Since Jazz Fest, like everyone else in South Louisiana, we've been keeping an eye on the River. We go to the Fly at Audubon Park and walk over to the edge, noting how much further the brown water is from the last time we visited. We look over when crossing the River on one of the ferries or the bridge. We've watched as the levels rise and rise.
On the Monday after Jazz Fest, Big Man and I drove to Baton Rouge to shop at our favorite Cajun charcuterie, Bergeron's in West Baton Rouge (don't get me started on them right now! well worth a trip!), and decided to drive home the long way along River Road. We saw behind LSU how the seepage from the levee had formed huge puddles along the road (despite the recent lack of rain). As we drove along, at one point downriver from Baton Rouge, Big Man parked at the foot of the levee and walked up to survey the situation. He hollered to me, back in the car, standing about 5 or 6 feet from the top of the levee, "This is where the water is on the other side!" It was a good 16-17 feet over the car and the road.
Lake Pontchartrain is turning brown from the River water pouring in, chasing the lake fish out and bringing in catfish from the Mississippi -- and once again ruining the oyster beds. (Seems like the poor oystermen just can't catch a break.) Even with all the water pouring through the Bonné Carré Spillway above New Orleans, it wasn't enough, and this week the Morganza Spillway above Baton Rouge was also opened, pouring Mississippi River water into the basin of the Atchafalaya, endangering Morgan City and even smaller villages in Cajun country. God help those people.
A few days ago, Big Man and I took Keely our dog and returned to the Fly, and found there dozens and dozens of other New Orleanians fixated, staring at the swollen river. The brown water was riding high, the current visibly speeding past us to the Gulf, like it was late or something. Barges and tugboats rode unbelievably high in the water, and those traveling upstream had a helluva time of it, making very little headway, as the River strained and pushed in the opposite direction, causing giant wakes. No wonder the Corps of Engineers shut down river traffic for while -- it didn't look safe at all to us.
The city is safe, thank God, barring some unforeseen disaster like a barge breaking free and hitting the levee (the City Council threatened to scuttle any barge not properly tied down). And our hearts go out to all the people and places and farms and businesses in the Atchafalaya Basin. May the flooding not be as bad as predicted for you, and may you all be safe and sound. We thank you for your sacrifice.
Wednesday, May 18, 2011
Tuesday, May 17, 2011
Freedom Riders Make It to New Orleans!
(And only 50 years late!)
Yesterday Big Man and I attended a special rally at the Ashé Cultural Center on Oretha Castle Haley Blvd. to mark the 50th anniversary of the Freedom Rides in the Spring of 1961 -- which ended, of course (as the older among you already knew and the younger among you were taught in last night's excellent documentary on PBS), with the Freedom Riders being badly beaten, almost killed and jailed. Only a few ever made it to New Orleans in 1961, and then by plane. (And even so, only after Attorney General Robert F. Kennedy's aide, John Seigenthaler, himself injured in the melee in Jackson, intervened and directly called the airline.)
A large crowd was gathered on this gorgeous sunny and cool day, mostly black but quite a few whites like us (no question that there should have been more, though). Some vendors had set up under the canopy of the Ashé Center's awning, and Big Man and I bought a copy of the book on Congo Square that we had looked at while at Jazz Fest. We were glad we had waited, because we got to have the book signed and dedicated by the author. I told her the story of Bog Man's emotional reaction to Congo Square on his first visit to New Orleans back in 2004, exclaiming, "And he's not even from here!" and she graciously invited him to the drumming circle on Sunday afternoons at 3 pm. (Drumming at Congo Square on Sunday afternoons? You bet we'll be there!)
I also purchased an Ashé handkerchief, correctly surmising that I might need one. I had been feeling teary and tender all day about the anniversary and the event, remembering what I had seen on the TV news back then (when I was about 8 years old) and the conversations I had had with my parents at that time (my parents were local white civil rights activists back in the day), talking about it with Big Man (who, younger than I, remembered none of it), and thinking about the PBS tagline to promote the documentary, "Could you get on the bus?"
Could YOU get on the bus, knowing what those young people knew at the time? That it meant jeopardizing one's chances for graduation from college, the threat of danger, having a police record, possibly being physically hurt, maybe even losing your life? (John Seigenthaler quoted a young and beautiful Diane Nash saying to him on the phone, "Last night we all signed our last will and testaments -- we know what we are up against" and him being struck speechless.) Would you have risked everything to establish the right to travel between states on a bus or train, and to sit and wait or sit and eat in the station? Could you have had the courage to do it all nonviolently, no matter what was said to you, no matter what was done to you? Would you have had the courage to get on the bus?
The crowd was filled with a sense of happy anticipation. A crate of lovely pure white doves was waiting to be released at the right moment, and several people carried signs to welcome the long-delayed Freedom Riders. There were cameras and microphones from various media outlets -- although none seemingly from local news. We saw a representative from the mayor's office who was holding a framed proclamation to give the riders, but we were disappointed the Mayor himself did not attend. Many people had brought small children to witness this historic event.
The crowd roared its approval as the bus, "wrapped" in a graphic that transformed this modern-day conveyance into an old-fashioned Greyhound bus, pulled up in front of the Ashé Center. A young band from Behrman School across the river struck up some tunes, and we all applauded wildly. The elderly Freedom Riders gingerly disembarked into the bright sunshine, blinking in the glare, waving gamely. They were followed by students wearing the bright yellow Freedom Rider T-shirts from WGBH Boston. There was a short little procession down the street, the band in front, the Freedom Riders walking slowly with canes or walkers or holding onto the arms of younger folks, the rest of us falling in behind them, everyone cheering and clapping. My heart just swelled up -- they made it! They finally made it! I really used that handkerchief, believe you me!
There were speeches (not very audible with the terrible sound system being used) and prayers and hymns sung, and the white doves were released, one by one, flying up and over the street and into the setting sun to home. The Freedom Riders were gamely signing autographs onto T-shirts and posters and copies of the Freedom Riders book being sold. They posed for photos by themselves and with others. (I got my picture taken with Ms. Joan Trumpauer Mulholland, whose moving story of her experiences can be found at http://www.pbs.org/wgbh/americanexperience/freedomriders/people/joan-trumpauer-mulholland) "Thank you, thank you!" I said to her, my hands covering hers. All around me in the crowd, I could hear the same thing being said over and over, "Thank you, thank you so much, thank you for what you did."
And all I could think was, it took 50 years, but they made it to their stated destination. All of us involved in social justice work should be inspired, and learn from this. The things you do, the choices you make, all make a difference. Just not right away.
Yesterday Big Man and I attended a special rally at the Ashé Cultural Center on Oretha Castle Haley Blvd. to mark the 50th anniversary of the Freedom Rides in the Spring of 1961 -- which ended, of course (as the older among you already knew and the younger among you were taught in last night's excellent documentary on PBS), with the Freedom Riders being badly beaten, almost killed and jailed. Only a few ever made it to New Orleans in 1961, and then by plane. (And even so, only after Attorney General Robert F. Kennedy's aide, John Seigenthaler, himself injured in the melee in Jackson, intervened and directly called the airline.)
A large crowd was gathered on this gorgeous sunny and cool day, mostly black but quite a few whites like us (no question that there should have been more, though). Some vendors had set up under the canopy of the Ashé Center's awning, and Big Man and I bought a copy of the book on Congo Square that we had looked at while at Jazz Fest. We were glad we had waited, because we got to have the book signed and dedicated by the author. I told her the story of Bog Man's emotional reaction to Congo Square on his first visit to New Orleans back in 2004, exclaiming, "And he's not even from here!" and she graciously invited him to the drumming circle on Sunday afternoons at 3 pm. (Drumming at Congo Square on Sunday afternoons? You bet we'll be there!)
I also purchased an Ashé handkerchief, correctly surmising that I might need one. I had been feeling teary and tender all day about the anniversary and the event, remembering what I had seen on the TV news back then (when I was about 8 years old) and the conversations I had had with my parents at that time (my parents were local white civil rights activists back in the day), talking about it with Big Man (who, younger than I, remembered none of it), and thinking about the PBS tagline to promote the documentary, "Could you get on the bus?"
Could YOU get on the bus, knowing what those young people knew at the time? That it meant jeopardizing one's chances for graduation from college, the threat of danger, having a police record, possibly being physically hurt, maybe even losing your life? (John Seigenthaler quoted a young and beautiful Diane Nash saying to him on the phone, "Last night we all signed our last will and testaments -- we know what we are up against" and him being struck speechless.) Would you have risked everything to establish the right to travel between states on a bus or train, and to sit and wait or sit and eat in the station? Could you have had the courage to do it all nonviolently, no matter what was said to you, no matter what was done to you? Would you have had the courage to get on the bus?
The crowd was filled with a sense of happy anticipation. A crate of lovely pure white doves was waiting to be released at the right moment, and several people carried signs to welcome the long-delayed Freedom Riders. There were cameras and microphones from various media outlets -- although none seemingly from local news. We saw a representative from the mayor's office who was holding a framed proclamation to give the riders, but we were disappointed the Mayor himself did not attend. Many people had brought small children to witness this historic event.
The crowd roared its approval as the bus, "wrapped" in a graphic that transformed this modern-day conveyance into an old-fashioned Greyhound bus, pulled up in front of the Ashé Center. A young band from Behrman School across the river struck up some tunes, and we all applauded wildly. The elderly Freedom Riders gingerly disembarked into the bright sunshine, blinking in the glare, waving gamely. They were followed by students wearing the bright yellow Freedom Rider T-shirts from WGBH Boston. There was a short little procession down the street, the band in front, the Freedom Riders walking slowly with canes or walkers or holding onto the arms of younger folks, the rest of us falling in behind them, everyone cheering and clapping. My heart just swelled up -- they made it! They finally made it! I really used that handkerchief, believe you me!
