Tonight on MyNetwork TV (formally UPN54 in New Orleans) you can watch the HD Documentary 'Going Back to New Orleans' at 8:00 PM EST. This movie tells the stories of various New Orleans musicians and their return to the city they love after Katrina from the point of view of Deacon John. Of course you might not want to wait and thanks to AOL (who owns Blogging New Orleans) you can watch the full documentary online on their True Stories site. Or you could just click through after the jump on this post. Unfortunately the video is in Windows Media Format so I and the rest of you Mac users can't see it, but we'll just wait till tonight.

via netscape.

What's going on here? Why am I posting so much? Today, in honor of Katrina I am attempting another 24 hour 24 post blogathon.

This is a continuation of the author's series on New Orleans lessons, to commemorate both her 10th anniversary of living in New Orleans as well as the 2nd anniversary of Hurricane Katrina.]

J is for Jasmine

Here's to the scent that aroused a musical revolution, waftting out from behind the ears and knees of the night-women. Was it this flower's perfume, so associated with dingy rooms where holy prostitutes made their living and where musicians birthed the sound called jazz, that inspired the name of this rebellious, heathen music? No one knows for sure.

But I can tell you true that in the deep spring of New Orleans, this flower releases her spicy-sweet smell to float across both courtyard gardens and junk-strewn streets. She'll grow in the most exclusive collections and cover rusty chain-link with her dainty white flowers and deep green leaves. Iin the summer, her sister takes over, with her evening blooms and her sticky-sweet fragrance scenting the humid night air. Her presence defines the decadence of this city, a land covered in flowers and perpetually drunk on the smell of sweet love-sweat and the dance of improvised music.

"Are you entertained by deep despair?" the singer asked, squinting at his music stand.

"You're our prophet!" the crowd shouted.

To the uninitiated, Daniel Johnston does not seem like a prophet. And he really doesn't seem like a indie rock hero. A large man with a belly that pushes his T-shirt out, stretching the neckline, Johnston is a manic depressive recluse. He's also a songwriting genius who's compiled over 20 albums during his bipolar career. His childlike singing wanders off-key at times. As he recites his rhymes, his tongue flicks in and out, and his arms shake with passion, fists clenched. If his lyrics weren't so smart, you might think him a little retarded.

But he's not retarded, just a little crazy and a lot lonely. Obsessed with unrequited love, Johnston hits a place in the heart where few dare to tread. "Hold me like a mother would, like I always knew somebody should," he sings, the melancholy before an upbeat chorus: "This is life/ And everything's all right/ Livin' livin' livin' livin' livin'." And who can dispute that "Love will wash your brain/ Hug you like a ghost/ It really is the most"?

Thanks in part to the 2006 biographical film The Devil and Daniel Johnston, he's gotten enough of a following to play at the House of Blues. After a solo set on both guitar and keyboard, he was then joined by local rockers Big Blue Marble. Before the show, he asked them to make a playlist of their favorite songs of his, and together they played "Casper," "Speeding Motorcycle," and "Love Not Dead." With five strings, including a lapsteel and a violin, along with piano and drums, Big Blue did both the gentle folky thing and the balls-out rocker thing with Johnston.

According to my sources, Johnston looked better than he had in quite some time, smiling occasionally and even coming out for an encore. The meds must be working. "True love will find you in the end," he sang before bidding us farewell.

The whole performance was a little over an hour, but what an hour it was. Afterward, we fans tried to hang out on the dance floor, basking in the post-rock vibe, but the ever-corporate HOB sent its minions to literally sweep us out into the night. And so goes life in America, where even a deep-down genuine weirdo can bust into the corporate music world by singing about Casper, the friendly ghost.

According to an article in the entertainment section (of all places) on nola.com, my source for all things New Orleanian, the owner of Snug Harbor, George Brumat has died. He was a young 63, and died of an apparent heart attack.

Brumat also was one of the former owners of perennial favorite beer joint Port of Call. I never had occasion to visit Port of Call, to my knowledge anyway, but I did get a chance last August to finally hit Snug Harbor. After years of wandering down Frenchman Street looking for interesting things to do outside of the French Quarter and looking in its windows my husband and I decided to finally take the plunge.

