I'm having a wonderful life. It's been a week since the end of the New Orleans Jazz and Heritage Fest, but the sweet music is still playing in my head and I can still taste the crawfish, jambalaya, po' boys and crab cakes. I still feel the temperate sun and soft breeze and am still basking in the heart-warming glow of the "jazzfest spirit," a hybrid groove that is part southern hospitality, part communal love-in, and 100% music worship. I've never experienced anything quite like it. You don't know what it means to miss New Orleans until you've been to Jazzfest. But as I was saying, I'm singularly blessed. I've got the best friend in the world down in the Crescent City and Atty May and I and my 20 or so friends that came down from the San Francisco Bay area were treated like royalty, with the red carpet rolled out before us everywhere we went...thanks to one amazing individual. They say James Brown is the hardest working man in show business, but I'm here to tell you that the torch has been passed to one J. Michael Paz. He's a musical whirling dervish. He orchestrated audio and video production for about 100 shows over the Jazzfest fortnight, but never stopped being the best host one could ever dream of to his friends old and new. My every waking minute was filled with music, wonder and Michael's awesome, jaw-dropping surprises. Thanks a million, Michael. I could go on and on with my Paz admiration and appreciation, but I'll cut to my chronology. Wednesday night, May 2nd Arrive in New Orleans. My plane lands at around 10 p.m. just after May's and Paz scoops us up and takes us to his home in the bayou. We're all smiles and excitement about what the coming week would bring on the drive to Chez Paz. We have a couple of tequilas when we arrive and are greeted by his wonderful and super-hospitable wife, Freda...then off to bed. Thursday, May 3rd Michael heads to the fairgrounds early while we're still sleeping. Freda kindly drives us in around 11:00, dropping us off at the front entrance just as the second weekend of ubiquitous music is getting into full swing. Freda has given us the complimentary tickets Michael had left for us, so we cruise right in. The weather is perfect at about 80 degrees. I dial Michael up on the cellular as I try to tone down the smile that has taken over my face as I survey the surroundings: 11 stages strategically placed about the racetrack that is the fairgrounds, hundreds of food booths featuring authentic New Orleans cuisine, myriad booths of arts and crafts. Paz meets us at the shady Lagniappe stage (Lagniappe means "A little something on the side" Michael explains). He presents us with Artist passes, which gives us special access and privileges at all stages. We mill around a bit before settling down at the Congo Square stage for a great Brazilian band called Chevere. We then me! ! ander over to the Sprint stage M ichael is working at that day and waltz right into the area reserved for artists in front just as Lucinda Williams is being introduced. Lucinda has drawn a big crowd. We enjoy her set for awhile before deciding it's just a little too country for our current tastes. We head to the House of Blues stage to catch local cajun-blues music stalwart Sonny Landreth, as May is anxious to hear an authentic cajun band with one of those washboard players in it. We're startled, but delighted to find out when we get there that the artist viewing area at the HOB stage is right on stage. So we're dancing on stage, directly behind the band, looking out at the crowd of about 20,000 people enjoying Sonny and krewe. So on stage in fact that at one point one of the stage crew is asking May to hand him this guitar or that mike stand as I try to keep from rolling on the floor laughing at the bemused expression on her face as she puts down her beer and tries to comply. Sonny and company put on ! ! a great show. May and I chat wi th Sonny as he comes off stage. He's a very nice guy and chews the fat with us for a good while. We then head back to the Sprint stage and watch Little Band of Gold while lying out on the shore of a lagoon near the stage. Pretty soon it's 7ish and our first day at the fairgrounds is at an end. But our evening agenda is a full one. My friends in a band called the D'Amphibians from SF is scheduled to do their thing live on Michael's "Louisiana Jukebox" television show. The show generally features locally originating talent, but Paz has gone to bat for my friends the 'Phibs and got them booked, based on the fact that they do New Orleans-style funk music. We hustle right over to the studio after leaving the fairgrounds. The band and my 20 S.F. friends who will be in the studio audience meet us there and we're all served dinner in the green room before the rehearsals and then have a meet and greet before the show. Michael introduces us to many people. He introduces me to one darling woman named Diane Evans. We chat amiably and I festoon her and her friends pretty Peggy, Mary and Joanie with some of the Mardi Gras beads all of us from SF are wearing, along with some of us in pink boas and such, just to be in the spirit of it all. I don't find out until later on th! ! at night that Diane's a JMDLer! The live TV show, featuring the oldest band in the world, The Hackberry Ramblers, my friends the D'Amphibians and a local punkish band goes off without a hitch. Michael has written the copy for the shows intro and does the announcing. I blush, but am honored when he mentions me by name as well as our beloved JMDL on live television! After "Jukebox" we all retire to one of Michael's favorite haunts, "The Ugly Dog Saloon" for our nightcaps. There we hang out with the 'Phibs, the crew from the TV show, including beautiful MC Nikki Reyes, and Diane, Mary, Peggy and Joan. The 'Phibs have brought T-shirts and sign them and present them to Michael and us. May and I fall in love with Diane and company and would wind up spending most of Friday at the fairgrounds with them. It gets to be around 2 something a.m. and Michael and May head back to Chez Paz to catch a few hours Zs in preparation for the full Friday we have planned...but not me. My SF friends and I all have tickets for a private party featuring a legendary funk drummer and band at the Howling Wolf uptown. The party starts at 4:20 a.m. It turns out to be a blast. The second set starts well after sunrise. I look up from my dancing stupor at the end of the show only to find that all my friends are nowhere to be found, some having met people and gone elsewhere to party, other having gone back to their hotels. I'm stranded, sorta. And I'll be damned if I didn't forget to bring my sunglasses...I was warned never to go anywhere without them and now I know why. I feel like a vampire. But I don't panic. There is a Hilton across the street. I go in and have much coffee and the breakfast buffet and read all about the Fest goings on in the New Orleans Picuyne. By now it's about 9:30 a.m. I now simply take a cab over to the fairgrounds and join the party of people from all over the world who are hanging out waiting for the gates to open for the day. I've got my ticket in my pocket and I know Michael and May will be arriving soon. Phenomenally, I'm no ways tired, yet... (End of Part I) -Julius