There were speeches (not very audible with the terrible sound system being used) and prayers and hymns sung, and the white doves were released, one by one, flying up and over the street and into the setting sun to home. The Freedom Riders were gamely signing autographs onto T-shirts and posters and copies of the Freedom Riders book being sold. They posed for photos by themselves and with others. (I got my picture taken with Ms. Joan Trumpauer Mulholland, whose moving story of her experiences can be found at http://www.pbs.org/wgbh/americanexperience/freedomriders/people/joan-trumpauer-mulholland) "Thank you, thank you!" I said to her, my hands covering hers. All around me in the crowd, I could hear the same thing being said over and over, "Thank you, thank you so much, thank you for what you did."
And all I could think was, it took 50 years, but they made it to their stated destination. All of us involved in social justice work should be inspired, and learn from this. The things you do, the choices you make, all make a difference. Just not right away.
Tuesday, May 10, 2011
Our Favorite Jazz Fest Moments
Every year at Jazz Fest, there are moments that surprise you, that stick in your memory, things you'll remember forever for whatever reason. This year was no exception. Here's a few of Big Man's and my favorite Jazz Fest moments:
•Tom Jones singing "Hey Pocky Way" as one of his encores. (See last post.)
•Dr. John calling the 91-year-old Dave Bartholomew onstage, and Dave being brought out in a wheelchair, waving his trumpet to the crowd. We were prepared to cheer him for everything he's done in the past, but the guy proceeded to blow and blow, making the horn talk and squeal and wail. On "The Monkey Speaks His Mind" (one of my favorites), Dave went crazy on the trumpet, wah-wahing behind Mack Rebennack's vocals. It was unbelievable! We screamed our heads off.
•Hearing an unmistakable Louisiana piano sound coming from Fais Do Do as we were walking the track, and feeling drawn to it like a magnet. Thus we got to hear the wonderful Roddie Romero and his fabulous pianist Eddie Adcock play swamp pop-Cajun-Zydeco to an appreciative crowd. Never heard of these guys, but they were terrific. At Jazz Fest, you have to let your ears do the picking sometimes, and just go where you're drawn.
•Kid Rock singing a song on the Acura Stage about growing older, with a lyric referencing a prostate exam -- almost certainly the very first time that's ever been done in a rock song. We were both pleasantly surprised by Kid Rock's set -- he's very talented, playing guitar, piano, and drums during his set, and he was self-deprecating and witty in his song lyrics and in his remarks. If he hadn't been the set right before the Neville Brothers, we might never have seen him, but we really enjoyed him. (He also called Trombone Shorty onstage to play -- we think Shorty might win the prize as the musician with the highest number of guest appearances at the Fest this year.)
•Speaking of Shorty, who can forget the Midnite Disturbers, what another new fan called "the most expensive brass band in history"? And how the Jazz Fest crowds were completely turned form the traffic flow hearing that jazzy, funky, brassy sound from the Jazz & Heritage Stage? OMG. What a memory!
•Yvette Voelker celebrating her birthday near the end of the Pfister Sisters' great set at the Economy Hall Tent, with fans bringing up old-fashioned bundles of a dozen red roses wrapped in cello, so many that she couldn't hold them all, her neck stained bright red with her furious blushes.
•Allen Toussaint's too-short set at Acura, zipping through just a few of his many, many hits, backed up by Rénard Poché on guitar, Big Sam on trombone, and Grace Darling on sax and background vocals, and Elaine from ELS in a fabulous white Voodoo queen outfit also on background vocals. He brought out Trombone Shorty (see above) and Irvin Mayfield, and then, crazily, announced a song called "Hanging With Jimmy Buffet" -- and he brought Buffet out (whose set was to follow) to sing background on it! It was funny and sweet and amazing. (I wanna know. When did Allen write that tune??)
•Meeting a guy at a food tent who said he worked at Ralph's at The Park, who was swearing by the Crawfish Strudel, which somehow Big Man and I had never ever tasted. So I held our seats and Big Man went back for a serving, while our new friend from Ralph's waited to see our reaction. Wow! Heavenly! I will certainly try to reproduce that at home.
•The final-final set of Jazz Fest with the Neville Brothers bringing up nearly every one of the nephews and grandsons as guests, with the ubiquitous Troy Andrews and Irvin Mayfield as well. We hate to think about it, but some day in the future (the FAR future, we hope), it'll be The Neville Family and not the Brothers. They ran through all the favorites, showed us some new stuff the younger generation is working on, and at the end, after we hollered ourselves hoarse, came back out for the traditional encore of Aaron singing "Amazing Grace" a capella. A group of young people behind us began harmonizing sweetly with Aaron as Big Man and I held each other, trying not to cry. And then Cyril "Nevillized" us all and it was time to go home and Jazz Fest was over for another year.
•Tom Jones singing "Hey Pocky Way" as one of his encores. (See last post.)
•Dr. John calling the 91-year-old Dave Bartholomew onstage, and Dave being brought out in a wheelchair, waving his trumpet to the crowd. We were prepared to cheer him for everything he's done in the past, but the guy proceeded to blow and blow, making the horn talk and squeal and wail. On "The Monkey Speaks His Mind" (one of my favorites), Dave went crazy on the trumpet, wah-wahing behind Mack Rebennack's vocals. It was unbelievable! We screamed our heads off.
•Hearing an unmistakable Louisiana piano sound coming from Fais Do Do as we were walking the track, and feeling drawn to it like a magnet. Thus we got to hear the wonderful Roddie Romero and his fabulous pianist Eddie Adcock play swamp pop-Cajun-Zydeco to an appreciative crowd. Never heard of these guys, but they were terrific. At Jazz Fest, you have to let your ears do the picking sometimes, and just go where you're drawn.
•Kid Rock singing a song on the Acura Stage about growing older, with a lyric referencing a prostate exam -- almost certainly the very first time that's ever been done in a rock song. We were both pleasantly surprised by Kid Rock's set -- he's very talented, playing guitar, piano, and drums during his set, and he was self-deprecating and witty in his song lyrics and in his remarks. If he hadn't been the set right before the Neville Brothers, we might never have seen him, but we really enjoyed him. (He also called Trombone Shorty onstage to play -- we think Shorty might win the prize as the musician with the highest number of guest appearances at the Fest this year.)
•Speaking of Shorty, who can forget the Midnite Disturbers, what another new fan called "the most expensive brass band in history"? And how the Jazz Fest crowds were completely turned form the traffic flow hearing that jazzy, funky, brassy sound from the Jazz & Heritage Stage? OMG. What a memory!
•Yvette Voelker celebrating her birthday near the end of the Pfister Sisters' great set at the Economy Hall Tent, with fans bringing up old-fashioned bundles of a dozen red roses wrapped in cello, so many that she couldn't hold them all, her neck stained bright red with her furious blushes.
•Allen Toussaint's too-short set at Acura, zipping through just a few of his many, many hits, backed up by Rénard Poché on guitar, Big Sam on trombone, and Grace Darling on sax and background vocals, and Elaine from ELS in a fabulous white Voodoo queen outfit also on background vocals. He brought out Trombone Shorty (see above) and Irvin Mayfield, and then, crazily, announced a song called "Hanging With Jimmy Buffet" -- and he brought Buffet out (whose set was to follow) to sing background on it! It was funny and sweet and amazing. (I wanna know. When did Allen write that tune??)
•Meeting a guy at a food tent who said he worked at Ralph's at The Park, who was swearing by the Crawfish Strudel, which somehow Big Man and I had never ever tasted. So I held our seats and Big Man went back for a serving, while our new friend from Ralph's waited to see our reaction. Wow! Heavenly! I will certainly try to reproduce that at home.
•The final-final set of Jazz Fest with the Neville Brothers bringing up nearly every one of the nephews and grandsons as guests, with the ubiquitous Troy Andrews and Irvin Mayfield as well. We hate to think about it, but some day in the future (the FAR future, we hope), it'll be The Neville Family and not the Brothers. They ran through all the favorites, showed us some new stuff the younger generation is working on, and at the end, after we hollered ourselves hoarse, came back out for the traditional encore of Aaron singing "Amazing Grace" a capella. A group of young people behind us began harmonizing sweetly with Aaron as Big Man and I held each other, trying not to cry. And then Cyril "Nevillized" us all and it was time to go home and Jazz Fest was over for another year.
Tuesday, May 3, 2011
First Weekend of Jazz Fest 2011
Well, it was a terrific start to this year's Jazz Fest! We enjoyed beautiful weather with sunshine: Friday was a perfect clear blue sky, Saturday and Sunday both had some clouds, which we like because it grants some occasional shade. Temperatures stayed mild, climbing to the mid-80s by Sunday, but with cooling breezes all 3 days. Humidity stayed fairly low throughout. We had Big Man's niece with us from Pennsylvania, her second Jazz Fest, and together we had a wonderful time.
