The Jazz & Heritage Festival: A Review
I can’t remember my first visit to New Orleans—not because I was drunk but because I was a baby. My father had just finished an internship in the U.S., and after that, the young family boarded a boat back to Brazil with all their pots and pans. My mother used to say there was a big storm at sea, and she was sick. I think I remember that somehow. Babies have a unique memory for their mothers' distress.
But this time, it was a different kind of storm. We went to the New Orleans Jazz & Heritage Festival, baby, and saw the Stones. There is the jazz festival, and there are the Rolling Stones. This show was different. Ladies and gentlemen, the Rolling Stones!
Our first night out, and anyone can see that this is a drinking town. Not only on Bourbon Street but every other street. It reminded me of Dublin, a party town with a million pubs. But I don’t drink. I walk around thinking — this will suck. But soon, I’ll realize that when you’re truly having fun, drinking comes around naturally. So, I have begun to drink. From that point on, I fell into the melting Gumbo pot, that is, New Orleans.
Southern Hospitality. And that invokes some belle epoque images. Southern Comfort is a self-selling idea; you want to believe it exists. But when you meet friendly and warm locals, the concept of hospitality comes alive, and you start to reciprocate, and that is how it works. Now you’re in, and there’s no way out. But New Orleans has two sides of a story.
The old South poetry and stories we’ve read come alive in New Orleans. The beautiful old houses in the old French neighborhood do the talking. The breeze blows through the Spanish moss hanging from the old oak trees and whispers, revealing the secrets—stories of beauty but also of pain, injustice, cruelty, and violence done to the enslaved Africans, the ones who had their lives taken to construct the city’s wealth, and now the heritage of a cultural wealth we come to see and enjoy. There are so many haunting whispers in the wind.
Next door to our funky little Inn is the family house of Degas, the celebrated French painter. A direct cousin of Degas, a lady named Jonnie, still lives in the house, and she runs a museum there. We passed by, coming back from the festival, and heard beautiful country music played by a group of young women at the side of the house. The atmosphere is inviting; there is a party and plenty of drinks. We stay and chat a little.
The New Orleans Jazz Heritage Festival brings about five hundred thousand people to town over a two-week period. Mardi Gras and the Jazz Festival are a lifeline of support for many locals. Everyone is trying to get a piece of the action, as tourists are a sure fountain of spraying dollars, and the city comes alive. But it is not just about money. Having fun is an everyday currency and staple in this town.
Around the Jazz Festival grounds, there is a party going on in just about every other house. They sell booze. That’s right. The Southern Comfort and Hospitality department allows people to sell booze at their front loan like kids sell lemonade. Festival goers stop for one more glass as the funky R&B does the rest through the unbelievably loud loudspeakers. But let’s go back to the Festival!
The Jazz Heritage Festival of New Orleans is a well-seasoned and well-greased machine that runs flawlessly. Local folks who overlook the event do take their jobs seriously. They are not just doing a job. They are into it! Organizers have figured out everything to the nth degree. There are cool-out tents, medical, lost and found, help, food, security, and everything. It is not only about amazing local music but also arts that are carefully curated, so there is no mass-produced crap in the selling tents.
We see people of all ages: boomers, children, teens, and even babies. Beer and other drinks are plentyful, but no hassle is noted, no fights, and male booze obnoxious behavior was seen.
The music lineup is a passport to the planet of blues, R&B, gospel, Cajun, zydeco, Afro-Caribbean, folk, Latin, rock, rap, country, and bluegrass. I saw moving performances by incredible artists and bands during my four days at the festival.
Most bands were unknown to me, but names like Jon Batiste, Wallflowers, Foo Fighters, and the Rolling Stones were scattered among the rare. Wait? Did you say the Rolling Stones? We are going to need an extra paragraph here.
As soon as we saw the black limousines pulling behind the main stage, the crowd’s endorphins levels of the crowd were visible. You could feel the spirit of anticipation and satisfaction as Jagger delivered the first notes. Boomers have an additional endorphin receptor in their brains. It’s called the Stones’ receptor. If you look with a microscope you might see the tongue logo in there. And this receptor gets showered with dopamine when the Stones perform their timeless tunes. The crowd goes insane.
The songs are not just songs; they are part of a rich tapestry of history embedded in the boomer generation. When performed by its creators, Boomers are not just reminded of their life: they are transported by a real-time machine to a real place where we can see and smell the past, and the past turns into the present for exactly the two hours they perform.
But this was not just another Stones show. This was a long-overdue Stones visit to New Orleans, a visit to pay tribute to the cultural values that are the Stones’ artistic lifeline. That’s what they did. The band came to participate in the festival as any other band. They used the sound equipment provided by the festival, and their stage props weren’t there. But touchable was their power of presence, raw and simple. This was priceless.
Apart from the local artists Mick brought to the stage, there is Chanel Haynes, the female vocalist and front-up singer Mick is touring with. Miss Chanel gave me goosebumps on those higher notes in the classical Gimme Shelter performance. It was a delight.
But there are more goodies in store for this New Orleans show. Mick now invites to the stage Irma Thomas, the “Soul Queen of New Orleans,”. Who recorded a popular cover of “Time is on My Side,” a song written by Jerry Ragovoy
Without the Stones, the festival goes on. Walking around, going from stage to stage. There were fourteen of them. Fantastic performances by Dumpstaphunk, Steve Riley & The Mamou Playboys, Then there’s larger- than-life Kingfish. I was blown away by Maggie Koerner. There was no time to see everything. So I let the wind blow me here and there.
After four days in the sun, eating hot foods, and the exertion of walking around for eight miles a day, one begins to fully relax into just being there and present. There is something to be said about working hard for your fun. This was a great gift to me. I came back home inspired, relaxed, and energized. I highly recommend going down to New Orleans and letting yourself go. See you next time NOLA.
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