Walter “Wolfman” Washington – photo by Jeffrey Dupuis
New Orleans Jazz Fest, Day 6, Saturday
Another blue sky day. From the Jambands official headquarters just across from the festival entrance, I see intrepid (foolish?) festgoers already determinedly lining up at the gate at 7am, lawn chairs, coolers, blankets, umbrellas in tow, waiting to claim a spot, Oklahoma land rush style, at their favorite stage when the gates open around 11am. I’ve never understood the logic of sitting at one stage all day when there are 9 others constantly offering the possibility of something new, something more interesting, something never heard before. And I understand even less those who choose to encamp at some spot between stages, where only an indecipherable gumbo of sound bleeding from various stages can be heard, but no one distinctly. One factor could be the proximity to the beer vendors.
Unlike many mornings when we allow the first clarion sounds of an accordion or trumpet or fuzz-tone guitar from across the way to motivate us through the gates, this morning we’re on a mission to see the first act at the #2 stage. R Scully’s Rough 7. Ryan Sully’s band morphed from the ashes of one of New Orleans’ most interesting rock and party bands, the Morning 40 Federation, the latter band’s name referring to the preferred am beverage, a 40 ounce malt liquor. Their shows were often equal blends of performance art and music, as the band members and their rabid followers celebrated the bacchanalian side of rock. It was not uncommon for a given band member to pass out onstage, sometimes cushioned in their own vomit. It was all great art until they actually learned to play their instruments; at that point the vital element of spontaneity was lost and the band broke up. (For fun check out the official Morning 40 YouTube video.)
https://youtube.com/watch?v=KFfcLYRn5LQ
From there Ryan Scully formed his Rough 7 from an assortment of Bywater neighborhood scenesters, bringing a lot of the unpredictable garage feel of the 40’s with him, this time however adding competent musicianship in a blend of what he calls “garage gospel.” Despite being more than unaccustomed to starting a set at 11am in direct sunlight instead of the glow of 11 pm Budweiser neon, the Rough 7 gave us what we came for, Scully’s raw, raspy voice and intelligent lyrics, and Rob Cambre’s inventive guitar work, often bordering into experimental realm of Robert Wyatt or Pere Ubu. Meschiya Lake and Erika Lewis vocal harmonies stand out in contrast to Scully’s rasp, and when Lake did a turn on the Etta James classic “I’d Rather Go Blind” she made the show her own.
From there the next venture was way on the other end at the #1 stage for a set by Marcia Ball. Elegant as always, sitting sideways at the piano with legs crossed, turned out her always reliable set of barrelhouse boogie that exists somewhere along the Texas Louisiana border. She carries the spirit of Clifton Chenier and Gatemouth Brown, offering a different sort of party music for a slightly more civilized crowd than the Rough 7.
The middle part of the day was spent criss-crossing around the racetrack for sets by Shammar Allen and his Underdawgs. He gave a tight mix of funk, rap, a little freeform jazz trumpet and a good showing of his Calvin Kleins peeking up over his low cut jeans.
Then it was on to the highly energized and polished performance from Trombone Shorty leading into the triumphant return of New Orleans rapper Mystikal, fresh out of a 6 year prison visit, (seemingly a rapper’s essential rite of passage). He came out with a live band that included a horn section, a DJ, drum kit, keyboards and bass, offering up many of his hits like “Shake Ya Ass,” “Here I Go” and the Mannie Fresh produced “Uh Oh.” As if to emphasize the notion of offering it up live, band members wore t-shirts with “Mystikal: If it ain’t live, it ain’t me” on the front.
Bobby “Blue” Bland – photo by Jeffrey Dupuis
As highly anticipated as Mystikal’s set was, it did not compare to the buzz from the Congo Square stage waiting for the next performer. Ms Lauryn Hill, as she is listed in the program, made her much anticipated Jazz Fest debut, ending the day at the Congo Square stage. Ms Hill finally appeared after a delayed start (there was trouble with the vocal mix). She showed some diva like petulance throughout her set, impatient with the pace of the backing band, unhappy with the monitor mix, and probably unhappy with her own rough vocals, more than a bit rusty. Her full band was nicely complemented by New Orleans own Hot 8 Brass Band, lending local flavor to the set. By the end of her uneven set, she gave the crowd what they wanted, her version of “Killing Me Softly,” finally finding her groove in the slower tune.
Meanwhile the smaller stages offered tastes of more indigenous music. Since taking the place of the original Blues stage, the Fais Do Do stage has always been the one sure stop for the Cajun and Zydeco dancers to stir up the racetrack dust all day to a Cajun fiddle or a Zydeco washboard played at maximum dance intensities. In more recent years it has unfortunately morphed into the 4th big name stage as national acts have gradually replaced local Louisiana bands. Now many days the nod is given to the Cajun/Zydeco dancers for only part of the day. The Decemberists last week played this stage, Michelle Shocked last Thursday. But today the organizers let the dancers stir up enough dust to make their own cloud, starting with Jeffrey Broussard and the Creole Cowboys, then D. L. Menard, at 79 one of the deans of South Louisiana music. He showed the crowd how he earned the name of the “Cajun Hank Williams” with his songwriting and country influenced tunes. The dancers’ smiles only got better with Geno Delafose and French Rockin’ Boogie and the days closer, C. J. Chenier and his Red Hot Louisiana Band. His accordion syncopations merged with his energetic rub board players fast fingers that were nearly loud enough to drown out the Parrothead music of Jimmy Buffet on the larger Acura Stage.
The only Fais Do Do departure from Cajun accents was an appearance from Jesse Winchester, who bantered with the audience throughout his set, playing songs that spanned his long career and were familiar to the older audience going as far back as his early FM radio hit “Yankee Lady” up to a song he had just composed.
For somewhat softer tunes, no better place to be than the Gospel Tent for the annual appearance of Aaron Neville’s gospel set. His voice somehow manages to blend traditions of cowboy yodels with funk and sweet soul singing and kept the overflow tent in tune with their higher power.
Across the way the WWOZ jazz tent featured native New Orleanians Nicholas Payton and Kris Royal, ending the day with a set from Fourplay. The blues tent was mainly local today with Wanda Rouzan, Walter “Wolfman” Washington, and James Andrews, ending the day with the legend, octogenarian Bobby “Blue” Bland, one of the creative forces behind 1950’s and 60’s blues and soul music. Confined to a wheelchair, his set was more a tribute to his accomplishments than what he is able to deliver at 81, his backup band carrying the water mostly for him. Even so, it was a thrill to be in the presence of a man who has added so much to the world of music.
Following their much hyped SXSW set a month earlier in Austin, The Strokes performed the last set on the Gentilly stage. Unfortunately I got stuck moving between Lauryn Hill and other last acts and wasn’t able to hear their set, which I was told was cut short by 30 minutes for some reason known only to the band. The feedback I got from those who were there was it was a fairly lackadaisical set, the band seemingly disinterested and playing it a bit too cool.
Missing their set only brought out the truth of the old Jazzfest adage, “Judge not your Jazz Fest by what you saw, but by what you had to miss to see it.”
Day 6 done, one more day to go.
