The 40th Annual New Orleans Jazzfest!
The 40th annual New Orleans Jazz and Heritage Festival came and went, and I’m always left wishing I would had stayed for just one more day of the festival, or one more night show, or one more shrimp po’boy washed down with one last Abita Purple Haze.
Through JazzFest’s seven day stretch of festival, the New Orleans Racetrack saw 400,000 patrons. The first Friday’s attendance was so heavy, dare I say that it seemed to have the kind of crowd numbers I used to see on Fridays, pre-Hurricane Katrina? It was packed. Which is awesome, especially for a weekday, and awesome for a community who is coming up on the fourth anniversary of one of the United States’ most devastating/nauseating modern events.
The jazz, gospel and blues tents are always a good place to camp out (a sentiment echoed by Wilco’s John Stirratt in his interview with Rolling Stones’ David Fricke) to hear some tunes. I also enjoy them, due to their close proximity to the Cafe du Monde stand, where I can pick up beignets covered in powdered sugar and iced coffee. The gentleman sitting next to me on the plane into town from Dallas, told me that he always starts his Sunday mornings at JazzFest at the gospel tent, “which is funny, seeing as I’m an atheist.” Religion aside, the music resonates in the tents and the crowds spill out into the sidewalk.Marva Wright led a moving tribute to Mahalia Jackson.
(photos courtesy of Rory O’Neill)
Sharon Jones and the Dap-Kings rocked the blues tent on Sunday evening, where I opted to hang instead of braving the crowds of youngsters at the Acura Stage for Dave Matthews Band. Jones is always a slam-dunk; exuberant, talented, plays to the crowd, and a whole lot of fun. The Dap-Kings got the crowd rocking, rolling, and dancing, but we were thwarted by security, and told to stop, and go back to our seats. Apparently, security doesn’t like jovial dancing? Ah well.
JazzFest was my second festival this year with my Mother, who loves Wilco. I thought perhaps she’d love Spoon, too?
Sadly, not to be, though I definitely dig ’em. We caught the first half of Spoon’s set, which featured an appearance of from the Dirty Dozen Brass Band, before catching a few Joe Cocker tunes on the way out. Mama wasn’t feeling Spoon, but a good sport, nonetheless. We pulled up to the main stage right as Joe Cocker began his famous covers of The Beatles’ “With A Little Help From My Friends,” and “She Came In Through The Bathroom Window.” As you might have discerned in my article on Coachella, she is a bit of a Beatles fan. Everyone won.
I had a nice reprise from both the warm weather, and the crowds. John Stirratt, a.k.a. Wilco’s Bassist And Native Louisianan, was interviewed in the race track’s grandstand by Rolling Stone’s David Fricke; a journalist who has chronicled the band over the years, and was interviewed for the Sam Jones’ documentary on the band, “I Am Trying To Break Your Heart.” With air conditioning, maybe seventy five people in attendance (which a third was most definitely the Stirratt family and their friends) and the subject matter being Wilco; I was in my happy place. He spoke of coming of age in the periphery of the New Orleans and Mandeville music scene when he began to follow music and play. It was really nice to hear someone who comes across as genuinely humble talk about his experience in a band who has seen the rollercoaster of success. Especially nice, seeing as though he is the only member of Wilco, save the founder and front-man, who is the only remaining original member.
While relaxing on the grass in a nice spot for Wilco’s set, I realized that I was sitting in front of local journalist, Chris Rose, who has made national headlines in a post-Katrina New Orleans, with his book One Dead In Attic. Just like earlier in the day when I couldn’t bring myself to be the inner-sweet-but-stalkeresque person I feel I can sometimes be, when I was two feet shy of bounding onto Wilco’s tour bus….I found cotton in my mouth. I couldn’t bring myself to extend my hand to the man won a Pulitzer prize for journalism along with his colleagues at the Times-Picayune, and whose honest, brutal and hilarious writing I find to be brilliant. Next time? It is a small world, after all.
JazzFest was Mom’s second Wilco experience. She danced and sang along to “Heavy Metal Drummer” and “Hate It Here.” She loved to reiterate the times she heard their songs playing in department stores and coffeeshops, and verbalized her knowledge of the artist to with no new material from their impending June release. I have talked enough about them on this site. If you are unfamiliar with my feelings (a.k.a. undying, everlasting love) for the band, please refer to the first music article published for this site, (shameless plug….sorry!) and my more recent article on Jeff Tweedy, solo.
The find of the weekend was The Avett Brothers. They played on one of the smaller stages, and combined beautiful music with a more intimate setting, even for a festival. Harmonies, a banjo, and uh…is that a cello? Yay! I bought their record, ‘The Second Gleam’ (simply due to there being a song called “Bella Donna” which, to me, makes me think of Stevie Nicks…..sorry if that takes my nerd-cred to a weird place…) when I returned home that night, and it has been on pretty heavy rotation for me ever since. It is calm and acoustic-y and makes me wish I had a front porch in which to rock to and fro in a solid-oak rocking chair with a whiskey sour in my hand.
As in years past, the Miller hospitality tent provided shade, couches, an open bar and a big screen broadcasting the mainstage, in case you didn’t want to deal with the weather or crowds. It’s always a treat to be able to slip into a less populated area of the festival.
I enjoy wandering to and from the smaller stages. We checked out a tunes from the Del McCoury Band, bluegrass champs from Tennessee, and Wynton Marsalis’ Jazz At Lincoln Center Orchestra, to note a few. The Mardi Gras indians occasionally parade through the crowd, playing and dancing in their plumed costumes, as do local brass groups. (mardi gras indian pictures)
Between runs for iced tea, shrimp and crawfish po’boys, beers at the Miller tent, crawfish monica, and beignets with iced coffee, I felt like I had gained ten pounds and gained more of an appreciation for live music, and a festival that I have loved annually for some time. Suffice it to say, I can’t wait for next year.
