JF ’25: Exit To Mystery Street

Posted: April 21st, 2025 | Filed under: Culture, JazzFest, Music | 2 Comments »

It is that time of the year when I attempt annually to wring a drop or two of blood from the turnip.

When, as JazzFest sits just over the horizon, I attempt to regale you with some tales I haven’t overtold, heralding how very very much I love Fest and New Orleans, why it has been the gravitational pull of my year for a half century.

I’ll cull my archives of daily JF reports, seeking an interlude unreported for awhile, some anecdote to give readers a sense of how this musical, cultural, gustatory fantasia is like no other.

Like the time in the mid oughts when the Film Babe and I happened to be at the stage when the irrepressible  Bobby Lounge was being wheeled out in an iron lung by a woman dressed as a nurse. True. Upon exiting from it, he dazzled with his facility on the 88s and came with the funniest lyrics I’d ever heard.

Oh what the Lagniappe Stage giveth.

Like the day, I asked the Film Babe to marry me. Then after walking to the big stage to join friends for Van Morrison and advise them, one of the those message planes drove over the Fest. “Joan, will you marry me, love Charles,” the banner read. Talk about twilight zone, I had nothing to do with it. I’ve never called Joanie Joan. She’s never called me Charles.

Just some JazzFest serendipity.

Like the time we blew off our favorite band ever, the Allman Brothers, because we were at a stage with pals and the New Orleans Klezmer All-Stars were smokin’ hot.

Like how you can savor some Crawfish Strudel or a Soft Shell Crab poboy, while sitting in the Gospel Tent, being overwhelmed by some unknown singer in a church choir who is the equal of Aretha.

In this preview, I’d advise what new acts I’d discovered while handicapping the Cubes — quaint nomenclature of the daily stage schedules — and promise to report in with updates as the Fest unfolds.

 * * * * *

But here’s the acid reality of Two thousand and Twenty Five, 35 Fests under my belt.

For the first time since The Year of Our Lord 1990, I shall not be in attendance.*

*Two years were lost to COVID, when there were no Fests.

There are times when real life gets in the way, when the actuality of altercockerdom and its symptoms intrudes.

So it is.

One of the few blessings of being an old fart is the onset of perspective. I considered bulldozing my way through stuff I’m dealing with and going for it anyway.* But with the help of confidants and the occasional flash of mature thinking, I made the decision to sit this one out.

Understand the issues I’m facing are nettlesome, not dire. But enough that it would skew the experience. 

 * * * * *

So, for this year anyway, I’m taking the exit to Mystery Street.*

*Of course, being a compulsive shopper, I purchased the tee shirt with the “Exit to Mystery Street” logo pictured above.

The reference of course is to one of the actual means of egress from the festival grounds. To, ya understand, Mystery Street.

It’s where I’m standing at the moment.

Emotionally that is.

 * * * * *

So, if you want a sense, a small one anyway, of what JazzFest is like, tune in to the live stream starting Thursday at wwoz.org. There’ll be too much talk, but some live performances from the smaller stages.

For a full sense of all the music, check out the Cubes.

Here’s a list of the food choices, which you will note does not include corn dogs or elephant ears.

Here’s a map of the festival grounds.

What’s it like inside there: Oh that magic feeling, nowhere to go, nowhere to go. Inside the gates, for me anyway, there is no other reality.

 * * * * *

So, for those of you who are still with me there, thanks.

Obviously I needed to get this off my chest. Kind of a therapy, don’t ya know.

I am totally comfortable with my decision, as difficult as it has been.

I’m protecting myself from some last minute knee jerk ill advised compulsion to jump in my car and go there.

One, I’ve had several friends who will be there ask my for musical tips. As I’ve said, I normally go through the schedules, checking out the acts I don’t know to discover the must sees. Such as, from years past, Las Cafeteras, Bombino, Mdou Moctar.

Not gonna do it.

And, I’m making dinner for the Film Babe and the couple who introduced us, on Wednesday evening, JF eve.

When I shall attempt to recreate dishes from my krewe’s go to JF Eve dinner spots.

Godchaux Salad from Galatoire.

Chicken a la Grandé from Mosca’s.

Thanks again for listening.

— c d kaplan

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