A Cold Day in New Orleans

I didn't think such a thing was possible but Sunday was a chilly day. Neither my wife nor I prepared for it and we shivered during the last day of Jazz Fest. She ended up buying a shawl to wrap herself in. I imagine many of the craft booths did a brisk business in indian blankets and the like. I did the manly thing and quietly endured.

There were plenty of distractions. We consulted our Jazz Fest spirit guide (cleverly disguised as my brother-in-law, complete with koozie on a string) and determined that we would get to each performance a few minutes before it was scheduled to begin and leave a few minutes before it ended. In this way, we were sure of getting good seats. We began with Hugh Masekela in the jazz tent. I was disappointed with his performance: he sounded flat to my amatuer ears and he cracked notes. Nevertheless, we stuck it out until after his signature tune ("Grazin' in the Grass"). We quietly ducked out in order to catch Wyclef Jean at the Congo Square stage. Our friends, who stayed for Mr. Masekela's entire performance, told us later that he really improved and the rest of his set was really great. Oh well.

Wyclef Jean was an interesting experience. I only know him through his association with the Fugees and I had never seen a live rap concert so I was curious to see what kind of set he put together. His back-up band consisted of drums, bass, keyboards and a DJ. I had expected pre-recorded tracks and a DJ. He also picked up a guitar himself and played it for a few tunes and engaged in a tete-a-tete with his bass player. He didn't play the instruments very well but I gave him points for "keeping it real." I didn't find his music to be very interesting but the crowd was more than willing to be entertained by him.

I must note that I observed an interesting phenomenon while at the Wyclef Jean show: the white rap fan. I stood next to a pair of tall, skinny white dudes who performed the most...interesting dances I had ever seen. These dances consisted of little more than swaying in place with one or two hands making vague gestures in the air. We called the one-hand sway dance the "Sky Hook" and the two hand sway dance the "Haunted House" (because the dancer looked like a cartoon ghost trying to be scary). But my favorite was a dance I dubbed the "Rusty Hook": the dancer appeared to be attempting to clean his ass with an index finger as his hips thrust forward and backward. Sometimes the dancer raised his other hand in the air in a combo "Sky Hook"/"Rusty Hook" dance. Very strange.

We wrapped up the day by listening to Mr. Masekela's all star tribute to South African music. It was pretty cool. I made a note to devote some time to listening to more of this unique pop music. Someday I shall.