[Terra Nola documents the long-distance love affair between a New Yorker and New Orleans.]

As you may or may not (and most likely it's the latter) have noticed I have been out of touch lately and posted little on our dear city. Unlike Chris Rose, whom we hunted down enthusiastically when he took a brief hiatus not so long ago, I am sure that my absence went under the radar screen.

I sort of feel like Nola in general is gliding under that radar screen with me lately. I remember when the Big K hit and how all the major newspapers and online sites like New York Times and Yahoo, to name a few, had gobs and gobs and GOBS of stories about the city. most of them were negative, of course, centering around the brutal, violent and deadly aftermath of the hurricane when the levees broke. Then I watched as the information, and sensationalizing, dwindled until there was nary a drop of info on Nola to be found anywhere, save the usual suspects like nola.com and the New Orleans section of Craigslist.

The lack of interest was noted on bloggingneworleans as well. We'd receive fewer and fewer hits and comments on our blogs and features until our numbers made me wonder why we were bothering to blog in the first place. When major annual events like Jazz Fest and Mardi Gras hit we of course received record visits to the site and innumerable comments. After those events, though, the visits would return to a trickle.

Despite these numbers, and a lack of interest (still!) from the government, local interest continues to abound. We continue to write to you about the goings on in the city, both good and bad, and attempt to interpret events and decisions that affect us. A lot of what we do is complaining, I guess, but I would hope that complaining represents the feelings of Nola citizens.

After all, if we're not writing about New Orleans and complaining about the mistreatment--or complete lack of treatment, if you ask me (I know you didn't but this is my feature!)--then who will? And if no one is writing about it, then where will folks who care go to get their info, biased though it may be by people who love the city and hate to see her at the center of so much peril?

Sure, you could continue to read the Times Picayune and check out nola.com. Those sites are forums for unbiased journalism that cover far more than the powers that be at bloggingneworleans could ever hope to. Yet we offer a little something extra, I think, a little lagniappe if you will--and I know you will otherwise you wouldn't be reading this feature or checking out our site.

We offer what I hope is more of a man/woman about town perspective, from deep within the trenches. I of course, living in New York, don't qualify for that kind of perspective, but you know what I mean. The major newspapers and online sites offer more of a bird's eye view, which has its place too.

When I want to hear the heartbeat of the city, though, I head to the blogs of my colleagues. I feel like despite their misgivings about local government, the state of crime and the future of the city's economy, their hearts of gold will cut a clear path through the mishmash to what's really going on, how people feel about it and what they're gonna do about it.

The commenters to these posts are another source of indisputable truth. They may be few and at times far between, but what they say always touches me or points out an angle I hadn't thought of.

Their comments also let me know they're actually out there, living, working, trying to get by, interested enough to reflect and offer observations about our blogs. They remind me that even if just one person reads my feature then that is all that matters. That person may or may not agree with me, but I appreciate that he or she took the time to bother, when so many others do not.

Just when I think no one is out there in the ether, no one is watching or paying attention, someone offers me words of praise or thanks or happiness that we are posting about the city. It's an odd connection in that I will most likely never meet any of these commenters, but the connection is all the same. It's not one I share with my cohorts here in New York.

In fact, I may never get to meet my colleagues at bloggingneworleans, but that is incidental. We are united in our interest in the city, in preserving what it was and hopefully in being a part of its future.

That's the good thing about New Orleans. I think about the 'future' of such cities like New York and LA, but their future seems much like their present. With New Orleans the picture is so very different. Having been washed back to next to nothingness in some places, the slate wiped clean, it is possible to rebuild with a new vision. The possibilities are endless.

Someone has to document this rebuilding, this new vision, this New New Orleans. I guess, for now, we'll be the ones to do that documenting. And those who read about it will be the ones who are interested in being a part of the process, or in at least being witness to it.

It's nice to be connected to people in such a way. It's nice to know there are other folks out there like me who have the future of the city at heart.

[Terra Nola documents the long-distance love affair between a New Yorker and New Orleans.]

For more than a year now I've been documenting my love for New Orleans, generally one week at a time. It's been a long year in some ways as we all slowly continue to try to move out from under the shadow of Hurricane Katrina and back into the pale moonlight--perhaps the kind Nola's old pal Anne Rice would've imagined. Despite Katrina and the unfortunate calamities of late, I love the city of New Orleans perhaps more than ever.

The question of 'why?' is one I'll probably never be able to answer fully; the question of 'why now?' I certainly won't be able to answer, and I shouldn't have to. Not at this point, not after all we've been through together.

