I guess we could call this our Literary Day at the Fest; you'll see why.
A gorgeous day, we couldn't have asked for better. Blue skies decorated with fluffy white clouds, a steady cooling breeze -- just what you want for hanging out at the Fairgrounds for 4 or 5 or 6 hours. On our way to the Fest, we stopped at Walgreen's to drop off some prescriptions, and noting our apparel (straw hats, tropical clothing), the young woman behind the drop-off window asked, "On your way to the Fest?" She wished us a happy one and we thanked her.
The Fairgrounds neighborhood was filled with pedestrians who had decided to do public transportation and save the parking hassle. (You can always tell Fest-goers by their clothing -- backpacks or large bags, foldable chairs slung over shoulders, sun hats of all kinds, shorts for men and shorts or sundresses for women.) Big Man said that taking the bus was a good option for folks who did not have to get to work on Bourbon Street within 2 hours after the Fest was over.
We expected to have trouble finding decent parking within a short-as-possible walking distance to the Fest, but 2 blocks off Esplanade on Lopez, a nice-looking red-haired guy was holding a sign up in his driveway saying, "Parking-Bathroom-Soda-$20." A great location, a great deal. We took him up on it. The side and back parking areas of his house allowed for quite a few cars, if packed in, and the guy said you had to leave your keys so he could shuffle the cars as necessary. He was very organized, asking us to sign a form giving him permission to move our car (he filled in make, model, and license plate); then he presented us with a full-color Google map, clearly showing the route between his house and the Fairgrounds, giving his name, address, and cell phone number. We were very impressed and felt confident about leaving the car with him. (His bathroom was clean and well-stocked, with foaming anti-bacterial soap at the sink, and a big roll of paper towels. All very nice.)
[Yeah, yeah, you're saying, why is she going on and on about the guy's bathroom? You'd know if you were a dedicated Fest-goer. Believe you me, bathroom facilities are a BIG deal at the Fest.]
The walk over was short and sweet -- literally so, since the air was perfumed with jasmine and roses. Folks on Lopez are house-proud, and their gardens are lush and beautiful. One yard was a symphony in reds -- roses, amaryllis, some flowering shrub I don't know the name of, and even blood-red poppies! Lovely. Everyone walking to the Fest was in a good mood, wishing each other Happy Fest and smiling with anticipation of a great time.
Our first stop was the Congo Square Stage, where a young trumpeter, K, sort of a protegé of Big Man's, was playing with a band called Water Seed. (Water Seed? Yeah, the lead singer, a lovely young African-American woman, explained the name from the stage but I won't bother -- it was way too corny.) They had a good groove going. Along with the lead singer and the trumpeter, there was a drummer, and another woman on flute and percussion. They were pretty good; we stayed for 2 tunes. At one point right after a trumpet solo, K looked right at Big Man, as if for his approbation. Big Man smiled, nodded, and gave a big thumbs-up. K gave a giant grin back, apparently happy to receive approval from his mentor. Big Man gave K a wave as we left, so he would know we were going.
From Congo Square we wandered through the Fest, enjoying the crafts and art on display and all the amazing people-watching. As we passed through the Indian/Native American area, we made the obligatory stop at the Houma Tribe booth where they sell 2 kinds of maque choux and traditional fry bread. We got shrimp maque choux this time and promised we'd be back for the sausage later in the Fest. We made our way to the Gentilly Stage, where we planned to set up for Amanda Shaw and Trombone Shorty later in the day. As we were considering which spot, we were hailed by T-P columnist and author and Pulitzer Prize-winner Chris Rose (our first literary contact of the day), and decided to set up near him. As we left that area to cruise the food, a band called Benjy Davis Project was playing. I'd never heard of 'em, but they sounded good.
I got us a gorgeous combo plate consisting of a crawfish sack, oyster patty, and crawfish beignets in remoulade sauce ($13) and we headed to the Jazz Tent to eat and hear trumpeter Marlon Jordan. As soon as we sat on the metal bleachers (in the back, but with a good view of the stage), a woman leaned over eagerly to ask where we got that plate. Big Man said later that as we walked up, the woman's jaw dropped when she got a glimpse of that plate. The Jazz Tent was pretty well filled, but there were still lots of places to sit, and not just the bleachers. They had the misters going in the middle of the tent, but we were too far away for them to have an effect. But we were comfortable with the breeze coming in the open entrances to the tent.
Marlon was very good, as was Jason Marsalis on drums. We left just as they started their final tune. Our next stop was the Blues Tent, where for whatever weird reason Jazz Fest had scheduled the Ladysmith Red Lions (who clearly belonged at Congo Square). Moving in that direction brought us past Baquet's booth, where we decided to get a plate of Trout Baquet (sauteed trout with a topping of lump crabmeat in a lemon butter sauce -- oh my god!) to share. The Blues Tent was more crowded than the Jazz Tent, but we were still able to find 2 seats together, pretty close up.
The Red Lions are from the same township in South Africa as Ladysmith Black Mambazo (who were featured on Paul Simon's Graceland album) and do similar music -- intricate African vocal harmonies, punctuated with whoops and clicks, and coordinated with smooth unison dance moves, reminiscent of the Temptations (leading to a discussion between Big Man and me about the "chicken and the egg" relationship between the Motown moves of the Temps and the African moves of the Lions). We enjoyed the Lions very much, but we didn't want to miss too much of Amanda Shaw, so we left. (On our way out, we ran into a parishioner of mine who greeted Big Man as Big Man, thus letting me know I had another reader of this blog!)
