I can’t believe I’ll be in New Orleans this weekend. I kept saying this to myself again and again in the days leading up to my departure from Chicago. This wasn’t exactly said in excitement, either – no, in fact, you could say it was laced with anxiety and stress. I’d be traveling alone to a city I’d never been to and what’s worse, I was sick with a diet version of the flu, and couldn’t stop sucking down vitamin D capsules and crackling open Sudafed packets. So, on Wednesday night, I paced around my apartment, muttering things to myself like some loon. Pretty sure I’m the only person who could ever worry about something as innocent and enthralling as New Orleans Jazz & Heritage Festival.

But that’s just how I deal with things; expect the punches, accept the hugs.

Admittedly, there’s a lot to fear about New Orleans if you’re an out-of-towner and your knowledge of the city is limited. For me, I’ve heard great things, but I’ve also heard horrible things. There’s never been any middle ground between the two, which might be why I sort of panicked prior to arrival. While my college roommate used to call it his “future home”, digressing on how it’s like being in another world with the most extraordinary people, music, and food, others in passing have called it the closest thing to a third-world country in America. These latter people weren’t very friendly (okay, you can call ‘em yuppies), but, hey, anyone or anything can play on the nerves.

So, yeah, you could imagine this was an interesting trip.

-Michael Roffman
President/Editor-in-Chief

Thursday, April 26th

5:48 a.m. - I’m still congested. Fuck.

5:55 a.m. - Shower. It’s too early in the morning for any real coherent thoughts. Instead, my attention is focused on a couple of stray tiles on my bathroom wall, and I make this weak mental reminder that I need to clean when I return. Seconds after this, I remember that I’ve yet to watch a single episode of Treme, and for some reason, my mind that’s half-asleep actually thinks this will be a detriment to my trip.

6:24 a.m. - Shortly after scanning my CTA card at the Red Line Station, I lose my balance swinging my bag over the turnstile and tumble down, as if I’m imitating Chevy Chase impersonating President Ford. It’s too early to be mortified, but also too early for anyone to ignore it. Oy.

7:35 a.m. - I’m the lucky winner who gets to be profiled by the TSA. The agent dusts around my computer, and I sort of smirk when he takes the time to look at all the stickers on it – especially the Dr. Dre one.

8:45 – 11:15 a.m. - I land in New Orleans before I can finish Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade. Dammit. I hope Dr. Jones gets the diary back.

11:43 a.m. - My cabbie takes some side streets to get downtown and offers me the lingo for ordering a po’boy. We both agree that “dressed” is the way to go. He also prefers the French Quarter Festival, which takes place in the second weekend of April, and is geared more to the locals. Who knew?

1:15 p.m. - The first thing I notice about New Orleans is its architecture. My hotel is located near the more tourist-friendly area surrounding the French Quarter, so I can’t stop snapping shots of the countless Creole-styled townhouses with their stained walls and wrap-around balconies. There’s a lot of history behind each door.

1:30 p.m. - I’m sweating bad. I can’t tell if it’s because I still feel shaky from the cold, or if it’s just the hot Louisiana sun. I’m also starving and dying for a po’boy. I double back to Canal Street and find my way over to this little hole-in-the-wall off Baronne Street called Cajun Mike’s. It’s a tiny sliver of a bar with a few video poker machines in the back, but the bartender’s cool and I immediately order a PBR, a pulled pork po’boy, and some sweet potato fries. “Dressed”, of course.

1:41 p.m. - I’m shocked to see an ashtray. It’s just been so long. Well, when in New Orleans, amirite?

1:55 p.m. - A couple nearby – some regulars – take a seat next to me, and there’s a discussion about a group of TSA workers who were arrested for passing through narcotics. I’m told they’ll get charged for life. I’m not sure if I believe this, but I can’t think too much about it because my thoughts are on this colossal sandwich of mine. Now, I’ve had a po’boy before – hell, I went to college in Tallahassee, FL (essentially “two doors down” in the scope of the universe) – and while there’s nothing extraordinary about it to make me feel like it’s authentic or something, it’s just good and it hits the spot. The sauce works, the pickles are crunchy, and the bread is sublime. In other words, perfect pub food.

1:56 p.m. - Okay, I’m feeling good about this place.

2:31 p.m. - Bourbon Street is notorious. It’s eight blocks of nonstop tourist attractions, loaded with everything from tacky, tasteless paraphernalia to popular, pricey seafood joints. I’ve always been told to stay away from it, and I’m not too interested in the sensationalized, super-charged bar experience it advertises, but I can’t help but check it out anyway. Two minutes down the street, I’m offered a wild time by some guy outside of Larry Flynt’s Hustler strip joint. Tempting, but no.

2:45 p.m. - I’ve come to the conclusion that the party never ends on Bourbon Street, or the French Quarter for that matter. The bars remain open, the strip joints rotate their girls, and the streets look like a party took a shit on them. Oh, by the way, you can’t round a corner without seeing beads on something, so don’t bother bringing them if you come.

3:27 p.m. - Years ago, Peaches Records & Tapes used to be in every large city across America. I know because it was the first record shop I ever visited. Sadly, the shop near me closed, as did the others – except one. There’s still one in New Orleans and I nearly have a heart attack when I walk by it. I decide to spend a good half hour inside, wandering through the countless vinyl and Record Store Day leftovers, and shop in this surreal shop-from-yesterday-but-today. I feel like Jimmy Stewart’s character in Vertigo when I see Michael Jackson’s Dangerous framed on the wall. That was one of the first personal purchases I can remember making.

4:22 p.m. - You wouldn’t know the city’s biggest festival was a day away, at least not from the ample crowd at Woldenberg Riverfront Park. Facing the Mississippi River, the park houses the Aquarium of the Americas, a few statues and art installments, and a good place to snap shots of boats, birds, and buildings. I take a seat, observe some other tourists playing around in the park, and then watch one of the riverboats sail off with my new friend, who happens to be a bird.

4:24 p.m. – I get this overwhelming feeling that I’m alone.

4:42 p.m. - While walking back to the hotel, I start thinking about this trip in general. Why am I here? What am I doing with myself? In all honesty, I’m probably the worst person to cover the festival – or even New Orleans, in general. I’ve never considered myself a huge fan of jazz; in fact, in college at Florida State University, I used to scoff at my friends who would obsess over Jazz Night at this off-campus, quasi-DIY bar. They would spend hours there, smoking and drinking and losing themselves in this community that always felt alien to me. Now, I’ve always respected the genre, I’ve just never tried to approach it. To me, it always felt so far removed from my understanding, and I long felt I wasn’t in any position to even try to absorb it. Oh, did I mention I’m also allergic to shellfish?

8:09 p.m. - After catching up on some work, I’m antsy and I want to dig deeper into New Orleans. I’ve tossed aside my stupid doubts from the afternoon, and I’ve come to the conclusion that discovery isn’t without its share of hurdles. Okay, so I originally booked this trip to see Brian Wilson join The Beach Boys for the first time in close to two decades, but in all honesty, I could have waited for their Chicago date. Because of this, I contend that there’s a deeper reasoning for me being here, and it’s to learn and to shatter any former barriers I’ve erected in the past, and that realization sparks something inside me.

9:02 p.m. - The French Quarter is pretty eerie to walk through at night. While I’m still disappointed I neglected to watch Treme, I’m ecstatic I haven’t seen Interview with a Vampire in about four years. It’s a long walk down Decatur to be thinking about vampires.

9:17 p.m. - I’m the sort of guy who likes to do research before trips; not to find tourist traps and similar ilk, but to bite into the real meat of a city. While all signs online pointed to Frenchman Street, I’m too intrigued in St. Claude, where two venues promise what could be a dizzying night. Every Thursday night, the Hi-Ho Lounge features music from local act The Stooges Brass Band, and tonight, the nearby punk club Siberia has a bill featuring Sleepy Sun and The Dirty Ghosts. Apples and oranges, sure, but there’s nothing that’s topping that.

9:24 p.m. - I’m starting to doubt my thoughts on skipping Frenchman Street, especially given the crowds, sounds, and local outdoor art markets. My college roommate was right, this is a different world.

9:34 p.m. - About 75% of the way there, while walking alone down Elysian Fields, I quickly remind myself that I’m just amicably strolling around with an expensive camera down poorly lit streets. I pick up the pace, light up a cigarette in hopes it gives me an edge (it doesn’t), and shag ass across the four-lane drag.

9:45 p.m. - It’s loud, very loud, and it’s also packed on St. Claude. Outside of the Hi-Ho Lounge, the Hot 8 Brass Band keep the corner warm with their gritty Southern-fried stew of jazz, funk, and hip-hop. No PA here, no amps, just brass. Having been around since the ’90s, the community is well attuned to their parade-style energy, but even without the background, there’s little doubt the scene wouldn’t involve the scattered dancing and singing. After all, I was.

10:11 p.m. - It’s a tight space within the Hi-Ho Lounge, but there’s hardly anyone inside yet. The Stooges Brass Band won’t go on for another 50 minutes, so I grab another PBR, watch the NFL Draft, and coincidentally meet a nice couple from the Midwest. They too explain they’re in a similar boat, and actually came for Saturday’s headliner, Tom Petty. We both agree that New Orleans, however, is the real character to this festival. Things are starting to feel oddly cozy.

10:58 p.m. - Two beers later, I turn around and discover the venue’s getting pretty, pretty, pretty crowded.

Sometime after 11 – One day I’ll credit the Stooges Brass Band for my shoddy attempt at learning the saxophone, but hey, at least I’ll have tried, right? For over an hour, the local legends – yes, they’re legends now, having worked on the scene since the mid’90s and being titled ”Best Contemporary Brass Band” at the Big Easy Music Awards last year – juiced the evolving crowd that inflated and deflated throughout their set. I particularly dug the fiftysomething veteran who dusted off his old dance floor moves from decades past. I didn’t catch the name of the vocalist who cut through the crowd several times, but I appreciated his flair for punky lyricism, specifically: “I kissed an uptown girl and I liked it/I fucked a downtown girl and I liked it.”

Sometime after 12 - I shake the saxophonist’s hand in hopes to get some of his magic. No, this actually happened.

