Po
Boy Views
By
Phil
LaMancusa
Positively
Post Time
Or
Fest
Cups Overfloweth
I make my home not two blocks from the gate and, for me
and mine, the New Orleans Jazz and Heritage Festival is the finest of
festivities, on and off the track. On the way to and certainly après, literally hundreds of thousands
of wide eyed innocents are subjected to more than the price of their ticket, as
if the only reason that New Orleans is here is to exceed their expectations. From
Broad St. to the Bayou, Grand Route to Gentilly and beyond, the occasion and
the celebration radiates from the epicenter in joyous shockwaves to the far
reaches of the galaxy. Photos taken from satellites circling the globe see the
pulsating tempo of the beat coming from the heart of the Fair Grounds; before,
during and after the gates have opened into the best show on Earth; terra firma
is replete and complimented with melody adoring masses, devoted music disciples
and wide eyed wandering wonderers (wondering wanderers?). And don’t try to tell
me any different.
Certainly, Liuzza’s At The Track on the lake side and The
Seahorse on the river side of the Fair Grounds are epicenters in themselves and
cast and crew of both places are in high spirits in anticipation of the mud,
sweat and beers.
It’s
as simple as going to the Fest and also the Fest coming to you. Outside of
the gates there are spirits and libations to be had from spring water to sangria
and Schlitz. There is sustenance from Krishna consciousness to vegan tamales,
pork chop po boys, pecan pies, bread pudding and pralines ready to fill the
stomach and the soul. Even food truck and truck bed treats can be found.
To officiate my experience, I always look for the effervescent
and adorable wrapped batik skirt purveyor, the woman with the artistic
marionette painting pictures, garage bands and our kids in uniform selling slices
of pizza from Nonna Mia. Brass bands occupy corners for dancers and PDA lovers
who have yet to have enough of the day’s celebration, Jell-o shots, jugglers, gypsy
girls and Ms. Kelly in her cowboy boots. WWOZ has been live broadcasting and
folk are porch sitting with coolers and grills seeing plenty of action while
listening. Kids, canines, carriages and canes, folks are on parade; outdoor barbecues
and crawfish boils add smoke and olfactory sensations to the air and friends
separated are reunited with hugs and ‘hawah-yas’, ‘where y’at’s’, ‘bring it in!’s
and ‘how’re (or whe’re) ya been?’s.
I pause in my benevolence and repeat the words of the
great Otis B. Driftwood “Let joy be
unconfined; let there be dancing in the streets, drinking in the saloons and
necking in the parlor!” and so it is. The Fest has turned itself out as a
carnival. There’s kayaking on the bayou, girls in white dresses with blue satin
sashes and all of my favorite things.
The age old story where adults with ordinances have
prevailed to curtail the festivities with code enforcement and parking
restrictions, licensing and the insensitivities to the freedoms that us veteran
Festers abhor attempts to take its toll on the entrepreneurs that use this
season to get a little ahead. Most all of the folks that I know have no
problems with little non-commercial enterprises. What neighbors do object to is
inconsiderate traffic, street and driveway encumbrances, which are plain rude; but,
little Sally selling seashells or lemonade? C’mon man! Or, why would you penalize a six piece violin
concerto by eight year olds for not having a license when they’re trying to
raise money for their musical education? So, what I do is carry a gang of money
and distribute it to all that I come across. Take that.
My friend Russell, who hasn’t attended the Festival for
years, still opens his home and porch annually for friends and family;
beverages flow and snacks are laid out; and every year, for sure, a gang of us drop by after Festing or some unFesters
will just drop by (with kids) to meet and mingle. His grand nephew from an
early age marked the spot with his electric piano knocking out Professor
Longhair’s ‘Tipatina’ to the world. We look forward to going to his house as
much as anything else; it has become part
of the whole experience of both weekends.
We live and hang on
the river side of the track in a neighborhood that boasts six restaurants, two
coffee shops, two small supermarkets a wine shop and a kick ass ‘washateria’; all in a three block radius and, believe
me, the whole neighborhood turns out for Jazz Fest! For us, it’s the finest
time of year and without reservation, we proclaim that ‘Festers’ are the one
segment of the visitor population that really “GET” New Orleans.
Even waiting for our dysfunctional public transportation
system—you would think that they would know about the crowds who need rides every year--- to kick in, is done with good cheer; as the block
long lines shuffle patiently to fast packing buses, strangers become friends
and the conversation orbits around the day’s entertainment: “who’d you see,
what did you eat, what did you buy and when’s
the next f**king
bus?”
Of course you know that all over the city during this
time of year, there is music and happiness to be found at the five corners of
New Orleans: upriver, downriver, lake side, river side and certainly in the
middle. Follow your nose and open your mind; it will find you. Bless those hearts that can spend all two weeks,
bless them that come in for a weekend (or two) and especially bless me to be
able to be here all the time; before, during and after.
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