In case you were wondering...

In case you were wondering how one gets the nickname Shorty...

Jazz Fest Part II

I've been lallygagging the shit out of writing this post but I started it this past weekend and I figured I'd get it out before it had gone the way of the AP Chemistry and European History.

I left off Friday night dancing to four nerdy white guys at the Bon Temps until sunrise...

Saturday I chose not to go to the festival, missing the Roots and Steel Pulse, a sacrifice I was willing to make in order to save up (and by save up I mean sleep until 5pm) for the big Saturday night -> Sunday push. I drank a few beers watching Under Siege waiting for those who made it to the fest to return. We then went to one of my favorite New Orleans eateries, Dick & Jenny's, and got in line for a table at around 8 o'clock. We then went around the corner and I had a few Gin and Tonics. When we finally got our table around 11:30pm, I was a little drunk, to say nothing of the rest of that party who had drinking steadily since noon. The food was obviously out of this world and dinner was otherwise fairly unremarkable, except for the part where we got free dessert for leading the dining room in a Journey sing along. It is fair to say I didn't stop believing how good my tempura soft shell crab in Thai curry sauce was.

From Dick & Jenny's we walked our full bellies to an even fuller Mae's where the majority of our party cabbed it home to cuddle/pass out. I however had tickets to the Greyboy Allstars back up the street at Tips. The Greyboys always play the last Saturday night of the Fest at Tips and they never start before 3am and it's always sold out. This year, having never been, I bought tickets a month ahead of time. Denson and Walter and the rest of the boy's funked us until about 6:30am at which point I collapsed into bed for a couple of hours and went back out to the fest.

On feet too numb to be sore we made the long walk to the fest for the last time of the year. Liuzza's is closed Sundays so there were no Bushwhackers to be had. In a daze I ate my last Cochon De Lait poboy of the fest and arrived at the Gentilly stage just in time to see Galactic and get the Inspector Gadget song stuck in my head the rest of the day. I ran into an old college classmate who was in town for the weekend and I was regretting not having seen up to that point. I used to do homework at this girl's house and then we'd sit around on the porch and drink beers afterwards. I probably did less than 25% of the homework that was assigned to me throughout my college career, and I'm positive I would've blown off those assignments as well if it wasn't for her. After Galactic we stayed to watch the Raconteurs who played a decent if commercially successful set. It was nice though, to see a rock show in between so much jazz/funk/blues/latin fusion. From there I circled back around the back of the main stage to at least be able to say I saw Santana, a move I immediately regretted when as soon as we cleared a sight line to the stage he promptly started playing my least favorite song of all time, by anyone, evar (Smooth, fucking hate that fucking song.) So anyways we picked up the pace and continued the circle around to the Blues Tent to close out the fest with the Derek Trucks Band.

It would be the third time I'd seen the Derek Trucks Band and I'm a huge fan (obviously huge enough to completely forgo the highly touted Neville Bros. closing the festival on the big stage.) We rolled up right as Keb Mo was finishing up and the aisles of the Blues Tent cleared out like the people could smell us walking in. We posted up front and center leaning on the railing that was in front of the stage. I patted myself on the back for the good luck and began worrying if there would be enough crowd soon enough that I could pee my pants without anyone noticing because there was no way I was leaving that spot. Five excruciating minutes later an usher told us that in the blues tent there is no standing room except at the very back. I jogged to a portapotty line that wasn't 8 deep and got some decent Zen considering the circumstances. After returning to th bak of the blues tent where luckily my krewe had staked out a pretty good spot in the merciful shade and saw what was probably one of the awesomest slide guitar performances in my life. Also, Derek has an sweet jazzflute player who I can't help but idolize. Derek's wife, Susan Tedeschi who's made a career out of opening for acts like B.B. King, Bob Dylan and Taj Mahal, also joined him on stage for a few songs which was nice as she can sing worlds better than he can. They finished up their set and went offstage and the MC appeared to try to tell the crowd to go home which enough did to allow us to move up fairly close to the stage to pound our hands together and scream for what seemed like 20 minutes before they came back on stage and tore off the best version of one of my top five favorite songs of all time I've ever heard.

Jazz Fest is the Best

So that was the friday before this past, the only day I made it out to the fairgrounds that weekend. I'll regret for a while missing Billy Joel, and may regret missing Al Green for the rest of my life. If you'd seen that doppler radar picture though... you'd probably've stayed home too.

I did my best to make up for it this past weekend, and the photos are yet to go up on the official Jazz Fest website, but I'll talk you through one of the longer weekends of my short life.