Okay, it’s Friday morning - Stooges Brass Band instructs us to stay for the next act, but I’m too hungry to wait around. Stupid me, I opt out of the BBQ outside and instead decide to chow down on some garage-y punk and psychedelic rock at Siberia.

Maybe minutes after this - It’s an eight dollar cover at Siberia, a venue which reminds me of Chicago’s Hideout – in fact, I start wondering if I’m in Chicago, but only because I’m too tired to ground myself in reality at this point – and I decide to pay it. There’s maybe eight people inside, including the two bartenders, but it’s a promising enough scene to enjoy. I snap some shots of Dirty Ghosts, who are playing their closing song unfortunately, and I go for another beer. There’s a lot of energy in those last minutes, however, and I’m sort of bummed out I missed ‘em.

A little bit after that – New York City’s White Hills sets up rather quickly and the trio’s sound soaks up the walls within seconds. Guitarist Dave W. knows how to wrench the sound out of a guitar, and the harmonies from female bassist Ego Sensation work well alongside his steel-plated vocals, but the pulsing distortion just shuts me down. I can’t even make it for Sleepy Sun. I decide it’s time to jump ship.

??? - The walk back to the hotel proves eventful. I buy some street art that’ll spook my girlfriend out from a guy named Christian Taylor, discuss photography and college life with a girl named Lily, and manage to order a pizza nearby. The city is still alive though and it has defeated me. But I’m awake enough to make it back to my hotel room, debate between HBO or TNT, and eat two slices of pizza. As an insomniac, and a four-year survivor of South by Southwest, I can’t say this has been the longest day of my life, but it feels like I’m stepping off a rollercoaster and my head has yet to come back down. I end the night laughing.

Friday, April 27th

10:15 a.m. - Ouch. My legs hurt.

12:00 p.m. - Since the festival grounds are a good few miles away from the downtown area, I pick up three day’s worth of shuttle tickets and hop aboard. Don’t ever rely on cabs at a music festival. Trust me, your life will be a lot easier if you remember that.

12:15 p.m. - There’s a line. It’s long. It’s hot out. Fuck, part 2.

12:50 p.m. - Because it’s set on the Fair Grounds Race Track – fun fact: the third-oldest racetrack in America – I immediately think of the old classic rock shows that used to swing by the Greyhound track in South Florida. To my dismay, NOLA’s Jazz Fest did not book Kansas.

12:52 p.m. - I decide to stop by the Gentilly Stage, where Johnny Sketch and the Dirty Notes are entertaining an ample, loyal crowd. Sketch works with an electric guitar and cello, which offers a spin on the traditional funk rock that’s been spoiled and soured as of late. “Let’s work off those calories we’re going to be putting in ourselves today,” he screams before launching into “Saucy Jack”, another funky rocker that apes solos from Neal Schon of Journey. Great vocals, one hell of a supporting brass section (it helps that he had a Bonerama member tagging along), but I can’t help but wonder where those keys went.

1:10 p.m. - People love to get their square-dancin’ on with Geno Delafose & French Rockin’ Boogie. Yee haw.

1:13 p.m. - Dee-1 considers himself a “One Man Army.” I only know this because he not only sings about it, but he’s also wearing a shirt that says the same thing. When I make it to his set at the Congo Square Stage, the New Orleans rapper is already going off on a free style about paid hip-hop artists and being free from the confines of what have you. There’s this forced sense of anti-establishment here, but when he starts speaking from the heart, as on “The One That Got Away”, he connects well. If he didn’t look young, he sure as hell did when he exclaimed, “Where my mom and dad at, don’t tell me they left already.”

1:16 p.m. - His parents wave to him.

1:28 p.m. - Regardless of my food allergies, I still can’t forgive myself for eating a falafel sandwich in New Orleans. But hey, you gotta eat something.

1:45 p.m. - African composer, dancer, and choreographer Seguenon Kone is now a renown resident of New Orleans and plays the balafon and djembe drums. His resume sparkles my eyes, so I decide to swing by the small Jazz & Heritage Stage, where his blend of rhythm and dance just conjures up spiritual magic. This is pure, unadulterated rhythm and dance, however, and his dance company L’Ivoire Spectacle only brings to life the African beats with a Cajun aftertaste. I’ve been spinning Paul Simon’s Graceland a bunch lately, so this felt like a nice history lesson, connecting the dots somewhat.

2:05 p.m. - Kirk Joseph’s Backyard Groove sonically meets the expectations. That is, if you’re hearing multi-layered, afro-caribbean funk with a ’70s swagger. If anything, Kirk’s full-body sousaphone is a beast to observe. It takes a bold man to hold one of those.

2:11 p.m. - On my way to Gomez, I catch wind of the Grammy-award winning zydeco artist Chubby Carrier, who flings out some danceable numbers with his Bayou Swamp Band. One of the guys is wearing a shirt that says “Legalize Happiness”, which sums up the mentality of the crowd in a nutshell. Ugh. No time for dancing, though, Dr. Jones.

2:20 p.m. - Not a lot of UK artists at Jazz Fest, at least not this weekend, so Gomez always felt a little like the odd man out on the lineup. Still, by the time I race over, they’re performing to a couple thousand at the Gentilly Stage, amassing one of the first big crowds of the weekend. Given their mutating sound – they dabble between indie rock, psychedelia, folks, and blues – the UK export works well at Jazz Fest, and with help from the Dirty Dozen Brass Band, I can’t help but think they sound better in the bayou. Several fans sing along with an oldie like the rather fitting “Here Comes the Breeze”, but I just can’t shake the hammy lyrics. Instrumentally, though, it’s groovy.

3:17 p.m. - Oh yeah, The Beach Boys are performing tonight!

3:25 p.m. - Whoever books for the Congo Square Stage just does it right. Sound issues plague the band at first, but Seun Kuti and his Egypt 80 arrive in style and waste no time in releasing the party favors. Son of afrobeat pioneer Fela Kuti, Seun actually borrows heavily from the late James Brown, shimmying across the stage with blind enthusiasm and a fury that’s purely gospel – well, when he’s not greasing his tracks with the saxophone. A cover of his father’s track “Zombie” starts off the set well, but it’s when he kicks into high gear with his own material off last year’s Brian Eno-approved From Africa With Fury: Rise that the crowd actually starts to swell. I also can’t get enough.

3:50 p.m. - Shiiiiit, I have a fetish with the saxophone, and I’m just not gonna shake it.

4:16 p.m. - Time keeps counting down to The Beach Boys. I start making my way towards the colossal Acura Stage, where Zebra is currently playing. Although they’re locals to the wetlands, their sound couldn’t stick out more. It’s ’70s progressive hard rock and it’s a little too spacey for the more organic fare throughout the festival. When they light up a string of Zeppelin covers (“Heartbreaker” sounds pretty dead-on, admittedly), I can’t help but think they once posed as Zoso, the touring Led Zep cover band that would perform monthly in Tallahassee. I only think of this because of the close proximity and the mere fact that Zebra’s singer also looks slightly like Jeff Daniels.

5:05 p.m. - Like a psychopath, I’m sitting in the photo pit for The Beach Boys 30 minutes before their scheduled set. Crowded House’s “Don’t Dream It’s Over” plays over the PA, and I start interpreting the lyrics literally, and then I think about Stephen King’s The Stand and spiral into even weirder thoughts. Shaking that off, I check my watch and then I start thinking about the Beach Boys reunion on the whole. Having read Brian Wilson’s autobiography Wouldn’t It Be Nice – a book which has since been pulled off the shelves due to inconsistencies stemming from his previous psychiatrist, who helped author the book with Brian – I’m fully aware of the songwriter’s troubles; however, if even 60% of that book is true, I myself would never want to be a part of this reunion.

Now, I’ve always championed them as America’s greatest band; the one true act to rival The Beatles. (Most people scoff at this, but go listen to Pet Sounds, last year’s The Smile Sessions, and/or “Surf’s Up”, “God Only Knows”, and “Good Vibrations” and then come up with an argument for another American act.) But there’s no doubt that the majority of their career is fraught with countless muck ups, namely their work in the ’80s and ’90s. Between “Kokomo” – a track I enjoy, but in the same way I enjoy REO Speedwagon, which is to say “sometimes” – and their wince-inducing appearances on Full House (groan) and Home Improvement (double groan), not to mention Stars and Stripes, Vol. 1, it’s difficult to champion their name sometimes.

So, I think a part of me feels like this reunion is a way to set that straight – maybe. Whereas Brian has carved out an exceptional solo career for himself, embracing the idea that he was the true genius behind the group, the other members have either pilfered the name around (Love, Bruce Johnston) or just done other things (Al Jardine, David Marks). Here’s why I think I’ve been so ecstatic about this reunion: Although Brian’s always going to be the talent, he needs the tools to get his ideas across. He could stack session after session musician around him (ha, he did), but it goes back to the original formula of the brothers Wilson, Love, Jardine, and, okay, Marks and Johnston, too. To hear that equation in-person, on-stage before it’s gone forever just felt necessary, at least to me, who was born around the time they started declining.

5:30 p.m. - Uncle Jesse, erm John Stamos, stops out, and despite having to shoot the set, I can’t help but laugh. I have no problems with Stamos, and I think he’s hilarious, but it’s just odd seeing him in the flesh – or at least this close. He’s the real-life equivalent of Dorian Gray. He goes on about how he’s still the president of The Beach Boys fan club, then discusses how they’ve always created “heart music”, and how there’s no band that captures the spirit of Americana like they do. Hey, now I have an ice breaker if we ever meet.

5:33 p.m. - It’s one hit after another. They open with “Do It Again”, follow it up with a medley of oldies (“Catch a Wave”, “Don’t Back Down”, “Surfin’ Safari”, “Surfer Girl”), and hardly quit. Love remains the showman, Johnston continues to smile, but it’s Jardine’s vocals and Marks’ athletic guitar work that truly elevate the tracks on-stage. Then there’s Brian. I’ll get to him in a second, though.

5:55 p.m. - Stamos’d again. This time he’s performing drums on “Be True to Your School”. Before the track, Love makes a rather clever jab about sleeping with his mother. Pretty funny.

