he’s one of those people who checks the weather forecasts. i am not. therefore, i get caught walking across parking lots in deluges often in a t-shirt and jeans. there are things i could tighten up around here.

but, alas. i was storm sensitive, yet unafraid. one of the best memories of my life was a day i spent at six flags in st. louis as a kid in a complete downpour riding the jet scream and the screaming eagle over and over and over again (no lines!). and, you know, a little rain never hurt no one.

the second thing i remember hearing was the sound of squirrel falling out of a tree. lefty and i were walking when right behind us i heard a tree limb snap followed by some leaves rustling and then a sound like a ziplock bag full of jelly being thrown against a brick wall. i looked back and this squirrel was lying next to a branch on the street, twitching, looking pretty rough. my first though was, ‘i should help this squirrel,’ but then – very quickly – i came around to, ‘jesus, man, it’s an unconscious squirrel. you’re holding a dachshund on a leash in one hand and a bag of shit in the other. it’s the squirrel’s time.’ i felt bad, though, and thought it might be an omen of sorts. we walked a while longer, and when we doubled back, the squirrel was gone. must have just had his bell rung a little. i felt better. and come to think of it, squirrels must fall out of trees all the fucking time …

next it was robin and fred and benji and gary and sweet howard (‘i just want someone to wrap me up in a blanket and hold me like a baby … i like being crippled inside’) and no artie talking to my girl sarah silverman about the time when she ran up to a friend of hers and gave him a kiss on the mouth and then instantly became disoriented for a second before having a realization that made her ask him, ‘were you just eating pussy?’ and him responding – ‘with a look on his face like i was a magician and just guessed his card,’ – ‘oh, my god! you’re right! i was!’

next was archdiocese of new orleans mass gospel choir singing about wanting the spirit to fall down, right down, down on me.

the next sound was mud.

i ate pheasant, quail, and andouille gumbo (for neil) and drank a strawberry lemonade (for noel) and talked to a father and his twenty-something daughter from half moon bay, just south of s.f. i told them how much i used to love to stop in that town on my way to and from santa cruz, and we talked a little about the giants and their great pitching and and questionable hitting, and all the while this girl’s right breast – nipple, the whole nine – was fully exposed. completely out of her hippie chick kinda sun top thing, just – bam! – breast, right there. the whole damn time. lagniappe, they call it down here …

the first cry came during the treme brass band set. they destroyed a rag and then a slow blues dedicated to all the musicians that passed this year (clarinet solo damn near killed me), but what really got me was when they brought up the kids that they work with all year, the next generation of the treme brass band. early high school aged kids come up, dressed just like the band, and they rip into ‘bourbon street parade’ and the lead trumpet player takes the vocal lead (‘yes i will take you! i will parade you! down bourbon street!’) in this high, right on the cusp of puberty voice that just killed me. so fucking sincere. so transparent, too, the circle of musical life, taking place right before your eyes. i turned to this girl standing next to me and said, ‘this place is amazing!’ and she just smiled and kinda raised her eyebrows. back at jazz fest.

the creole wild west mardi gras indians …

i like to think that a great champion, a horse named tenacious is buried here, but i have no facts to prove it …

some well intentioned middle aged women in obama t-shirts were trying to herd these geese back through a chain link fence to a pond. i left just before it seemed like the elder geese were about to attack. remember the squirrel …

the most amazing sound i heard all day was terrence blanchard in the jazz tent. one of those moments when you really can see the levels of musicianship that can be found on our planet. piano (havanah, cuba), tenor sax (tucson ‘the epicenter of jazz music,’ arizona), upright bass (nigeria by way of london by way of nigeria. he now lives in new york), drums (houston, tx), and trumpet (nola). bebop vibe, but very free at times, extremely dynamic. violent. raging. they flew in spoken word clips by dr. cornell west. all post-katrina material. tight as hip could be. breathtaking fucking music.

i think if you choose to pound beer, this becomes your jazz fest experience … stick to lemonade. then buy two buds from a guy on the street after it’s all over and drink them while walking back to your car. and reflect. (the old guy in the foreground of this photo turns to me and says, ‘you gotta pick lines with guys. guys go faster. unless they have to poop.’ i say, ‘yeah, well how do you know if they have to poop?’ he says, ‘you ask.’

simon and garfunkle was something.

they came on stage behind a brass band and then ripped into hazy shade of winter (full band) and i am a rock. it was weird, i couldn’t hear art. when you heard him he sounded fine, but you couldn’t hear him. there was a little feedback at times and shit just seemed a little uptight for the first few songs. the sound wasn’t really happening. before ‘keep the customer satisfied,’ art says, ‘no, they don’t need to turn up my voice, the problem is i have no voice.’ he was sick or something.

bummer, right? simon and a fifth of garfunkle. they played a few more tunes and then art left the stage so paul can do a few solo tunes. the energy of the place went through the roof. diamonds on the soles of her shoes. boy in the bubble. that was your mother. the only living boy in new york. !!!

art comes back on stage. i gotta admit, i was kinda feeling like art was a bit of a boat anchor on the set at this point and wished paul would just keep playing by himself and chalk it up to, you know, one of those things (once during the solo set, paul even said, ‘yeah, probably no bridge over troubled water today’). but you really never know what you’re going to get. art walks up looking a little sad, and paul says into the mic, ‘you gonna make it?’ he then leans back and presumably says the same thing in art’s ear. he then gets back on the mic, laughing, and says, ‘i asked him, ‘are you gonna make it?’ and he says, ‘i don’t know!’ they then kick into my little town and bridge over troubled water.

this bridge over troubled water performance might have been the most punk rock thing i have ever seen in my life. yes, i said it, and i meant it. art is clearly running on fumes. the whole audience knows he is and they’re rooting for him. cheering him on. the tune starts. art takes a verse. again, he’s spot on pitch, there’s just a faint whisper of his voice. paul does a verse. they come back and sing a verse together. as they started the line, ‘i’m on your side, when times get rough (i’m tearing up again as i write this), i’ll take your part, when darkness is all around’ paul puts his hand on art’s shoulder, gives him a loving little rub, and holds it there through the whole verse. fucking brilliant. they get to the big finale, when paul steps away and art is just supposed to soar, and paul looks at him like, ‘well, here we go,’ and he steps back, and fucking art garfunkle just lays into it, goes for every note, even the ridiculous high one at the end, scratchy, soulful, right on key, with nothing but heart and fucking balls, and paul is peeking around at the band like, ‘are you hearing this?’ and the song ends and those two erupt like ten year old little kids. laughing and giggling and hugging each other and whispering to each other and everyone in the audience is crying and going fucking crazy and … i don’t know, man. it was just one of those things. sometimes, even music, you know? just a real vulnerable human moment framed by a gloriously beautiful song on a gloriously muddy day (it never rained, btw). i felt lucky to see it. they closed with cecilia, and bookended the set with a little brass band solo (lead by terrence blanchard) over the coda (‘jubilation, she loves me again!’)

back at jazz fest.