We ended up using the bathroom and then leaving after speaking with some very nice hostesses about the standing room only in the small performance area. I was pregnant at the time and not much for standing--or smoking, which is still allowed--so we ended up at The Spotted Cat, where the Jazz Vipers rocked (er, jazzed) my socks off.

Snug Harbor was a nice establishment, though, and hearing of Mr. Brumat's death makes me all the more wish I'd stayed that night to see what was what. Names like Charmaine Neville and various Maraslises always grazed the roster for the month, but never once did I give in to my curiosity and attend what is considered by some to be THE place to see jazz acts in New Orleans.

Mr. Brumat's passing only goes to show that you should just do whatever it is now or forget about it. Like the way things were before the Big K, that time will pass and it will be too late.

Mr. Brumat seemed to have made jazz appreciation--especially modern jazz--his life's work. The man had quite a few tricks up his sleeve to accomplish his goals, too. He made it possible for music students to get in for free so they could observe professionals in an appropriate setting for learning purposes. He reopened Snug Harbor as soon as he was able after Hurricane Katrina and took an economic loss just to give musicians a place to play and locals a place to go where they could forget about the chaos.

To me, that is more than dedication. It is the way of life for many folks in the Crescent City. You just don't find people like that anymore, and you generally don't find them outside of places like Nola.

Thus, Nola has lost another of her champions. As the comments on the article note, Mr. Brumat will be mourned and he will be missed. I hope his legacy--of kindness and care for building the culture and the morale around town--lives on through some other willing participant who will take over duties at Snug Harbor and keep it safe and sound until I get myself back down to New Orleans.

Any takers out there?

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This podcast is almost a 'betacast' and should be treated as such. We don't have theme music yet, but in the future we hope to have that and interviews with movers and shakers from around our fair city. If you would like to be interviewed on the podcast feel free to contact us via the tips page or the comments below.

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Blogging New Orleans's big sister Cinematical posted last week about a three city concert and a movie series that Netflix is doing around the country. Around the same time tipster Erik (from Netflix) pinged us about the show. Thursday June 21st at 7:00 pm CST in Riverfront Park at the Spanish Plaza (on the Mississippi River side of the Aquarium) Netflix is presenting the first of three free Summer concerts (the other two are in Baltimore, MD and at the Kennedy Space Center in Florida) as part of their Live! On Location tour. Dennis Quaid and the Sharks will start the night. Then the crowd will watch Quaid starring in 'The Big Easy' with a Southernized cajun accent. Luckily we will see the movie and not that strange USA network TV show. Should be interesting to see if another star of the film (and local resident) John Goodman makes an appearance. The best part about all this... This is a nationally promoted event that shows we are still in the hearts and minds of the rest of the country and even major companies are willing to help relieve some of the city's recovery stress with a night out on the river. Thanks Netflix.

edit: deleted the unneeded end phrase and half thought...

Although it's true that most of us in New Orleans are fairly provincial, you wouldn't have guessed it standing outside Tipitina's Wednesday night. A decidedly international crowd had gathered to see Manu Chao, world music avatar extraordinaire, on a rare visit to the Big Easy. (Although rumor said that it was his first American tour, I also heard that he'd played in Denver last summer.) My friend Tamara, filled with music lust, got there early and reports that all twenty or so diehards at the door were chattering away in Spanish while she, the lone English speaker, looked on.

By the time I got there, more Americans were on the scene, but Spanish phrases floated through the mild evening air. The will-call ticket line snaked halfway around the building, and several music fans clamored for a spare ticket, as the show had sold out 10 am that morning. One guy drove nine hours from Florida to see the show, but without a ticket, he was stuck outside. (When asked why he didn't purchase a ticket before driving for nine hours, he replied, "every time I plan ahead, it bites me in the a@@.")

There's nothing quite like being part of a sold-out crowd at Tip's, pressed together in a sweaty mass under the benevolent face of Professor Longhair. As the opening DJs played, Manu Chao peeked out from backstage, wielding a video camera. The room filled with anticipation, made palpable as a cloud. When backup band Radio Bemba Sound System finally emerged - shirtless! - you could practically feel the air sparking.

