I have much to write about the last two and a half weeks. And I will as soon as I dig out from under the work that's piled up. But there is one thing I want to put up here that I don't think should wait any longer.
During the second weekend of the Jazz Fest I stumbled into one of those moments that, to my mind, exemplify what is beautiful and perfect about the New Orleans Jazz & Heritage Festival. Yes, there were great performances and the food was outstanding. Yes, the clubs were hopping at night (not that I had a chance to go to any of them). Yes, New Orleans in the spring has volatile weather but much of the time is warm and sultry and has an undercurrent of sex that is rather enjoyable.
But that's not what I'm talking about.
What the Jazz Fest manages to provide is a church. A Church of Music. It's an open church...all denominations are welcome. Blues, Jazz, Rock, Pop, Country, Bluegrass, Cajun, Zydeco, World Beat, Gospel. Doesn't matter what cult you belong to, you're welcome in the Church of the Jazz Fest.
It's not just the acts that appear and it's not just the wonderful atmosphere that the festival producers so tirelessly provide. It's the meeting of those things with an audience that lives and breathes music...people for whom music is not merely an entertainment but is, or can be, a transformational experience. Of course, that kind of heady emotional and spiritual experience doesn't happen every day on every stage.
But the foundation for it exists. If you choose wisely or if, through blind luck, you happen to be at the right stage at the right time on the right day the equating of music with religion is not consigned to the waste bin of flowery hyperbole.
If, say, you happened to be part of the throng gathered in front of the Sprint/Sanyo stage at about 4:30pm on Thursday, April 28th...well, you got a taste of beauty. Maybe you were there early to get a good spot on the infield for B.B King's set later in the afternoon. Maybe you were already there because you'd caught the smoking performance of Papa Grows Funk just minutes before. Maybe you were there on purpose, maybe you were there as a fluke.
But if you were there you got to see what is likely the final Jazz Fest performance of one of the greatest musicians to walk this rock we call home.