Thursday I got up early and went to work as if it were any other day, except everyone was surprised to see me as I had made clear my intention to go to the Fest. I put out a couple of fires and then went back home to change out of my work clothes and get into the spirit of things. I drove to my friends' house which we use as Jazz Fest home base, and met my friend and two of her bff's from from out of town. I drank a Maker's on the rocks and listened to Sneaking Sally through the Alley inordinately loud while they got themselves ready. The walk to the Fest from the house googlemaps at 1.7mi, and is way worse on the way home. Along the way however, is a famous bar/restaurant (that may be the first time I've ever spelled restaurant correctly on my first try) called Liuzza's that serves a milkshake-like daiquiri called a bushwhacker that makes the walk tolerable. From Liuzza's we walked along bayou St John to the aptly named Idealmart to buy plastic pocket-sized bottles of alcohol (for smuggling) and other supplies. We (my friend and her two bff's whom she only apologized for like 27 times) then walked along the bayou to the Fest. We made it in time to see the last two Bonerama songs and say hi to some hippies before heading over to the Gentilly stage for Kermit Ruffins. Kermit was obviously stoned and played two too many slow songs but made up for it with his charisma, his musicianship and medley of Top-20 club bangers that his drummer sang and pretty much killed. I'm pretty sure that from there we went straight to the Acura stage and got settled in for good 2.5 hour Widespread Panic set that was broken up by a short Mardi Gras Indians set at about the 1:05 mark. The last time I saw Widespread was probably more than five years ago but I've always been a fan. Their new guitar player (who at least 3 people told me was the greatest guitar player ever) is quite good and I salute his eschewing of the PRS he was playing on some of the songs I didn't recognize for a good old fashion American Strat on the songs I did. By the time the show was over and my love for Widespread was thoroughly rekindled, I was pretty drunk and approaching exhaustion. We walked the almost two miles back to the house where I may or may not've collapsed on the couch. We did however go to a nearby noodlehouse where I set my mouth on fire with rooster sauce and drank a mai tai and don't really remember what I ate. My friends graciously put me in a cab before they headed downtown to my favorite bar to see Rebirth, I think. My destination however, was Tipitina's where I had reserved tickets to see my mandolin mancrush, Sam Bush. If you've never been to a Sam Bush concert, alone, exhausted, and completely shitfaced I'd have to recommend it. He played one of my favorite John Hartford songs called the Good Ole' Days (that my dad informs me he recorded with John Hartford), and then just to fuck with my head jammed it into Whole Lotta Love (which sounds surprisingly awesome when played on the mando.) He then went off stage and came back with Up on Cripple Creek for an encore, that asshole. So I'm falling down drunk, completely alone walking out of Tips, I do what any sane human would do in that situation; I walk to Mae's. Unfortunately, on the walk, I stubbed my toe on one of NOLA's more awesome sidewalks and because my foot and sandal are covered with blood am not allowed into Mae's. I made a few calls and jumped in a cab and rolled over to my buddies' house and administered some first aid We then went to the Maple Leaf and saw some allstar-type funk band including Bonerama's awesome-jawed drummer, Zigaboo's Afro'd guitar player, and the guy who I always see playing the sax at Dos Jefe's. According to my friends I fell asleep at the bar, which I felt bad about until someone told me it happened around 6:00am (or 23.5 hours after I had woken up.)

Friday I woke up around noon and took the truck over to my buddies' house and picked him up and his out of town crew. We rolled over to my friends' house and we did the walk again, including the stop at Liuzza's. Saw Zigaboo and his crew funk it up for a little while and then Trombone Shorty blew my mind. Shorty (and his saxophonist who, were I a chick I would definitely bone) put on what was a definitely a sleeper pick for best show of the weekend. After Shorty we got food, beer, and bathroomed and then got set up to see Stevie Wonder, who spent ten minutes talking about politics in a voice too low to hear and then played three excruciatingly slow songs so we cruised over to Congo Square to see Franti & Spearhead which was awesome. I've become a big fan of Franti since the first time I saw him live, prior to which I had an argument with a dude a saw at the show about how much I disliked his preachy attitude. That was back when Stay Human was the only Franti I had heard and I'm still not sure I'm anti-death penalty. Yell Fire though has some great songs on it, and I'm definitely anti-war so I'm not, for lack of a better word, distracted by the politics in his music. Anyway dude didn't bring up the fact that I once had one of those recordstopscreech moments at his house party when I said I didn't like Franti, which I appreciate because I'm embarassed about it in retrospect. If you've never seen Franti though he is an electrifying presence who stands about 7 feet tall and dances around and speaks from the heart and his band rocks. Every now and then it would start raining and he would come down into the crowd and dance around. Soaked to the core we walked back to my friend's house and I hadn't really been drinking so I drove everybody home and then we met up at one of my favorite bars, Le Bon Temps Roule, and saw Simon Lott and Anders Osborne. Simon Lott is the drummer that the guys from Galactic would rather play with because Stanton Moore is a douche and Simon Lott is a way better drummer. Bills must be paid though so Galactic with Stanton Moore still exists. A few more friends showed up and I noticed at one point that like twelve people that I truly care about were at this one bar and the good times were indeed rolling.

That was Friday. More to come.