Jazz and Rain

A Mardi Gras Indian at Jazz Fest '08



Haz and I were walking away from the Jazz Fest food stands with soft shell crab po boys in our hands when it happened:

Rain.

We had been waiting for it all day. We just didn’t think it would arrive when we decided to grab a bit to eat.

Haz stuffed his New Orleans seafood sub into his mouth and quickly, as if on cue, pulled our rain gear out of the small backpack I was wearing. I wrapped my po boy in a napkin and held it in my hand.

Large, thundering drops pounded on our heads, bare arms, and jeans as we fumbled with our rain jackets and rain pants purchased several years ago from a grocery store in Japan. The jackets and pants were tucked neatly into his and hers green and blue pouches no larger than a paperback novel. Attempting to wrestle the gear out of the mini bag in pouring rain was no easy thing, especially with an increasingly soggy, smushed soft shell crab po boy in my hand.

As we fiddled with our Japanese rain gear, a troupe of Mardi Gras Indians started chanting and banging their drums and bangles on the Jazz Heritage Stage directly in front of us.

“Bring the rain, bring it down…. rain, rain, let it rain…”

African American men dressed in huge suits of florescent feathers and masks stomped and danced all over the stage. Mardi Gras Indian groups and parades are a huge part of New Orleans’ cultural history, with dances and costumes inspired by Native Americans. These tradition also takes cues from African cultures, inspiring a decidedly random mix that best exists in cities like this.

The Indians continued to sing as I finally managed to shimmy into my rain pants without falling into the mud. We could do nothing but laugh and vaguely dance as I resumed eating my soggy po boy and Haz struggled to get his boots through the legs of his rain pants.

We listened to the end of the Indians’ song and sloshed our way over to the Jazz Tent, where Terrence Blanchard and the Louisiana Philharmonic Orchestra were set to play movements from Blanchard’s Grammy-award winning album, "A Tale of God's Will (A Requiem for Katrina)." We stepped through the tent in our wrinkled, dripping rain jackets and pants we last wore while hiking a volcano in Japan. The rain outside stopped as soon as we found ourselves a seat.

I finished my po boy sandwich and we both shimmied out of our rain pants as Blanchard started his performance with two songs prominently displayed on Spike Lee’s documentary, When the Levees Broke. Blanchard’s music dominates the documentary, bringing a distinct mood to the interviews of Katrina victims and hurricane footage.

The tent was completely silent as Blanchard and the orchestra took over, evoking thoughts of Katrina and the extreme side of rainy days.

The last song we listened to was the eeriest. Just as Blanchard and another vocalist started to hum and drone in a low, bellowing tone, the rains came again, as if on cue. The rains grew louder and louder with the music. It all brought tears to my eyes.

We emerged from the heavy overtures of the Jazz tent just as the rain stopped. We both kept our rain jackets on just in case. We finally headed over to the Michael Franti and Spearhead concert, where Franti sang happy, upbeat, political songs like “Everyone needs Music.” The rains came down once again, and we struggled to throw on our pants again. The crowd got louder, Franti got louder, and the mud grew into sludge.

* * *

Haz had a chance encounter with Franti earlier that day, before the rain. I left Haz waiting while I braved the aisles of portable potties and reluctantly selected a stall. As Haz waited, a white van pulled up. Out jumped the members of the band Spearhead, along with Franti, the talented political vocalist who often performs with the band. Everyone was barefoot. Michael ran over and hugged Haz, as if he were an old friend.

“Love the shirt, dude,” Michael commented.
“Michael Franti?” Haz asked, bewildered.
“Yeah.”
“Oh, cool. I’m a big fan. I’m looking forward to the show.”
“Oh thanks man.”

With that, the barefoot band ran off with a soccer ball, dribbling through muddy patches of once green grass.

I emerged from the portable stall and the clouds grew increasingly impatient. Haz told me about his celebrity encounter as we made our way to the soft shell crab po boys at the food stands.

* * *

And finally, as Spearhead finished, a small, hazy sun emerged. The sun was strong enough to lead us over to the main Acura stage, where Stevie Wonder and Irma Thomas were finishing up his tribute to her grammy-award winning album, After the Rain.

Stevie sang “Superstitious,” just before we sloshed our way through mud and crowds out of the gate. The streets surrounding Jazz Fest were plastic wrapped with rain, fallen leaves, and neighbors peddling bottled water and dry porches. We removed our rain pants and jackets somewhere along Esplanade Avenue, the oak lined promenade to jazz paradise in New Orleans.