Here are some highlights of the first weekend:
Friday, April 29
The very first thing we had to do was get us some Trout Bacquet -- *now* we're festing!! Then it was off to the Acura Stage, where we planned to set up our chairs, to hear the ever-reliable George Porter & his Runnin' Pardners. There is no better bass guitar player in the world than George, and we got funky for several tunes before leaving our chairs in the good spot we found, and walking over to the Blues Tent to catch some of the Joe Krown Trio (Joe, Russell Batiste on drums, and Walter "Wolfman" Washington on bass guitar). This is a group Big Man has sat in with at the Maple Leaf lots of times, and we like them a lot. Apparently so do a lot of folks, because the guys had totally *packed* the tent, but to enjoy the music, we strolled around a while as though looking for a seat. They were really hot, and the crowd was more than appreciative.
At the far back of the Gentilly Stage, which was as close as we could get, we laid down the wool Army blanket to groove on the subdudes with my old friend Johnny Magnie. The crowd was so tight along the left side of the stage that it took real skill to get through it. (Won't make that mistake again during Fest, and will take the track from here on in.) I do so love the harmonies of the 'dudes and we stayed for close to half the set, but there was the usual Jazz Fest scheduling of act upon act, and we had to move on to catch more bands on our list.
We walked through the Native American area so Big Man could get his annual Maque Choux fix on our way to listen to Donald Harrison at the Congo Square Stage. Donald was some smooth in his white suit, almost *glowing* on stage, his playing just as smooth and sophisticated. We passed a couple tunes in bliss here, and then we were on to Acura to catch us some great Jon Cleary on piano. Despite his lingering English accent, Jon could pass as a New Orleans-born piano man, and he's just as good as a raconteur. Totally enjoyable.
We got more food on our way to the Economy Hall Tent, to hear trad trumpeter Connie Jones, but we were early, and so caught Doreen's Jazz New Orleans band. We hadn't know who she is, until we saw her -- she's the black woman who play incredible clarinet on the street in the French Quarter. Every single time we've ever seen and heard her, we've been blown away by this woman's talent and musicality. So *that's* Doreen! We were delighted and cheered our heads off after every single solo.
We stayed for only a couple tunes with Connie Jones & his Crescent City Allstars -- the sound was awful, Connie's mike needed amplifying, and we were so replete after Doreen's hot set, that we ended up leaving. We had a destination in mind: the little Lagniappe Stage in the middle of the Grandstand, where Miss Meschiya Lake & her Little Big Horns were holding court and wowing the crowd. We had been going on and on about Meschiya to our niece -- her tattoos, her retro dress and hairdos, her amazing voice, her band's faithful and loving and lively recreation of jazz from the 1920s and 30s. They are *such* an experience, it's like you've gotten into a time machine and are actually experiencing the music of that era. They really belong in Economy Hall, but I suspect that the Jazz Fest powers-that-be fear that the older folks in that tent wouldn't appreciate all those "tats." Maybe next year they'll put her where she deserves to be.
We walked across the fest to get us some funk over at Congo Square with Ivan Neville & Dumpstaphunk. We spread out the Army blanket again and laid ourselves down under the sun, the sky like blue dome over us, and the music fell down on us from above, and I swear, felt like it was rising up from the earth itself, the vibrations entering our bodies from the ground. Especially loved "Put It in the Dumpster" and "Fight the Power."
Of course, it was useless to try to get into the Blues Tent to see Keb' Mo' -- the ushers were stopping people from entering, saying there were absolutely no seats at all left. But we stayed outside and got glimpses through the tent flaps. Wow! Keb' Mo' and his band were amazing, and seemed to be totally enjoying himself, grinning and dancing across the stage. We were glued to the spot, along with hundreds of other fans who couldn't get in, but we left satisfied.
We returned to our seats at Acura in time for former Led Zeppelin lead singer Robert Plant & this Band of Joy. Let's face it, Robert Plant does not have the voice he used to have, but now and again you heard a glimpse of it. He sure looks like an advertisement for how NOT to live -- as my sister L would say, he looked rode hard and put up wet. He had a good band with him -- one band member played acoustic, electric, dobro, and mandolin -- but we were somewhat sunstruck, and mindful of the days ahead. So we headed back to our car to party another day.
Saturday, April 30
A *very* early start on this day, as Big Man was playing with Rénard Poché and his band as the opening act on the Acura Stage. (The Jazz fest shuttle driver who picked us up in the musicians' parking lot said, all impressed, "Oh, the big stage!") Rénard is something of a stickler, so he required his band members to arrive a full hour or more before the scheduled start. The backstage trailers were VERY nice, with comfortable furniture, like white leather sofas and chairs, and glass-topped coffee tables, with a good spread of catering sandwiches and an ice chest filled with water, cold drinks and beer (!). Unfortunately, since Bon Jovi and his band were closing out the Fest later in the day, they were not giving out ANY Acura guest passes, for fear folks would try to use them later to get backstage. Bummer.
It was a great set -- Rénard is *crazy* talented, playing trombone, drums, recorder (actually, TWO recorders at one time!!), flute, and guitar, and his arrangements of familiar tunes (like "Eleanor Rigby") are totally amazing. Unlike many New Orleans musicians, the band had had several rehearsals in the run-up to the fest, and they were *tight* and hot (if I do say so myself, prejudiced as I am with Big Man playing). Keiko on keyboards all ladylike while her hands went crazy across the keys; Leslie Smith's voice all husky and sexy, her stage moves confident. The horns were great, everything went well. The crowd grew and grew as the set wore on, and they cheered and jumped and waved.
After the great set, the band headed back to the trailer and the Jazz Fest staff went out of their way to make us comfortable, maybe feeling guilty that we had to clear out by 1 pm, and not getting our backstage passes. They made us coffee and we ate ore of the catered sandwiches. Big Man got paid, Rénard congratulated and thanked everyone and we took the shuttle back to the car to get rid of all the horns (Big Man played both trombone and trumpet for the show), and Big Man changed out of the required black to a more fest-appropriate garb.
It was well into the set when we got back to the Acura Stage for the Dixie Cups, so we missed "Chapel of Love" (featured on our wedding invitations), but we did enjoy the rest of it. (Except for that part when they brought *Councilwoman Jackie Clarkson* onstage to sing with them -- ew.) Interestingly, the gals sang "America the Beautiful" and nearly the whole crowd stood up and some of the men took their hats off, as if it were the national anthem! We left our chairs there for later and took a walk.
As we walked by the Blues Tent J. Monque'D was holding forth, and once again, it was too full to get in. We kept on going, and were drawn into the Gospel Tent where the Gospel Soul Children were totally rocking out. We managed to find 3 seats, pretty close to the front, and man, did we get the spirit!! A lot of gospel groups will do something with high energy and then will alternate it with something slower, so they (and the audience) can catch their breath, but not the GSC. They went from one rockin' number to the next, and when you thought things couldn't get any more excited or high spirited, they topped it. I tell you the truth, we were almost exhausted when we left.
Needing to hear something much more mellow, we ambled over to Economy Hall and caught jazz banjoist Don Vappie & his Creole Jazz Serenaders. Great classics of the trad style, including tunes associated with Don, like "Salé Dame" (which could loosely translated as "Dirty Girl"). As always, the Economy Hall crowd was well and truly into it, getting into spontaneous secondlines and strutting around the tent. (Note: you can;t hardly go to Economy Hall if you don't have an umbrella, decorated or not, or at the very least a handkerchief to wave as you secondline through the tent.) The dance floor had couples gracefully going through their paces, and a very good time was had by all.
We were hungry again, and made our way to the middle food area, so that Big Man could get his second favorite dish, the absolutely fabulous Quail, Pheasant, and Andouille Gumbo from Prejean's. (That stuff is off-the-charts good!) While sitting on the soft green grass to savor the food, I could hear an almost unearthly good trumpet blowing from the direction of the Jazz & Heritage Stage. "Who is that?," I wondered.
I scanned my iPhone Jazz Fest app, and found an unknown band (to me) called the Midnite Disturbers was there. Big Man came back from the food booth, laughing, and sat down next to me. "Just had a funny trumpet player conversation," he reported. He said he was standing by the gumbo booth when two other older New Orleans trumpeters came over, and they were all grousing, in a friendly fashion, about the trumpeter I was admiring -- who was none other than Trombone Shorty!!! (Of course I loved that trumpet!) The older guys were saying stuff like, "How old were you when you first hit that high note?" and "Good thing he's not good-looking too -- oh wait, he is" and "Can you believe he's that good on 'bone AND trumpet?" and "Does he have to play keyboard too?" and "At least he's a nice guy, we can't even hate him." Funny.
So we rushed over to the Jazz & Heritage Stage, drawn like iron filings to a magnet, and caught the rest of *the completely fantastic and off-the-hook* set by the nearly-secret Midnite Disturbers. This crazy-good band had Shamarr Allen, as well as Troy Andrews, otherwise known as Trombone Shorty, on trumpet, three trombonists, including Cory Henry AND Big Sam of the Funky Nation, two or three saxes, and two funky tubas. Wowee-zowie! It was fantastic, completely and utterly fantastic. (I later discovered that the OffBeat had alerted fans that Shorty would likely be there, but I only read that afterwards.) It was a real, major Jazz Fest moment that I'll remember for a long long time. Wish you could have all been there. (Note to Jazz Fest: next year, the Midnite Disturbers need to be on a much bigger stage.)
Feeling all tingly with the Midnite Disturbers music -- and the roaring cheers of the fans -- still in our ears, we went back to our chairs at Acura for Irma Thomas. Irma's voice has deepened and roughened over the years, but in a really good way, and she puts on a great show with her big band. (Since it was Jazz Fest, they skipped that part where the band plays the first tune without her and then calls her up, and she just came on right away.) She sang some of her new stuff from the two post-K albums, brought up Marcia Ball as her guest for one duet (calling her "my sister from another mother"), and then ran through the golden oldies like "It's Raining," "Time Is My Side," "Breakaway," and of course "You Can Have My Husband But Please Don't Mess With My Man." She ended as she always does, with all of us with our "backfield in motion" for "Pocky-Way." Great satisfying set.