6:15 p.m. - While Brian’s been sedative the whole time, he comes alive when he’s singing, as he does on a deep cut like “Sail on, Sailor”. This sparks a Brian-led medley that continues with an on-target cut of “Heroes and Villains”, peaks with “God Only Knows”, and comes down for a landing with their latest single, “That’s Why God Made the Radio”.

6:31 p.m. - Yeah, the new single’s not that bad.

6:40 p.m. – Al Jardine just knocks the shit out of “Help Me Rhonda”. This is why the reunion is a must-see.

6:50 p.m. - Getting close to the end, guess it’s time for…

6:51 p.m. - Once, twice, three times a Stamos’d. “Bermuda, Bahamas…”

6:52 p.m. - I didn’t catch Brian’s expression around this time, but I’ve always winced at that Full House appearance where Michelle Tanner mutters “kokomo” and he replies, “I think we have a request.” I’m willing to bet that scene was awkward to shoot, and that Brian probably didn’t dig that moment, and I’m also willing to bet this was a moment he wasn’t enjoying, either.

6:55 p.m. – Is there anything better than the opening verse of “Good Vibrations”? No.

7:00 p.m. - Save for a happier Brian, I can’t say there’s anything missing from this reunion. They scattered the hits with the deeper stuff – although, I’d still like them to go deeper than “Sail on, Sailor” – and nobody missed a mark. Hell, Johnston managed to get people to clap. I walk away with a big ol’ grin. I even buy a fan-made poster.

7:06 p.m. - The never-ending line to the shuttles sparks memories of Titanic (1997).

7:14 p.m. - A couple from Toronto discusses the legalization of marijuana with an elderly man who bears a strong resemblance to the yet-to-be-made Dr. John bio pic starring Richard Attenborough.

7:26 p.m. - The still never-ending line to the shuttles sparks memories of Titanic 3-D (2012).

8:01 p.m. – Professionals like to “talk shop”, music fans love talking up past gigs. Almost everyone in line has one to tell, and seemingly every person shares it. I manage to meet a hip Los Angeles couple with the best stories of ‘em all.

8:16 p.m. - Yes, Mr. Yorke, meeting people is easy.

9:27 p.m. - If you’re in New Orleans, you’re eating at Cochon. As a self-aware foodie, thanks to a girlfriend whose celebrity crushes involve Anthony Bourdain and Grant Achatz, I’m a sucker for fine-dining, but not of the snooty kind. I like my meals grounded in reality, without being too plain. I also love eating the genre of food I want, not some fair-share offshoot that’s loosely related. Cochon does all of that and doesn’t fool around with its Cajun stylings.

It’s packed when I get there, but as with most trendy restaurants, it’s easier to grab some space at the bar. I order a few high-end cocktails, dabble with slightly left-field appetizers (e.g. bacon-wrapped chicken gizzards), invest in the smoked beef brisket, and have a closed-door affair with the macaroni & cheese casserole. Later on,there’s a great discussion had with the bartender about how it feels like there’s no North and South in New Orleans, simply because of the curve around the river. I tell him that’s probably why this place feels like another world. I can’t tell if he hears me, though.

Sometime after 11 - You learn things every time you travel, especially in new places and during a first-time run at festivals. Although New Orleans never sleeps, you can’t stay up late, get up early, and plan to do it again the next night. Like a bum, I have a cigarette, return to my hotel room, and escape into some Kurt Russell movie on HBO. I’m destroyed, aching all over, but my stomach’s happy and my mind’s settled in. I think I’m starting to treat this room like an apartment.

Saturday, April 28th

11:00 a.m. - I want a muffuletta.

11:22 a.m. - Around the corner and a couple blocks down, I find another hole-in-the-wall pub, this one’s called Evelyn’s Place. Outside, it looks like a little cottage from Londontown, and inside it does, too, but there’s so much to look at it. There’s a wooden lion’s head at the door, a myriad collection of baseball hats in the rafters, and an endless supply of paper bills that line the restaurant’s walls, all from various parts of the world; some say things, others don’t. It’s also small inside Evelyn’s, but that’s part of its charm. When I step inside, there’s only two guys in the back eating sandwiches. Since it’s early and it’s a bar, I’m not too surprised. I look around, find the roughneck menu, order my muffuletta, and just relax.

11:27 a.m. - “My momma, the ol’ bitch, holds port in Orlando, FL,” someone tells this older man sitting at the door of the bar. I can’t help but be nosy and listen in. They toss the word “bitch” around nonstop, so I ask this guy, whose name is Frank, what they were discussing. He points to a little memorial of a woman named Evelyn, no surprise there, who was “the bitch” to everyone at the bar. She’s long passed,but the bar retains her name – it was originally called Stonehenge. So, clearly lots of character here.

11:33 a.m. - If you’re lost on the name, a muffuletta is a sandwich similar to a po’boy that includes marinated olive salad, capicola, salami, pepperoni, emmentaler, ham, and provolone. It’s a custom in New Orleans, and I just had to have one. Fortunately for me, it also comes with red beans and rice, a personal favorite, which also tastes fine. Again, nothing mind-blowing, but it’s reliable, hits the spot, and tastes like nothing else. This is how a good day starts.

12:06 p.m. - I’m not in any rush to get out to the festival today. It’s pool time, baby.

1:51 p.m. - Hard to ignore an aggressive act and that’s pretty much what attracts me to Shamarr Allen and the Underdawgs over at the Gentrilly Stage. There’s a lot of modern alternative rock that scuffs up the underbelly of Allen’s tunes, but it’s his energetic rapport with the audience and his unconventional approach to brass – he plays trumpet – that brandishes him as different. When I arrive at his set, he’s just finishing up a slightly uplifting, if not frantic rocker that leads him into smashing his instrument into the ground. I’ve never seen a brass musician go all punk rock like that, but it was pretty sweet. Double points for crowd surfing, bringing out an all children’s brass section, and telling everyone to “jump out of their drawers.” Basically, he should be playing every festival, especially with a closing line like this: “I told y’all white people have rhythm.” Hilarious.

2:35 p.m. - I miss the majority of Cheikh Lô of Senegal’s set at Congo Square, but from the snippets I catch, it appears I should invest some time in his work. Consider this my little reminder.

2:47 p.m. - The line for Strawberry Lemonade is far too long today, which actually upsets me more than it should. I just really wanted strawberries – and lemonade. Strawberry Lemonade.

2:51 p.m. - Instead, I opt for the Frozen Mango slushee thing; no idea why, either. I’ve hated mangos ever since I had a tree in my backyard growing up. They smashed all over my dock, then smelled up everything, and nearby ducks would try to eat them. Yeah, I wasted a few bucks on this one. #firstworldproblems

3:02 p.m. – There’s a Jazz Tent, a Blues Tent, and a Gospel Tent. Walter “Wolfman” Washington is performing in the Blues Tent, and when I get there, I’m automatically having flashbacks of a born-again Christian life I’ve never had before. It’s as if I’m in a Southern makeshift, outdoor church. Christ it’s creepy.

3:06 p.m. - Is that “The Chicken” by Jaco Pastorious, Mr. Wolfman? Too cool, but that goes without saying.

3:22 p.m. - With Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers only an hour or two away, the Acura Stage gets crowded once more, though partly because there’s a whole lotta talent on-stage, too. Dubbed the Voice of the Wetland Allstars, Tab Benoit, Dr. John,
Cyril Neville, Anders Osborne, Big Chief Monk Boudreaux, Johnny Vidacovich, Johnny Sansone, and Waylon Thibodeaux are all crammed together for a late afternoon jam, which segues into just about every style New Orleans can offer. As the name infers, the nonprofit organization raises awareness for the loss of wetlands in southern Lousiana, and is led by Benoit himself.

3:26 p.m. - Having never seen Dr. John live, I’m sort of spooked at how calm and cool he actually is, and it’s all in those eyes. He hardly moves them and when he does, it’s when you’re not looking – almost like a gator, and that’s not a comparison strictly because he’s a resident in the swamp. Well, maybe it is, but still.

4:15 p.m. - “We still lose an acre every hour,” he instructs. “We lost one while playing this set.” Pretty creepy, but Benoit hardly keeps the spirits down, adding, “I trust us. I like us. I believe in us. Together, we make a great gumbo.” You can imagine which track Benoit would play next.

4:45 p.m. - I get a kick watching the sixtysomething men flirt with the thirtysomething women. There’s a part of me that’s happy for them, if only they weren’t doing this while their wives got them beer.

5:06 p.m. - One thing that’s become apparent is the diversity of the crowd at Jazz Fest, or the lack thereof. Considering New Orleans is so culturally rich, I half-expected the crowds to be similar, and in some ways they were (depending on the act, I guess), but man, there were a lot of golfers there.

5:10 p.m. - I tend to forget just how great of a songwriter Tom Petty can be, but I’m quickly reminded with the first four songs of his set: “Listen to Her Heart”, “You Wreck Me”, “Won’t Back Down”, and my personal all-time favorite “Here Comes My Girl”. Quite a stellar launch off, but Petty knows better and slims back the hits some. “We were so excited. For years and years we wanted to come to Jazz Fest,” Petty tells the crowd. “We’ve got a lot of songs to play for you.”

5:28 p.m. - “We’re watching Tom Petty!” someone nearby screams.

5:56 p.m. - Petty’s on fire with some back catalogue stuff, including non-Heartbreakers material like Traveling Wilburys’ “Handle with Care” (don’t worry, Roy Orbison’s parts are sung to perfection by organist Scott Thurston), the very CCR-esque “Something Big”, and the acoustic strummer “Time to Move On”.

Photo by B&B Photography

6:11 p.m. - On second thought, some of the Mojo tracks drag on a little too long, and I still think the slowed down version of “Learning to Fly” is a little flat. That’s just me, though.

6:45 p.m. - Because I don’t want to stand in line for three hours tonight just for a ride, I start heading out, but can hear the sounds of “American Girl” in the background. Sort of a perfect way to hear it, come to think of it.

