Before we get started, I saw a Hooter's commercial just now. All mothers get 10 free chicken wings on Mother's Day. So when you really want to make the point "I love you Mom," now you can. Cause, remember, class is catching.
I've seen a wedding at Jazz Festival. Today I saw a proposal. Not sure what's next. A couple signs the divorce papers? Gives birth? I don't want to see a conception, that's for sure. More later.
Morning dawned, and with it downright chilly temperatures. At least today I won't die from heat and dust. Just dust, because like most of Texas, New Orleans hasn't had much rain in awhile. It was breezy and sunny today, with temperatures in the upper 70s. Pretty much San Diego weather, which was freakish for New Orleans this time of year. This was the nicest day for Jazz Festival I can remember. That means more people should attend today than the usual Thursday. It was hard to tell. There were crowds, but they didn't seem out of line with prior Thursdays.
Despite staying up fairly late working on last night's post (that's the weird thing, these posts read like it took about 30 seconds to write them, but they actually take longer, sort of like sometimes the longer it takes to cook something the worse it tastes), I got up relatively early for my Jazz Fest visits. Curse that internal body clock!
I'm staying at a relatively new Quality Inn on St. Charles, just the other side of US 90 from CBD, across the street from Emeril's Delmonico. Hey, it was convenient, and they don't gouge ou on parking quite nearly as bad as CBD hotels. They renovated a complex of about four or five historic structures, rather than leveling them and building one of their oh-so-stylish mustard colored boxes. I'm sure they got some sort of tax break, or maybe the local zoning rules wouldn't allow them to do that. But the place has several nice courtyards with fountains, attractive landscaping, and renovated historic buildings that blend in with other St. Charles buildings. They deserve a little credit for that.
This means I wasn't hustling to get out the door because I left too late. I headed out on board the Ford Land Yacht (an "Edge" or some such focus group-tested name) and got there dork early. Why Avis would give me an aircraft carrier instead of the midsize car I reserved is beyond me. Makes lots of sense to give a single person a vehicle big enough to transport troops to Afghanistan, instead of the car I reserved. But I was running late for the Marcia Ball concert last night, so I didn't want to take time arguing with them to get a different car.
The extra time allowed me to mill about a little bit in the neighborhood. I visited the Jon Bon Jovi shrine. Some weird, twenty-something woman with a Chihuahua set it up outside her house. I'd seen some articles about it, where she was hoping that the man himself would visit last weekend (he played the first weekend of Jazz Festival). She was hanging around outside her house, talking to visitors. Apparently, JBJ's brother showed up in his place. That would be like me showing up somewhere instead of Ron. Talk about the air letting out of a balloon. I went by Liuzza's too. Ordinarily this is a long-time local bar and seafood place. There was already a crowd outside, drinking beer and daiquiris, at 10:30 in the morning. Welcome to New Orleans.
I whiled away about half an hour in the tents, waiting for the Gospel Tent's morning prayer. That segued into the first group of the day, Eleanor McMain's Singing Mustang Gospel Choir. This is a school based gospel choir, of which New Orleans has many. Its awesome to see how many kids are involved in gospel choir and singing. I could be way off base, but I think most inner city kids aren't thugs, and they�d like to make something of themselves. Participating in choirs, under adult leadership, gives them something to achieve and builds their self-esteem. Just like on Glee.
From there I went to the Gentilly Stage to check out Gal Holiday and the Honky Tonk Review. "Gal Holiday" is the nom de guerre of Vanessa Nieman, who recently moved here from Maryland. All tatted up and wearing western dance outfit, and with a booming voice reminiscent of K.D. Lang, her music touches on classic country influences. Webb Pearce, Patsy Cline, Bob Wills, George Jones...you had me at hello. Or at least from the opening notes of "Across the Alley from the Alamo." It was so compelling I stayed the entire set, a real rarity for me. If I thought the public had my tastes, I�d expect big things for the Review. But, they don't.
From there, I finally gave in to the crawfish bread cravings. Clock it, that lasted about an hour. Man, it really hit the spot. I have a funny feeling I'm going to consume my body weight in cheese and bread before the weekend is over.
