My favorite moment of Jazzfest occurs at 6PM on the final Sunday in front of the Acura Stage. The sun goes down on New Orleans setting afire the dome over Our Lady of the Rosary on Bayou St. John, the tall buildings of downtown in the distance and all of the Fairgrounds and music worshippers in between. We are that panorama of bliss. All is one.
We left Jazzfest way before 7 yesterday hoping to avoid the mad exit rush, but stopped to check in at the Jazz and Blues tents before the final goodbye. What strokes of luck! The horn-packed jazz jam tribute to Tuba Fats blew me away with the clarity of each note, the passion, the friendliness of those onstage and the extremely low number of listeners in the tent (the rest still watching The Nevilles, of course). So close to the music, I could feel the saxophone highs and drum lows in my bloodstream. At the Blues tent, Susan Tedeschi (surprise!) closed out her husband Derek Trucks’s show singing “The Weight” with her strong, husky voice to match the wail of Trucks’s strings.
Somewhere between the waves of music attenuating in my skin and the goosebumps it generated, I understood once again why this is just not the same as a concert in a stadium or listening to it on the best stereo system money can buy. At a festival with such a vibe of respect for and by the musicmakers, the music becomes you. You don’t listen to the notes, you are the flow. All is one.
Fried eggplant with crawfish sauce, cracklins, cochon de lait po-boys. Never mind the rain, the food will keep your soul dry.
“Stand right in front of the granstand for a while and you’ll run into everyone you know in New Orleans,” I remarked to D. Interactions and sightings: Loki, Lex, Lyl, Cassidy, Gina, Adrastos, Dr. A, Lisa (finally!), Stacey, Rex, Clint, Veronica, Jeffrey, Menckles, Varg, Lee, Pat, Murv, Marilyn, Keith and a whole host of colleagues, Krewe du Vieux-ers, friends and their spawn. We were together as one.
Last but definitely not least, it’s the day after Jazzfest, showers have been had and I can still smell the Fairgrounds on me. You know that smell, like horses crapped out dead crawfish. All the perfumes of the shopping booths will not sweeten my little pores after it got in. We can still smell it. All is still one.
Photo Gallery: New Orleans Jazz & Heritage Festival 2008 (more coming after tonight’s upload)
“You know that smell, like horses crapped out dead crawfish.”
I wish it were really that vaguely poetic….So sorry I missed you out there!
It was great to meet you! Even if it was for a short moment. There were many great Jazz Fest moments, I am still processing.