9:00 p.m. - I meet up with my newfound LA buddies again, and brave a seafood restaurant: The Bourbon House. We order some fried alligator for an appetizer, which I could have sworn I’ve had before, but can’t remember exactly when. I know I’ve had frog legs previously (they taste like chicken, but yeah, gross), though the taste or consistency of gator feels alien to me. Still, I sort of take pleasure in eating an animal I’m absolutely terrified. Turtle soup, on the other hand, that’s where I draw the line.

12:00 p.m. - Three hours later we’re done with dinner. Now, this sort of bonding isn’t a part of the festival, and granted, you could meet people anywhere, but I feel New Orleans – and even Jazz Fest, in general – warrants these sort of interactions. For one, the whole festival ends by seven o’clock each night and you’re then surrounded by an engaging nightlife, no matter where you are in the city. If you’re visiting, it would be foolish to retire early to a hotel room. In some respects, the nightlife is the festival, and the people within are a part of the experience.

12:45 a.m. - Time to hit up the Maison.

12:54 a.m. - The walk down Decatur doesn’t get any easier – or, any less creepier. I feel like someone’s always about to pop up around each corner and from within every doorstoop. Nope, just more street artists.

1:09 a.m. - It’s already pretty late by the time I reach the Maison, but it doesn’t matter. Frenchmen Street hardly shows any signs of slowing down. Artisans try and sell their pieces, there’s one girl who’s dressed a bride and god knows what she’s selling, one lanky teen has set up a bass amp and is playing rudimentary notes, couple other girls are sitting with typewriters and selling poetry, and in between are drunks or soon-to-be drunks. It smells like cigarettes, it’s sticky on the sidewalk, and noise is but a memory. It’s all just a clayball of chaos, but it’s entertaining.

1:15 a.m. - I’m here for Shamarr Allen, and although $15 dollars is steep for a late local gig like this, I’m not too bothered. Outside, I can hear him covering Coldplay’s “Paradise” on the trumpet, and by the time I get in, he’s knocking out trumpet-fied versions of “Smells Like Teen Spirit” and “Rolling in the Deep”. He’s set to debut his video for the track “Typical Rock Star”.

1:56 a.m. - The projector breaks, then works, and then breaks again. They opt to perform “Typical Rock Star” instead, and it’s all around an awkward, slightly tense scene. What’s worse, the track itself is pretty weak in comparison to his other stellar work. Oh well.

2:11 a.m. - I start yawning, I start leaving.

2:38 a.m. - The walk back is, well, different. For the first time all weekend, the city sounds dead silent, and it’s intimidating.

Sunday, April 29th

2:12 p.m. - I’m told Jazz Fest doesn’t sell out. When I trek towards the Acura Stage, however, I start to wonder if they oversold the weekend. It’s almost impossible to walk anywhere. You’d think Bruce Springsteen was playi–ohhhhhh riiiiight.

2:17 p.m. - There’s a line for every water stand. The sun is the hottest it’s been all weekend. I’m already complaining.

2:33 p.m. - After yesterday’s rousing performance, I’m not exactly running to see Dr. John again. I’m of the variety that appreciates a first taste and doesn’t necessarily need to double-dip. Stupid me, though, as Malcolm John “Mac” Rebennack, Jr. arrived to deliver a volley of his own hits. “Right Place, Wrong Time” is a jukebox staple and I can’t help but boogie a little on my own as he hammers it out. Shortly after this, it occurs to me that he’s responsible for “Ac-cent-tchu-ate The Positive”, which I’ll always remember fondly as The Mighty Ducks montage song.

3:15 p.m. - No Dan Auerbach appearance, though the cuts off his latest LP, Locked Down, sound just as fierce. Something to take away from each of his performances is his manner of being. He’s stoic and rigid and appears to be this immovable force, and he may be considering he’s been shot and beaten repeatedly in his life, but within him is this spectral force that refuses to settle. It’s that weighty urgency that adds character to his songs and performances and it’s a surreal thing to witness live.

3:28 p.m. - I witness this: A woman is banging her tambourine along to Dr. John’s set and some downer of a guy tells her to stop. I start worrying there’s going to be a great tambourine riot. Instead, there’s just bickering between the two, which does nothing but bring the mood down.

3:36 p.m. - The ol’ Doc previews a new track he’s been working on by bringing out young rapper L.G. Meyer. In a Memphis Grizzlies jersey and some bright red Nike’s, the kid spits rhymes over Dr. John’s traditional funk. The crowd isn’t buying it, and neither am I. Towards the end, he attempts to emulate Vanilla Ice with a “Go, Dr, Go” chant. You could almost hear the collective groan from the adult crowd.

3:50 p.m. - I notice some guy wearing a Tunnel of Love tour shirt. I try and discuss with him the insanity of that tour, namely the ludicrous amusement park installments on stage and Springsteen’s gratuitous practice of pouring water down his pants, but he’s too much of a stiff to talk. A part of me thinks I just came off as an asshole to him; the other part of me, who likes to play celebrity doppelgänger, is slightly convinced he’s Billy Joel.

4:01 p.m. - He isn’t Billy Joel.

4:33 p.m. - Hardly a cloud in the sky by the time Springsteen and the E Street Band roll through set opener “Badlands”. It’s a little odd seeing them in broad daylight, and the band picks up on this, too. After Nils Lofgren falls down early in the set, Springsteen exclaims, “We’re used to playing in the dark – seeing everything is fucking us up.”

4:47 p.m. - “Out in the Street” appears early. Very interesting.

4:52 p.m. - Almost 20 minutes in, it’s quite clear that New Orleans has been hungry to see this band again. Not only is the Acura Stage hosting the biggest crowd of the weekend, but the most enthusiastic one, too. Even during a newer cut like “Death to My Hometown”, thousands upon thousands of voices sing along in unison, as if it’s “She’s the One” or “Kitty’s Back”.

4:55 p.m. -  “That show from 2006 stayed with me for a very long time,” Springsteen states, referring to when he appeared at Jazz Fest with the Seeger Sessions Band. “Thank you for giving us an opportunity to do what our band was built for.”

5:12 p.m. -  Classic Bruce moment to take home: He digresses on something about stimulating spirits, but then randomly throws in a joke about stimulating the crowd’s sexual organs. “Just scream when that occurs,” he says cooly. “We’ll catch up with you later.” He can’t stop grinning, but neither can we.

5:23 p.m. - What would he do without those bridges into the crowd? It’s still funny how he treats the stage like a playground.

Photo by B&B Photography

5:35 p.m. - Springsteen makes it no secret that this setlist is tailored for New Orleans specifically. Or, it’s just a strange coincidence he decided to perform: “Death to My Hometown”, “My City in Ruins”, “How Can a Poor Man Stand Such Times and Live”, “Jack of All Trades”, and a jam with Dr. John on Chris Kenner’s “Something You Got”. Uhh, yeah.

5:36 p.m. - It’s around this time I start to lose interest, though. There’s nothing wrong with these tracks, but altogether, it’s too preachy. Here’s a city celebrating its heritage and its stronger suits and these songs are just downright depressing. I’m not looking for a greatest hits medley, or even these rare, deep cuts, but how about some variety, at least thematically? It just felt like overkill.

5:40 p.m. - There was also Al Green performing nearby, too.

5:42 p.m. - I don’t believe in god, but if there’s one person to convince me it’s The Reverend. I’ve never seen him live, so when he struts on stage singing “Take Me to the River”, I have this Fred Sanford moment. Soulful and smiling, Green tosses flowers to his nearby fans, who all dive at opposite ends to grab them – only a few get lucky.

5:48 p.m. - “Let’s Get Married” should be required listening for men everywhere. Everywhere.

5:55 p.m. - This is the way to end the weekend. Under the unforgiving Southern skies, Green shuffles about, sweating profusely in his thick black suit and from behind those trademark shades of his. “I’m here with you, you’re here with me, and we’re here with eachother.” The cheers just get louder, I can’t help but join them. “Let’s have a good time while we’re together.”

6:01 p.m. - Sorry Diamond Dave, Al Green’s “Pretty Woman” is just too sweet. That makes the festival two for two on Orbison takes over the weekend. Very nice.

6:09 p.m. - Hearing “Let’s Stay Together” live makes me feel a whole lot better for missing “Born to Run” later on. Green’s vocals haven’t aged at all and one might argue they’ve gathered a shiny film to it. It’s a moment like this that you just wish wouldn’t end, and when it does, you’re just in this blind stupor.

6:25 p.m. – On my way out, I catch Janelle Monáe for a quick minute or two. I’ve never seen her, though I’ve been a fan of hers since she guested on Outkast’s Idlewild. Apparently she covered Prince and the Jackson 5, but the only two cuts I get are “Cold War” into “Tightrope”, which is a pretty ballsy move considering they’re her biggest tracks. Someday, ma’am, someday.

6:52 p.m. - The end of every trip is hard. Unless you honest-to-god hated the place, it’s always bittersweet to leave. I play this torturous game in my head where I recount how many hours it’s been since the beginning of a particular event, or sometimes the end. It started years ago when I’d leave my long-distance girlfriend. I’d drive home and just count the hours since I had last seen her, touched her, hugged her, etc. They call that loss. I don’t feel that for New Orleans just yet, but there are snapshots that flash back and forth.

7:01 p.m. - I’m a big fan of parallels and keeping things thematic or cohesive. So, it’s no surprise that I grab a po’boy before I leave, bringing things full circle. This time, however, I stop not at some hole-in-the-wall, but an institution.

7:05 p.m. - Mother’s Restaurant has been around since 1938 and it looks like it. The exterior shows its age and the interior takes you back some years, thanks to its ’50s finishings.

7:15 p.m. - Since they pride themselves for their baked ham, I order up a po’boy with that, and a side of red beans and rice. I’ve had this meal before over the weekend, but I can’t get enough. Sure, too much of anything is a bad thing, but in New Orleans, I gotta be bad.

7:30 p.m. - I’ve ranted and raved about food for about four days now, and with the exception of Cochon and the alligator bites at The Bourbon House, nothing’s drilled through my mind. Mother’s hits the spot in every way a meal that costs just over 10 bucks can. They “dress” the sandwich to perfection, with due credit given to the choice of pickels, and the red beans and rice has an ideal consistency. Their homemade pepper sauce, available on every table inside, brings it all home, though. I couldn’t ask for a better last meal in New Orleans.

