America’s quirky cultural treasure, the city of New Orleans, is celebrating the 50th year of its cultural treasure: the New Orleans Jazz and Heritage Festival, whose jambalaya of music, food, and crafts is perhaps more spicily enjoyable than any other gathering in the world.
“The Fest,” as it is more colloquially known, began April 26-28 this year and continues May 2-5 with a mix of local and national musicians ranging from community gospel choirs from Morgan City, La., to pop-rock royalty, such as Diana Ross, John Fogerty, Dave Matthews, and Widespread Panic. The latter were late additions after the Rolling Stones canceled due to Mick Jagger’s heart surgery, followed by Fleetwood Mac bowing out due to a serious flu for Stevie Nicks.
At some point, everybody who is anybody wants to play at the Fest, and a half-century of Fest memories includes plenty in which superstars joined each other in inspired collaborations.
On one of my walls hangs an early-year Fest photo of B.B. King, the city’s famous late piano funkmeister Professor Longhair, George Porter of the Meters, and blues men Bukka White and Roosevelt “the Honeydripper” Sykes. From another Fest, maybe 15 years ago, my memory will forever include a radiant sun low in the sky as, in the midst of a brilliant Paul Simon set, the tenor majesty of Aaron Neville unexpectedly joined in the refrain of “Bridge Over Troubled Water.”
What’s best, though, is how, as one wanders around the fair grounds from local craft tent to delectable food line, the sounds waft in, first from one stage and then, just a few steps away, from another. The musical mix is a gumbo of traditional jazz, Cajun, zydeco, rhythm and blues, funk, African, Caribbean, rock, and who knows what else. In the Economy Hall traditional jazz tent, as New Orleans native maestros such as Dr. Michael White and Gregg Stafford try to keep alive the music of Satchmo and Jelly Roll, a little white-haired guy named Eddie spends hours dancing, twirling umbrella in hand, at the front of what T-shirts say is his “Half-Fast Marching Club.” (Say that fully fast for the intended meaning.)
Those who don’t dance will likely be sitting in rows, braving a hot bowl of alligator sauce piquante or savoring an herb-creamed Crawfish Monica washed down with rosemint iced tea. Or maybe duck and andouille gumbo, chased by an ice-cold beer.
The sights, the sounds, the smells, the tastes: Nothing can compare, ma chère — pas du tout.
