French Quarter Festival

What a gorgeous French Quarter Festival we just had! Perfect weather, happy crowds of lively people, terrific music, and delicious food -- what more could you want?

Several things were noticeable about the Festival crowds this year. For one thing, there seems to have developed some kind of fashion among the young women for strange headgear. We observed "hats" of day-glo colors, draped with contrasting feather boas, or covered in wild artificial flowers in hues not found in nature, or tiny little head decorations that could not have blocked any sun and really couldn't be called "hats." Of course there were LOTS of Saints Superbowl Champs ball caps and also many different kinds of traditional straw hats in various styles. There appeared to be more tattooed young people this year -- or maybe I just noticed it more. (An old-fashioned part of me wonders if any of these folks will rue their skin decorations as they vie for more staid careers than they might now have.) Tons and tons of children -- in strollers, in baby packs, on parents' shoulders, grasping a hand of a grown-up, toddling on their own, doing their little dances in front of stages. Many people were already red and rosy with sunburn, perhaps not thinking that it could happen this early in the season.

The breeze off the River was pretty stiff, and kept things cooled down even with the bright sunshine. And once it got to sunset, it was actually a little chilly. I was glad both nights to have brought a shawl for my shoulders.

I remember when Big Man and I first moved home and went to our first French Quarter Festival together. We said tings to each other like, "Some day, maybe you'll be playing here." And now here it is, less than 4 years that we've been living here, and Big Man had not one but TWO French Quarter Festival gigs!

Friday evening Big Man played with a band that was billed as "Russell Batiste and Friends." Some friends! At one point, I counted 16 people on stage, not even counting the little Batiste kids who were banging percussion instruments. (There were *4* horns -- 2 saxes and 2 trumpets -- they were so squished together they could hardly move.) After several instrumentals featuring of course the wondrous trumpet of my beloved -- including a wild take on the theme from the Charlie Brown musical! -- Jason Neville came out and sang his butt off. He was even better on stage than he had been at his CD release party a few weeks ago at The Precinct in my neighborhood. The time his version of the Beatles' "Blackbird" was both passionate and poignant. He also sang "The Way You Look Tonight" and made it his own, and there were hoppin' takes on traditional Indian chants and "Pocky Way." Women of about my age sitting near me in front of the stage were remarking on how much Jason resembles his dad Aaron at that age. It IS a wonder, almost scary. The crowd was quite appreciative when the set was over, and Big Man was exhausted both from playing and from trying to figure out which song was next, as Russell is quite averse to the discipline of set lists. (At one point, Jason began to sing a tune, and Russell called out from the drum set, "Naw, naw, we're not doin' that!")

Afterwards, I walked with Big Man to the Blues Club for his regular gig, and then carried his trombone to where we had parked the car to lock it safely in the trunk. I thought to catch a bus or streetcar to get home after that, but I missed the streetcar and then discovered, via iPhone (I LOVE my iPhone!!), that the next Magazine bus was an hour away. I started walking home along Tchoupitoulas, thinking if a bus came by, I'd hop it. At Lucy's Bar, I saw the Fujita family was having a farewell party there. (Good bye and good luck to sweet Scott Fujita, who helped us get to the Superbowl, but whom the Saints management did not want to pay more. On his way out, as it were, he donated a chunk of his Superbowl winnings to the Save Our Coast Foundation. What a guy!) Turned out no bus ever came, so I ended up walking home the entire way -- not *that* bad, really, close to 3 miles, all told. But it was a lovely night and there were lots of people out and about by all the restaurants I passed in front of, so it was no biggie.

The next day, Saturday, Big Man again had the closing gig at the Festival's Harrah's "Louis-Louis" Stage (in honor of both Louis Armstrong and Louis Prima -- Prima's getting a lot of play right now due to this being his 100th birthday year). This time, Big Man was playing with Rénard Poché and his band, a much smaller ensemble than Russell's behemoth of the night before. But still, with all the instruments that Rénard plays, plus his band members, they filled the stage. There were two female keyboardists, Keiko Kamako (who played the night before with Russell as well) and Leslie Smith (daughter of the late music photog Michael Smith). Highlights of the set for me were the Sly Stone medley (VERY cool and really riled up the crowd!) and the almost-too-strange arrangement of "Eleanor Rigby." Along the way, Rénard played drums, guitar, flute, trombone, percussion, Native American flutes -- two at once!, and possibly something else, I lost track. The youngish crowd *really* seemed to love his (somewhat preachy) rap songs and folks were so stirred, that at the end they had to play an encore. (Unfortunately, Big Man had a private gig to get to at the Intercontinental Hotel that was supposed to start at 9 pm.)

When we finally left and fetched the car, with me driving to drop Big Man off, we got caught in a line of traffic being directed off Canal Street by the NOPD. Only later at home did I find out it was due to a stupid shooting of rival young men at the corner of Canal and Royal. Apparently seven people were hit, none fatally. And so it goes in the Crescent City, the good, the badm the sublime and the ridiculous altogether and all at once.