We stayed put as they finished setting up the stage for Bon Jovi (they had actually begun the preparations for Bon Jovi during *Rénard's set* at the beginning of the day!). The crowd grew and grew, but did not get as bad as it had been 2 years ago when Bon Jovi came to Jazz Fest (see my old Blog post from JF 2009). We stayed for several of Jon Bon Jovi's big hits, "Dead or Alive," "You Give Love a Bad Name" and a couple more, then we packed up our chairs and walked over to Gentilly to catch our niece's pick, Jason Mraz, who Big Man and I had never heard of (we don't listen to commercial radio, just 'OZ). Turns out he's a handsome young man playing Latin-tinged pop to a giant appreciative crowd. Very good, but we were tired from getting there so very early, and so we began the trek back to the musicians' lot. On the way, we paused at the Jazz Tent to hear some of Ahmad Jamal's set among the hundreds of fans listening from the outside. Great stuff, lots of passion and energy.
Sunday, May 1
Our last day of the first weekend of Jazz Fest also began early, as Big Man was playing the opening act at the Gospel Tent with Jo "Cool" Davis (who back in the day was the bouncer/doorman at Tipitinia's but who now is a double amputee in a wheelchair). Jo always does his own personal versions of traditional gospel tunes, with a horn line of 2 saxes and Big Man on trumpet. The tent filled quickly, Jo being a long-time local favorite, and things were going along swimmingly, when Jo called up his guest vocalist. The crowd really went wild when James "Sugarboy" Crawford was introduced, all slender and dapper in a natty sport coat and straw fedora. The man who in his salad days gave us the original definitive version of "Jockomo" now sings only gospel but is remembered and revered for his place in the New Orleans musical pantheon. He did a gospel number that was sung to the tune of "Danny Boy" with Big Man doing some really sweet blowing behind him. When the set was over, the crowd stood and stamped and hollered.
As soon as Big Man got paid and congratulated for the gig (and after I had the honor of meeting Sugarboy Crawford and conveying my long-time admiration), we went straightaway to Economy Hall to get good seat for New Leviathan, a perennial favorite beloved by many. This gave us the unexpected chance to hear The Last Straws trad jazz band celebrate their 50th anniversary playing together. These old guys (and they were all, believe you me, old guys) in their old-fashioned striped rep ties and straw boaters played exactly like musicians who'd been playing with each other for a half-century -- that is, almost like they could read each other's minds. They were terrific in their way, and they had lots of fans in the tent.
Almost no one left (and in fact, members of The Last Straws eagerly took seats saved for them in the audience) anticipating the New Leviathan Oriental Foxtrot Orchestra. After a long set-up (they're a BIG group), they launched into some of their treasure-trove of novelty songs from the early 20th century (my personal fave this set: "My Mariucci Does the Hoochie-Ma-Cooch"). What's so wonderful about New Leviathan is that the musicians take the music VERY seriously and don't make fun of it, no matter how silly the lyrics or premise of the songs (another good one was titled "You Heifer"!). And you gotta absolutely love the modern-day theremin they always wait to play at the end of the set, with its crazy, other-worldly sound. I've loved NLOFO since the old days in the atrium lobby of the old Hyatt Hotel, when they used to play the Friday Tea Dances, and it's great to get to hear them every year at Jazz Fest. (And thank god George Schmidt has returned to NOLA from his painting days in Italy!)
We took the long way back to our chairs at Gentilly, and caught a hot set by Li'l Malcolm & the House Rockers at the Fais Do-Do Stage (and yes, Big Man could not go past the Maque Choux booth without getting another bowlful!). We sat down in time to hear the end part of the Classic New Orleans R&B Revue with Frankie Ford & Jeanie Knight & the Blue-Eyed Soul Band. Big Man had been referred to the Fais Do-Do Stage to check out the Honey Island Swamp Band (they might want/need a trumpet player who can also do trombone), and we strolled over there to watch. They were great -- and they do need a trumpet, if I do say so myself -- but the sun was beating down mercilessly, and so we headed to the Grandstand for some relief. On the way, we watched some of the Storyville Stompers brass band on the Jazz & Heritage Stage; they must've invited everyone who'd ever played with them, for the stage was crowded with horns, must've been 16 guys on stage. Sounded great, though.
It had to be about 20 degrees cooler, no kidding, inside the Grandstand, and we were delighted by the set of pianist Tom McDermott with clarinetist Evan Christopher. Who knew those 2 pieces could be so satisfying and sweet? Very enjoyable and unexpected.
Once we were cooled off, we went back to the chairs at Gentilly for the end of Deacon John's Big Band's set. (They had old-fashioned bandstands and everything!). Wish we could've seen the whole set. We ran into Deac later on at Fest and told how great we thought he had been (and secretly said to ourselves that Deac needs to give Big Man a chance in his band -- Big Man is a natural for R&B-type playing).
Carrying the Army blanket for seating, we rushed over across the field to Acura for Dr. John & the Lower 911. The crowd was of course gynormous, but I spotted a parishioner sitting on the grass by herself, and offered a spot on the blanket. We all sat together and had a great time as Mack went through all my favorite tunes, just as though he had taken my requests. His medley of "Golden Splinters" with "Night Tripper" was terrific. Then he called out for his guest, the great trumpeter/arranger/ composer/producer Dave Bartholomew, who rolled out in a wheelchair. The main next to me checked his iPhone and announced, "91 on his next birthday!" and we all aahed and oohed. (And I told Big Man, whose birthday is next week, "See, darlin, 40 more years of blowing trumpet!") To our absolute amazement, Dave did indeed have his horn and not only blew it, he tore the place up, making his trumpet talk and squeal with a mute, and soaring notes heavenward. Good Lord, that was incredible! Another Jazz Fest moment to be savored and treasured.
Even though we knew the tent would packed like a sardine can, we hurried over to Economy Hall to at least listen from the outside to Pete Fountain's set, for who knows how many sets the old guy has in him. Tim Laughlin was sort of backing him up, but Pete was really playing his "licorice stick" and doing a helluva job. Among the mob massed outside we ran into and exchanged hugs and kisses with several friends, including the lovely Yvette Voelker of the Pfister Sisters (they play the Fest next wekeend). She and Bog Man had to spend some time praising the Finale music app for Macs and iPads. We left after Peter blew the tent down with "Basin Street Blues."
We returned to our chairs and waited for Tom Jones to come to the Gentilly Stage. Big Man and I talked, and we agreed that if all he did was a Vegas-type revue of all or most of his hits, it would be a satisfying show. We sat back and enjoyed the breeze, and blessedly the sun went behind some clouds and it was more than comfortable. Without our noticing, the band must have taken the stage, and suddenly our chairs began to vibrate with a heavy bass beat. We looked up, and there was nothing but a trio -- bass, guitar, and drums -- on the stage, hitting a heavy blues beat, and then Tom Jones (looking fabulous) took the stage to cheers and screams. He proceeded to do 3 old-time gospel songs in a row, including a shiver-inducing "God Almighty Gonna Cut "Em Down." Big Man and I exchanged looks. This was not at al what we expected, but this was *terrific."
Then, Tom introduced another song, and 2 really attractive (no, HOT) female back-up singers came out and they did a couple numbers with him. And then, a pianist came out and they did more tunes. We finally got it -- he was slowly and dramatically building up the band onstage, and at each point, you were completely happy, not thinking anything was missing. And then a full horn line came out and they blasted into a classic version of "Delilah" with the whole crowd joining in on the familiar chorus ("Why, why, why, Delilah...").
Each tune was introduced by Tom telling a story about how he got the tune, his conversations with the writer or with someone who had recorded it before him (like Elvis!). He was informative and interesting and gracious. His voice was fine, almost as if no time had passed. He had also grown into his looks and was, if anything, even better looking than he was when younger. There was hardly a woman of any age or orientation who wouldn't given him some. (And yes, if you have to ask, there was indeed underwear thrown up on stage!)
When the horn line broke into the familiar intro to Randy Newman's salty "You Can Leave Your Hat On" we screamed our approval. Tom's cover was so smoking hot it was surprising that any clothes remained on in the audience at all. The set was over before we knew it, the sun hanging low to our left, the sky turning all rosy, the crowd shouting and screaming for more. After we were almost hoarse, they came back out and to our gobsmacked surprise, they launched into "Pocky-Way"! (Really, I'm serious!!) Tom said, "I sing this lots of places, and people just don't get it -- they don't understand this song. But I know you will and I hope you'll join me in singing it." Well, who could stop us?? So we all backed up Tom Jones in singing our very own Mardi Gras Indian song. Amazing and wonderful.
Just as I was losing hope, Tom went into Prince's "Kiss" as his final encore, and while I have a beef with the Jazz Fest cameraman (and I KNOW it was a man, and straight at that!) who focused on the gorgeous back-up instead of Tom, for pete's sake, it was a completely satisfying end to an incredibly satisfying and unexpected set.
As the sun went down, we walked to our car, satiated, tired, excited, and happy. And thus ended the first weekend of Jazz Festival 2011.