My courtship with New Orleans has always been a rocky one. Our geographic distance has certainly contributed to the emotional one between us. An excellent case in point is in the days after Katrina. I was nowhere to be found, grieving from afar, watching the atrocities unfold and, sadly, I admit, glad I wasn't there.

That feeling passed quickly, however, and I've been fervently searching out ways to get back down to the old Big Easy, trying--still! Amidst all the crime!--to justify moving down here. And, yes, I'm going to refer to Nola as the Big Easy. I think I've earned it.

As I look around my apartment, I'm sure I have. Sure, anyone can drum up a copy of a New Orleans travel guide and call themselves an expert. Perhaps someone could even go as far (as I have) as to order a Jazz Fest poster to display proudly in her home, proclaiming to all that not only has she been to Nola, she took in some tunes while she was down there. That still doesn't make her an expert. I'm no expert, rather, I'm more of a connoisseur of New Orleans.

Whom else, let me ask you, received not one but two Mardi Gras-colored baby blankets to celebrate the arrival of my own little mirliton? Whom else uses pens from the Column Hotel--pens foisted from the front desk, perhaps, but pens nonetheless? Whom else preserves the finish on her end tables with coasters handmade by Jeannette Landphair purchased at the open-air flea market in the French Quarter? And whom else, I ask you, flaunts a Big Easy Roller Girls t-shirt instead of one with an un-ironic tee with a 'chocolate city' reference scrabbled on it?

How about the shot glasses tak--borrowed from Pat O'Brien's? (Ok, I realize that may be a tad touristy, but I had to start somewhere). What about the shelf of books on New Orleans history and culture? How about the two pictures of New Orleans historic locations my father-in-law sent me when he uncovered them in a storage unit? How about the tattoo of the Fleur De Lis in the center of my back? How about the fact that I actually know how to spell Fleur De Lis? Without having to look it up.

None other than me. To Nola, however, these things are meaningless. See, the thing is, like I said in my very first column, although New Orleans has stolen my heart, I'm technically married to New York. A recent article on nola.com says moving to New Orleans isn't quite as crazy an idea as it may seem. Actually, a closer look at the article, whose author is extremely skeptical of statistics (and rightfully so--those in the article are skewed), reveals it's actually not such a great idea. I'm still not convinced either way.

After all, people don't necessarily move to a new city based on statistics, shaky or otherwise. They move there for a job, perhaps, or because of family. Outside of those things they move because of something entirely intangible--like the perfect snowcone (from Sal's, no joke!) or the way it feels to bask in the shade of the magnolia trees.

All I know is that I still love the city and want to be a part of it--and its recovery--in any way possible, even if I can only be there in spirit. If that doesn't make me at least an honorary citizen of New Orleans, then I don't know what does. Plenty of folks have left, many of whom never came back--and never will, most likely--but I'm still as enchanted as ever.

Sure, I was upset when Brangelina moved into the neighborhood and I was mighty hot and bothered about the prospect of Starbucks setting up shop in the French Quarter, but none of those things can really change the very heart of what makes New Orleans special, can they? Well, at least they can't in my mind.

So, exactly where am I going with all this, you may ask? Well, I'd like to be going with it to New Orleans, but since I can't currently make it--the job, the rent, the husband's schooling, the baby--I'll just have to keep my feet planted firmly on Terra Nola. That said, I think I should be able, after all these crazy years, to count myself as a New Orleans citizen, even if honorary. What do you think? Have I earned my stripes, even if from afar? Do my countless visits, my weekly sonnets to the city, my love of all things New Orleanian add up to the real thing (or at least close to it)?

If not, tell me what it would take to become an honorary citizen of New Orleans. I may just accept the challenge. After all, she's captured my heart, if not yet my feet.

[Terra Nola documents the long-distance love affair between a New Yorker and New Orleans.]

Yes, you read that correctly--the famous Neville Brothers will be performing live June 14th, the opening night of summer fest at Prospect Park's Bandshell, located in my home borough of Brooklyn, New York. The concert marks the start of the annual Celebrate Brooklyn series of events.

Perhaps this is coincidence and nothing more, but to me it's a simple twist of fate--or perhaps karma--that while I missed out on all the fun at this year's Jazz Fest due to the arrival of my bouncing baby boy, I now have the opportunity to see what may be one of the top acts to ever come out of New Orleans. Sweet!

Oh--did I mention it's FREE???

