JazzFest ’13, 2d Friday: Mud, Malo, Marcia & Mo’ Mud

Posted: May 4th, 2013 | Filed under: Community, Culture, Music | No Comments »

The gates opened about forty minutes late.

One figures the powers that be were trying to make moving around easier in the above the ankle muck. Whatever efforts they made were to little avail. The word quagmire comes to mind. But, for all the havoc and inconvenience it caused, there were mighty few grimaces and complaints.

On our way in, we stopped for a quick Royal Teeth fix. The percussion-heavy pop jammers had an infectious energy. It was a super first sound of the day.

We had a mission though, and that was to make it to the Blues Tent for Spencer Bohren, hopefully in time to get a seat close enough to the speaker bank so the sound was listenable.

Which we did, and it was, catching the last two tunes of his abbreviated set.

The first we heard was “a love song for those who have been together long enough to know how rough marriage can be . . . like an hour and a half.” Without getting into our personal stuff, let’s just sat the Film Babe and I were both stunned at the truths in “Your Home Is In My Heart.”

We had a moment the first time Joanie joined me for JazzFest. Phil Phillips singing “Sea of Love.” That one cut to the core. A doo wop classic coming true. So too, this one for a relationship more advanced, with the complications years can bring.

Then Bohren trumped himself with Leonard Cohen’s “Hallelujah.”

“Something about the way he sings it,” my gal said, “it gets you right here.” She was pounding her heart.

Let me just say it was a mighty emotional start to the day.

* * * * *

We were to hook up with our pals behind the Congo Square sound board during the set of Corey Henry & the Treme Funktet. Just as we found them, they were texting us their location. Getting to our usual meeting spot would have meant a serious, perhaps life-endangering march through the mire.

But we connected. Just in time to share the revery of a searing version of “House of the Rising Sun.” Followed by “Voodoo Chile (Slight Return),” which happens to be my pal’s favorite tune. One of mine aussi. Love that opening riff.

* * * * *

We didn’t stop for the New Leviathan Foxtrot Orchestra, spiffed up as usual in their nautical uniforms. But they sounded swellegant, as we puddled our way around Economy Hall.

Our friend Davd, who didn’t make it down with his significant other this year, implored us to catch Patrice Fisher & Arpa at Lagniappe. She plays harp. Which was sweet, but . . . well Sally said it best, “This really sounds like David’s kind of music.”

We phoned him back home to confirm we’d paid our respects, hung up, and moved on.

* * * * *

I was really looking forward to hearing the melodious sounds of Topsy Chapman & Sweet Harmony in Economy Hall. I rediscovered this New Orleans gem during her boffo set last year.

This time around, she seemed a bit displeased with her drummer and piano player, who apparently were playing with a little less snap than she desired.

It didn’t get in the way, however, of a zesty version of “Louisian – I – A,” or however the title goes. Or “Ballin the Jack.” Or, “Your Feet’s Too Big.” The highlight of her set was a tune written by Dr. Michael White, who was on stage to solo, “Angel In The Day, Devil At Night.”

* * * * *

The tribute to Coco Robicheaux, may he r.i.p., was imbued with the spirit of the iconoclastic New Orleanian’s diverse gris gris.

We caught the last tune of long, tall Marcia Ball, “Play With Your Poodle.” My gal didn’t know the song. She thought Ms. Ball was singing, “Let me play with your Boudreaux.” Which actually might make sense in bayou country.

Ana Popovic played as hot as she looked in the Blues Tent. See the gal with the red dress on. She was hot hot hot, and so were the licks she squeezed from her axe. Unfortunately most of it sounded murky because of the sound in the tent which I’ve vowed I’m not going to complain about again. At least, this year.

Papa Grows Funk sounded, well, suitably funky, from afar.

* * * * *

Raul Malo and The Mavericks were all that at Gentilly.

How to describe their music? Cantina. Cojunto. Mariachi. Tex-Mex. Rock & Roll.

All of the above.

What I can tell you it’s great to have these guys back together again. Folks were smiling and dancing.

Raul Malo’s voice is big and bold. One of the best in all of pop music.

That set was certainly the party time moment of the day. Fans were smiling and dancing and feelin’ alright.

Plus the band is now Quint-Essential. After the set, Mr. JazzFest Quint Davis dubbed them, “One of America’s great bands.”

* * * * *

My favorite entrepreneur at AJ’s Sno Ball stand asked, “You’ve been here a lot. Is this the coldest day ever?”

Actually I seem to recall a day in ’88 that was even chillier. Though it might have been that we weren’t prepared that time. I remember listening to Los Lobos — or so I think I believe I recall — with some pals, all shivering to the bone.

That said, yesterday’s 60ish Fahrenheit was, how to say it, bracing. It beat rain. But was, I know, less than optimal.

Have I mentioned the muck? So I have. Deep, mushy and oh so aromatic.

* * * * *

On the way out to the festival, we were listening to WWOZ. Of course,

The DJ put on “My Old Kentucky Home,” a trad jazz version. I thought to myself, hmm, that’s nice, an homage to Derby weekend back home in Louisville. Until the singer sang, “The sun shines bright on my old New Orleans home . . .”

I love the Crescent City, but, ya know, that just ain’t right.

Mo’ later.

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