Here are some highlights of the first weekend:
Friday, April 29
The very first thing we had to do was get us some Trout Bacquet -- *now* we're festing!! Then it was off to the Acura Stage, where we planned to set up our chairs, to hear the ever-reliable George Porter & his Runnin' Pardners. There is no better bass guitar player in the world than George, and we got funky for several tunes before leaving our chairs in the good spot we found, and walking over to the Blues Tent to catch some of the Joe Krown Trio (Joe, Russell Batiste on drums, and Walter "Wolfman" Washington on bass guitar). This is a group Big Man has sat in with at the Maple Leaf lots of times, and we like them a lot. Apparently so do a lot of folks, because the guys had totally *packed* the tent, but to enjoy the music, we strolled around a while as though looking for a seat. They were really hot, and the crowd was more than appreciative.
At the far back of the Gentilly Stage, which was as close as we could get, we laid down the wool Army blanket to groove on the subdudes with my old friend Johnny Magnie. The crowd was so tight along the left side of the stage that it took real skill to get through it. (Won't make that mistake again during Fest, and will take the track from here on in.) I do so love the harmonies of the 'dudes and we stayed for close to half the set, but there was the usual Jazz Fest scheduling of act upon act, and we had to move on to catch more bands on our list.
We walked through the Native American area so Big Man could get his annual Maque Choux fix on our way to listen to Donald Harrison at the Congo Square Stage. Donald was some smooth in his white suit, almost *glowing* on stage, his playing just as smooth and sophisticated. We passed a couple tunes in bliss here, and then we were on to Acura to catch us some great Jon Cleary on piano. Despite his lingering English accent, Jon could pass as a New Orleans-born piano man, and he's just as good as a raconteur. Totally enjoyable.
We got more food on our way to the Economy Hall Tent, to hear trad trumpeter Connie Jones, but we were early, and so caught Doreen's Jazz New Orleans band. We hadn't know who she is, until we saw her -- she's the black woman who play incredible clarinet on the street in the French Quarter. Every single time we've ever seen and heard her, we've been blown away by this woman's talent and musicality. So *that's* Doreen! We were delighted and cheered our heads off after every single solo.
We stayed for only a couple tunes with Connie Jones & his Crescent City Allstars -- the sound was awful, Connie's mike needed amplifying, and we were so replete after Doreen's hot set, that we ended up leaving. We had a destination in mind: the little Lagniappe Stage in the middle of the Grandstand, where Miss Meschiya Lake & her Little Big Horns were holding court and wowing the crowd. We had been going on and on about Meschiya to our niece -- her tattoos, her retro dress and hairdos, her amazing voice, her band's faithful and loving and lively recreation of jazz from the 1920s and 30s. They are *such* an experience, it's like you've gotten into a time machine and are actually experiencing the music of that era. They really belong in Economy Hall, but I suspect that the Jazz Fest powers-that-be fear that the older folks in that tent wouldn't appreciate all those "tats." Maybe next year they'll put her where she deserves to be.
We walked across the fest to get us some funk over at Congo Square with Ivan Neville & Dumpstaphunk. We spread out the Army blanket again and laid ourselves down under the sun, the sky like blue dome over us, and the music fell down on us from above, and I swear, felt like it was rising up from the earth itself, the vibrations entering our bodies from the ground. Especially loved "Put It in the Dumpster" and "Fight the Power."
Of course, it was useless to try to get into the Blues Tent to see Keb' Mo' -- the ushers were stopping people from entering, saying there were absolutely no seats at all left. But we stayed outside and got glimpses through the tent flaps. Wow! Keb' Mo' and his band were amazing, and seemed to be totally enjoying himself, grinning and dancing across the stage. We were glued to the spot, along with hundreds of other fans who couldn't get in, but we left satisfied.
We returned to our seats at Acura in time for former Led Zeppelin lead singer Robert Plant & this Band of Joy. Let's face it, Robert Plant does not have the voice he used to have, but now and again you heard a glimpse of it. He sure looks like an advertisement for how NOT to live -- as my sister L would say, he looked rode hard and put up wet. He had a good band with him -- one band member played acoustic, electric, dobro, and mandolin -- but we were somewhat sunstruck, and mindful of the days ahead. So we headed back to our car to party another day.
Saturday, April 30
A *very* early start on this day, as Big Man was playing with Rénard Poché and his band as the opening act on the Acura Stage. (The Jazz fest shuttle driver who picked us up in the musicians' parking lot said, all impressed, "Oh, the big stage!") Rénard is something of a stickler, so he required his band members to arrive a full hour or more before the scheduled start. The backstage trailers were VERY nice, with comfortable furniture, like white leather sofas and chairs, and glass-topped coffee tables, with a good spread of catering sandwiches and an ice chest filled with water, cold drinks and beer (!). Unfortunately, since Bon Jovi and his band were closing out the Fest later in the day, they were not giving out ANY Acura guest passes, for fear folks would try to use them later to get backstage. Bummer.
It was a great set -- Rénard is *crazy* talented, playing trombone, drums, recorder (actually, TWO recorders at one time!!), flute, and guitar, and his arrangements of familiar tunes (like "Eleanor Rigby") are totally amazing. Unlike many New Orleans musicians, the band had had several rehearsals in the run-up to the fest, and they were *tight* and hot (if I do say so myself, prejudiced as I am with Big Man playing). Keiko on keyboards all ladylike while her hands went crazy across the keys; Leslie Smith's voice all husky and sexy, her stage moves confident. The horns were great, everything went well. The crowd grew and grew as the set wore on, and they cheered and jumped and waved.
After the great set, the band headed back to the trailer and the Jazz Fest staff went out of their way to make us comfortable, maybe feeling guilty that we had to clear out by 1 pm, and not getting our backstage passes. They made us coffee and we ate ore of the catered sandwiches. Big Man got paid, Rénard congratulated and thanked everyone and we took the shuttle back to the car to get rid of all the horns (Big Man played both trombone and trumpet for the show), and Big Man changed out of the required black to a more fest-appropriate garb.
It was well into the set when we got back to the Acura Stage for the Dixie Cups, so we missed "Chapel of Love" (featured on our wedding invitations), but we did enjoy the rest of it. (Except for that part when they brought *Councilwoman Jackie Clarkson* onstage to sing with them -- ew.) Interestingly, the gals sang "America the Beautiful" and nearly the whole crowd stood up and some of the men took their hats off, as if it were the national anthem! We left our chairs there for later and took a walk.
As we walked by the Blues Tent J. Monque'D was holding forth, and once again, it was too full to get in. We kept on going, and were drawn into the Gospel Tent where the Gospel Soul Children were totally rocking out. We managed to find 3 seats, pretty close to the front, and man, did we get the spirit!! A lot of gospel groups will do something with high energy and then will alternate it with something slower, so they (and the audience) can catch their breath, but not the GSC. They went from one rockin' number to the next, and when you thought things couldn't get any more excited or high spirited, they topped it. I tell you the truth, we were almost exhausted when we left.
Needing to hear something much more mellow, we ambled over to Economy Hall and caught jazz banjoist Don Vappie & his Creole Jazz Serenaders. Great classics of the trad style, including tunes associated with Don, like "Salé Dame" (which could loosely translated as "Dirty Girl"). As always, the Economy Hall crowd was well and truly into it, getting into spontaneous secondlines and strutting around the tent. (Note: you can;t hardly go to Economy Hall if you don't have an umbrella, decorated or not, or at the very least a handkerchief to wave as you secondline through the tent.) The dance floor had couples gracefully going through their paces, and a very good time was had by all.
We were hungry again, and made our way to the middle food area, so that Big Man could get his second favorite dish, the absolutely fabulous Quail, Pheasant, and Andouille Gumbo from Prejean's. (That stuff is off-the-charts good!) While sitting on the soft green grass to savor the food, I could hear an almost unearthly good trumpet blowing from the direction of the Jazz & Heritage Stage. "Who is that?," I wondered.
I scanned my iPhone Jazz Fest app, and found an unknown band (to me) called the Midnite Disturbers was there. Big Man came back from the food booth, laughing, and sat down next to me. "Just had a funny trumpet player conversation," he reported. He said he was standing by the gumbo booth when two other older New Orleans trumpeters came over, and they were all grousing, in a friendly fashion, about the trumpeter I was admiring -- who was none other than Trombone Shorty!!! (Of course I loved that trumpet!) The older guys were saying stuff like, "How old were you when you first hit that high note?" and "Good thing he's not good-looking too -- oh wait, he is" and "Can you believe he's that good on 'bone AND trumpet?" and "Does he have to play keyboard too?" and "At least he's a nice guy, we can't even hate him." Funny.
So we rushed over to the Jazz & Heritage Stage, drawn like iron filings to a magnet, and caught the rest of *the completely fantastic and off-the-hook* set by the nearly-secret Midnite Disturbers. This crazy-good band had Shamarr Allen, as well as Troy Andrews, otherwise known as Trombone Shorty, on trumpet, three trombonists, including Cory Henry AND Big Sam of the Funky Nation, two or three saxes, and two funky tubas. Wowee-zowie! It was fantastic, completely and utterly fantastic. (I later discovered that the OffBeat had alerted fans that Shorty would likely be there, but I only read that afterwards.) It was a real, major Jazz Fest moment that I'll remember for a long long time. Wish you could have all been there. (Note to Jazz Fest: next year, the Midnite Disturbers need to be on a much bigger stage.)
Feeling all tingly with the Midnite Disturbers music -- and the roaring cheers of the fans -- still in our ears, we went back to our chairs at Acura for Irma Thomas. Irma's voice has deepened and roughened over the years, but in a really good way, and she puts on a great show with her big band. (Since it was Jazz Fest, they skipped that part where the band plays the first tune without her and then calls her up, and she just came on right away.) She sang some of her new stuff from the two post-K albums, brought up Marcia Ball as her guest for one duet (calling her "my sister from another mother"), and then ran through the golden oldies like "It's Raining," "Time Is My Side," "Breakaway," and of course "You Can Have My Husband But Please Don't Mess With My Man." She ended as she always does, with all of us with our "backfield in motion" for "Pocky-Way." Great satisfying set.