I noticed a lot of school kids here. Most New Orleans schoolkids wear some sort of uniform, and today was no exception. I never figured out why they were there, but think its great. With schools cutting their art and music classes back to nothing, something like this might be their only way to experience music not blaring out of the back of someone's car.
I next visited a new Jazz Fest attraction, the Haitian Pavilion, near Congo Square. No, it didn't have typhus and military coups. Rather, it featured Haitian art, dancing, and music. It was somewhat sparsely attended, but I expect the crowds will grow through the weekend.
From there, I walked briefly to get some jama jama (spiced spinach) and poulet fricassee (grilled chicken). I eat this every day at the Festival, because it�s the only thing served there that won't cause a triple bypass. You need to eat at least one thing like this to avoid complete gastrointestinal collapse.
Then I went over to check out Kirk Joseph's Backyard Groove. Kirk Joseph was one of the founding members of the Dirty Dozen Brass Band. The Groove, which apparently includes his wife and some guest local rappers, features a mix of funk, rap and soul. Joseph plays a tuba routed through some sort of computer or squawk box to sound more like a bass guitar. It was good, though I could have done without the rappers, or his insufficiently well covered wife shimmying about the stage. In any case, Galactic does the same thing much better.
From there I went to the Jazz Tent to listen briefly to Brice Winston, a tenor sax player. He began with an unaccompanied solo, with his three side men later joining in. It made me wonder how the money works for solo acts with a band. Does the name leader pay the others like employees, or do they split the gig money like a band?
After a couple of songs, I headed over to the Charmaine Neville Band at the Blues Tent. Her father, Charles Neville, was sitting in on saxophone. As usual, she had more of a jazz feel than blues or the soul/funk of her dad and his brothers. She played standards like "Take the A Train" and "Caravan," detouring to play the Beatles' "Come Together" in memory of local musicians who'd passed away during the last year. She, and other acts, kept pushing her new CD, which raises the question, do people still buy CDs? I thought it was a download market now, where singles rule. Its like trying to get people to buy your new album.
Next up was Lucinda Williams. She�s one of those performers that was an overnight sensation, after spending years in the industry. She evokes Chrissy Hynde, though less frenetic. A bit more pensive perhaps. She�s still rocking, though these days she looks more like a PTA mom with bed head. Who really, really needs a nap. The show was really good though, with Jazz Fest CEQ Quent Davis giving an introduction.
Afterwards, I saw Charles Neville walking around with a woman. How to put it? He old. That guy looked like he should be on his way to Luby's for the 4:30 dinner special, not getting on stage. He's about my height too, which was really surprising. He looks a lot taller on stage.
I had planned to check out Charlie Musselwhite at the Blues Tent, but it was overflowing so I instead went to Christian Scott. The Times-Picayune recommended him, and I'm glad I saw the show. He plays a Dizzy Gillespie-looking trumpet, with excellent chops and very precise style. His songs ranged from ballads to bop, with some rap influences. Early in the set, he explained that the previous song was for a very special woman in his life, and he wanted to bring her on stage so he could ask her a question. Then he turned to the guitar player who handed him a ring. The woman came on stage as requested, Scott got down on one knee and proposed, and she said yes. She was really cute, getting flustered and embarrassed. They hugged, and then he resumed the set, playing for about a half hour longer. Several things here. First, pay attention men. Leaving aside the fact he did it in front of thousands of people, that's how you propose. On one knee to demonstrate humility and faithfulness. With a ring to demonstrate earnestness. As Cher said in Moonstruck, 'Where's the ring? If you propose marriage to a woman you should offer a ring of engagement." That's exactly right. None of this "going to look for rings" six weeks after the fact. On the other hand, what point is there to doing this in front of thousands of strangers? It must be either as ego thing, showing everyone what he was doing, or a tool to pressure her into saying yes. Either way, its just not right. Something else that isn't right is finishing his set after the proposal. Most normal people would open a bottle of champagne or call their parents. This guy goes back to work, jamming on trumpet. It reminded me of one of my favorite stories. This guy proposes to his girlfriend at the Astros game, and he obviously alerted the team because they put it on the big video screen. She said no, and got up and walked out. Rather than going after her, he stayed in his seat and watched the Astros next inning at bat. Then he went after her. Nothing says true love like catching the home 5th before finding out what�s wrong with the woman you want to spend the rest of your life with.
