JazzFest ’13: Daze Between Dwindling Down

Posted: May 1st, 2013 | Filed under: Community, Culture, Music, Personalities | 1 Comment »

The festival kicks up again in the morning. (That would be tomorrow a.m., Thursday.)

If you happen to be on your way down, here’s a tip. Think inclemency.

It’s rained every day this week. Without significant periods of sunshine to dry up the Fairgrounds muck we’ve come to know and love through the decades.

Forecast: Musical. Muddy.

And, oh yeah, more rain.

* * * * *

Other than last night’s special evening, celebrating the 75th birthday of Allen Toussaint, which you can read about here, I’ve been essentially taking a respite from tuneage.

I did stop by LMF yesterday on the way back from a late lunch/ early dinner, and caught the last half of slide guitar master Spencer Bohren’s in-store.

It had been a strange day when I’d had a little misunderstanding with an old pal — now resolved I do believe — but was feeling low.

Then Bohren did Leonard Cohen’s “Hallelujah” so beautifully proud on a lap steel. The beast inside disappeared.

Yet again, as it has so many many times before, music proves its amazing power to heal.

“I heard there was a secret chord/ That David played/ And pleased the Lord.”

When it’s that sacred, it only takes a single dose. I was much obliged.

* * * * *

Strolling down Decatur Street today, I spotted Marcia Ball, walking out of Urban Outfitters. Then into the store next door, Wish.

Do I walk in and pay my respects? Tell her she’s my favorite piano player not named Allen Toussaint? Or, do I respect her shopping by herself moment and keep walking?

I chose the latter. (As I did when I ran into Dr. John John in the men’s last night before the Toussaint Tribute.)

* * * * *

I’ve had a couple of especially tasty lunches in the Quarter the last two Daze.

Yesterday at SoBou, a way hip bar/ bistro on Chartres. Foie Gras Burger with bacon, sunny side up egg, and pickled okra, served with a root beer float made with Abita and foie gras ice cream.

Tastier than it sounds, I tell ya. Do feel sorry for the fatted geese though.

Today, at Stanley, a little joint where Le Madelaine used to be on Jackson Square, run by the owners of Stella — there’s a nomenclature trend there for the observant and literary — I had a sumptuous soft shell crab po boy.

The other night for dinner, I stopped in John Besh’s Luke, a happenin’ bistro in the Hilton on St. Charles between Canal and Poydras. It was Action Central with a great soundtrack of old rock & roll as a backdrop over the PA. Oyster Salad. Shrimp Something or Another with Grits. Lots of bon homie.

Yes, I’ve added to my avoirdupois while here.

Tonight the Film Babe arrives. Dinner at La Petite Grocery, where I’ve been wanting to dine for some time. Reservations with friends at Borgne later in the weekend.

I know this litany of meals may be boring, but, hey, I’m killing time until I head to the airport.

* * * * *

I railed on the other day about how the absentee owners of the Times-Picayune turned the print edition into a three day per week deal awhile back. How it made no sense here, because 1) the T-P print edition made money, and 2) New Oreanians still like to read newsprint.

Today, they announced a new tabloid that’s going to fill in the space, meaning the paper here will be on the stands, in one form or another, every day again.

It’s a good thing. After all, a fella’s gotta know what the Saints’ 4th string safety ate for breakfast.

Mo’ later.

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