Ok, ok. I know many folks have a bee in their proverbial bonnets over the ongoing 'thing' between the Neville Brothers not performing at Jazz Fest since Hurricane Katrina, but I am still excited to see this act in my hometown. (According to my sources, the Neville Brothers didn't play last year due to Aaron's asthma and this year because, as Art Neville said, "...it's got to be right.")

Seriously, though--it's the Neville Brothers. In Brooklyn. Like, less than a hundred yards from my house. Literally--like a hundred yards!!!

In fact, if the baby is not in the mood to be out and about, I can probably open my windows and hear Aaron Neville's sweet, unmatchable voice wafting through the breeze. The only thing I'd be missing is some iced rose mint tea. And, best of all--no waiting in line for the port-o-potties!

I may have mentioned at one point during my completely obvious jealous rage at my colleagues getting to sweat it out among the happy masses at the fair grounds that I intended to create a Jazz Fest-like experience in my own home. Well, now I may get to put my money where my mouth is. I'll have the music and the crowds--I can assure you that anyone who is worth his/her salt in Brooklyn is gonna hightail it to this performance.

I'll even be able to experience the food of Jazz Fest if I can make it to my local New Orleans-style restaurant (take your pick: Two Boots Brooklyn or the new-ish Cafe NoNo). Wait--actually, I forgot! The bandshell performances are extra cool in that one can purchase food from Two Boots at the refreshment tents! Hah! Fried okra here I come! I know there won't be any crawfish Monica on hand to authenticate the experience, but I don't eat crawfish anyway. Betcha they're serving up Abita along with the Yuengling though.

Ok, so what else does that leave? Well, I won't be able to purchase any chatchkas or a Jazz Fest t-shirt--you know, to like, prove that I was there--but I did finally get my 2007 Jazz Fest commemorative poster yesterday. I selected the Congo Square version--those offerings from year to year seem to be just a tad cooler for some reason. This particular poster, titled "ReBirth" was signed by the artist, Terrance Osborne, but not by its subject, Philip Frazier, a founding member of the Rebirth Brass Band. It ran me, along with tax, shipping and handling, over $250, which was still cheaper than a trip to New Orleans and entry to the actual Fest, and thereby a bargain.

The only thing left for me to figure out is who's going with me, as it won't be the baby. My guess is he won't like the loud noises. He should be partial to the Neville Brothers, among others, however, as I fed him a steady diet of New Orleans-style music and jazz in utero.

Well, truthfully, the only OTHER thing left to consider is whether the Neville Brothers will return to New Orleans and to Jazz Fest to occupy their traditional (rightful?) spot as the closing act of the festival. Somehow things just haven't been the same without them. Or, perhaps, it was time for a change anyway. Far be it from me to decide. All I know is that I have the luxurious opportunity to check them out and I'm going to do it, one way or another--even if it's from 100 yards afar.

Although it pains me to admit it, the music scene in New York really isn't that great. It pales so far in comparison to New Orleans it might as well be transparent. Sure, there are jazz clubs here and there but they're tiny and expensive, not to mention the acoustics in most settings are less than desirable. All shows at the Bandshell are outdoors, so other than the occasional bus going by the sound is near-perfect.

I'll do my best to get some pics from the show and report back to all ya'll who were unable to see the Neville Brothers. I just hope the show lives up to my expectations. Unfortunately, I've already started building this event up in my mind as the be-all, end-all outdoor summer experience. Either way, I'll let you know how it goes!

Photo courtesy of Diane Ham

[Recovery Pen is a column about New Orleans festivals, and the other life events sprinkled in-between.]

At the risk of coming across like one of those weak sitcom episodes where they rerun clips under the guise of the characters reminiscing over old times, I've decided to join those who feel they must process Jazzfest by picking out the highlights. I know it's been a few days since Fest closed its gates, but the music is still playing in my head.

Read through my picks, and feel free to add your favorite moments in the "Comments" section at the bottom.

Best Crowd Singalong: Bonerama's version of the Beatles' "Helter Skelter." I belted out those lyrics at my loudest, and I still couldn't hear myself over the crowd. Something about having four trombones blasting in your face makes you want to scream.

Best Food Risk: The Alligator Pie. I got it in a combo with crabmeat-stuffed shrimp and fried green tomatoes, but the pie was so good it startled me. The gator tastes like ground beef, blended perfectly with just enough onion and tomato. It's rare to find such peppery stuffing in such perfect flakiness, at least when it comes to food.