Shortly after - The walk to my hotel is slightly bittersweet because I know I’ll start writing this within the hour and then everything will really be over. I think back to how I worried so much the previous week, how I almost wanted to cancel the trip altogether, and how my anxiety almost got the best of me. Sadly, not much has changed. I’m still congested, riddled with worrying thoughts, and I’m already over-thinking the next thing down the line.

Just after that - It takes awhile for the sun to set during this time of the year, but I feel like the light lingers for a bit in New Orleans. It’s close to eight and there’s this teal haze over the city streets, where it’s not evening anymore but it’s also not quite night yet, either. It’s a weird middle ground, but it’s a pretty sight to take in. Since my hotel window has a decent city view, I stand there for a minute and just watch. I can’t believe I’ll be in Chicago tomorrow.

Gallery

Photographer: Michael Roffman

This year was no different. With a decorated and diverse lineup that included performances by Robert Plant and the Band of Joy, Bright Eyes, Broken Social Scene, and DeVotchka, this three-day assemblage was a welcoming ode to autumn. With sun-kissed weather accented by a brisk wind, all types of festivalgoers flocked to Golden Gate Park to make their pilgrimage. This is truly a festival for the intermingling of the old and the new: a time to appreciate seasoned veterans like Steve Earle & the Dukes (& Duchesses), John Prine, and Irma Thomas, while exploring new tastes with acts like Gomez, Fitz and the Tantrums, and Elbow. The crowd was a mix of the toothless and the homeless, the hipsters and the hippies, the yuppies and the socialites. To even begin to describe the range of cacophonous sounds, the ambiguous and perpetual haze that clouds one’s vision, the plethora of smells… all of these color every vein of San Franciscan life, and have come to be represented in this review through picture and word.

And rest assured, there were many priceless moments, the kind that only rock and roll — and San Francisco — can deliver. There was Devotchka’s Nick Urata chugging a bottle of red wine and then dousing the screaming crowd with it; thousands of people dropping to the ground and then jumping up simultaneously to the jarring sound of Fitz and the Tantrums; and time traveling backward into the ’60s during performances by Robert Plant & the Band of Joy and Dark Star Orchestra. The sort of feeling that comes with these experiences, that feeling that music is perhaps the only thing that can unite us and save us as human beings, is a memorable one. All idealism aside, each artist on the lineup delivered their best, and as CoS can duly attest to, the infamous adage rings true for Hardly Strictly Bluegrass: “The best things in life are free.”

- Summer Dunsmore
Writer/Photographer

Friday, September 30th

Southern Culture on the Skids – Arrow Stage

Scrupulous in their live performance, Southern Culture on the Skids has labored long over streamlining every aspect of their set. It’s what rock and roll should be — calculated yet improvisational, evidencing clear skill and creativity, while also being rigorous and animated. Band members Rick Miller, Dave Hartman, and Mary Huff resonated and glowed with effortless style during the entirety of their performance. All husky seduction, Miller wailed and moaned into the microphone, picking fiercely at his electric guitar. His counterpart, Huff, is a red-haired raven who knows how to keep up with the boys; she seduced eardrums during her performance of “You’re a Star”. The band’s music live embodies southern soul mixed with touches of naughty fun; their rendition of “The Wet Spot” — which sounded like Middle Eastern music accentuated with a touch of The Beach Boys’ surfer sound — featured a barely clothed belly dancer. With calls to clap, sing, and dance, their live performance at HSB turned out to be one of the most rallying shows of Friday afternoon.

The Felice Brothers – Rooster Stage

The Felice Brothers — Farley, James, Christmas, and Ian — have the sort of chemistry you can only find with family. James Felice’s performance of “Got What I Need” was a soulful soliloquy set organically in the midst of Golden Gate Park’s towering trees. His voice vibrant and resonant, James truly connected with the audience during this song, even interjecting an ever appropriate accordion solo. The Felice Brothers exhibited an interesting assortment of instruments during their set, and they used the accordion and the fiddle indiscriminately to construct their modern bluegrass sound.

As the main singer of the band, James emerged as the band’s truly talented jewel; his performance had all of the sincere, aching loneliness that attracts listeners to this genre. One can tell that the Felice Brothers write and play their music as a means to relate, a way for the listener to finally come to terms with the sort of feelings that they cannot put into words. Likewise, during “Saint Stephen’s End”, the mood was slow, emotive, and charismatic; it resonated within its surroundings. It was romantic and piercing, like a lullaby to a loved one, a last glance as a train leaves the station, the sun in your eyelashes. The last song of the set was “Whiskey in My Whiskey”, an ode recounting love, loss, and, of course, whiskey. As James wails the line, “I put some whiskey in my whiskey,” all one can think is — we’ve all done this, right? And that’s the Felice Brothers for you — soothing, poignant, and as good as the comforts of your favorite liquor.

John Prine – Banjo Stage

Active as a folk singer since 1971, John Prine’s style is reminiscent of another time. The power of his performance on Friday was in its subtlety. Dressed like Johnny Cash, his voice husky with wisdom and cigarettes, he sang to the old sentiments of America. While listening to tracks like “Grandpa Was a Carpenter”, one envisioned rocking chairs and summers by the lake; through his knack for songwriting and gentle acoustic guitar strumming, Prine created truly vivid imagery onstage. Folk artists today should take their notes from Prine; his formula is composed of simplicity and talent. The audience came to see Prine’s performance for his old soul, the way his voice carried on the early autumn wind during tracks like “Fish and Whistle”. He left the crowd with the whims of nostalgia, of a time when all you needed to create great music was an acoustic guitar and a vision.

Chris Isaak – Star Stage

The essence of Chris Isaak lies in the art of seduction. His voice drips like caramel when he performs live and is even sweeter than the croon that classifies his recorded work. The highlight of his performance, however predictable, was “Wicked Game”. With its infamous guitar succession from the Bm to A to E chords, its performance live delivers all of the dark romanticism one would envision. His artful yodel reverberating through the crowd, he sang, “Oh, I don’t want to fall in love with you,” and yet every woman instantly and effortlessly fell in love with him. At the song’s end, he held an infinite last sigh, and the crowd went wild for this man who mesmerizes.

M. Ward – Rooster Stage

Matthew Steven Ward, or simply “M. Ward”, conducts a rambunctious live show. Originally arising out of the Portland music scene, he’s been making music since 1999, and his sound has evolved to integrate the grind of rock and roll with tender, folkish finger picking. His performance at HSB seemed to be emulating Elvis, and just like with the King of Rock and Roll, the crowd adored M. Ward. His rendition of “Chinese Translation” was thunderous, with kick-drum beats that were so loud they threatened to break the speakers and a thrilling ensemble of electric and acoustic guitars. The crowd loved him so much they demanded an encore, and he was the perfect precursor to Bright Eyes, the next act on the Rooster Stage.

Robert Plant and the Band of Joy- Banjo Stage

Friday night at the Banjo Stage, Robert Plant and the Band of Joy were like the release of a long-held breath; there, before a crowd of thousands, was one of the greatest figures in rock and roll history. Plant formed his Band of Joy in 2010 in the pursuit of “something trippy, something far out” in which to sink his teeth into. Following a series of successful collaborations with Jimmy Page and Allison Krauss, Plant’s latest endeavor with the Band of Joy has led him around the United States in the past year to promote the band’s eponymous debut. Given his legacy as the lead singer for Led Zeppelin, one can tell from original tracks like “I Can’t Quit You Baby”, “Gallows Pole”, and “Babe I’m Gonna Leave You” that a blues influence has always existed in Plant’s creative musings, and has since framed the bluegrass sound for his modern Band of Joy.

Covering Zeppelin songs like “Black Dog” during their performance, the Band of Joy put their distinct twist on the classics. And though Plant is 63 years old, with a long history of infamous nights raging and ravaging the music world, his live performance at HSB proved that true talent never dies. He visibly felt every note, every wail of the guitar. He is music; he was effeminate and exaggerated, moving like a sphinx, twisting and twirling and clapping along with the beats. The Band of Joy’s performance of “House of Cards” was a jewel, with long, trailing guitar wails matched perfectly to the resonance of Plant’s high-pitched exultations.

Bright Eyes – Rooster Stage

Clamorous and willing, the crowd collected in a small corner of Golden Gate Park’s Speedway Meadow to see Bright Eyes. The California sun setting behind them, the crowd instead faced east, allured by the promise of seeing Conor Oberst live. As one of the headlining acts of Friday evening, the band delivered all of its hooks masterfully, with Oberst’s voice exhibiting its uniquely raw and reverberating sound. The two best songs of the set were some of Bright Eyes’ classics, “First Day of My Life” and “Lover I Don’t Have to Love”. “First” was played with Oberst set on center stage in a vulnerable and poignant position; a pipe organ traced the song’s beat behind him. “Lover” followed directly after and is often considered a stark contrast in sound and style to many of Bright Eyes’ songs. Extremely stylistic when performed live, it was flavored with a sweeping electric guitar, as well as the keyboard and drum succession that make it such a strong piece. It was a dramatic example of Oberst’s talent and vision, and on Friday night he proved that he truly deserves to be called one of the most influential artists of the indie music scene.

Saturday, October 1st

Broken Social Scene – Towers of Gold Stage

Photo by Marcus Gedai

On this hazy Saturday afternoon, with the intermingling of dust and pot smoke, the ambiance for the evening was set when Broken Social Scene came onstage. Their performance of “Sweetest Kill” radiated outward from all directions, a mellow ode, a welcomed difference given the other “strictly bluegrass” bands on this day’s lineup. This stage was where the hipsters languished and descended for the day to listen to the orchestral music that Broken Social Scene so effortlessly produced. There was a desire to close your eyes, vibe, and listen; their performance packed punch, as if it were meant for an amphitheater, and they seemed to take notes from purely instrumentalist bands like Explosions in the Sky.

