New Orleans got love from the New York Times in the last few days. In Jon Pareles’ Bonnaroo wrap-up, Allen Toussaint was singled out for his version of “Whole Lotta Shakin’ Goin’ On,” and Ben Ratliff reported on the Marsalis family’s visit to the White House, including the workshop they gave to students, including some from NOCCA.

               

There was one detail that I omitted from my story on Allen Toussaint in the current issue. In the piece, he talks about how much he works, but the thought that didn’t fit was how that work related to his desire for order – something that came through when he talked about what he lost during Katrina. He spoke of having tapes he was working on all lined up, and when he checked into the Astor Crown Plaza to ride out Katrina he took family videotapes with him so he could edit them while he was waiting. It only occurs to me now that I didn’t ask how that project ended up.

               

Felt a bit uninspired to start the day. The stickiness was a drag and wandering the same grounds is starting to feel a bit repetitive, even if it is to see great music. Then again, I also wasn’t seeing great music. Best thing I saw early besides the wedding of Mr. and Mrs. Wayne Lee onstage in the Gospel Tent was Cedric Watson and Bijou Creole – something I definitely want to see again as it reflected an expanded Creole consciousness in a Cajun/zydeco context. 

First thing to stick was the Allen Toussaint interview, which had a lot of subtle wit. He segued together a medley of Professor Longhair’s greatest hits with seemingly offhanded ease, and he tactfully, deferentially deflected a number of Ben Sandmel’s questions. Considering Toussaint’s piano style, it was a bit of a surprise when he revealed how much of an influence Professor Longhair was. He even has worked out, orchestrated charts for Longhair compositions in his files.

After that, more wandering before settling at one of the hottest sets of Jazz Fest for me – Roddie Romero and the Hub City Allstars. Romero and company are literally a South Louisiana jukebox, playing zydeco, swamp pop and the blues – all of it with a lot of groove. The last 15 minutes seemed hyperkinetic, but that might be because of the mulletted dervish dancer who threw himself with disturbing intensity into Romero’s set, jumping and spinning and swinging his dogtags. It’s possible that his nuttiness and energy merged in my brain with the music on the stage, but friends around were also pretty knocked out.

I’ve generally liked Kings of Leon on disc but found them dense and tuneless live. At the Gentilly Stage, there were a number of non-Jazz Fest elements in the show – the distortion on Caleb Followill’s voice, the fuzz bass, the triggered sequencers – but the audience that was jammed to the porto-lets suggest that notions of what does and doesn’t belong at Jazz Fest are shifting. (Or, that Jazz Fest is losing its identity and that it can accommodate any number of sounds that are neither “jazz” nor “heritage” now). Live, the U2-ness of Only By the Night was replaced by earthier sounds and that made the difference for me.

At the other end of the Fair Grounds, Bon Jovi had a crowd second only to the Dave Matthews Band crowd of 2001, which raised the question of whether Jazz Fest needs that many people, and if it does, why? And what can be done so it doesn’t need that many people? 

Bon Jovi has been an easy whipping boy for this year’s festival, a benchmark of how far it’s fallen from some idyllic yesteryear, but certainly as long as I’ve been attending – over 20 years – there have always been bands who in the dark recesses of their hearts hope 50,000 or so people will see them at one time. But do they have the ability to write hooks as big as Endymion floats? The self-editing discipline to discard anything not up to that standard? The willingness to put a sing-along moment, a group handclap or some sort of corny shtick into every song to grab the audience again every three to five minutes? The talents of the entertainer may not be ones that Jazz Fest has typically embraced, but that doesn’t mean they should be overlooked. And you have to admire to confidence of someone who has the sack to open with “Living on a Prayer.”

               

 

I was exploring Blip.fm, yet another networking device – this one allows you to send links to mp3s via Twitter and its own list – and found an extensive selection of Allen Toussaint on Warner Bros., much of which is hard to get otherwise right now. I haven’t further investigated the New Orleans-ness of Blip.fm, but so far I’ve been pleased by its range. Yes to Acid Mothers Temple, yes to the Mekons, yes to the Tindersticks, yes to Red Simpson, and I’m listening to K-Doe’s “Popeye Joe” while writing this.

               

 

The inaugural New Orleans Songwriters’ Festival was a success, drawing over 100 performers for the Friday night Bluebird Cafe Open Mic at the Blue Nile, and attendance surpassed expectations for both writers’ rounds, including the evening at the House of Blues with Zachary Richard, Cassandra Wilson, Allen Toussaint and Jimmy Webb. 

At that show, Richard, Wilson and Toussaint performed – the low point was Wilson covering (huh?) the Allman Brothers’ “Midnight Rider,” then not knowing the words – followed by a short conversation between Toussaint and Webb, then a set by Webb. 

Despite “Midnight Rider,” the show was often remarkable. Toussaint finished that set with an extended version of “Southern Nights,” one that started with a spoken introduction that was nearly 10 minutes long as he set the scene that inspired the song. It was Springsteenian as he accompanied himself with a lush, romantic version of introduction melody; the story was sentimental but studded with punch lines and moments of intentional drama. When he mentioned the family matriarch stopping to take a nip from a flask she kept on the floor, he stopped playing and pantomimed her actions as he described them, then paused and restarted the melody on the beat. As wonderful as the song is, that story was magnetic and presented a warmer, more open and expansive Toussaint than we usually see, and it was something I hope we see more of.

Webb’s set was simply beautiful and emotionally wrenching. With the exception of the out-of-place “Up, Up and Away,” he chronicled existential uncertainty in song after song. He mourned the recent devastation and the fact that the words to “Galveston” – written during the Vietnam War – are still relevant. The song is like “White Christmas,” an imagined vision of home sung out of longing from a distance. After this summer’s hurricane, though, the singer’s in a double bind – remembering his girl from the front, and not sure she or the beach that he longs for are even there anymore.

His slightly fragile vocal performance – good voice, but hardly a Glen Campbell, Art Garfunkel, Frank Sinatra or Johnny Cash, all of whom cut songs that he performed in the night – only added to the emotional resonance and the drama of characters struggling to stay connected to their worlds and most specifically, their loved ones, and never moreso than in “Wichita Lineman.” As he sang, “I need you more than want you / and I want you for all time / and the Wichita lineman / is still on the line,” he wasn’t Campbell asking you to believe he’s that worker who can’t find his way home – he was the worker, and his pain, love and longing were palpable.

I watched the show with Susan Cowsill, who met Webb when the Cowsills and Webb were guests together on The Mike Douglas Show, and with a younger friend who only knew his name and stature but not his songs. Both were as moved as I was, and it would have taken a pretty hard heart to walk away from that show untouched.