Riverfest 2009

There we were, the weekend of April 4 and 5, and Big Man and I were in a quandary. It's festival time again in the gorgeous Crescent City, and it's a surfeit of choices. There was a Catfish Festival, the Strawberry Festival, the Latino Festival, the Old Algiers Riverfest, and approximately 15 others. (See Julie Posner's terrific Louisiana Festival calendar if you don't believe me -- Saturday and Sunday of the first weekend of April had about 20-odd festivals of various kinds, depending on how far you wanted to drive.) So we were debating which festival we would go to -- and eat at, since this conversation was occurring about 12 noon on Saturday.

At that moment, the phone rang. It was a band leader calling for Big Man, wanting to know if he was busy, and if he was willing to come play with a thrown-together R&B band at the Riverfest. Big Man agreed to do it, and to be there no later than 2 pm. We looked at each other -- the decision was made. We would go to the festival they were paying us to go to. Fine by us. The best fest is always the one they pay you to go to!

It was a bright shiny day, with a strong cool breeze, and a few wispy shreds of clouds in an otherwise clear and dark blue sky. We had time and inclination, so we took the Canal Street ferry over (on the crossing, the breeze was so strong, it was almost cold), and parked in the lot on the batture (for those of you from "away," the batture is the land between the river and the levee). Old Algiers, with its old Victorian houses and little gardens, is like a time capsule, and many of the neighbors took advantage of the Riverfest crowds to hold yard and porch sales.

The festival was set up in front of the old Courthouse, a weird 19th century concoction that sort of looks like a castle. (It has a big ol' clock in a tower, the face of which was damaged by Katirna, but it still works and you can still tell time from it, but there's no markings.) A nice crowd, of all ages and colors, had gathered and was enjoying the music of a klezmer band on the stage. This gave Big Man the opportunity to observe once again that he can't understand why more people don't realize the connection between klezmer and early jazz.

We cruised the food booths and finally purchased some fresh iced tea, a home-made pastrami po-boy (him) and a catfish po-boy (me), along with an indulgent and unnecessary little bag of fresh warm cracklins. (Look, we know we shouldn't've, but we couldn't resist!)

There was a nice selection of crafts booths, and a small tent for the artist who did the Riverfest commemorative poster, Terrance Osborne. Osborne is an African-American artist whose bright-colored renditions of our city became emblems of our recovery after Katrina. (Paintings he did immediately after the Storm broke my heart, with wild colored shotguns resting on trees and neighborhood streets lined with pirougues.) I went over and introduced myself to him and told him how much I admired his work, and what his post-K paintings meant to me. He was very gracious, and to my surprise, said that he and his wife (also sitting there, a lovely woman) had been thinking about visiting my church. I told him about the Super Sunday service we had just done, and asured him they would be welcome ANY Sunday. That was nice.

Soon it was time for Big Man to take the stage with the "New Orleans All-Stars" (apparently a good catch-all name for a pick-up band) featuring Marilyn Barbarin as vocalist (now, there's a New Orleans musical name!). They played a lot of R&B classics and Marilyn really puts a tune across. They were well received by the crowd, and lots of folks got up to dance. I watched from up the slope of the levee, sprawled on the grass along with a hundred or so other good folks. (Including a very pretty long-haired brunette woman in turquoise and white, who with perfect unself-consciousness rolled up her camisole top to expose her midriff to the sun and lay out on the soft levee lawn. She had a neat way of twisting her hair up and making it stay off her neck.)

A little black boy, looking about 5 or maybe 6, danced by himself near the stage. He was darn good and good only be what he was, a native New Orleanian doing what comes naturally. His dancing was energetic and rhythmic and had a wonderful variety -- he moonwalked, he popped the gator, he jogged in place, he twirled. He was so great he attracted partners -- a young white man, an older black man, women of various ages and races. Another notable dancer was Marilyn Barbarin's 75-year-old auntie, a slim woman with a short white Afro wearing a gold lamé shirt as an open jacket over slacks and a top. She was graceful and beautiful and totally confident, and I'm sure nearly every woman there was, like me, vowing to be that lady when we got to be 75.

Another dancer of note was an old man, either much older than Auntie Barbarin or just having lived a much harder life, hunched up in front of the stage doing old-time nasty dances. Not so nasty that he would've scared the many children present, but just borderline lewd enough to get the crowd roaring. He did "the chicken" and did the shakes. People around me were just killing themselves laughing, all in good spirit.

The sun just poured down on us all, and I belatedly realized I was unprotected. I went back to the car and got an umbrella and sheltered beneath it, but I was too late. When we got home that afternoon, I was sunburnt on my arms, neck and cheeks. A good lesson relearned -- sunblock every single day, and a better sunhat. I'm too old for this.

When Big Man left the stage, he was still hungry, so we grabbed a smoked turkey leg for the ride across the river. It was a great time, and just imagine -- they paid us to have that good time!