Irma Thomas – Star Stage

Irma Thomas is a goddess. With a voice that communicates every emotion, every tribulation, her performance was one of the weekend’s best. Performing such hits as “Time Is on My Side” and a cover of Stevie Wonder’s “Superstition”, her voice ripped and roared through the evening. She was a robust, animated performer, an obvious queen of her trade. More than that, she knew how to catapult the audience into a frenzy; people sang and swayed, their souls filled with the sweet sounds of the 60s. The performance was practiced, clean, concise — truly the depiction of talent at its best.

Robert Earl Keen – Rooster Stage

Robert Earl Keen is a country songwriter from Texas. His music, likewise, comes from the American South; it’s all about the acoustic guitar solos, the subtle bass, and the simple drum line. His performance was a fun one, filled with hits like “Feelin’ Good Again” and “Gringo Honeymoon”. His best track was “I Gotta Go”, where he integrated his uniquely stylized and meticulous finger picking. He lent the essence of bluegrass back to the festival, with a performance as charming as his silk, three-piece suit.

The Flatlanders feat. Joe Ely, Jimmie Dale Gilmore & Butch Hancock – Arrow Stage

Photo by Marcus Gedai

The Flatlanders’ performance was like the golden rays of the California sun; the lyrics and sound of singers Joe Ely, Jimmie Dale Gilmore, and Butch Hancock are warm and nostalgic. The Flatlanders originally formed in 1972, but after a year decided to disband; they then resumed performing in 1998 to much critic acclaim. These Texan mavericks made the Lone Star State proud on Saturday, channeling the soul and vivacity that makes Texas such a pivotal influence on the American music scene. Performing such songs as “Homeland Refugee”, the three sang about “leaving California for the Dust Bowl”, and the trio’s combination of voices came out sounding like a lullaby. There was an obvious camaraderie between the members onstage, making their performance an enjoyable one to watch.

Steve Earle & the Dukes (& Duchesses) featuring Allison Moorer – Banjo Stage

Steve Earle, his team of Dukes and Duchesses, and Allison Moorer performed the best set of Saturday. The relationship between Steve Earle and Allison Moorer on stage is reminiscent of Robert Plant and Allison Krauss; it’s a duet written in the stars. During Earle’s solo performance of “Meet Me in the Alleyway”, voice synthesizer and harmonica in hand, he played blues as blues is meant to played — vivid, husky, dark. It was all about him in this moment, about his talent, his knack for improvisation. He connected well with the audience; they were receptive to every slide of the harmonica, and there was a clear leeway, a union, as he and the audience tossed vibes back and forth. It was clear in this moment how music is felt so integrally, so innately.

At the end of a brilliant set, Earle and the Gang performed a cover of The Animals’ “San Francisco Nights”. With Allison Moorer’s first lyric sung, her voice lingering on the edges of San Francisco’s misty sunset, the crowd was united in the tone of the song. Could a moment ever be as perfectly picturesque as this: San Francisco, the crescent moon lingering in the sky, a place the hippies never left. It was metaphysical, transcendent, and it was clear that what defines San Francisco in the past and the present is its people. The music and the crowd were one, and this “warm San Francisco night” ended with one of the best performances of the weekend.

Sunday, October 2nd

DeVotchKa – Star Stage

DeVotchKa embodies the art of performance and rock & roll. Not only is Nick Urata an incredible singer, one who sings with all levels of emotion and can carry his note for more than 30 seconds, but he can play the banjo like the Devil’s right hand. The wallowing cry of his voice on Sunday could be heard for miles, as Urata and band rocked “How It Ends” and “You Love Me”. Jeanie Schroder played in incredible form, balancing the likes of a cello, and then a trombone, on her feminine frame. At the end of the set, Urata let out a last tribal cry, erupting eardrums all around, and then beat fervently at his banjo. He then grabbed a bottle of red wine set nearby, chugged it, and then swung the contents viciously at the crowd. I was doused completely, and I couldn’t have been happier about it. Urata is a master onstage, all art, style, and soul, and him and the rest of DeVotchKa delivered one of the best performances I have ever seen.

Fitz and the Tantrums – Towers of Gold Stage

Fitz and the Tantrums followed DeVotchKa and also played one of the most energetic shows of the weekend. The coursing heart of the group lies in Noelle Scaggs, who pranced around the stage during the band’s performance of “Pickin’ Up the Pieces”, beating her tambourine. She screamed, jumped, threw up the middle finger; never before have I seen a performer with so much sincerely energetic vigor. Her and Michael Fitzpatrick strike a charming dualism and effectively bring back the 1950s duet. Their voices were sweet together, rejoicing, nostalgic. Because of their animated way of performing, you can tell that the band operates under an element of perfectionism; they wanted that performance, that day, to be the best they had ever done. And they were certainly successful; every ounce of energy, talent, and improvisation visibly went into this effort.

Fitz and band followed with a cover of The Raconteurs’ “Steady, As She Goes”, which didn’t have the same resonance of Jack White, but it definitely had its own twist. Nonetheless, the crowd loved it, and they also went crazy for a cover of Eurythmics’ “Sweet Dreams”. Next was “L.O.V.”, which featured a rampant pipe organ (including a solo), drums, and keyboard. The crowd continued dancing wildly, and it was clear that this soulful style of music resonates with our generation as well. Their last song, “Moneygrabber”, was a more modern piece compared to the other cuts. Fitzpatrick and Scaggs yelled into the microphone, “Everyone, drop it like it’s hot!”; in sync, everyone shimmied down to the ground, then at the climax of the song and on Scaggs’ cue, the thousands of people in the crowd jumped up simultaneously and began a crazy dance party under the gaze of the Sunday sun.

Elbow – Star Stage

Elbow is a band that typifies modern alternative music. Led by the charismatic Guy Garvey, the band utilizes clear, acoustic strokes and strong kick-drum accents in their songs, creating an almost Middle Eastern, arabic tone. This was evident in their performance of “The Bones of You”; during the entirety of the song, Garvey reached out to the crowd, needing their participation, their approval, their love. The mood continued with “Mirrorball”, which featured an interesting mix of electric guitar and delicate vocalization. The performance was tender and sentimental; there was a moment where Garvey looked backward at the band members and smiled, and they each smiled back. You can tell there’s love amongst them, infused in every vein of their music, and that Garvey is the creative drive that keeps the band together. For him, synchronization, dutifulness, and practice are key, and what enveloped on Sunday was an ambiatic, well-performed set.

Dark Star Orchestra – Arrow Stage

Making my way to see Dark Star Orchestra’s performance, a concoction of smells enveloped me. Had I suddenly landed in the 60′s? Hippies of every size and shape wriggled and warped time with their free love and free drugs.

As one of the most acclaimed tribute bands to the Grateful Dead, Dark Star Orchestra has been performing since 1997 and has performed more than 2,000 shows. In the style of Jerry Garcia and his companions, they specialize in improvisational rock. Befitted in tie-dye tees, hair long and flowing, they entranced festivalgoers on Sunday with a dominant mix of electric guitar, bass guitar, and keyboard. The highlight of their performance was “The Music Never Stopped”, and I know that many people hoped it never would.

The Jayhawks – Rooster Stage

Unfortunately, The Jayhawks’ performance was the weakest of any I witnessed over the weekend. Coming off their recently released album, Mockingbird Time, the performance felt listless, as if playing live was a laborous task. Band members Gary Louris and Mark Olson did not express much enthusiasm while onstage, pausing at times to elicit a laugh from the crowd, but then resuming their rather stagnant performances. This is when I realized that not every set is golden and does not always proceed on the best note; these men are required to play, whether they are in the mood or not, and at the end of the day, they are simply human. The audience was receptive to this sentiment and likewise stood there barely moving, nodding their heads slightly. They played a track off their new album, “High Water Blues”, but altogether the performance was boring.

Gomez – Towers of Gold Stage

At the start of the set, lead singer Ian Ball yelled, “The sun’s going down, and we’re coming up!” And that’s exactly what happened. Gomez is a band that produces solid indie, exalting in their shows a youthful, enthusiastic energy. Their performance was providential, a truly human experience; it is with music, more than any other medium, that we learn the most about ourselves. And this was Gomez — raw, with Ball demanding that the audience dance like “crazy natives”, like they’re “lost in the middle of the woods and don’t know what the hell is going on.” And with the crescent moon arched visibly in the sky, these Sunday headliners said good-bye to Hardly Strictly Bluegrass.

The Culture of Hardly Strictly Bluegrass

Gallery by Summer Dunsmore

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A Cluster 1 Premiere!

For “Whatever’s On Your Mind”, Gomez takes a trip out on a boat for a relaxing day. The weather isn’t quite agreeable with their plans though. A gray overcast creates chilly winds that whip at the band members’ faces. There’s splash damage from the ocean water and what looks like light rain. Still, it doesn’t dampen the group’s spirits in the slightest. They keep singing along and enjoy their day on the sea.

“Whatever’s On Your Mind” is from Gomez’s latest album of the same name.

Directed by: Christopher Wray-McCann

Looking to ride the wave of momentum built up over this past summer, indie-rock mainstays Gomez have made a video for the title track from their most recent, and seventh, studio release, Whatever’s On Your Mind. In the video, we catch up with the band as they sway about on a boat in the ocean on a rainy, windy day while a mysterious red-haired woman gazes off into the distance, back always towards the camera. The video employs an almost cinéma vérité style that is, at once, both simplistic and layered. It’s appropriate, given the song’s similar machinations.

In addition to the video, the English quintet are set to conquer the western half of North America this fall, after already having shown love to the U.K., Australia, and even a select few U.S. markets the past few months. The upcoming leg of their tour kicks off this weekend at Austin City Limits and runs until October 5th in Los Angeles. The band will also be making a pair of stops in British Columbia along the way. Check out the full list of dates below.

