly what you hope for. There's nothing more powerful than a rock band at the top of its game. No other musical style carries the sheer power to incite and inflame an audience. Not country, rap, jazz, soul (except maybe Otis Redding or James Brown). Its primal. All the greats had it. Most of all, its heartening to know that there's a rock band that's so popular. Sometimes it seems like rock is dead. Maybe not. Maybe not just yet.
I bought a couple of pralines at the pralines stand. The woman there assured me that in New Orleans, the word is pronounced "prahleen," and definitely not "prayleen." You all needed to know that.
I ran into a gaggle of 14 year old looking girls, each of whom were smoking. In case any 14 year old girls are reading (uh, hopefully there are not), let me drop some knowledge on you. Sure, smoking makes you look cool and grown up, but there's some definite down sides. Try premature wrinkles, skin and teeth discoloration, increased susceptibility to illness, hideous cancers of all kinds, rotting teeth, and you become disgusting to kiss. Actually, it makes you look kind of stupid.
The day ended at the Blues Tent for blues legend Bobby "Blue" Bland. I only caught a couple of songs. He had a full, brassy band and powered through songs like "Ain't No Sunshine." He sat the whole time, and wore a boat captain's hat. Like Hugh Hefner. Probably seen better days. But he still has the voice.
After leaving, I immediately ran in City Park. There's a lake with two fountains, and a roughly one mile bike trail that encircles it. At darkness, I noticed a real live Venetian gondola, with a gondolier. He had the big pole, the outfit, striped shirt, hat...everything. Striking. Talk about your "what the hell?" moments. Every time I go to New Orleans, I see something totally unexpected. This counts. Maybe tomorrow I'll discover a bullfight stadium, or a ski lift. Those would be unexpected, but par for the course.
Tomorrow: Jazz Festival ends.
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