Jazz Fest 2nd week 2917

Po Boy Views

By

Phil LaMancusa

Lodestar

Or

Pete and Repeat

            So, is this your first weekend of the second week or the second weekend after your first? Are you walking in with your nose in the air like a bird dog, sniffing the wafting aromas of the hunka hunka burning love portions number nine, ten and eleven: “I smell ribs…gotta go!” Or have you arrived with your nose to the ground like a hound dog on the trail of beer, barbeque, buddies and blues. Who’s on first?

 Your look is familiar; don’t I know you from anywhere? Haven’t I seen your face before? I’m familiar with that wry swan smile, those Army scout eyes, that sunburned shoulder (you forgot your PF30 again), that hungry desperate surreptitious tuck and roll glance; that furtive insecurity, exhibiting the inner knowledge of one who is aware that it’s almost over!

I know that look of longing love at the end of an affair when you want to devour everything about your lover, the sights, smells, sounds and spice; the gaseous miasma of flirting food just beyond your reach; human smells in the air, sweaty pits, sun tan oils, hair goop, after shave lotion and all of it. That’s true for me also, so, I’m feelin’ ya; I want to be a sponge soaking everything up about the 2017 New Orleans Jazz and Heritage Festival (Jazz Fest) as well, for I have loved her and she has loved me back.

            Leapin’ Lizards! It’s the second weekend and I’ve got to take it all in, all that I can absorb! My bucket list: have I had my cochon de lait po-boy; soft shell crab; pheasant, quail, andouille gumbo; praline stuffed beignet and trout Baquet? Check list: I’ve had my oysters; at least a half a gallon of strawberry tea; a huckabuck, café au lait, messy BBQ, spring rolls and Jama Jama; seen and hugged a dozen people. But it’s not sufficient for this heart of mine, I want more! What haven’t I had, tried, tasted, begged, borrowed or browsed upon? What’s goin’ on? Who’s holding out?

            I liken it to an affaire de Coeur; even when strorm clouds roll in, you’re gonna give it your best shot. Word to your mother: “the worst day at Jazz Fest is better than the best day any other time of year!” The anticipation of its (Jazz Fest’s) arrival is like an incoming train bringing you your lost love; this year I even brought flowers for my first date, I mean, first day. I live close, so I hear them, see them, setting up the Fest and it’s music to my ears; the roustabouts and the tent slingers, beer trucks, sound checks, ice men, Indians and buses bringing bands.

            They open the gates and I’m standing there early, music fills the air, cooking fires are lit and the grand march and linger begins; seats are filled, lines are formed, blankets laid and golly, if someone hasn’t brought a beach ball to bat around! It’s a sensation candy store and the kids are in charge; there is no sorrow, no grief or pain: it’s Christmas and the medics have aspirins, Band Aids and armchairs!

            I thirst, that’s why I’m here; I’m a wanderer; a high relater radiator, sweet potato commentator, instigator investigator, nirvana spectator see ya later alligator man about this ad hoc al fresco percolator, drinking it all in! Elusive at best; appearing and disappearing, here and there and hear and left wondering if I was ever here at all. Who did you see? I don’t know, I saw them all, heard them all, ate and tasted it all and had a ball, seeing and sawing as much of all as y’all standing tall. Mama, I’m home!

            I wax prolific and expansive about my love of this venue, this time in my life and yours where and when we could come apart together in peace, music, food and the facilitation of our own standing sitting walking talking singing quietude of mutual atmospheric melodic meditation, protected witnesses all.

Sure, the weather has been hot cold dry wet dusty and muddy; there’s nothing unexpected in that, I’m down with that, ready Teddy. The mister has sprung a leak above my head in the Jazz Tent; so, why do you think I brought this here folding umbrella, just to keep the sun off me? Well, that too. I’ve also brought cash in small untraceable bills so that when I get to the front of the line and have exact money (plus tip); I can hit it with hot sauce and saunter smartly back into the stream of strangers somehow symbiotically connected to me.

There are those that think that the tariff it’s too steep; the crowds are at best congestive, the toilets are an olfactory mugging, the price of the food is up and the portions are too small. I’m not sure if we’re at the same festival. Like Arthur Dent, I’ve brought is my towel and openness to whatever will happen. I shy away from whatever doesn’t suit me at the moment, ready to split on or stick out the experience coming at me. Whatever, I’m here for the joy of it all, smiling because it’s happening again for the first time. I’m at the Jazz Fest again; let me wallow in the wonder, for this too shall pass leaving another notch on my memory wall.

It’s the second and final weekend this season and it will soon be over until, if the universe is willing, next year; there will be so much that will happen to each of us in the interval until next time, we’ll be older and perhaps wiser when we meet the Jazz Fest again. May we all take with us the serenity and tranquility that we’ve had with this uplifting and exciting time. After while, crocodile.

