It would be remiss for anyone not from New Orleans who attends the annual New Orleans Jazz and Heritage Festival, (presented by Shell, lest you forget) or speaks of their experiences at the festival, not to, at the very least, mention the atrocities left in the wake of 2005’s Hurricane Katrina. It is everywhere. In Arthur Miller’s Death Of A Salesman, Mrs. Loman utters the phrase, ‘attention must be paid.’ It must.
I have no need to get political; the inaction of our government under the current administration in the aftermath of the hurricane speaks for itself without the need for commentary, least of all, mine. On my walk to Surrey’s for breakfast my first morning in town, I came upon a bumper sticker which read, “I Never Thought I’d Miss Nixon.”
It is not over down here. It is not even close to being over. Fortunately, annual events like Mardi Gras, JazzFest, Voodoo Music Festival, and various business conventions bring tourism, which puts money back into Orleans Parish and those who inhabit it. These trips, hopefully, cause tourists like myself to discuss what they’ve seen upon returning home, which causes conversation, action and change. (I know I’m the Queen of Wishful Thinking, but it can’t hurt to put in print.) Unfortunately, our national media, for the most part, is no longer covering the wake of Katrina with any sort of consistency and our country has a fairly short attention span as it is. The woman who sat next to me on my flight from New York City to Dallas, (where I met my connecting flight, as well as my Mother, to continue on to New Orleans) was surprised when I said that my visits to New Orleans are always “great, but bittersweet.” “Why bittersweet?” she asked me. I’m floored. I want to be a smart-ass in my response because ‘oh-my-god-how-can-she-not-understand???’ but instead I’m kind. I may be only one person, but President Andrew Jackson was elected by a margin of one.
I’m opting now to stop being a bummer for a bit, and report on JazzFest itself, which is definitely far from a bummer. JazzFest is AWESOME. When I hit the ‘shuffle’ option on my iPod, what it gives me is schizophrenic at best, or downright puzzling…..and I find value in all of it. If you even remotely love music, the mixed-bag of everything that is out there, then the New Orleans Jazz and Heritage Festival (presented by Shell) is the festival for you. On any given day, you can hear a huge country/western star, a Top 40 rapper, hip-hop groups, dj’s, Cajun and zydeco, a bluegrass band from Tennessee, a gospel church choir, jazz legends, rock legends, and brass bands. The diversity in music is unparalleled; there is truly something for everyone. If you want a festival experience where you’ll hear the newest indie buzz-band, and buy five-dollar bottles of water, go to Coachella.
Day one saw Robert Plant and Alison Krauss playing most of the tracks from their beautiful collaborative “Raising Sand,” as well as a bluegrass version of Led Zeppelin’s “Black Dog” and Krauss’ popular track, “Down By The River To Pray” from “O Brother Where Art Thou?” with Plant and T-Bone Burnett providing the harmonies. Krauss, in her demure way, seemed to provide the perfect antidote to the fact that at nearly sixty years old, Robert Plant is still every bit the rockstar he was in the 1970s (minus the mudsharks) even if he is playing toned-down Americana bluegrass.
Sheryl Crow wasn’t holding back at the start of her set, playing songs off her new record, “Detours” which is in part inspired by Katrina. Her passion and conviction in delivering the new songs was beautiful to watch. She lost me when she started in with her old hits, “Leaving Las Vegas” and “A Change Will Do You Good.” I’m sure the fair-weather fans wanted to hear something they could sing along to, but it paled in comparison to her new material.
My Mom loves Ozomatli. We caught them at 2005’s JazzFest, and she never passes up an opportunity to dance, so from Crow’s set we ambled over to the Gentilly Stage. We walked up just in time to catch their new track, “Magnolia Soul” which is unabashedly written about New Orleans with in-your-face verses like: “saw your crescent smiling place/all the way from uptown-downtown-lakeside-to-river/heard ‘W’ don’t care about them/gotta watch who you make your friend/otherwise people come through and backstab you again” and chorus, “let the good times roll/the sad times gone” name-checking the motto of New Orleans, “Laissez les bons-temps rouler.”
Day two was an unbelievable downpour, which resulted in a soggy, muddy mess and a stream running through the crowd, to which children responded by floating on plastic rafts. You may take that metaphor as you will. Sadly, I did not have the pleasure of watching the stage crew squeegee Billy Joel’s piano. Thankfully, we did head to Tipitina’s that night to see the Blind Boys of Alabama. Important Fact To Know: They Are Indeed Blind. My Mom, the gospel music neophyte, was incredulous as these dapper gentlemen were walked to the stage and positioned for the show. The music was the stuff of angels. The men, ranging in age from 70 to 85, brought the crowd to their feet, and although the show was slower paced than most, (they were filming a live DVD and frequently stopped) it kept the crowd. Dr. John ‘made a house-call’ and played a song, as did local R&B singer Marva Wright, pianist Henry Butler, and the Preservation Hall Jazz Band. Susan Tedeschi sat in on a few songs, as well. She looked as though she were playing dress-up in her Mother’s closet with a sparkly cocktail dress and heels. Still, there was nothing childish about her voice (or the playing of her guitar for that matter). When she sang her verse in “People Get Ready” I thought I was listening to Bonnie Raitt’s alter-ego.
