New Orleans is incomparable, culturally speaking. The vernacular they speak down there tickles me to no end. On Thursday night at the "Lousiana Jukebox" TV studios, during the pre-show buffet, Paz spotted a guy from the crew wearing some of those super-baggy, hang-from-the-hip, show-your-underwear jeans that are so popular among young rap enthusiasts and extreme skateboarders. Paz looked at him, paused, then said "Man, where did you get dem pantses?" I nearly busted a gut laughing. For the rest of my stay the term "pantses" was an inside joke among Michael, May and me. And one doesn't say "really?" down in the Big Easy. If you want to fit in, you best ask "for true?". As in "You stayed up all night for true?". The appropriate response down there on Friday morning May 4th, in my case, would be "yes, ma'am." Friday, May 4th So, I take a cab to the Fairgrounds from downtown. I'm feeling good and happy. Overjoyed really, despite eschewing slumber. The early morning funk music party is still fresh in my mind as I look forward to another stellar day of all kinds of music and joyful spectacle at the Jazzfest proper. I'm intrigued and people watch as the cab winds through the New Orleans neighborhoods. I see affluent mansions not far removed from rudimentary projects. A chill runs down my spine as I ponder what it must've been like right here during slavery days. I could almost hear screaming and bullwhips cracking, just like Neil Young sings in "Southern Man." Very near the Fairgrounds is a cemetary where they don't bury their dead, but rather entomb them above ground, lest the frequent floods float the corpses away. Not sure why I mention that, it just caught my eye. It's still an hour until the gates open when I arrive at the fairgrounds around 10:00 a.m.. I strike up a conversation about the previous day with a group from Germany and then talk to some sweet church ladies who are there to see one of their favorite singers perform in the Gospel Tent first thing that day. There's a young guy sprawled out under a tree fast asleep right by the front gate, oblivious to passersby, using the tree's root as a pillow. Maybe he was at that same party I was this morning I muse to myself as I step over him. I giggle thinking to myself, "There but for the grace of God go I." Finally the gates swing open. My cell phone battery had run out hours ago, so I walk over to the Lagniappe stage and inquire of one of the guys in Michael's crew, Jay, what time Paz's "call" would be. He hadn't arrived quite yet. I tell Jay about my all night adventures. He nods knowingly and then leads me into the air-conditioned building behind the stage that is inaccessible to the public. "You can chill here and nap until Paz arrives" he said, smiling as he opened the door to the jockey's dressing rooms where there are lockers, showers and a small bedroom with a lockable door. "I'll let Paz know you're in here when he gets in." I thank him profusely, take a shower, then it's beddy bye-bye for awhile. I sleep briefly, but soundly. Jay tells me that Paz is waiting for me over at the Sprint stage when I awake, so I head over. May and jmdler Diane and her friends have already hooked up and are off shopping at the arts and crafts booths, Paz tells me. On this day, Paz has two headsets on, one for each ear, one for audio production and one for video. At times it's tough for me to discern during our conversation whether he's talking to me or whoever is on the other end of the headsets, because he's doing it all. The guy is Mr. Musical Multi-task. Diane, May, Peggy, Mary and Joanie arrive at the stage from their shopping excursion. Michael gives us all Artist's passes and we all head over to the huge Acura stage to catch Wilson Pickett's set as Michael ducks back stage to go back to work. We're all hugs and giggles on the walk over and I've got lots of 'splaining to do about my night before. It's all good. We're all having a ball. When we get to the Wilson Pickett venue we decide that we're better off watching it from the wings on the large video screens for this one, as the crowd at that stage is daunting at the moment. We head back to the Sprint stage in time to catch Keb Mo's set from the reserved-for-artists section up in front. He's fabulous, doing material from his new album solo and with an accompanying guitarist. I love his new song "Change" and I recall Bob Muller mentioning Mo's work here on the list. I begin to wish that Bob and Kakki and Alison and Nikki and Ashara and Rose and MG and all my JMDL friends could be here, cause it's all too beautiful. After Keb Mo's set, we mosey back to the Acura stage where Paul Simon is half-way through his set. Paz shows up in a cart somehow and I ride with him to pick up pizza for his crew. We find May and she hops on too, and we go back to the Sprint stage to make our plans for the evening. Upon leaving the fairgrounds, Paz drops May and me off to catch my friends' band at Checkpoint Charlie's while Micheal heads over to the Ugly Dog where he plays a set of his own with friends. May and I eat a great leisurely dinner at a quaint old Thai restaurant near Checkpoint Charlie's before heading by cab over to the Ugly Dog uptown. When we arrive we meet the JMDL's own Willy the Shake, who can shake it indeed we find out, as he's dancing to the D'Amphibians, already in progress. Diane and company are there too, so the JMDL party ensues in earnest. We buy each other drinks left and right. Sweet Mary, who is also from the UK, like Willy, is drinking a strange concoction of beer and 7up. I have a cosmopolitan and a tequila shot, then switch to Cape Cods midstream. Around 3 a.m. we finally pack the gear and head back to Paz's. We're all beat. I fall asleep as soon as my head hits the pillow, but with a big smile on my face. Tomorrow is another day... (End of Part 2) -Julius
