As the story goes, Lionel Ferbes played the Battle of New Orleans After Party. That his riffs inspired Johnny Horton’s big hit.
I don’t believe that to be true.
However, on good authority, it can be noted that Ferbes did duet with Gabriel, and was a frat brother of Methuselah.
Which is to say, the trumpet player, is, well, nothing if not venerable. One hundred two years young, and the dude is still imploring “Bill Bailey, won’t you please come home.”
As he did during his opening set yesterday at the Economy Hall tent. His chops ain’t what they used to be. (Whose are?), but he’s still playing. This cat has been there, done that many times over. So I stopped by to pay my respects.
He is the essence of traditional New Orleans music.
* * * * *
So too, Allen Toussaint, of whom I’ve waxed ecstatic early and often.
His set with a super band yesterday was no better nor no worse than usual. Toussaint doesn’t tour with a monster band these days. So, it’s always a put together gang that connects on some tunes, and not on some others. Toussaint’s sets on the big stage are always a might loose.
But I revere the piano player/ song writer/ producer, to this extent. During a rousing version yesterday of “Yes We Can Can,” I was struck with this thought:
This is what I live for.
To be at the Fairgrounds in New Orleans in the spring for JazzFest is to be on sacred ground at a sacred place at a sacred time.
The fellow is always dapper. Yesterday over an orange dress shirt and multi-hued tie, he had donned a white suit, adorned with embroidered and sequined imagery of sassy ladies and horn & piano players, paying their respects.
“Lady Marmalade” also packed a special punch. “Life Is A Carnival” also worked especially well.
(Kudos to the big screen folks. Thanks for showing Toussaint’s hands on the 88s.)
* * * * *
Then there are those, who have learned at the foot of the masters, and carry on the tradition, but with a contemporary twist.
Like Bonearama.
I never ceased to be amazed at this unique group, fronted by a trombone trio. Only in the Crescent City, baby.
Again, as they did the other day at LMF, they killed it on “Indian Red,” The homage to Mardi Gras Indians may have been penned by Danny Barker. Or not. And may have first been recorded by Sugar Boy Crawford. Or not.
Whatever, it’s a part of this town’s culture to the core. Bonearama does it proud.
Then they finished their set with “Helter Skelter.”
Go figure.
* * * * *
Yesterday, or maybe the day before (they’re starting to run together), I mentioned how a pal had come up with a term, “festivating.” I trust it’s been used before, but work with me here.
Then a reader wrote in, mentioning his krewe referred to themselves as “festivarians.” I like it.
Yesterday, without any single group as a focus, I festidabbled. (I know it doesn’t work as well as the other terms, but I aiming for clever, whether I hit it or not.)
The Real Untouchables Brass Band were advising as how “Mama don’t allow no horn playin’ round here.”
Tonia Scott and Anointed Voices implored with passion and the spirit, “Let the Holy Ghost rock.”
Sharon Martin, whom you might recognize from “Treme,” can scat. And she gave me some new insight on jazz singing, which, to be honest, I’ve never quite been able to conceptualize.
* * * * *
The early hours real surprise came in the Blues Tent. Herbert Hardesty & The Dukes played laid back but intense old school jump blues. From back in the day when such was referred to on the charts as “race music.” You know, R & B.
Less was more. The crowd was truly engaged.
And, since the players weren’t trying to shred metal, the sound was way better in the tent than usual.
* * * * *
Zena Moses, along with her group Rue Fiya, caught my attention. It was my first sighting of the weekend of June Yamagishi on guitar.
Moses basically was doing soul covers, but with passion and panache.
“Papa Was A Rolling Stone.”
Her excitement to be on the Congo Square stage was contagious.
“I came here in ’89 and heard Charmaine Neville on this stage. I’ve always wanted to play it. Here I am.”
* * * * *
The Lost Bayou Ramblers rocked the Fais Do Do.
Magary Lord of Bahia-Brazil had a large gang shakin’ booty at the Jazz & Heritage Stage.
Ben Harper and Charlie Musselwhite ripped “When the Levee Breaks.” I am also advised that Jill Scott was all that at Congo Square.
I won’t even start to mention all the groups I didn’t hear. But do want to apologize especially to Deacon John, Germaine Bazzle, Jon Cleary (& the Diabolical Fandangos), and the Voice of the Wetland All-Stars.
* * * * *
Because I know you want to know every detail, I again ate judiciously.
Oyster Po Boy. Half a Soft Shell Crab Po Boy. A frozen Cafe Au Lait. A Strawberry Smothie. Two of AJ’s sublime Chocolate Sno Balls. And lots of H2O.
Last night we dined at the heralded new Restaurant R’Evolution, which is tony with waiters a shade uptight. And expensive. But worthy of all the plaudits.
The Crawfish-Stuffed Flounder Napoleon in Artichoke and Oyster Stew with Fried Crawfish Boulettes was, as they say, to die for. Everyone’s meal was exquisite.
* * * * *
Local fruit and vegetable vendor legend, Mr. Okra, was on the grounds.
He had him a pocket full of lettuce. Biz was good.
* * * * *
One mo’ thang and I’m outta here for now.
Buy Shell Gasoline.
It’s big corporata. And they may be as nasty as BP. But they are the main sponsor that keeps this festival going, and I am grateful.
Mo’ later.