Day three was one of choices. Having perks at a festival are a beautiful luxury. Since we were blessed with access to Miller’s ‘hospitality tent’ (which would have been even more hospitable if I actually enjoyed the taste of beer) we found ourselves in a dilemma. Do we stay in the tent since it’s raining pretty hard, and chill out on the couch and watch the screen of the main stage? Or do I go see an old friend play his trumpet to a few thousand people at another stage, and not be able to get back into the tent because everyone with a tent pass will have clamored their way inside and it’s now way past capacity, and closed, and we’ll be stuck in the outside crappy weather for the rest of the day? Tough call. The couch won. My Mom may be awesome (she saw The Beatles three times, and was invited by Marvin Gaye to be his date to the Grammys… truth) but she’s also sixty. Couch. Shelter. And Irma Thomas, a hero of the local scene who recently won a Grammy, on the mainstage owning it.
My time spent in New Orleans is one filled with duality. On Saturday before the festival, my Mother and I went to the famed Commander’s Palace for their three-course Jazz Brunch. On Sunday before the festival, we took a drive through the Ninth Ward and Lakeview. My stomach, still full from the delicious gourmet cuisine we enjoyed the day before, miraculously kept from vomiting as we looked at the wreckage. You would think that the storm had occurred maybe a month prior by the looks of the Ninth Ward. It is nearly three years later as I write this. It is only as we turn off Claiborne Avenue to signs marked “Habitat For Humanity” and various church organizations that we begin to see small shreds of hope in streets still piled with debris from August of 2005. The bright colors of the houses which make up Habitat for Humanity’s Musician’s Village are welcomed signs that things are slowly moving forward, but there is so much still to be done.
Punctuating the weekends of JazzFest, I volunteered with the Tipitina’s Foundation to help with two silent auctions and benefit concerts, held at Tipitina’s Uptown music venue. The first was for “Instruments-A-Comin’’ to raise money to keep music programs and instruments in Louisiana schools. Locals Rebirth Brass Band and Galactic performed, as well as Little Feat, whose live show is every bit as thrilling as their recordings from thirty years ago. The second was for “Injuns-A-Comin’” to raise money for the Mardi Gras Indians; for their instruments and beautiful costumes, without which a subculture within this town would cease to exist.
Thursday of the second weekend of JazzFest is known as “locals day” with reduced-price admission and smaller crowds. 2008 marks the first year after Katrina to have seen a locals day, and what better act to commemorate the event than Louisiana/L.A. native, Randy Newman. Randy is one of my favorite songwriters ever; his stuff is snarky, truthful and entertaining. He is also proof, like Tom Waits, Neil Young and Bob Dylan, that God plays fair and gives the Gift Of Profound Songwriting Talent to those who have weird, and at times un-listenable and conventionally god-awful voices.
Talented or not, I often wonder if before Disney/Pixar gave him the green-light to provide music for “Toy Story” if they’d actually listened to his back-catalogue (case in point, ‘Guilty’: “Got some whiskey from the barman/got some cocaine from a friend” and ‘Rednecks’: “We’re rednecks, rednecks/don’t know our ass from a hole in the ground.”) Luckily for Randy, though he works for the mouse, he isn’t an icon for tweenage girls, and Disney does not need to comment on his past like they comment on Miley Cyrus’ present. Before playing his most (family-suitable, sarcasm-free) widely-recognized song, “You’ve Got A Friend In Me,” he revealed that some folks from Disney were in the audience, and in town for work. Disney has a new animated feature in production, “The Princess and The Frog” which is set in New Orleans, and features music by Newman and Dr. John; music that was recorded, in New Orleans, the day before this show. For the record, in addition to his song from “Toy Story” he did play both “Rednecks” and “Guilty” as well as tongue-firmly-affixed-in-cheek, “I Love L.A.” and “Short People” for his bosses at Disney, his kids, the media, me, and the rest of JazzFest. Maybe there are some balls left in Hollywood after all. (For further evidence of such balls, spend 99 cents and download “A Few Words In Defense Of Our Country” on iTunes.)