We stayed put as they finished setting up the stage for Bon Jovi (they had actually begun the preparations for Bon Jovi during *Rénard's set* at the beginning of the day!). The crowd grew and grew, but did not get as bad as it had been 2 years ago when Bon Jovi came to Jazz Fest (see my old Blog post from JF 2009). We stayed for several of Jon Bon Jovi's big hits, "Dead or Alive," "You Give Love a Bad Name" and a couple more, then we packed up our chairs and walked over to Gentilly to catch our niece's pick, Jason Mraz, who Big Man and I had never heard of (we don't listen to commercial radio, just 'OZ). Turns out he's a handsome young man playing Latin-tinged pop to a giant appreciative crowd. Very good, but we were tired from getting there so very early, and so we began the trek back to the musicians' lot. On the way, we paused at the Jazz Tent to hear some of Ahmad Jamal's set among the hundreds of fans listening from the outside. Great stuff, lots of passion and energy.
Sunday, May 1
Our last day of the first weekend of Jazz Fest also began early, as Big Man was playing the opening act at the Gospel Tent with Jo "Cool" Davis (who back in the day was the bouncer/doorman at Tipitinia's but who now is a double amputee in a wheelchair). Jo always does his own personal versions of traditional gospel tunes, with a horn line of 2 saxes and Big Man on trumpet. The tent filled quickly, Jo being a long-time local favorite, and things were going along swimmingly, when Jo called up his guest vocalist. The crowd really went wild when James "Sugarboy" Crawford was introduced, all slender and dapper in a natty sport coat and straw fedora. The man who in his salad days gave us the original definitive version of "Jockomo" now sings only gospel but is remembered and revered for his place in the New Orleans musical pantheon. He did a gospel number that was sung to the tune of "Danny Boy" with Big Man doing some really sweet blowing behind him. When the set was over, the crowd stood and stamped and hollered.
As soon as Big Man got paid and congratulated for the gig (and after I had the honor of meeting Sugarboy Crawford and conveying my long-time admiration), we went straightaway to Economy Hall to get good seat for New Leviathan, a perennial favorite beloved by many. This gave us the unexpected chance to hear The Last Straws trad jazz band celebrate their 50th anniversary playing together. These old guys (and they were all, believe you me, old guys) in their old-fashioned striped rep ties and straw boaters played exactly like musicians who'd been playing with each other for a half-century -- that is, almost like they could read each other's minds. They were terrific in their way, and they had lots of fans in the tent.
Almost no one left (and in fact, members of The Last Straws eagerly took seats saved for them in the audience) anticipating the New Leviathan Oriental Foxtrot Orchestra. After a long set-up (they're a BIG group), they launched into some of their treasure-trove of novelty songs from the early 20th century (my personal fave this set: "My Mariucci Does the Hoochie-Ma-Cooch"). What's so wonderful about New Leviathan is that the musicians take the music VERY seriously and don't make fun of it, no matter how silly the lyrics or premise of the songs (another good one was titled "You Heifer"!). And you gotta absolutely love the modern-day theremin they always wait to play at the end of the set, with its crazy, other-worldly sound. I've loved NLOFO since the old days in the atrium lobby of the old Hyatt Hotel, when they used to play the Friday Tea Dances, and it's great to get to hear them every year at Jazz Fest. (And thank god George Schmidt has returned to NOLA from his painting days in Italy!)
We took the long way back to our chairs at Gentilly, and caught a hot set by Li'l Malcolm & the House Rockers at the Fais Do-Do Stage (and yes, Big Man could not go past the Maque Choux booth without getting another bowlful!). We sat down in time to hear the end part of the Classic New Orleans R&B Revue with Frankie Ford & Jeanie Knight & the Blue-Eyed Soul Band. Big Man had been referred to the Fais Do-Do Stage to check out the Honey Island Swamp Band (they might want/need a trumpet player who can also do trombone), and we strolled over there to watch. They were great -- and they do need a trumpet, if I do say so myself -- but the sun was beating down mercilessly, and so we headed to the Grandstand for some relief. On the way, we watched some of the Storyville Stompers brass band on the Jazz & Heritage Stage; they must've invited everyone who'd ever played with them, for the stage was crowded with horns, must've been 16 guys on stage. Sounded great, though.
It had to be about 20 degrees cooler, no kidding, inside the Grandstand, and we were delighted by the set of pianist Tom McDermott with clarinetist Evan Christopher. Who knew those 2 pieces could be so satisfying and sweet? Very enjoyable and unexpected.
Once we were cooled off, we went back to the chairs at Gentilly for the end of Deacon John's Big Band's set. (They had old-fashioned bandstands and everything!). Wish we could've seen the whole set. We ran into Deac later on at Fest and told how great we thought he had been (and secretly said to ourselves that Deac needs to give Big Man a chance in his band -- Big Man is a natural for R&B-type playing).
Carrying the Army blanket for seating, we rushed over across the field to Acura for Dr. John & the Lower 911. The crowd was of course gynormous, but I spotted a parishioner sitting on the grass by herself, and offered a spot on the blanket. We all sat together and had a great time as Mack went through all my favorite tunes, just as though he had taken my requests. His medley of "Golden Splinters" with "Night Tripper" was terrific. Then he called out for his guest, the great trumpeter/arranger/ composer/producer Dave Bartholomew, who rolled out in a wheelchair. The main next to me checked his iPhone and announced, "91 on his next birthday!" and we all aahed and oohed. (And I told Big Man, whose birthday is next week, "See, darlin, 40 more years of blowing trumpet!") To our absolute amazement, Dave did indeed have his horn and not only blew it, he tore the place up, making his trumpet talk and squeal with a mute, and soaring notes heavenward. Good Lord, that was incredible! Another Jazz Fest moment to be savored and treasured.
Even though we knew the tent would packed like a sardine can, we hurried over to Economy Hall to at least listen from the outside to Pete Fountain's set, for who knows how many sets the old guy has in him. Tim Laughlin was sort of backing him up, but Pete was really playing his "licorice stick" and doing a helluva job. Among the mob massed outside we ran into and exchanged hugs and kisses with several friends, including the lovely Yvette Voelker of the Pfister Sisters (they play the Fest next wekeend). She and Bog Man had to spend some time praising the Finale music app for Macs and iPads. We left after Peter blew the tent down with "Basin Street Blues."
We returned to our chairs and waited for Tom Jones to come to the Gentilly Stage. Big Man and I talked, and we agreed that if all he did was a Vegas-type revue of all or most of his hits, it would be a satisfying show. We sat back and enjoyed the breeze, and blessedly the sun went behind some clouds and it was more than comfortable. Without our noticing, the band must have taken the stage, and suddenly our chairs began to vibrate with a heavy bass beat. We looked up, and there was nothing but a trio -- bass, guitar, and drums -- on the stage, hitting a heavy blues beat, and then Tom Jones (looking fabulous) took the stage to cheers and screams. He proceeded to do 3 old-time gospel songs in a row, including a shiver-inducing "God Almighty Gonna Cut "Em Down." Big Man and I exchanged looks. This was not at al what we expected, but this was *terrific."
Then, Tom introduced another song, and 2 really attractive (no, HOT) female back-up singers came out and they did a couple numbers with him. And then, a pianist came out and they did more tunes. We finally got it -- he was slowly and dramatically building up the band onstage, and at each point, you were completely happy, not thinking anything was missing. And then a full horn line came out and they blasted into a classic version of "Delilah" with the whole crowd joining in on the familiar chorus ("Why, why, why, Delilah...").
Each tune was introduced by Tom telling a story about how he got the tune, his conversations with the writer or with someone who had recorded it before him (like Elvis!). He was informative and interesting and gracious. His voice was fine, almost as if no time had passed. He had also grown into his looks and was, if anything, even better looking than he was when younger. There was hardly a woman of any age or orientation who wouldn't given him some. (And yes, if you have to ask, there was indeed underwear thrown up on stage!)
When the horn line broke into the familiar intro to Randy Newman's salty "You Can Leave Your Hat On" we screamed our approval. Tom's cover was so smoking hot it was surprising that any clothes remained on in the audience at all. The set was over before we knew it, the sun hanging low to our left, the sky turning all rosy, the crowd shouting and screaming for more. After we were almost hoarse, they came back out and to our gobsmacked surprise, they launched into "Pocky-Way"! (Really, I'm serious!!) Tom said, "I sing this lots of places, and people just don't get it -- they don't understand this song. But I know you will and I hope you'll join me in singing it." Well, who could stop us?? So we all backed up Tom Jones in singing our very own Mardi Gras Indian song. Amazing and wonderful.
Just as I was losing hope, Tom went into Prince's "Kiss" as his final encore, and while I have a beef with the Jazz Fest cameraman (and I KNOW it was a man, and straight at that!) who focused on the gorgeous back-up instead of Tom, for pete's sake, it was a completely satisfying end to an incredibly satisfying and unexpected set.
As the sun went down, we walked to our car, satiated, tired, excited, and happy. And thus ended the first weekend of Jazz Festival 2011.