As we were walking back to our spot at the Gentilly Stage, fantastic trad sounds from the Economy Hall Tent drew us in. This band sounded amazingly like a 1920s recording. We went in, past the dancers on the little dance floor, and saw a group of men with dark hair and hawklike profiles, dressed all alike, just playing their hearts out, in this old-time, traditional groove, great musicianship. We later learned that they were from Bordeaux, France. I figured they had devoted themselves to memorizing and internalizing old recordings. They were fabulous, a real Jazz Fest find.
At the Gentilly Stage, Amanda Shaw was tearing the place up, just as cute as she could possibly be, playing and singing, bouncing around the stage with her able and talented band, the Cute Guys. We stayed for almost all of her set, getting a real kick out of her. (At one point, she covered that old chestnut "Devil Went Down to Georgia" and when she got to the end, she wouldn't sing the original lyric and called the Devil "You ol' son of a bleep" -- we all laughed and loved her for it, the sweet thing.)
From there, we went back to Congo Square to catch some of Henry Butler's set on keyboard. (We were surprised he was using an electric keyboard instead of a grand piano.) Henry's hands flew over the keys like magic, making you think maybe there were more than 2 hands involved. While we were there, we bumped into Geraldine Wyckoff, a well-known local music critic whose work has appeared in Jazz Times, The Gambit, OffBeat magazine, Louisiana Weekly, and many other places. She said Henry was a particular favorite of hers. She and Big Man exchanged some musical observations for a while. (Making this our second literary run-in of the day.) Also while there, a woman tapped me on the shoulder and asked if she could include me in her Internet "hat montage" of Jazz Fest; but of course I agreed and she snapped me and my pink-flower trimmed straw hat from the back. How cool!
Both for the air conditioning and for the content, our next stop was the Grandstands, where we sat in for the last half of the interview with New Orleans drummer extraordinaire Johnny Vidacovich. Johnny was a trip, his answers were amusing and entertaining, and he gave a little performance on the kit he was sitting behind. A good reminder that not only is the Grandstand a good refuge from too much sun, it's also a hidden gem for good stuff to see and hear. (The security guard on the second floor inside the Grandstand was friendly almost to a fault, asking us, "Are y'all havin' a good time, darlins?")
We had to pass the Book Tent on our way back to Gentilly, and we could not pass it up, especially since Big Man had noticed an ad for a book in the OffBeat magazine that intrigued him. It was a local book enticingly titled "The Sound of Building Coffins;" the blurb said it was about New Orleans in the early 20th century -- well, that's like catnip to us and we had determined to buy it. So we walked in and Big Man turned to me and said, "The title was something like 'The Sound of Coffins' Building' " and a man said, "No, it's 'The Sound of Building Coffins' and it so happens I wrote it," and Louis Maistros introduced himself to us and handed us a copy. We got into a conversation about how supremely interesting that period of New Orleans history is, and how much we love reading about it and learning about it. Of course we bought the book and of course he kindly inscribed it for us, making him our third literary happening of the day.
We made it back to Gentilly just as Trombone Shorty hit the stage, to an adoring and gigantic crowd. He ripped through some funk, added in some Lennie Kravitz-inspired rock ("American Woman"), and did some R&B standards. He blew some stuff on the 'bone that *really* impressed Big Man -- he said few in the crowd except horn players would know exactly how difficult those slides from deep and low up to high notes were. Shorty switched to his beautiful Monette trumpet for crowd-pleasing versions of "Let's Stay Together" and a funky complaint about an unfaithful lover, "You Got the Same Thang On." It was hard to leave, but we had wanted to catch at least a little of the Lincoln Center Jazz Ensemble with Winton Marsalis, so we packed it all up and made a slow circuit back to Congo, passing Fais Do Do on the way, where yet another pretty girl fiddler was performing. (Big Man said, "That girl probably wakes up every day thinking, 'I could have been a star if it weren't for Amanda Shaw!'.") We almost passed the sweet potato pie booth, but stopped ourselves in time for just one. Yum!
Well, we could have predicted it, but Congo Square was having logistical problems setting up for such a giant band and they were running a few minutes behind. We stood around for a while, but it was hot and we were dry, so we went to get more iced tea. Having walked that far away from the stage, we started a conversation about whether we really wanted to walk back. Upshot: this being the first day and all, with 6 more to go, and with Big Man having to blow on Bourbon Street tonight, we decided to bag it for the day, but not to rush out.
We took the long way to the exit gate, taking us first past the booth where they sell the bodacious cracklins -- I know, I know, we shouldn't eat that stuff, but we couldn't resist! Then, happily munching cracklins, we strolled past the Acura Stage to hear the last of the set for the Drive-By Truckers with the incredible Booker T -- a good decision! As we made our way to the exit, we called the guy where our car was parked, and asked him to get our car ready to go.
When we approached the block, our guy was standing on the sidewalk waiting for us. We waved and he waved back. He called to us, "Ice water, diet Barq's, or beer?" Big Man took the Barq's and I the water. We used his clean and well-stocked bathroom and hung out in his kitchen, drinking the drinks he provided and shooting the breeze. Of course, it turned out we knew folks in common. Eventually, we went outside and got our car, and told our new friend M we'd likely be back.
And so ended our first day of Jazz Fest., with 3 interesting literary highlights.
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