Next it was on to the Acura Stage for Galactic. This is a fairly new band that�s taken the New Orleans scene by storm. Its high energy funk with a does of urban grit, no doubt due to the fact that the Rebirth Brass Band�s trombone player is a member. They're better live than on their CD.
I stayed for about half their set, then got some excellent catfish meunieure before heading to Amanda Shaw. Just to check it out. Just to see if something may have changed. It hasn't. You all know how I responded to Ms. Shaw. Pretty much no changes. To avoid the flood of her followers threatening to sue her for extremely minor fact errors in my last "review" of her, I�m just going to refer you to that review, which after all, comes from an attorney, not a music critic. She bounces around the stage and has a lot of energy, but I still just don't see it. "The Devil Went Down to Georgia" should not have the lyric, "I done told you once you son of a BLEEP, I'm the best there's ever been." Really, literally, she said the word "bleep." Charlie Daniels throws up a little bit in his mouth when he thinks of that one. But the large crowd loved it, and she sure has lots of admirers, so maybe I'm the one who's wrong. Then again, lots of people liked Cats, so what does that prove?'
I next went to the Fais-Do-Do tent for Michelle Shocked. I've heard about her for a long time but never heard her. She's a Texan so I wanted to like her. How to describe her? The lesbian John Prine. Something I never knew was needed. And which is weird because several articles I read say she's not gay. That's fine, either way, of course. But the crowd, predominantly women who just drove their small pickup trucks from Home Depot, would beg to differ. In any case, I recognize she's got a strong following, but its just not my bag, man, so I instead went to the end of the Delfeayo Marsalis show. This was infinitely better. Marsalis plays a mean trombone. For the last number, Marsalis brought maybe 15 guest musicians on stage, although they left the stage for a second line through the crowd. The audience ate it up, and it was a real high moment in Jazz Fest history.
Next, after some really good red beans and sausage, I decided to check out Wilco. Now, here's where I reveal my age. I've heard of this band for a long time, but have never heard their music. It first struck me as kind of ponderous, like those songs where Pearl Jam gets into a dark place and stays there. Much more "rock" than "roll." But as they played on, the songs did move in a direction, though in a very herky-jerky way. Most disconcerting? Their leader looks a lot like an old high school friend of mine. John, did you become a rock star?
Finally, it was on to the Cyndi Lauper show. She�s largely eschewed her '80s persona, and has remade herself as a blues singer. This ostensibly follows from her view that the blues are truth" and they "speak to her." She still commands the stage, and is full of energy. Though after all these years, she still sounds like she just got off the subway on Flatbush Avenue. She danced the whole time. Charlie Musselwhite sat in on harmonica. She's really a good blues singer. Her voice absolutely is intact. As a blues singer, she reminds me (no laughs please) of Christina Aguilera. Just a really great blues voice. Towards the end, she did sing her 80s hits. When "Girls Just Wanna Have Fun" started, every woman in the place just erupted. I always thought Cyndi Lauper was just as good as Madonna. Madonna had more material, though Lauper's best songs were quite strong. Lauper was odd and cute, while Madonna was overtly sexual and provocative. Guess which one had the stronger career. Nice going America. Madonna's a pretend English country lady of leisure, spouting Kabbalah sayings she probably doesn't understand, while Cyndi Lauper is trying to reinvent herself and is schlepping on the road. "True Colors," which she wrote, was the encore. Performed quietly and emotionally, she kept the audience from heading to the exits.
Tomorrow-Willie!
UPDATE: This morning, the Times-Picayune quoted Scott as saying he proposed on the Jazz Fest stage because all of the 50 closest people in his life were there, either in his band or in the audience. OK, but so were a couple of thousand strangers. Isn't this supposed to be a private moment? I guess if you're with a showman, every minute of every day is the show. This just struck me as another ballpark proposal. Then again, I'm not sure what qualifies me as an expert on the subject. The closest I've come to proposing is I thought about it. Once. 15 years ago. But if lack of experience stops you from being an expert, there'd be no one left in the media.
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