           

New Orleans Jazz Fest 2017 #`1

Po Boy Views

By

Phil LaMancusa

Jazz Fest Week One

Or

Into the Belly of the Beast

Okay, Cats and Hats off we go like a herd of turtles to The New Orleans Jazz and Heritage Festival, hereafter referred to as simply ‘Jazz Fest’. I personally welcome you to the first weekend of Jazz Fest, our roads have been paved and sidewalks straightened like you’re off to see the wizard on the Yellow Brick Road; yes, you’re headed straight into the virtually fabled city of music, food and gaiety. We’ve sprayed the trees so that those nasty caterpillars that sting like acid don’t drop from the trees like armed commandos and whelp your delicate epidermis (also knocking off butterflies, bees, and the occasional humming bird). All quiet on the western front anticipating the arrival of the festivity famished friendly festival family of multiple thousands (and den some).

Understand that your safety is paramount to us and we want you to feel as safe as Tite Poulet in Madame John’s bathrobe; we’ve charged a sizeable ransom from your hard earned for tickets (certainly not couch cushion coin) in order to keep the riff raff away. We’ve also upped the price of alcohol to where if you’re gonna get in your cups, you’ll have just enough cheddar for the Uber chariot that you’re relying on to take you safely back to your AIRBNB where your bedmates (and buddies) await like bears in a den, insulated from the elements and weighted down with beers iced like sticks of firewood in their cooler uterus while their emptied brethren sit discarded like fallen soldiers having given their lives in the service of their inebriation Czar.

            Being Spring and all, I find myself congested with a case of similes, you might say that my analogies are acting up. Personally, after all of my jingles are jingled all the way (Christmas music) and my Hey pockeys are all pockeed away (Carnival music), the lull since Easter has expended my musical capital to the point of Rock an Droll; needing a shot of rhythm for the Jazz Fest fever blues. I’m as ready for my dose as a hippie on a high mountain seeking the guru sounds of musical nirvana awaiting my arrival. Mama, I’m home.

Be that as it may, might I point out for you newbies that at first it can be a little overwhelming, all the sounds and sights might sound like noise, the attendees might look like crowds; it can cloud your imagination, flummox your judgment, boggle your mind; you might get as nervous as a virgin at a prison rodeo. First, rein in your hearing ability to about sixty feet in front of you; that will have the other locomotion commotions sound less like cosmic debris, cacophonically speaking. Stop, breathe, find your inner Conan, you can do this; go with the flow, make believe that you (and everybody else) is high on something and that everything is a show put on for just you, because it is (and they probably are).

            Preparation is good, as good as a compass in a dust storm. The weather is gonna be sunny, overcast, dusty, rainy, muddy and above all erratic; try as you may, you will not be prepared for all of its idiosyncrasies.  Wear a hat, scarf, sunglasses, sandals, boots, overalls and shorts, long and short sleeve shirts; or screw it and just put on something comfortable and figure it will get ruined and you will get wind, dust and sun burned. You can’t bar the doors if the walls are gonna cave in. Take cash and maybe one credit card and leave all other paper and plastic at home; electronic devices and extraneous jewelry are like Jazz Fest masturbation, nobody needs to know where you are and those selfies just make you look like an escapee from a batty bin. Basically, if you’re playing with yourself, you’re not playing with us. You’re at the Jazz Fest to have a good time not to make a friggin documentary. Relax, it’s just music, food and fun; and if you don’t like the fun you’re having where you’re standing… go make some of your own six feet, ten feet or even a hundred feet away.

            Allen Toussaint recommends that you “eat everything” at the Jazz Fest; Debbie Lindsey reminds us to tip like someone’s watching you (they are), I do both. I trapes the Fest dervishly, both new words for my personal dictionary, kinda like tripping the lights fantastic only it’s something that I do out of doors and performed with alacrity and a certain amount of youthful subjective objectivity. In other words, I’m in love with the whole scene. I even dig waiting in lines.

            I look over people’s shoulder to see what they’re eating and not shy about asking them how they like it and where they purchased it. I’ve been attending for decades and I still cannot find my way from one end to the other without getting lost at least twice, and I love that too! I’ve purchased my tickets well in advance and never buy from someone out on the street after my friend got burned with bogus tickets from a seemingly honest pedestrian; literally scalped she was.

            Generally I can tell the newer members of the audience because they haven’t yet learned that rude and crude don’t work here, they don’t use the litter barrels much less the recycle bins, they act like the Fest is a meat market and also tap into their negative energies by mocking the afflicted: silly dancers, weird dressers, flag wavers and other people that happen to be ignoring how similar to a rube the mocker happens to be. Hopefully they’ll learn before the second day.

            Some don’ts: do not unfurl a towel, blanket, whatever and expect that it will hold your place in the middle of an audience; don’t unnecessarily save a seat in a tent for more than a portion of a performance and deprive another of a place to comfortably sit; don’t block aisles or other walkways; and don’t you ever pass up the festivities outside of the race track!