JazzFest Eve: The Tribes have Gathered

Posted: April 26th, 2018 | Filed under: Culture, Music | 6 Comments »

So, Suzette, she of Mitchell and Suzette, the Connecticut couple the Film Babe and I met several years back as we all were strolling to the Louisiana Music Factory for the Day Before Pow Wow, is standing with Jordan, their daughter, a JazzFest neophyte.

They have a bunch of album covers splayed out on a counter top. Jordan’s deciding which ones to buy, her decision based somewhat on music but just as much perhaps more on cover aesthetics. She’s going to frame and hang them in her new abode in NYC where she’s doing PR for Columbia Records.

Among the LPs, hopefully for the cover not so much the tuneage, is a Village People release.

A fellow walks by, glances over their shoulders and immediately enters the conversation as folks are wont to do here when the tribes gather for fest. He advises: “You know, I was in the Village People.”

To which proclamation the ladies look askance over their shoulders, with bemused doubt.

“No, true,” he continues, “I was the construction guy.

“And I invented the whole YMCA thing.”

At which point, a woman walking by, who may have known him or not, interjects, doing the song’s machinations with her arms, “This thing never made sense to me.”

To which the former Village Person (???) immediately retorts, “That’s because it was meant for dyslexics.”

All the while, Cha Wha, an Mardi Gras Indian/ brass band outfit have, to the delight of the rookies jamming the record joint as well as vets who know the history of the song, launched into the classic of the genre, “Indian Red.”

Hot damn, I love this town and this festival.

 * * * * *

Earlier while Mitchell and I were chatting up, walks an old acquaintance from Louisville, Alan. He and his bride Cathy, who went to Sophie Newcomb back when, are at their 28th JazzFest, staying in their usual room in their favorite hotel. (Nice to know there are folks as obsessive as me. I stay at the same place every year, if only for the incredible vies of the river bend and the Quarter.)

I don’t know that I’ve ever run into them as a couple back home. But I do see them every year at this JF Eve ritual, heading to LMF for CDs, schmooze and a sense of reconvergence.

As Richard Thompson once said when performing on the Gentilly stage, “Where else in the world would you possibly want to be than in New Orleans at JazzFest?”

Suzette had earlier advised that their first trip down — Mitchell was tired of buying her jewelry for her birthday or their anniversary of something so chose this adventure — was “a life changing experience.”

Which words Alan, a shrink for heavens’ sake, also used after I told him how I’d been affected by my first JF concert, an evening cruise on the Riverboat President with Gatemouth Brown, Allen Toussaint, and Professor Longhair.

Where else to be indeed!

 * * * * *

The Marsalis clan is to New Orleans jazz as the Nevilles and Batistes are to Crescent City soul and funk.

Jason is among the latest of the family to make his mark, playing contemporary jazz on the vibes with his group.

Between songs at LMF, when introducing his band, Marsalis advises he learned of his bass player Amina Scott over the internet.

Good find. The lady can play.

 * * * * *

The fascinating group of 8 my pals Marc and Michael put together last night at Mosca’s killed it.

Three orders of Chicken a la Grandé. (Which was unanimously dubbed far and away the best any of us had ever had in our many visits through the decades to Provino Mosca’s joint.) Two orders of Oysters Mosca. Two orders of Spaghetti Bordelaise. Crab salad for all.

Veni. Vidi. Vici.

We came. We saw. We conquered.

Clean plates all around.

And the conversation was ab fab. Among us were a couple barristers, a music producer, a film maker, an equine vet, a finance dude, a successful entrepreneur and yours truly, who found himself soppin’ a roll in the garlic sauce even after I was way past full squared.

 * * * * *

Did I mention the festival, with a boffo weekend weather forecast, doesn’t even start until tomorrow?

Maybe so, but the party has already commenced.

— c d kaplan

 

 

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