Most Fun Quasi-Celebrity Encounter: I caught Times-Picayune reporter Gwen Filosa in the Media Tent on her day off, and let me tell you, that gal is a hoot! A little beered-up, Ms. Filosa had just returned from the Allen Toussaint show, where she got some pretty hot photos of the crowd as reflected in the tuba player's bell. When she saw my shot of Dwayne Dopsie, she asked me if I was a photographer. Of course I told her that I was.

Most Provocative Looking Instrument: No, this is not another ode to Joe Krown's Organ. Ba Cissoko, a visiting ensemble from the Republic of Guinea, brought the kora with them. It's a harp with a belly! Visually, it's masculine and feminine simultaneously, bringing a much-needed bit of gender-bending to a festival full of horns.

Nastiest Tease: During an amazing set, Taj Mahal started in on the opening lick of Hendix's "Purple Haze." After the audience began screaming in recognition of that famous tune, he then segued into one of his own songs. I love Taj Mahal's music all right, but it's not nice to tease us with Jimi, man. I stayed until the end, hoping he'd segue back to it, but he never did. Evil!

Celebrity Pound Watch: Maybe I just haven't been paying attention, but has Jill Scott put on some weight? Not that it really matters for such an awesome singer and strong woman; those extra pounds probably helped her belt out those stratospheric high notes at the end of her set, when she went diva on us with a climactic aria.

Hottest Pairing: To help him get his groove on, John Legend opted for a little audience participation and chose a slow-dance partner from the crowd. Mike already reported on this duo from his perspective at the Fest, but I was also at that show. I don't know her name, but that woman was Large and In Charge. A hell of a dancer, too: she kept pace with Legend's gyrating hips and sizzling steps. As I was back deep in the crowd, I really appreciated that he picked someone who could be seen from afar.

Best Advertisement for the West Bank: Knowing that dancing in the aisles was verboten, I tried to avoid the Gospel Tent this year, although the music did suck me in a time or two. On one foray, I was struck by the energy of a mixed-race gospel choir. Shades of Praise had let me down, but the singers of St. Joseph the Worker Music Ministry were full of the Gospel. Folks from Up North might find it odd that a Catholic church sponsors such a vibrant gospel choir, but I was mostly surprised that this group hails from Marrero.

Top Jazzfest Resolution: The worst thing about Jazzfest, like Mardi Gras, is that one can't be everywhere at once. I sure wish I'd seen the tribute/ jazz funeral for Alvin Batiste, a historic event, to be sure. I never saw the Gangbe Brass Band from Benin West Africa, and I hate to miss those international acts. I didn't catch Harry Connick, Jr., either, nor did I see Ludacris or New Edition or Joss Stone. Even though I could hear him, I should have tried to see Dr. John, too. But instead of dwelling in regret, I resolve to get out and see more live music this summer. First on my list? The New Orleans Bingo! Show, which I hear combines music, theater, and the absurd.

Best Jazzfest flag: If you haven't been to the Fest, let me remind you that it's a crowded place, especially on the weekends at the big stages. Because of the crowds, many Fest goers carry flags with them so their friends can find them easily. This also works well for folks without flags, who can navigate their way around using these flags as landmarks. "Turn left at the Kermit the Frog, then go right at the Gumby," you might hear someone shouting into a cellphone. I took this picture as I went into the Fest on the first day, and it's still my favorite. It works on so many levels: a symbol of the mix of music heard at the Fairgrounds, a blatant reminder of many fans' alcoholism, and a handy way to mix drinks with the vodka you smuggled inside.

Sexiest Singer, Female: I can't decide between Lucinda Williams, with her smoky, sultry voice and her big old belt buckle, or Gillian Welch, with her sweet smile and love of the banjo. I guess loving the banjo doesn't necessarily make someone sexy, but she can play it while also playing the harmonica. That skill might could come in handy in the bedroom, no? Guys, what do you think?

Sexiest Singer, Male: This one's easy. I'm officially in love with Dwayne "Dopsie," frontman for the Zydeco Hellraisers. Although it's true that Mark Mullins of Bonerama was pretty cute, with his sweat-soaked blue shirt bringing out the blue in his eyes, he couldn't compete with Dopsie's biceps and raw animal passion. Plus, there's something about a man squeezing an accordion...

