Post Fest blues
We closed out Jazz Fest in the Blues Tent listening to B.B. King. Need I say more? Well, okay I will. When Jazz Fest starts, the police pull up a mobile unit on the bayou at the foot of Grand Route St. John, and for some reason that symbolizes the beginning of Jazz Fest. This year, I took Tin every day and it certainly changed the way I experience the Fest but all in all I have to say we passed us a good time.
B.B. King is 84 years old. Is that possible? I mean the guy is a legend in his own time. We parked ourselves in the Blues Tent because we knew that if we didn’t, we’d never see him. That meant that we sat next to mostly the same people all the way through Luther Kent – who I thought was great too – as Tin slept and we both sweated it out – to B.B. King. The asshole sitting next to me who started out as Mr. Personable ended up drinking too much, hitting on me the whole time obnoxiously and almost making me miss seeing the legend. But I digress – one asshole in a group of 100K does not a bad experience make.
Imagine that there were close to 100K people at Jazz Fest just on Sunday – I really don’t know the final count – actually it was probably closer to that on Saturday when the weather was nicer and in the misty rain of Sunday, a much easier crowd to handle. But isn’t it a testament to good food and good music that that many people can be jammed together in one place and hardly any skirmishes ensue?
But now that it is over, I got the blues, not as good as B.B. King sings them, but the thrill is definitely gone and it is a whole other year till the next Jazz Fest. No more dancing gypsy girl, no more fly swatter dancing guy, no more Quint riding around on a cart, no more crawfish bread, gospel tent, crafts galore, Indian drummers and fry bread, jama jama and plantains, rosemint tea, wearing my fest hat, wearing my muddy sandals, walking and walking and walking, interviews with legends on the Allison Miner stage, checking the JF schedule nine million times, smiling nonstop, grooving to music that is as eclectic as a Martinique band in the middle of an antique carousel to Jose Feliciano on the Gentilly stage.
Goodbye Jazz Fest – till next year.