Gomez 2011 Tour Dates
09/18 – Austin, TX @ Austin City Limits
09/20 – Columbia, MO @ The Blue Note
09/21 – Omaha, NE @ The Waiting Room
09/22 – Denver, CO @ Ogden Theatre
09/23 – Salt Lake City, UT @ Club Sound
09/25 – Victoria, BC @ Rifflandia Festival
09/26 – Vancouver, BC @ Commodore Ballroom
09/27 – Seattle, WA @ Showbox
09/28 – Portland, OR @ Wonder Ballroom
09/30 – Saratoga, CA @ Mountain Winery #
10/01 – San Diego, CA @ KPRI’s StreetBeat San Diego
10/02 – San Francisco, CA @ Hardly Strictly Bluegrass Festival
10/04 – Anaheim, CA @ House of Blues
10/05 – Los Angeles, CA @ House of Blues

# = w/ Devotchka

Other notable acts include John Prine, Bill Kirchen, Kris Kristofferson & Merle Haggard, Gomez, DeVotchKa, Gillian Welch, Dr. John & the Lower 911, Earl Scruggs, Patty Griffin, Robert Earl Keen, Steve Earle and the Dukes (and Duchesses) featuring Allison Moorer, The Blind Boys of Alabama, Justin Townes Earle, The Jayhawks, Abigail Washburn, and Ryan Bingham & the Dead Horses.

There are a bunch of indie favorites, too, including Thurston Moore, Robyn Hitchcock, M. Ward, Fitz & the Tantrums, The Low Anthem, Elbow, Kurt Vile & the Violators, Woods, Cass McCombs, A.A. Bondy, and The Band of Heathens.

Rounding out the bill are names like Buddy Miller, The Del McCoury Band & The Preservation Hall Jazz Band, Charlie Musselwhite, Bela Fleck, Zakir Hussain & Edgar Meyer, The Felice Brothers, Jason Isbell & the 400 Unit, The Belle Brigade, Jessica Lea Mayfield, The Civil Wars, Dark Star Orchestra, and, yes, MC Hammer.

Once again, the festival is free to attend. So, you really have no excuse.

Unfortunately, it doesn’t: the working practices might have had some novelty but there isn’t much novelty to Whatever’s On Your Mind. In fact, given that Gomez have been going for 15 years now, it’s a surprise that, as with their other albums, it all sounds much alike.

But is it a bad album? Certainly not. Like the rest of the band’s albums released in that time – there’s been seven studio releases, plus two compilations and a live album – it’s fair to say that Whatever’s On Your Mind is strong, listenable, often emotional as well as catchy, and holds up to scrutiny.

The album’s opener “Options” is as good of a track as any Gomez have produced, and with nicely unassuming lyrics (“I could settle down, be responsible, be a good man, and learn how to fix things baby, and that’s ok: at least I’ve got options”) and mildly aggressive acoustic guitar work, it succeeds. It may just be the album’s takeaway track.

Of course, a Gomez album wouldn’t be complete without the famously raspy vocals of Ben Ottewell, and “Equalize”, a semi-eccentric rocker, more than delivers; so too does the more sentimental, play-a-piano led title track. For sure, as with the band’s albums of yesteryear, Whatever’s on Your Mind has plenty of enjoyable tracks, and none to complain about: “That Wolf” is one of the stronger instances, with “Place and the People” not too far behind.

Nothing stands out too much, though, and that’s a trait it shares with the rest of the band’s ouvre. Nonetheless, this is another good effort from a great band who are coming close to veteran status.

Sure, we’ve got Coachella and Bonnaroo and all those great American festivals over here. England’s got Glastonbury and Bestival, etc. Australia’s got its share of great fests, as well, and Splendour in the Grass is one of the best. Last year saw the Pixies, The Strokes, and Mumford and Sons atop a massive lineup, and this year looks to be equally epic.

Coldplay, Kanye West and Jane’s Addiction will headline the 11th incarnation of the three day festivities at Woodfordia in Queensland. Seventy-nine other acts are under them, and the names are just as exciting. The Hives, the reunited Pulp, The Living End, The Mars Volta, The Kills, Pnau, and Regina Spektor are all on the bill.

Glasvegas, Modest Mouse, The Middle East, Mogwai, DJ Shadow, and Kaiser Chiefs will also be in attendance, as will James Blake, The Vines, Noah and the Whale, and Thievery Corporation. Further acts include Cut Copy, Black Joe Lewis & The Honeybears (featuring The Relatives), Foster The People, Friendly Fires, Gomez, and Does It Offend You, Yeah?.

Want more? Warpaint, Fitz and the Tantrums, Young The Giant, Bliss N Eso, The Grates, Kele, Elbow and Eskimo Joe add to the mix. There’s also Devendra Banhart and The Grogs, Children Collide, Isobel Campbell and Mark Lanega, Blue Juice and Marques Toliver. The impressive list is just too long to jam in here, so check out our Festival Outlook page for the complete lineup.

Tickets for the July 29th-31st event range from AUD$401.50 to AUD$525.60 (that’s about $421.55 to $551.83 USD. Plus, ya know, travel expenses), depending on your method of purchase and if you choose their carbon offset option. For more information, check the festival’s website.

Dave Matthews Band has announced the second of their four summer music festivals and it looks pretty similar to the first. Set to take place July 8-10 at Chicago’s Lakeside, the festival will feature three sets by DMB, as well as David Gray, Ray LaMontagne, O.A.R., Kid Cudi, The Flaming Lips performing Dark Side of the Moon, Edward Sharpe & the Magnetic Zeros, Amos Lee, Emmylou Harris, and Ben Folds.

Other confirmed acts include G. Love & Special Sauce, Sharon Jones & The Dap-Kings, Gomez, Drive-By Truckers, Michael Franti & Spearhead, Daniel Lanois’ Black Dub, The Jayhawks, SOJA, Soulive, The Wailers, Blind Pilot, Dirty Dozen Brass Band, TR3, Vieux Farka Toure, Alberta Cross, Mariachi El Bronx, Bobby Long, Ivan Neville’s Dumpstaphunk, Jeff Coffin’s Mu’tet, Gary Clark Jr., and special performances by Dave Matthews Band members Carter Beauford and Stefan Lessard plus a Dave Matthews & Tim Reynolds acoustic set.

Tickets, which will be available as three-day passes only ($195), go on sale to general public on Friday, April 15th at 10:00AM CST via DMBCaravan.com. Also, an online ticket request period for the festival begins today and concludes Friday, April 15th, at 8:00 AM CST  at warehouse.davematthewsband.com.

In addition to Atlantic City and Chicago, the band plans to hold two other music festivals this summer. Stay tuned for more details.

In the decade since releasing their Mercury Prize-winning debut Bring It On, they’ve released five more critically acclaimed albums. With multiple lead singers and songwriters, Gomez has crafted a sound that’s eclectic, frequently moving between pop, rock, and bluesy lo-fi.

Extensive touring Gomez has molded the five-man band into one of rock music’s most potent live acts. In this performance from 2009’s SXSW Festival, the quintet transforms their melodic, yet hard-charging 2006 single “How We Operate” into an epic seven-and-a-half minute jam, complete with a mammoth guitar freak out at the end.

In 2006, they released their fourth studio album, and their first on Dave Matthews’ ATO label. At the time of its release, critics hailed the album How We Operate for its focus and explosive sound. The title track – which may be familiar to US audiences from its appearance in an episode of the television show Grey’s Anatomy – serves as a something of a microcosm of that album’s energetic, yet intimate feel.

The song is also a fan favorite on the road. This rendition begins with handclaps, raucous audience accompaniment and singer Ben Ottwell’s a cappella vocal. Soon, the band launches into a crush of guitar, drum, and bass. “Please come here/come right on over/and when we collide/we’ll see what gets left over,” Ottwell sings in his raspy croon. He’s joined in harmony by one of the band’s other lead singers, Ian Ball.

The song moves into its second verse, and Ball makes his guitar playing grittier and more forceful. The band cranks a stop-start call and response rhythm midway through the second verse. Things go (somewhat) quiet during the bridge, before kinetic guitars come in again.

As the song winds down, the band rides a two-minute guitar freakout to a killer climax. The audience’s chagrin as the band leaves the stage testifies to the band’s power as a live act.

‘We’ve broadened our horizons sonically and it feels like a natural move forward,” explains lead singer Scott Hutchison. “Most importantly, it’s better than the last one. That’s all I wanted, really.” Again, as if that was even possible!

The Winter of Mixed Drinks was produced by Peter Katis, at Tarquin Studios in Connecticut, and engineered by Stuart Hamilton at Castlesound Studios in Scotland. It also features a guest appearance from labelmates Hauschka, who provided the album’s string arrangements.

The album is scheduled for release on March 1st in the U.K. (via FatCat Records). A U.S. release date is still forthcoming. It will be headed by its first single, “Swim Until You Can’t See Land”, which will be officially released next Monday, November 16th, but can be previewed, compliments of YouTube, below:

Frightened Rabbit 2009 Tour Dates:
11/14 – Coventry, UK @ Kasbah *
11/15 – Northampton, UK @ Roadmenders *
11/16 – Brighton, UK @ Corn Exchange *
11/17 – Southampton, UK @ University *
11/19 – Exeter, UK @ Lemon Grove *
11/20 – London, UK @ Troxy *
11/21 – Tunbridge Wells, UK @ Forum
11/22 – Cambridge, UK @ Soul Tree *
11/24 – Sheffield, UK @ Plug *
11/25 – Whitehaven, UK @ Civic Hall *
11/27 – Fort William, UK @ BA Club
11/28 – Stirling, UK @ Toolbooth
11/29 – Inverness, UK @ Ironworks
12/01 – Aberdeen, UK @ Moshulu
12/02 – Dundee, UK @ Fat Slams
12/05 – Galway, IE @ Black Box ^
12/07 – Dublin, IE @ Academy ^
12/08 – Dublin, IE @ Academy ^
12/09 – Belfast, UK @ Mandella Hall ^
12/13 – Manchester, UK @ Ritz ^
12/14 – London, UK @ Shepherd’s Bush Empire ^
12/22 – Glasgow, UK @ ABC ^
12/31 – Ediburgh, UK @ Princes Street

* = w/ Gomez
^ = w/ Modest Mouse

Saturday, June 6th

Day three started with a deceptively mild morning that became the hottest day of the weekend. Much like the desert, Mulberry Mountain gets cold once the sun goes down. That didn’t seem to matter, however, as Saturday night lasted forever, with music cranking into the following morning. It was a good harbinger of things to come, as the day proved to be the climax of the festival, especially considering the last of the headliners were set to perform, in addition to some highly anticipated, late night sets. No surprise that the festival felt at capacity with people filling out every performance area for what would be their last chance to party all night in Ozark.