Thursday, April 28, 2011
Irvin Mayfield at Wednesday at the Square
Despite tremendous winds -- so strong that nearly all the booths at the Lafayette Square concert were NOT set up, for fear of blowing away, so strong that every gust brought handfuls of dust and grit from all over into your face and eyes and mouth -- the Wednesday at the Square Concert went on as scheduled. Big Man and I met up with my sister D and we three found a good spot in front of what would have been the sound booth but was this week just a sound table. I do believe the crowd was dampened a bit by the extreme wind, so it wasn't as packed as one might have expected. But that just means it as easier to find a good spot to sit, and there were no lines for food (which also was just tables, and not booths, due to the wind).
Irvin Mayfield needed no warm-up group, and just took over the whole two hours. A big band, with Kid Chocolate Brown as the second trumpet, Shannon Powell on drums, David Torkanowsky on the piano, a sax player, and a bassist. Big surprise: Creole jazz banjoist Don Vappie -- nice! They started with some classics, and frankly, I've never seen Irvin so relaxed and comfortable onstage. His playing was smooth and sharp at the same time, and he gave lots of encouragement to his bandmates.
Sitting in the back of the stage were three young women dressed in burlesque-type outfits, and we could not figure out why they were there (though they did seem to be enjoying themselves to the music). Big Man commented, "I think Irvin's been on Bourbon Street too long!" But it became clear in the second half of the show.
The second set began with a tune by some kids that Irvin's is teaching music to, what he called his "Saddy students." (Didja ever notice that working class New Orleanians try to drop and compress syllables, and upper crust New Orleanians stretch them out?) These kids were absolutely terrific, especially this tiny trumpeter, who couldn't have been any more than 8 years old, if he was that, who totally blew us all away with his skillful jazz solo. Irvin said into the mike, "Y'all give him a big hand, this boy tryin' to steal my gig!" We screamed and hollered. I wish I had caught his name, 'cause I feel like years from now, we will want to say, "Oh yeah, I first saw him when he was just a little kid, one of Irvin's students, playing at a Wednesday at the Square concert, back in the day."
After the students left, Irvin led the band through some local favorite tunes, and then called up his next guest -- who was none other than "Trombone Shorty" Troy Andrews!! Wow! Irvin handed Troy his horn, and Troy blew a great version of "Do What You Wanna." With no horn to blow, Irvin was left to vocalize, and to our amazement, he began exhorting the crowd to "shake what yo' mama gave ya" and "c'mon, mama, shake yo' ass." He doesn't sound like THAT when he plays up North!
Irvin himself seemed to emphasize his at-homeness, telling the crowd, "You don't find THIS in Houston, you don't find this in Los Angeles, you don't find this in New York, you don't find this in Chicago" and so on, the crowd appropriately hollering, "NO!" to each iteration of another city.
After Shorty left -- with the crowds screams and applause in his ears, no doubt -- leaving the fancy matte Monette horn to Irvin, Irvin called up another guest, this time Sasha Masakowski. Little Sasha, daughter of jazz guitarist Steve Masakowski, who I last saw opening for Aaron Neville at the House of Blues last December, has really grown into her voice and persona -- she was hot as fire, doing an incredible smoky version of "St. James Infirmary." Whew.
And then when SHE left, Irvin called up Miss Trixie Minx, of the burlesque troupe that appears every Friday night at midnight at Irvin's Bourbon Street club, and one of the three burly-Q ladies that had been adorning the stage all during the first set. Trixie preened and pranced and flirted with giant white feather fans to Vappie's rendition of Blue Lu Barker's steamy classic "Don't You Feel My Leg." It was pretty hot, though, as such things go, it was pretty tame. I mean, you can see more skin on most beaches. It's not like she was actually stripping and showing body parts or anything. Still and all, it's hard to believe this would be public-park, family-friendly fare anywhere but New Orleans. (And indeed, Irvin started up again with his, "They're not doing THAT in Houston, etc." You bet they're not.)
The party was still going on, with Irvin threatening to hold a second line from Lafayette Square to his club on Bourbon as Big Man and I left to see if we had gotten a parking ticket. (Our luck held -- we hadn't.) As we walked, we tried to decide why Irvin seemed so different tonight than the ways we had seen him in Philadelphia and Cape May and Wilmington when we lived up North. Part of it might be just the passage of years -- Irvin has matured as a man and as a player, and that surely contributes to it. But it was not just maturity and confidence that we noticed -- it was also the looseness, the sense of playfulness that Irvin brought to this show. (And all those shout-outs to the crowd.) It has to be his feeling so at home in this special place -- it was New Orleans helping him to be that way. A wonderful thing. Probably the best Wednesday at the Square we've ever attended.
Irvin Mayfield needed no warm-up group, and just took over the whole two hours. A big band, with Kid Chocolate Brown as the second trumpet, Shannon Powell on drums, David Torkanowsky on the piano, a sax player, and a bassist. Big surprise: Creole jazz banjoist Don Vappie -- nice! They started with some classics, and frankly, I've never seen Irvin so relaxed and comfortable onstage. His playing was smooth and sharp at the same time, and he gave lots of encouragement to his bandmates.
Sitting in the back of the stage were three young women dressed in burlesque-type outfits, and we could not figure out why they were there (though they did seem to be enjoying themselves to the music). Big Man commented, "I think Irvin's been on Bourbon Street too long!" But it became clear in the second half of the show.
The second set began with a tune by some kids that Irvin's is teaching music to, what he called his "Saddy students." (Didja ever notice that working class New Orleanians try to drop and compress syllables, and upper crust New Orleanians stretch them out?) These kids were absolutely terrific, especially this tiny trumpeter, who couldn't have been any more than 8 years old, if he was that, who totally blew us all away with his skillful jazz solo. Irvin said into the mike, "Y'all give him a big hand, this boy tryin' to steal my gig!" We screamed and hollered. I wish I had caught his name, 'cause I feel like years from now, we will want to say, "Oh yeah, I first saw him when he was just a little kid, one of Irvin's students, playing at a Wednesday at the Square concert, back in the day."
After the students left, Irvin led the band through some local favorite tunes, and then called up his next guest -- who was none other than "Trombone Shorty" Troy Andrews!! Wow! Irvin handed Troy his horn, and Troy blew a great version of "Do What You Wanna." With no horn to blow, Irvin was left to vocalize, and to our amazement, he began exhorting the crowd to "shake what yo' mama gave ya" and "c'mon, mama, shake yo' ass." He doesn't sound like THAT when he plays up North!
Irvin himself seemed to emphasize his at-homeness, telling the crowd, "You don't find THIS in Houston, you don't find this in Los Angeles, you don't find this in New York, you don't find this in Chicago" and so on, the crowd appropriately hollering, "NO!" to each iteration of another city.
After Shorty left -- with the crowds screams and applause in his ears, no doubt -- leaving the fancy matte Monette horn to Irvin, Irvin called up another guest, this time Sasha Masakowski. Little Sasha, daughter of jazz guitarist Steve Masakowski, who I last saw opening for Aaron Neville at the House of Blues last December, has really grown into her voice and persona -- she was hot as fire, doing an incredible smoky version of "St. James Infirmary." Whew.
And then when SHE left, Irvin called up Miss Trixie Minx, of the burlesque troupe that appears every Friday night at midnight at Irvin's Bourbon Street club, and one of the three burly-Q ladies that had been adorning the stage all during the first set. Trixie preened and pranced and flirted with giant white feather fans to Vappie's rendition of Blue Lu Barker's steamy classic "Don't You Feel My Leg." It was pretty hot, though, as such things go, it was pretty tame. I mean, you can see more skin on most beaches. It's not like she was actually stripping and showing body parts or anything. Still and all, it's hard to believe this would be public-park, family-friendly fare anywhere but New Orleans. (And indeed, Irvin started up again with his, "They're not doing THAT in Houston, etc." You bet they're not.)
The party was still going on, with Irvin threatening to hold a second line from Lafayette Square to his club on Bourbon as Big Man and I left to see if we had gotten a parking ticket. (Our luck held -- we hadn't.) As we walked, we tried to decide why Irvin seemed so different tonight than the ways we had seen him in Philadelphia and Cape May and Wilmington when we lived up North. Part of it might be just the passage of years -- Irvin has matured as a man and as a player, and that surely contributes to it. But it was not just maturity and confidence that we noticed -- it was also the looseness, the sense of playfulness that Irvin brought to this show. (And all those shout-outs to the crowd.) It has to be his feeling so at home in this special place -- it was New Orleans helping him to be that way. A wonderful thing. Probably the best Wednesday at the Square we've ever attended.
Thursday, April 21, 2011
Maundy Thursday at Dooky Chase -- But Without RJH
Another Holy Thursday rolls around, and again it is time to go to Dooky Chase restaurant in Treme and eat the superb gumbo dez'herbes. This is a traditional Creole Lenten dish, especially for this particular day, made up of 7 different greens and 7 different meats, to fortify good Catholics for the fast that follows on Good Friday. Mrs. Leah Chase's version is probably definitive, and I've been enjoying this dish on this day with a select group in Dooky's Gold Room gathered by my dear friend, the late RJH, with only the hiatus of my years of living in exile from the city. (Although RJH used to include me every year in the email invitation, whether I was going to be in town or not, whether out of habit or as a goad to get to me, I'll never know now.)
RJH died this past January, and at his funeral repast at Dooky's, his family and close friends all agreed that we would continue the tradition he started. So that very evening, Jacques Morial, son of the late mayor (another good friend of RJH, and the reason he and I first met) booked the Gold Room for Maundy Thursday with Mrs. Leah, who teared up at the gesture.