So it may be that my jazzfest blogs have been a teensy obsessed with sex. But if the music doesn't move you deep down, way deep down where hunger and lust begin, then what's the point? You may as well just stay home and get your music by plugging into a machine. Live music has its own magic, which is why you'll see me out at the local clubs as long as my cash holds out. And if you're from out of town, I'll see you at the Fest next year!

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I read in today's paper about the amazing send-off for Alvin Batiste, the jazzman who had passed away about 12 hours before he was scheduled to appear at Sunday's Fest. Instead, Harry Connick, Jr. and Branford Marsalis, slated to take part in the tribute to Mr. Batiste, led his jazz funeral. I hear the energy in there was so powerful that Harry stuck around long past the time he should have been making his way to his own stage to perform.

Sure wish I could have been there. The event had a two-hour time slot, so I figured I could get something to eat and then mosey that way. But I got distracted, as I so often do, and found myself in the gospel tent instead. The band was slammin -- electric -- and I am not one to pass up some good gospel.

Dottie Peoples (pictured above) was the hour's diva, resplendent in a glittery indigo dress and a fancy chignon that held up through hollerin and stompin and the kind of singin that makes your insides go watery. Each time she dabbed her sweat with her lacy black kerchief, the folks around me lined up with their cameras.

A true gospel queen, Dottie commanded that tent, every last soul in there. The fast ones were super-hot, but even the slow ones worked on me. She sang "He Has the Last Word," reminding us to be strong despite life's trials. And when a lady like Dottie Peoples tells you to be strong, you're gonna be strong. I mean, what else are you gonna do? Say no?

My favorite part was when Dottie told us to get up and start dancing in the aisles. As I mentioned previously, this year's Gospel Tent has been pretty reserved, with staff reprimanding anyone who's not at a seat. But at Dottie's word, those aisles were full of black folks, white folks, churchgoers and freaks, everyone shaking and sweating together. Afterwards, she told us all to give a neighbor a hug. Let me tell you, that Gospel Tent's got the warmest hugs around.

So I didn't get to see the historic jazz funeral for Mr. Batiste. But we helped send him off the best we could.

For his entire life Harry Connick Jr. has dreamed of one thing. Being a well-known musician, actor and humanitarian as well as one of the world wide faces of New Orleans weren't in that dream. They have been only bonuses on the way to achieving it. On Sunday afternoon, only when he began to tickle the keys of a Steinway grand piano on the Acura Stage at 6:00 pm CST at the end of the 2007 New Orleans Jazz and Heritage Festival did he finally get to do what he had wanted to do since he was a kid. He closed out Jazz Fest as a featured performer and the act that people were willing to brave high heat and humidity to see.

Connick's set began with a rousing cheer from the crowd who welcomed the New Orleans hometown son back to the Crescent City to sit and play awhile and help lift our spirits in a way no other performer can.

After his opening song, Harry connick, Jr. stood up from the piano and grabbed the microphone at center stage and began to thank everyone for coming out to see him play and for helping him realize his dream. I'm sure this is what he always thought about while growing up and attending NOCCA. Heck he probably wanted to do this right after he started playing music at age five (according to his bio) (which was right around the third Jazz Fest in 1972).

If anyone should be thanked, its Harry. You have been one of the many faces of New Orleans culture since 1989 (Harry Met Sally soundtrack) and have helped the city emmensely since Katrina in more ways than one. The least we could do to thank you was let you have a lead spot at Jazz Fest. See you next year.

I have to be honest with you I almost didn't make it to the end of day 6. It was just way to hot for me. At around 5:15 I started to trudge over to the Grandstand to sit in the best air conditioning available at teh Fairgrounds because all the water in the world wasn't enough to stop my approaching heat exhaustion. I sat down on the concrete floor took some pictures and called my wife to decide what to do. I got together what strength I could splashed some water on my face and walked over to see the begining of the Harry Connick Jr set (which I'll post on later) then I walked out of the Fairgrounds at the end of my last day of Jazz Fest 2007. As you see above, I wasn't the only one heading out onto Mystery St for a walk home and a nice cool shower.

Before leaving (and after sitting down on the floor of the air conditioned Grandstand to cool down) I caught a trio of drummers playing with a rhythm that helped pound out my growing headache (strangely enough). The spriit of the Fa Yi Yi played amoungst the pictures of Mardi Gras Indians and New Orleans cultural traditions. While they chanted passers by would stop and dance a little in time with the beat.

Across from the drummers, the Zulu Social Club had a booth set up with custom Jazz Fest coconuts on display and photos of their historic Mardi Gras Krewe.