After a tantalizing intro, Manu Chao swaggered onto stage, decked out in a workman's shirt and a reggae cap. Not only did he play tunes from his upcoming album, Rainin In Paradise, but he touched on a bunch of hits from his famous Clandestino, a musical collage of beats and languages from the world over, and even a couple of songs from his Manu Negra days. Instead of playing the crowd's favorites straight off the album, he slowed them down, reggae style, then amped the melody with punk-rock guitar. All in Spanish, with the exception of the English lyrics of "Bongo Bong." This track, which had originally hypnotized me into fandom, he played as a punk-rock chant: Mama was queen of the mambo/ Papa was king of the congo/ Deep down in the jungle I start banging off his bongo/ Every monkey like to be/In my place instead of me/Cuz I'm the king of bongo, baby, I'm the king of bongo bong.

I hadn't expected to get caught up in a moshpit, but sure enough, there we were, all of us shoving each other, lifting a few brave souls above our heads. I ran into some of the Zydepunks there, and also caught DJ Davis slamming into his neighbors. Some fun!

In the end, I think the show was just a tease for the 1 am after party at Dragon's Den, which I didn't have the fortune to attend. Drenched, drunk, and happy, I went home instead, to try and acclimate myself back to American life.

Nearly two years after Katrina and Louis Armstrong Park remains closed indefinitely. The park houses Congo Square, a great open space where slaves were allowed to gather together on Sundays and play music from the 18th century until more than a decade before the Civil War. In addition to sharing music and dance, I'd imagine that the weekly gatherings provided people a chance to share news and catch up with family from around the city. The great musical heritage of New Orleans owes a lot to Congo Square and the public performance of African rhythms.

The 10th annual Freret Street Festival begins tomorrow at 11 am at the intersection of Freret St. and Napoleon Ave. Musical acts this year include Trombone Shorty, Hot 8 Brass Band. Morning 40 Federation and Washboard Chaz. There will be the usual collection of food vendors -- it wouldn't be a festival without them. I don't know whether or not Dunbar's will be there this year but I sure do miss their old place.

In addition to free music and entertainment, there is another purpose to the festival and that is home ownership. There will be seminars throughout the day about buying a home as well as information available throughout the festival presented by Neighborhood Housing Services of New Orleans (NHS). NHS offers programs year round to help potential homeowners make their way through financial hurdles including classes on cleaning up credit and no-interest loans for down payments and closing costs.

During a sudden stroke of genius a couple of months ago, I announced to The Husband that for my birthday I wanted to see a taping of Crescent City. Crescent City is a four year old radio show played on WWNO and produced by Fred Kasten. Tuesday night not only marked its fortieth show but also Kasten's retirement from WWNO so it was a great night to head down to Le Chat Noir and view the production.

Crescent City features Ronnie Virgets as host, house band Astral Project , and the Live Nude Radio Players. There are often local musical acts thrown into the mix as well. The highlight for me was to finally see the Live Nude Radio players, a three person troop acting out timely skits with pointed criticism and laud for all things New Orleans. The biggest personality there is Becky Allen and I loved seeing her live for a second time. I could listen to her laugh all night.

Crescent City starts up again in the fall for another successful season. I look forward to many more evenings with the local show pouring out of my radio. I hope to see them live again as well. Tuesday's show will air on WWNO May 27th at 8:00 pm. This should be required listening for all New Orleanians.

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This podcast is almost a 'betacast' and should be treated as such. We don't have theme music yet, but in the future we hope to have that and interviews with movers and shakers from around our fair city. If you would like to be interviewed on the podcast feel free to contact us via the tips page or the comments below.

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[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

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This podcast is almost a 'betacast' and should be treated as such. We don't have theme music yet, but in the future we hope to have that and interviews with movers and shakers from around our fair city. If you would like to be interviewed on the podcast feel free to contact us via the tips page or the comments below.

EDIT: FYI, the music in this podcast is copyrighted and owned by its creator, Guymon Adams. If you like please purchase some for yourself.

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[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!

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.

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.