Lots to get to and its already late, so let's jump right in, shall we?
Today I woke up early and ran, again, despite my better judgment. I figured I better get on that before my back and foot totally give way (it happened today, so good resilience, body). The humidity was oppressive again, but the cooler temperatures helped. Just as I remembered it from years ago, cars bustled down St. Charles Avenue on their way into the CBD for work. Kids walked to school and parents dropped them off. I ran all the way up to Napoleon Avenue and back, dodging filled streetcars the entire way.
After cleaning up, I enjoyed a really nice breakfast at the Blue Plate Cafe, a couple of blocks down from the hotel on Prytania. The Blue Plate serves breakfast and lunch, a quiet little place just a block off the main St. Charles craziness. My friendly waitress wore a '50s "mom" dress and black and white patent leather oxford shoes; sort of a Miss Yvonne in an apron. The place featured pale purple (I will not use "eggplant" in relation to color; what am I, a metro?) and green painted walls, tiled tables, stained glass, and lots of street front windows. A fire truck crew was finishing its breakfast, so I knew we were safe from any kitchen fires too. I had the excellent omelet with spinach, jack cheese and shrimp, along with some tea. The place was still half full at 9:15 on a Wednesday, and the customers appeared to live nearby (not tourists). The food compared favorably with the insanely more popular Slim Goodies Diner, but without the wait or sense of entitlement. Maybe it helped that I wore my Saints t-shirt. Again.
After getting ready and getting out to Jazz Fest, again utilizing the top secret, secure parking spot, I made it through the gates just as the morning prayer concluded in the Gospel Tent. As long-time readers know, I like to start each day in the Gospel Tent as the morning prayers are offered, giving thanks for the incredible experience I enjoy each year to travel safely to New Orleans and enjoy incredible food, music, and culture. The Eleanor McMains gospel choir started the music off with a bang. I noticed that the Gospel Tent lineup every year includes many groups culled from local schools. That seems like something that wouldn't occur in Texas or most other places, where church-state laws would inhibit a school based religious choir program. I haven't researched to find how this happens in New Orleans, but note that most of these choirs are connected to magnet or charter schools. All these choirs appear to have nearly 100% minority membership. Though its not "Glee," thankfully, these programs provide a way for these kids to work with and learn from positive adult role models, gain some self-esteem, work on a talent, and achieve something positive. From my limited understanding of such things, lower-income kids often lack such opportunities. The real show here this morning though was the little five year old kid just rocking in his seat in front of me. This little boy was getting down, though he remained seated next to his sister (just like his mother said). Wearing his little "Harriett Tubman Charter School" uniform, he was soaking up the gospel music. THAT is what this whole thing is all about.
From there it was on to the Acura Stage for Hurray for the Riff Raff (shouldn't that be "Hooray"?). This band featured four young musicians, led by a Zooey Deschanel look-alike singing and playing guitar (and wearing bangs and a flower in her hair). I would call this country blues, with a tinge of Lucinda Williams. The crowd was sparse and pretty dead, but at 11:30 in the morning, with a hot sun already baking everyone, that's only to be expected. Nonetheless, I enjoyed the show and will add "Hurray" to my list, proper spelling or not.
From there I went to Congo Square for the closing of the Kourtney Heart concert. I know, that name sounds fake. But this girl (who looks like she's not a day over 16) is real and has a great voice. Its not as rich as Aguilera's but its along the same lines. Rows and rows of tween girls jammed the front row and repeatedly beckoned to her, yelling "I love you!" and singing every note of every song. The local paper recommended her show, and now I know why. She's got the kind of look and sound that compares with all the other not old enough to drink stars. All she needs is proper management to become huge. Hopefully there's no sex tape out there. Of course, none of this explains the white guy at the remote end of the stage playing guitar. What's going on here guys?
I've mentioned kids here a couple of times. Thursday seems like the local school day. Each Jazz Fest Thursday, I've noticed hordes of kids wearing their local school uniforms. They tend to congregate mainly in Congo Square but I see them throughout the place. Assuming the schools make some sort of effort to take the kids to the Festival, good for them. Schools across the country have slashed music and art budgets, so anything artistic, at all, that the schools can convey to students represents a positive step.
Well after Kourtney Heart finished it was lunch time, so I had some classic red beans and rice, and the crawfish bread. Long time readers will recall the crawfish bread. Imagine the most incredible tasting thing you can ever eat, and that's crawfish bread. Crusty, fresh bread, sauteed crawfish, cheese, and jalapenos. Mmmm. As I tweeted, not "heart healthy" but "heart warming." I visited with "others" over lunch, a couple from Pittsburgh who were gushing about Marcia Ball's performance last night. We started talking about the old Steelers vs. Oilers rivalry of the 1970s, which of course only made me mad that the Oilers never did "knock down the door."