Next to the booth was this scary Zulu costume covered in beads and fake (I hope) skulls.

In the center of the Grandstand's open area was the Allison Miner Music Heritage/Lagniappe Stage with Elder Edward Babb and the Madison Bumble Bees finishing up an interview with a special show.

Up top you see the culmination of a latin cheese making demonstration at the Cajun Cabin. The Dona Blanca House of Cheese of St. Rose, LA was making fresh Queso Fresco for those in attendance. OK, not fresh. The process takes a little longer than the demo allowed so the head cheeser just showed us all the parts and gave us a pre-finished product (see above).

She told us that in cheese making acidity, temperature and quality of milk are all the really matter. She even gave us a quick recipe for crumble cheese that required only vinegar and milk and a little time. In the end the cheese had a kick to it that I didn't really expect and an extremely plain tortilla underneath (to avoid masking the cheese taste). Unfortunately I don't think this was the best food to add to this high temp day, but it was cool and helped pass the time between stages.

According to everyone around me Joss Stone has changed. She has fresh dark red-pink dyed hair, but other than that the music is exactly what you would expect. With her soul music and raspy deep beautiful voice. In fact, while I'm posting this, she is singing at the Gentilly Stage right near the press tent. Her voice seems to surprise everyone who has never heard her sing before. I was surprized she was able to pull off those wonderous solos and call outs in this heavy heat. I mean jeez, she's from England, right? More pics after the jump.

A Cancer from the Lower 9, Lionel Milton is one of my favorite local artists. Pre-K, he used to have a studio in the Lower Garden District on Magazine Street -- remember that corner gallery with the graffiti-style art covering the outer walls? --but now, if you want to see his work, you've got to catch him at the Congo Square marketplace. Or check him out online at www.elleone.com.

Lionel studies the vibrant characters of our New Orleans, with crazy shapes and color that knows no bounds. He's standing here next to his piece "Give It Up For The Band," an ode to late, late nights at the Maple Leaf. It's dedicated to those two or three ladies who hang on until there's nothing left to do except "give it up for the band."

I told the artist that I had no idea what he was talking about.

I also really dug this piece below, called "Backyard Boogie," which speaks for itself. It's perfect for a Sunday afternoon, when most New Orleanians who ain't at the Fest are outside, playing dominos and drinking cold wine.

I had to share this photo of Dwayne "Dopsie" fronting his Zydeco Hellraisers at the Fais-Do-Do stage. Just got to the Fest and hauled butt over there to catch their act. This one was taken during their cover version of Hendrix's "Hey Joe." A woman next to me shared the fact that she was around when Hendrix was playing his tunes the first time. Can't say I've been to the Fest without hearing from a veteran child of the 60s.

Dwayne Dopsie -- pronounced Doop-sie -- is the son of the "King of Zydeco" Rockin' Dopsie, but a hell of an entertainer in his own right. Not to mention those biceps, which make me swoon!

Its not to late for a round up of day 5 I hope. Up top the crowd slowly making its way out of the gates at the end of yet another long day. Sometimes you'll here a moo or two, possibly because of the cattle calling feeling of leaving with thousands through such a small space.

The Iguanas ended the day at the Fais Do Do Stage.

Now this is what I should have done. House party right after the fest in walking distance of the Fairgrounds.

Over at the Grandstands on the Allison Minor Music Heritage Stage, the Joe Krown Organ Combo closed out the day to a tired, but appreciative crowd.

The only way to keep cool, a Mist Tent.

Off camera a few couples are dancing off the heat of the day to Dr. Michael White and the Original Liberty Jazz Band featuring Thais Clark.

Speaking of Dr. Michael White, Mark Samuels of Basin Street Records (and podcast interviewee) was standing outside of the Fairgrounds afterwards letting everyone know about two late night concerts in the city from Kermit Ruffins and Jon Cleary.

They don't call it the Acura Stage for nothing. Acura has a small showroom right next to the stage where you can sit in (and enjoy the air conditioning of) five of their vehicles. Plus, out front, they have foam couches for fest goers to rest on.

OK, Apple faithful. Yesterday one of favored Jobsian artists graced Jazz Fest with his contemporary rock and great guitar riffs. John Mayer closed out day 5 on the Acura Stage to a packed crowd and of course I got you some great pics.

So needless to say the crowd loved the entire set and Mayer didn't come close to disappointing. And, if you want to here it on your iPod, you can get a live recording of the set from the Live Recordings tent here or via MunckMusic (if he decides to sell the set).