My last day of JazzFest, I took the streetcar to City Park with my friends, Rory and Dasan, in town from San Diego, and Mr. O’Neill, Rory’s dad, whom I’ve been staying with all week. It was on the streetcar that I encountered Completely Bizarre Celebrity Spotting Number One Of Three: Kristen Schaal, a.k.a. Mel, the stalker-super-fan from “Flight of the Conchords” a show that amuses me to no end. Walking around in search for food while at the festival, Completely Bizarre Celebrity Spotting Number Two Of Three: John C. Reilly, perfectly blended in with crowd in a hat and sunglasses. Grooving to Stevie Wonder, Completely Bizarre Celebrity Spotting Number Three Of Three: Michael Cerveris, who in all honesty, is only a celebrity to the community of Broadway geeks. (This prompted me to text my friend, Rachel, and her mom, Shira, who share an unnatural, mutual crush after seeing multiple performances of Cerveris as the botched sex-change chanteuse Hedwig in “Hedwig and the Angry Inch.” Shira’s text response? ‘Fuck You!! Lol!”) Upon consulting IMDB, turns out all three are in town filming “Cirque du Freaks” with Salma Hayek. Maybe not so random after all, but still arresting for someone who doesn’t expect to see what is commonplace around my neighborhood in New York City, or in L.A., or at Coachella for that matter, at my annual outing in New Orleans.
Stevie Wonder headlined on Friday. Once announced, instead of playing, he instead introduced his daughter, Aisha, who sings back-up, and said a few words about the recent death of his Mother, and called for a moment of silence for “all of those we lost during Hurricane Katrina.” He then proceeded to play three songs that I, and most of the crowd, didn’t recognize; an odd way to start a show, especially to a festival of tens of thousands. He later had the crowd dancing and singing along to “Higher Ground,” “Ma Cherie Amour,” “Signed, Sealed, Delivered, (I’m Yours)” and “Living For The City,” and brought up Irma Thomas to sing with him on “Shelter In The Rain,” which was one of the most profound unrehearsed moments I have ever had the privilege of witnessing.
As I attempt to re-read and edit this piece, which I have done often in the week following my experiences in New Orleans, with hopes of finding a way to end it, I am interrupted (of course, of all things) by my friend Alex’s MySpace bulletin, which simply states, “Katrina and New Orleans.” I obviously click it, and Alex writes that he “…just got back from a few days in New Orleans. I wasn’t there for Jazz Fest but a life-changing journey that took me to the front lines of poverty, racism, government ineptitude, and an extreme need for volunteers to bring hope, love, and labor to the city. I need some more time to further understand everything I experienced and then do a better job communicating why it is important for you to care and ultimately be involved.” I immediately dial his number, and we proceed to have an hour-long conversation that I am still having issues wrapping my brain around. Alex attended Coachella, like he’s done the past few years. Except this year, instead of returning on Monday to his job and life back in Venice after a weekend of fun and music in the desert, he boarded a bio-diesel bus with 150 or so other volunteers, bound for New Orleans. Sean Penn spoke at Coachella, because during Katrina he was in New Orleans, in a boat, pulling people from the water. He wanted to provide opportunity for a new generation of volunteers to be challenged to look and work beyond their day-to-day life. (His speech can be found on youtube if you are so inclined.) He paid for three buses, food, camping and provided volunteer experiences as well as transportation back to Southern California, in exchange for these 180 people to have their eyes and hearts opened to an experience that would be undoubtedly life changing.
The blessing and the curse of the essence of New Orleans is that it is not like anywhere else in the United States. (Post-Katrina, my mom has taken to calling it a developing nation) Hearing live music is not a privilege reserved for the wealthy, people drink on the street, cook with an amalgamation of spices specific to the region, bury the dead in above-ground plots because coffins cannot stay in the below sea-level flood grounds, and plan social events around crawfish boils, fishing trips and LSU football games. In speaking of life before The Thing, as many locals refer to it, it would be easy for any average-Joe American to understand New Orleans if it were like what we all know. It is even harder to understand after The Thing, because this mystical, unlike-any-other place has now had its insides torn apart, and is trying to sew, or have them sewn, back together into some semblance of order. Most of life would be easy to comprehend if it were in black or in white. It’s the grey area that makes it frustrating, irritating, uplifting and profound. Whether it is relating with others on the idiosyncratic-wonderfulness that make us who we are through an internet forum such as this one, or talking to visitors from all over the country about what is going on in this community, understanding is the component to how we connect to one another. New Orleans is looking for a little understanding. How we interpret and change what we see, be it my small contribution to raise money for the Tipitina’s Foundation and the musical culture of New Orleans, or Alex’s experience with the Dirty Hands Caravan to ‘inspire revolution as a job for the young,’ is up to us.
The outline of experiences that were offered to volunteers can be found on www.thedirtyhandscaravan.com and updates may be found on www.dosomething.org
If you want to read a beautiful account of the storm and its aftermath, check out Times-Picayune columnist Chris Rose’ 1 Dead In Attic, now in wide release, published by Simon and Schuster.
Donations can be made to Brad Pitt’s charity, www.makeitrightnola.org and Habitat for Humanity’s local chapter, www.habitat-nola.org, and to the Tipitina’s Foundation, www.tipitinasfoundation.org to help preserve the musical culture of Louisiana.