So there we all were, once more passing by the enormous line at the door to enter the Gold Room to greet each other, and where it seemed strange indeed not to see RJH standing there to welcome us. One member of the group had brought a small framed photo of RJH, and we all took turns posing with it and having it on our table -- because, don't you know, RJH loved to work a room and could never stay at his own table for long. (The rest of you outside our group who have to wait in the line -- believe me, it's well worth it!)
Two of RJH's three sons were there (one lives in town, one is a professor in San Francisco, and the middle son lives in Switzerland), and at the prodding of RJH's long-time companion D, stood and addressed the crowd warmly, thanking everyone for coming, and reminding us all that RJH's work for social justice and equality for New Orleans and Louisiana remained unfinished. We cheered. Talk at the tables was the usual -- politics and gossip, and our memories of RJH. A local lawyer, long a friend and ally of RJH, but with whom RJH often disagreed, confessed that he was still having arguments with RJH in his mind, and that no matter what, apparently they still disagreed. I admitted to dreaming about RJH last night, and getting scolded by him, that I wasn't doing enough, or doing it "right."
Well, we ate the wonderful green gumbo, and fried chicken, and the sweet corn bread that's almost like dessert, and drank iced tea and Dooky's strong hot coffee. We laughed and we talked and we remembered -- and when Mrs. Leah stepped into the room to greet us, we all applauded loud and long.
Miss you, RJH, always will. But we're keepin' the faith, and keepin' up with the sacred rituals and traditions that were important to you.
RJH died this past January, and at his funeral repast at Dooky's, his family and close friends all agreed that we would continue the tradition he started. So that very evening, Jacques Morial, son of the late mayor (another good friend of RJH, and the reason he and I first met) booked the Gold Room for Maundy Thursday with Mrs. Leah, who teared up at the gesture.
So there we all were, once more passing by the enormous line at the door to enter the Gold Room to greet each other, and where it seemed strange indeed not to see RJH standing there to welcome us. One member of the group had brought a small framed photo of RJH, and we all took turns posing with it and having it on our table -- because, don't you know, RJH loved to work a room and could never stay at his own table for long. (The rest of you outside our group who have to wait in the line -- believe me, it's well worth it!)
Two of RJH's three sons were there (one lives in town, one is a professor in San Francisco, and the middle son lives in Switzerland), and at the prodding of RJH's long-time companion D, stood and addressed the crowd warmly, thanking everyone for coming, and reminding us all that RJH's work for social justice and equality for New Orleans and Louisiana remained unfinished. We cheered. Talk at the tables was the usual -- politics and gossip, and our memories of RJH. A local lawyer, long a friend and ally of RJH, but with whom RJH often disagreed, confessed that he was still having arguments with RJH in his mind, and that no matter what, apparently they still disagreed. I admitted to dreaming about RJH last night, and getting scolded by him, that I wasn't doing enough, or doing it "right."
Well, we ate the wonderful green gumbo, and fried chicken, and the sweet corn bread that's almost like dessert, and drank iced tea and Dooky's strong hot coffee. We laughed and we talked and we remembered -- and when Mrs. Leah stepped into the room to greet us, we all applauded loud and long.
Miss you, RJH, always will. But we're keepin' the faith, and keepin' up with the sacred rituals and traditions that were important to you.
Saturday, April 16, 2011
Perino's Boiling Pot
We were in the midst of Saturday chores, me writing away for Sunday on the laptop, and jumping up to do laundry, and Big Man diligently practicing trumpet when late day hunger pangs rolled around. "What do you want to do for lunch?" Big Man asked me. I think he was thinking something quick and cheap and close-by, like Please You or something, but instead I replied, "I feel like a big ol' mess of boiled seafood."
We consulted on where to go and I held out for Perino's Boiling Pot, a local favorite in Marrero on the West Bank. I had heard great things about it, about how it was almost like West End in the old days, with spicy fresh boiled seafood served hot from the pot at family-style tables (only air conditioned and inside, instead of hot and outside like out at the Lake back in the day). And I had heard they were inexpensive.
Today was another beautiful day, clear blue sky, warm mild temperatures, and we enjoyed our little drive across the River and over the West Bank Expressway to Barataria. We exited, crossed over, and found Perino's, a large brick hall with ample parking in front and behind. Being as we woke late and were now having a late lunch, it was not very crowded.
Inside, it was the typical old-fashioned arrangement with a bar as you come in, gaming area to your right, and the dining room with the long tables (to be shared if things get crowded) to the left, seat yourself. It's telling that there is a big sign over the bar marking where folks who've phoned in their orders can pick up their big sacks of "berled" seafood to eat at home or take on a picnic.
As I say, it was not crowded -- there an older white lady sitting by herself, an African-American couple, a white dad with lots of tattoos and his two teenage children, and a Latino couple. Every single person there was scarfing down big round trays of crawfish, crabs, shrimp, and oysters. We took our seats at the end of a long table and told the waitress what we wanted. (There are menus to be looked at, but there's also signs posted up on the walls.)
We got three pounds of boiled crawfish (to give you an idea, they advertise 5 pounds of crawfish for $19.99, but we knew we didn't need that much), 1 pound boiled shrimp, an order of boiled new potatoes, 2 ears of corn boiled with the seafood, and one large hot sausage ditto. We also got 2 diet Barq's in bottles (but if you order fountain drinks or iced tea, there's unlimited refills). They have these cool metal thingys on the tables, sort of like in a pizza joint, so that they can layer the tray for the shells and waste under the tray with the seafood on it -- very convenient.
Everything was beautifully spiced -- after a while, my lips got that tingly, almost swollen feeling that is desired by all true New Orleanians when eating boiled seafood. The new potatoes were tiny, almost one-bite sized, and had soaked the perfect amount of the pot spice. The corn was sweet and spicy at the same time, and the sausage was long enough to split evenly and generously for two. The shrimp were large and perfectly cooked, and very easy to peel. Perino's makes its own delicious shrimp cocktail sauce, available on every table (along with three different bottles of hot sauce for the discerning diner). We ate and ate, sucking heads, squeezing tails, and getting delight and satisfaction form every single bite. Big Man said, "Where's this place been all my life?"
We'll even give a positive review to the restrooms, which have deep stainless steel sinks and those neat Dyson hand dryers that take like 10 seconds to dry your hands completely. (That guy is amazing! What will he think of next?) I noticed that every woman on her way into the Ladies Room held her messy hands up stiffly and awkwardly, like surgeons on their way into the OR.
We were fully satisfied and perfectly happy on leaving, paying a mere grand total of $40. You can be assured that we've added the Boiling Pot to our list of "return often" local restaurants. We recommend you go too.
We consulted on where to go and I held out for Perino's Boiling Pot, a local favorite in Marrero on the West Bank. I had heard great things about it, about how it was almost like West End in the old days, with spicy fresh boiled seafood served hot from the pot at family-style tables (only air conditioned and inside, instead of hot and outside like out at the Lake back in the day). And I had heard they were inexpensive.
Today was another beautiful day, clear blue sky, warm mild temperatures, and we enjoyed our little drive across the River and over the West Bank Expressway to Barataria. We exited, crossed over, and found Perino's, a large brick hall with ample parking in front and behind. Being as we woke late and were now having a late lunch, it was not very crowded.
Inside, it was the typical old-fashioned arrangement with a bar as you come in, gaming area to your right, and the dining room with the long tables (to be shared if things get crowded) to the left, seat yourself. It's telling that there is a big sign over the bar marking where folks who've phoned in their orders can pick up their big sacks of "berled" seafood to eat at home or take on a picnic.
As I say, it was not crowded -- there an older white lady sitting by herself, an African-American couple, a white dad with lots of tattoos and his two teenage children, and a Latino couple. Every single person there was scarfing down big round trays of crawfish, crabs, shrimp, and oysters. We took our seats at the end of a long table and told the waitress what we wanted. (There are menus to be looked at, but there's also signs posted up on the walls.)
We got three pounds of boiled crawfish (to give you an idea, they advertise 5 pounds of crawfish for $19.99, but we knew we didn't need that much), 1 pound boiled shrimp, an order of boiled new potatoes, 2 ears of corn boiled with the seafood, and one large hot sausage ditto. We also got 2 diet Barq's in bottles (but if you order fountain drinks or iced tea, there's unlimited refills). They have these cool metal thingys on the tables, sort of like in a pizza joint, so that they can layer the tray for the shells and waste under the tray with the seafood on it -- very convenient.
Everything was beautifully spiced -- after a while, my lips got that tingly, almost swollen feeling that is desired by all true New Orleanians when eating boiled seafood. The new potatoes were tiny, almost one-bite sized, and had soaked the perfect amount of the pot spice. The corn was sweet and spicy at the same time, and the sausage was long enough to split evenly and generously for two. The shrimp were large and perfectly cooked, and very easy to peel. Perino's makes its own delicious shrimp cocktail sauce, available on every table (along with three different bottles of hot sauce for the discerning diner). We ate and ate, sucking heads, squeezing tails, and getting delight and satisfaction form every single bite. Big Man said, "Where's this place been all my life?"
We'll even give a positive review to the restrooms, which have deep stainless steel sinks and those neat Dyson hand dryers that take like 10 seconds to dry your hands completely. (That guy is amazing! What will he think of next?) I noticed that every woman on her way into the Ladies Room held her messy hands up stiffly and awkwardly, like surgeons on their way into the OR.
We were fully satisfied and perfectly happy on leaving, paying a mere grand total of $40. You can be assured that we've added the Boiling Pot to our list of "return often" local restaurants. We recommend you go too.
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