Early sets by proggy-blues jammers Blue Martian Tribe and Newgrass favorites New Monsoon (their second set for the weekend) woke people up from the previous night and welcomed those coming in for the days’ big shows. Many people chose to take in what the site had to offer, be it a round of Frisbee golf, or taking in some of the natural air conditioning that was around one of the several large ponds. Unfortunately, the waterfall and swimming hole had to be blocked off, due to large crowds and the inevitable, few people who got hurt. Nevertheless, the day marched on and more people streamed in to grab a spot at the Main Stage.

Festival veterans J.J. Grey and MOFRO brought some Florida flavor with Grey’s smoky vocals and steamy blues jams. Another veteran, and festival favorite, Galactic would stop by again for their second set of the weekend, keeping with the southern tradition, only this time with a little more New Orleans funk. Galactic always manages to impress, and an appearance from G-Love that left everyone pumped for the next set by the man and his Special Sauce.

While the Main Stage was at full steam, over at the Outpost tent The Hood Internet offered their brand of mix and match DJing. The duo pieced together samples from classic rock to the latest indie “it” band, switching between homemade house beats and samples, all of which managed to create some surprisingly catchy combinations, such as the Grateful Dead/Usher finale.

Now even though it is still early June, the days are getting longer, and it wasn’t until half way through G-Love’s 8 p.m. set that the sun began to settle with the moon shortly behind. Mr. Love brought his special sauce this year for a set that saw reworked old favorites, a Freddy King cover, and a collaboration with Jeff Raines from Galactic. Luther Dickenson from the North Mississippi All Stars would also stop by to help out with a guitar for a deep bluesy number. Like him or not, G-Love is a lively entertainer that always delivers, whether it be on new material or the always dirty “Booty Call” into The Beatles “Why Don’t We Do It In The Road”.

By this point, everyone had staked out a spot for the main event, and when The Black Crowes took the stage, frontman Chris Robinson and co. shot their psychedelic blues rock to the full moon that hung over head. There were clear skies and crisp cool air for the big event with Robinson doing more improvised dancing than singing for the bulk of the set. As always, they would save the hits for last, but by that point, the best of the Crowes had been heard. One gets the feeling that they’re tired of the same few songs that got them famous back in the ’90s as an emphasis on newer material and bigger psychedelic blues jams stretched into the night.

Once the midnight mark passed by, the Interstellar Meltdown kicked off again, this time with a second set by Sound Tribe Sector 9 in the Revival Tent. All spaces that could be filled were, with people piling in and spilling out in all directions. The glow sticks and fluorescents were back in full force as the bass pounded and guitar riffs heated up the cooling night. Fan created laser shows also added to the Technicolor dream that reflected off the white tent ceiling. Back over at the Outpost Tent, the Meltdown marched on with the rising DJ Shpongle. His brand of tribal-infused house music has been stirring up a bit of noise around the electronic community, and the resulting buzz quickly filled up the tent. Feather-haired dancers took to the front of the stage with everyone bathed in deep radioactive colors. The music itself worked through southern Asia with thick beats to back it. Loaded build-ups and breakdowns kept the two-hour set on its toes, never letting the energy fade.

Day three saw the biggest crowd of all weekend. It was also day two of the endless party that never actually let up since the first time STS9 took the stage. This time around, the nightly festivities would go earlier into the morning, and a bit past sunrise, when the rest of us were just getting up. There’s a point one reaches, that wall of exhaustion, where everything stops and sleep is comfortable no matter the noise or the conditions. It’s a beautiful and assaulting feeling, really.

Sunday, June 7th

The last day of Wakarusa was a little bittersweet for those that stuck around. Saturday was the obvious clincher for the weekend, leaving Sunday with only a handful of acts left. As surreal as it sounds, the Main Stage had already been closed up, with the staff breaking down lighting fixtures and what not. Even the vendors in that part of the site had left, leaving an eerie scene as most people chose to pack up the weekend and head home, too. This left only the Outpost and Backwoods stages, where the last remaining day would take place. It’s bizarre why organizers planned a greatly scaled down fourth day, perhaps they hoped it would thin out traffic some. While a poor excuse more or less, the powers at be had their reasons. Whatever the case, it didn’t seem to phase the odd assembly of old and new hippies straggling behind.

Now just because it was a smaller line up does not mean that the music was lacking by any means. Dusty Rhodes was another one of those indie rock secrets fusing European influences with country punk and old school rock. An early cover of The Band’s “The Weight” grabbed the wondering left over masses, with the rest of the tunes showing off the bands talents and energy. Hair flew and sonic riffs worked hard with violins, mandolins, accordions, and keys all adding an exclamation point to the unknown band. Vocal duties were traded around from song to song, and even though the audience was sparse, they still managed to have fun with the people there.

Afterward, people chose to stick around the tent as the clouds rolled in, keeping the day relatively cool. The Heavy Pets came back for another round, only to an audience that was showing its fatigue. Gomez would be the final headliner, although it was strange they weren’t on a bigger stage. Keeping them to the smaller tent, however, created a very intimate atmosphere. All those that stuck around did so for Gomez amping up the energy one more time. The band talked back with the crowd for a set that was sonically spot on, yet casual and fun. The music went by all too quickly as fans called out for one more song, but just as soon as it began, it was all over.

Even though D.J. Rekha was slated to close out the evening, with her Indian-house blend, most returned to their tents to take in one more night under the stars. For the first time all weekend, silence accompanied sleep — though there was something downright sad about that.

Wakarusa had been through more than a festival should over the past few years. From paid off cops sent to harass the peaceful hippies, to last years tornadoes that canceled much of the weekend’s music, Waka has pulled through finding a gorgeous, new home. Mulberry Mountain allowed the people to be closer to the festival, returning it to the basics. The atmosphere was fresh and rejuvenated; the people were more positive and free. It is safe to say that Wakarusa is now the festival it was always trying to be, and from here on out, it can only get better.

——

Of course, if you’re one to stay away from the generic and often overhyping press releases, then perhaps you’d like to hear Gomez’s own comments on the album:

Where the hell have we been? Answer: making the God dam best freakin’ record you ever did hear….will hear. Jeeez! Leave it owt wud cha! Yours truly along with the other cats have been beavering away writing hit singles, epic anthems, toons to make you ass wiggle, it’s all in there, on the hotly anticipated new album. The release date is yet to be confirmed but the first quarter of next year is looking good. The record is expected to pick up innumerable awards from around the Globe, an effortless standard the Five Englishmen have attained.

Talk about down playing expectations…

In support of the release, the quintet will embark on a spring tour beginning mid-March at South by Southwest. An east coast swing follows, which will see Gomez team up with Josh Ritter for a series of co-headlining shows. And as we also know no, the band will be stopping by Bonnaroo later this summer as well.

Gomez 2009 Tour Dates:
03/18 – Austin, TX @ SXSW
03/19 – Austin, TX @ SXSW
03/21 – Birmingham, AL @ Workplay Theatre
03/22 – Charlotte, NC @ Visulite Theatre *
03/23 – Asheville, NC @ The Orange Peel *
03/24 – Atlanta, GA @ Center Stage *
03/26 – Baltimore, MD @ Rams Head Live *
03/27 – Lancaster, PA @ Chameleon Club
03/28 – Philadelphia, PA @ Theatre of the Living Arts
03/29 – Washington, DC @ 9:30 Club
03/31 – New York, NY @ Bowery Ballroom
04/01 – Ithaca, NY @ State Theatre *
04/02 – Northampton, MA @ Pearl Street
04/03 – Brooklyn, NY @ Music Hall of Williamsburg
06/11-14 – Manchester, TN @ Bonnaroo Music Festival

* = w/ Josh Ritter

Under the band title Operation Aloha, some of the music industry’s hottest acts are coming together for what is essentially the biggest supergroup in music history, outside USA for Africa, of course. So, what’s the story? Who’s in it? Of the fourteen members (list after the jump) that contributed musically, there are some certain names that stand out. There’s Dajon Everett, Olly Peacock and Ian Ball of Gomez, James Valentine and Jesse Carmichael of Maroon 5, and Sam Farrar of Phantom Planet.

Why they all came together has a lot to do with the islands itself. As if the band name didn’t hint at that already, the project came to fruition when each respected member found time between touring to escape and live in the islands, where together they spent a month focusing their thoughts musically. Whoa, must be pretty good to be a successful musician, huh? Oh, but we’re not jealous! For the specifics, let’s refer to the press release:

Allowing themselves to step away from their usual roles and be inspired by bohemian living and a no-constraints approach to songwriting and recording, OPERATION ALOHA experiments with a love of blues inspired rock and Hawaiian folk music, to create a clever collection of songs that draws from the fantasy of escape.

While early press has already pegged the new sound as “naturalistic pop”, it’s still a bit too early to gauge what the end result may be. However, based on that curt description, one can assume the sound will be natural, organic, and altogether a beautiful blend of harmonies, intricate guitar work, and poppy sensibilities. But hey, that’s one man’s estimation. For all we know, it could be a sappy Beach Boys-rip off or a slow, depressing burner.

One thing’s for sure, fans of either acts will make a decision come May 12th, when the band’s self-titled debut is released. For now, head on over to Christopher Wray-McCann’s website for some photos, a short bio, and some more information. McCann, a collaborator of the project, documented the band’s work and there are a few photos already up (many of which we used).

Oh well. You know the drill…we’ll keep you updated….yadda, yadda, yadda.

Operation Aloha Musicians:
Dajon Everett (Gomez)
Ian Ball (Gomez)
James Valentine (Maroon 5)
Jesse Carmichael (Maroon 5)
Olly Peacock (Gomez)
Sam Farrar (Phantom Planet)
Christopher Wray-McCann (Photographer)
Charles Danek
Fil Krohnengold (All Spots To Black)
Mathew Chaney
Maureen Wray-McCann
Nadav Kahn (Kahn Brothers)
Saam Gabbay
Will Nash