Having successfully enlarged the little pouch where I keep my extra cookies, I ambled over to the Acura Stage to watch Glen Hansard's solo performance. I first learned about this Irish performer from watching the incredible movie "Once," in which he and partner Marketa Iglova collaborated on a haunting, heart breaking, yet jovial and literate musical romance. I can hardly rave enough about that movie-a rare movie written for adults. They wrote the amazing soundtrack as well. Then I learned that Hansard was in an apparently popular band called the Frames, which I happened upon at the Seattle Bumbershoot festival several years ago (just after Texas legend Roky Erickson played an indescribably great set). So I was excited to see Hansard again. He came out with just a beat up old guitar, the victim of his athletic, furious playing style. His solo music is just as literate and engaging as the Frames and Swell Season songs, and as the movie. He displayed an impressive stage command, really connecting with the enthusiastic audience. Early on he wondered aloud "how do you live here?" That is, at the fair grounds site year round. Then he praised New Orleans and said to be thankful for the heat, or else tourists would overwhelm the town. He also related how he had been in line for coffee earlier in the morning and saw Aaron Neville ahead of him, and thought "its gonna be a fuckin' great day." Tons of former emo chicks, now apparently living in the suburbs, crowded the field and listened in hush rapture.
Gotta stop to watch the end of Love in the Afternoon on TV. Billy Wilder. Audrey Hepburn. Impeccable.
OK, back to the Festival.
One question though. Why is an Irish guy who sings complicated, Irish-inspired folk tunes playing the New Orleans Jazz Festival? Answer: money, baby. Anything to bring more fans out. The set's end featured something unprecedented. Hansard didn't bring a band, but wanted to play a Bruce Springsteen song. The next band to take the stage had pre-installed its drum kit, so Hansard asked if anyone in the crowd could play drums. One of the stage crew leaped up and after a moment or two, they were off. The guy, "Joe," was really good at playing by ear, and the song turned out as well as if they'd rehearsed it together. Needless to say, the fans loved it.
From there I went to the super crowded Gentilly Stage for George Porter Jr. and the Runnin' Pardners. This was straight up, no bones about it, get down with your bad self funk. I wondered why no one had a 'fro and whether any cars around had fuzzy dice or curb feelers, or why I wasn't seeing any platform shoes. This music had a heavy bottom, but moved along quickly. The crowd was dancing even in the prevailing heat. This makes sense; Porter was the bassist for the Meters, another soul and funk group of world renowned.
After this, I needed to get a respite from the heat and rest my decrepit back. Kristi Guillory, the leader of one of my favorite Cajun bands, Bonsoir Catin, was playing the Lagniappe stage with her new group, the Midtown Project. As she explained, this consisted of zydeco players of other bands who wanted to play something a little more rocking. I enjoyed the portion I heard, though I hope Bonsoir Catin hasn't broken up.
Then I went to Congo Square to see the Stooges Brass Band. They've gained quite a following in New Orleans, enjoying the renewed brass band interest since the Dirty Dozen and the Rebirth Brass Bands helped revitalize the form over 20 years ago. The Stooges call on a wide variety of musical influences, from Weather Report to Stevie Wonder, to all out rap. They packed quite a punch, and the crowd was really rocking.
Leaving there, I caught the last bit of Rosie Ledet and the Zydeco Playboys. My friend Donna recommended her. Ledet absolutely packed the Fais-Do-Do stage, playing rocking zydeco. I only caught a couple of songs, unfortunately. Hopefully I can catch a longer performance.
After catching up with my friend Jeremy, we headed over to the Dirty Dozen Brass Band at the Acura Stage. The Dirty Dozen was the original brass band from the 1970s who ushered in the revitalization of the brass band. But most of the original members have left, and others have not necessarily carried on the original tradition. The Dirty Dozen today sound more like a pop and soul band. The last couple of songs were traditional brass band numbers, but played in an updated, pop style. In a farcical moment, the band played a song called "Dirty Old Man" and had four attractive women come out and grind on the baritone sax player, who appeared to be the oldest old man on the stage. Lovely. Some woman from the crowd jumped on stage and tried to dance with another one of the guys, but security quickly hustled her off. I don't get it. This wasn't the Beatles or the Stones or Elvis. This was the Dirty Dozen Brass Band. Years later. Surely you have something better to do out here.
The final show of the day was Florence + the Machine. I know they're famous and all, but I don't know exactly what I just heard and saw. I do know that whatever it was, it wasn't Louisiana. Florence, apparently, was a London based musician who recently wrote an incredibly well selling album. Some of the music escapes my descriptive ability. Stevie Nicks and Kate Bush come to mind. Along with Annie Lenox and Laurie Anderson. The music was often ponderous and deliberate, as one might expect when a band shows up...with a harp. Florence made various cat crawling up a tree gestures, evoking weirdo '70s comic Emo Phillips. At times though it moved along quite nicely in a pop vein, as she ran back and forth across the stage, bouncing up and down, and twirling alternatively in her Morticia Adams. Her "go to" move was to stand still and raise her arms as the music built up to a crescendo, revealing some flowing fabric under her arms (a la Stevie Nicks) blown by a strong portable fan set in front of her on stage. Still, when the music started moving in an actual direction, it had some heft. The crowd of twenties-aged women with their forcibly abducted boyfriends loved it. They sang every word, and swooned when Florence blew kisses to them. They bounced up and down when she exhorted them to do so, and sang on cue. In other words, they were sheep. Soon I expect it to just be "Florence." Kind of like "Prince and the Revolution" became just "Prince," and then that weird symbol. Then "Prince" again.
And just remember, "pain is inevitable, suffering is optional."
OK I've pretty much run out of steam. See you tomorrow.
No comments:
Post a Comment