The music was already pounding hard enough to shake the bones of the legendary racehorses buried deep in the mud when I arrived to The New Orleans Jazz and Heritage Festival 2013. The crowds trickled through the gates in their ponchos and rain boots underneath a sky that never made good on its flood promises. Being my first time at Jazz Fest, I hurried to the one familiar face: Royal Teeth. They took the Acura stage and showed off their newly polished sound. Gary Larsen and Nora Patterson took turns fighting for dominance in the vocals, and their cooler sound matched with their same energy made the performance ethereal. They proved their strength in hypnotizing a crowd afloat on tarps in the mud. While the set list has changed dramatically in the past two years, they closed with “Wild,” and the crowd went the same.
After that upbeat performance, I went off in search of some of the jazz
and heritage I had been promised. At the Congo Square stage I found Corey Henry and the Treme Funktet playing to a crowd being buffeted by the winds and brassy interludes in turn. Their bluesy sound and easygoing presence recalled the neighborhoods of New Orleans from where the members hailed. They brought in a female vocalist for “House of the Rising Sun,” and upon closer inspection, the guitar solos soaring up to the seagulls overhead turned out to be an electric violinist.
In need of a serious dosage of funk, I headed to the Gentilly Stage for the Iguanas, another native New Orleans band. Their blend of Chicano rock and other various Latin funk influences resulted in long, sustained chords that vibrated the race fields, pulsing over a snappy snare beat. Still, with two guitarists and a saxophonist, they pleased the crowd of all ages with surprising melodic twists and mellow harmonies. Their Western sound mixed with their jazzy R&B roots made for a unique sound that could only be found in a blurry conglomerate like New
Orleans. Like the city, their music retained different elements of their influences, but it was hard to tell where one stopped and the other began. Their drowsy vocals and sharp snare would give way to a sax solo that could only be inspired by the blues, before a guitar solo pulled the song back safely into the realm of rock.
At the Jazz and Heritage Stage I stumbled upon Kirk Joseph’s Tuba Tuba, a whimsical name for a group of seven sousaphones, a keyboardist, a drummer, and a guitarist. I suppose including all of the instruments would make the band’s name quite a mouthful. As it was, their slow melodies were hard to swallow, but after a while the distinct sound became comforting, like a steady heartbeat throughthe songs. Oldies like “Why Can’t We Be Friends” were re-interpreted, with tubas taking the bass and the melodies, and their harmonies were impressive, to say the least. More impressive might be the sheer strength it took to play the set in those weather conditions. At one point Joseph paused to take a break. “Y’all, it’s hell up here,” he explained. “We’re like metal kites.”
At this point I needed a break as well, and I found the walls of New Orleans cuisine more than accommodating. I waded through the mud and tenuous bridges made of plywood to buy some red beans and rice, and took a while to meander through stalls and the smaller stages. I was just wiping the mud off my boots when I caught the faintest strains of a medley of “Song of the South” and “Any Man of Mine.” I followed the sound to the Acura Stage, and I pushed my way to the front to see Laura Bell Bundy peddling her brand of All-American wholesomeness
mixed with some down-home southern sex appeal. She took control of the crowd, and had them mesmerized as she gave two-step lessons. Her syrupy soprano was complemented by a fiddler, a necessity for any self-respecting country band, and two backup singers/dancers that came to her aid in the harmonies and dance lessons. It had been a while since I had seen a decent country-rock act, and it seemed the crowd felt the same. I could sense the audience’s trepidation, then,
when she proposed showing off her style of hick-hop, a blend of country and hip-hop. “Because,” Bundy explained, “if you grew up in the South, you grew up listening to two things: country, and hip-hop.” She then launched into a song called “Can You Do-Si-Do”, a sexually charged slow jam with a lot of trailer park puns. It was fascinating nonetheless, and strangely catchy, but the crowd was relieved
when she jumped back into her country-rock standards.
Back at Congo Square, Papa Grows Funk took the stage. Their music buzzed with anticipation, edged forward by an itching snare and a pulsing bass, always closely followed through with fluid brassy melodies. Lead vocalist John Gros delivered on his promise of funk, and the band kept the performance light and lively. At the Lagniappe stage, I made sure to catch Grayson Capps, who had a crowd of patrons dancing to his twangy folk rock. His shaggy hillbilly persona matched his breathy vocals, and judging by the dancing, the crowd was more than happy to get in touch with their country roots.
As the sky darkened overhead, I made my way around the track back to the Acura stage where my day had started for another big act: Maroon 5. I learned two things: Adam Levine knows how to rock a pair of skinnies, and Maroon 5’s penchant for pop sounds recently has done nothing to diminish their status as a rock band. The band played songs from every era of their career, kicking it off with “Payphone” and diving back into standards like “The Sun” and “Sunday Morning.” Levine made sure to show off his guitar skills, including his ability to
strike a chord in mid-jump. The band focused on their newer sound,
and played songs like “Daylight” and “Stereo Hearts”, with Levine rapping Travie McCoy’s lyrics with his own distressed inflection. The concert wouldn’t have been complete, though, without an acoustic/sing-a-long version of “She Will Be Loved,” and the crowd of all ages complied. After that the band jumped back into their high energy with “Moves Like Jagger”, and the spell was broken, but everyone hummed
the last refrains of their own favorite Maroon 5 song as they splashed out of the giant puddle back into the streets of New Orleans.
