We got a really late start on Friday. Big Man had played Howlin' Wolf the night before with the Russell Batiste big band and was exhausted after being at the fest all that day. Big Man said it felt like it was a week full of Saturdays, that every day he woke up it was another Saturday -- sort of like the movie "Groundhog Day" but without any emotional payoff.
So I let him sleep in and we didn't get rolling til around noon. What with one thing and another we ended up at the Fairgrounds around 12:15 pm. We had musicians' tickets, but because of a snafu with Walter "Wolfman" Washington's wife/manager (manager/wife?), we did not get a parking pass. (What a drag!) We went in through the Musicians' Gate and then had to wait for a shuttle, since apparently the parking lot attendants give precedence to musicians arriving in *cars* -- like it was our choice to come on foot like that! Although Big Man's gig was at the Blues Tent, we directed the shuttle to the Gentilly Stage so we could enjoy some music before he had to play. We set up our chairs in a terrific spot, right in front of the white line for chairs, just as Frankie Ford (looking very frail and elderly, although spiffy in an orange blazer) left the stage. Too bad we missed "Sea Cruise."
We were both hungry so we headed to the food booths, and grooved to Marcia Ball at Acura (we had just seen her at the Wednesday at the Square concert and so didn't feel inclined to fight the crowd to get close). After eating, we cruised by Congo Square to hear the Dirty Dozen Glass House Reunion with Rebirth. The first tune we heard was good, straight up funk with a brass band twist; the second was a lame, drawn-out version of the classic "What's Goin' On" so we booked it.
We passed through the Native American area, both so Big Man could get maque choux (he can never get enough) and for me to purchase a gorgeous flower brooch in white and pink with green leaves -- all made out of dyed alligator gar scales! (The nice Houma tribe lady had put it aside for me the day before til I could bring a check.) We watched the Indian circle dance going on and passed on through.
It made sense to go to the Blues Tent, both because of the Wolfman set AND because Doc Watson was scheduled for right before. We did not have our backstage passes yet, but we flashed our musicians' ticket to the security guard and said we needed to go backstage in order to get our backstage pass, and he bought it. So it was that we were able to get into the coveted guest area for Doc Watson in a totally packed house -- every single chair was taken, people were piled up at every opening of the tent, and the security people had allowed folks to stand on the far sides. If a regular "full" Blues Tent can hold maybe 2,000 people, there must have been closer to 3,000 in and around there to see and hear Doc Watson.
Onstage was just 2 men, Doc and a younger man who I guessed might be his son, since when I had last seen Doc in person (at Tipitina's about 20 years ago), he had his son playing with him. He was wonderful -- his playing still nimble, his singing still soulful. Wonderful old mountain blues songs, with something like yodeling in the choruses. It was so clear, listening to him, that rock'n'roll has more than African roots based here in New Orleans, it also has mountain roots in Appalachia. To underscore that point, Doc did a few "rockabilly" numbers, and did them superbly. When he was finally done, the thousands of people in the tent screamed and stomped and clapped, I'm sure, til their hands hurt. I sure felt lucky to be there.
Then Big Man came and got me and brought me to the backstage trailer, where all the musicians and their wives and girlfriends were. The backstage trailers are pretty bare-bones, just fake paneling and some folding chairs and tables, but they are air-conditioned to a fare-thee-well AND they have a flush toilet and sink restroom! Wow -- way better than accommodations at the Gospel Tent! There was an ice chest of cold drinks, water, and beer, and a catering tray of little sandwiches. Not bad, but not great either. (Backstage at Howlin' Wolf, there had been Whole Foods guacamole, chips, salsa, home-style chocolate chip cookies and tiny little cupcake brownies, plus ice chests of cold beers, soft drinks, fruit juice, and vodka.)
Wolfman made a point of apologizing to Big Man about the mix-up over the parking pass, and Big Man kept on down-playing it. I guess they ended up pretty much even and on the best of terms. I went round to the guest area and the musicians took the stage, to big applause. (Of course, the tent was not as full as it had been for Doc Watson, but it was a normally full tent, just about all seats taken.) It was terrific set, with Big Man taking several righteous solos.
A parishioner had found me right before the set started, and since there was no music, security was a little lax. I got her inside the guest area with me and she shared her Trout Baquet with me (yum!). As Big Man played with Wolfman's band, she leaned over and said to me, "You must be pretty happy." I thought about my life now, about living in New Orleans, being close to my sisters and brother, serving the church that ordained me that I have always loved, and having my beloved partner-spouse play trumpet at major New Orleans festivals, like French Quarter Festival and Jazz Fest. And I replied to her, "I have never been so happy, so complete, in my whole life." I meant it with my whole heart.
After the Wolfman set, we gathered in the trailer again, and all the musicians congratulated each other while packing up their instruments. They got paid by Wolfman's wife/manager and then dispersed, either to the next stage they were playing at, or to stages they wanted to hear. Since the pay was more than we had expected, we decided to celebrate and walked to the Grandstand for raw oysters and shrimp cocktail. Since we were celebrating, we EACH got a dozen raw and a cocktail.
While we were enjoying the seafood, a group of men in old-fashioned suits and sporting cowboy boots and Stetson hats came to the backstage area of the little Lagniappe Stage. One man was carrying a dobro and came near to the rail and began a conversation with Big Man. They traded compliments -- Big Man saying he had always admired the dobro and wished he could play it, and the dobro man saying that horn men were cool and he had always admired the trumpet. That being done, he obliged us with some quick playing, his fingers sliding on the metal strings. Very cool. We discovered that the group was Driskill Mountain Boys, and they did absolutely killer blue grass.
After that nice little interlude, we made our way back to Gentilly, where Tony Bennett had already started in with an excellent set of total classics. Bennett, in a wig appropriately thin and grey (take note, Ronnie Kole!) and a dapper tailored double-breasted mustard-colored jacket, sounded way better than he had any right to, at his age. He had lost none of his pacing or timing or phrasing. We were way impressed, and stayed longer than we had meant to. It was great to see the giant crowd, people of all ages, groovin' to Tony Bennett.
In the cooling sunset we walked through the neighborhood to our car, feeling it had been a terrific day.
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