Gumbo has fashioned a counter slogan to the PHS' If it's new, let's do. He's just getting a bit feisty. Sunday is Port Of Call on the way to the last day of Jazz Fest 2010, so we dress and exit our hotel for the walk over to Deja Vu on Conti to meet the studs. Damn, rain! Gumbo immediately breaks our the plastic poncho, which makes you look like a big penis with a condom on. Or not so big, whatever the case. It's raining lightly, so I don't want to go through the hassle. Anyway, we arrive to find the Studs not ready, per usual, so we settle for a couple Deja Vu Bloody Marys (notice that the barkeep finishes off the concoction with a couple shots of Guinness). Decent. Very spicy, but no Lucy's. The Studs finally show up, but are in no hurry, even if it means missing Ruthie Foster. But we eventually get a cab.
Port of Call requires that you, if planning to eat at the bar as we do, hover over those currently occupying your target stools to make them hurry with their meals. It never works. Of course, the Studs think they are masters at it. We finally get seated and order up the icon- big-ass cheeseburger and baked potato with everything in the kitchen on them. I usually accompany this heartstopper with a Neptune's Monsoon ("an old recipe used frequently as a last request by pirates condemned to walk the plank... $9.50"). but I opt for another Bloody Mary. Completely stuffed, we're out. We grab a cab out to Port of Call with RJ, an older black gentleman who gives us a New Orleans history lesson as we wind our way through the neighborhoods. Gumbo carries on a banter with the guy, prompting me to note that, like Barbara Billingsley in Airplane!, Gumbo can speak jive. Mark (aka The Big Me) and Barry are immediately offended that I felt the need to reference the movie for them.
We're dropped off right at the entrance. Gumbo gives RJ a jive handshake and we're into the Fest. As you may know by now, Gumbo has saved thousands buying his Jazz Fest tickets online. We arrive in time to catch the last couple numbers from Ruthie. She's great, backed by her all-woman band, finishing with a rousing Up Above My Head (I Hear Music In The Air). To the Blues Tent for Margie Perez (who, I think, got caught taking the subway during the Boston Marathon a few years back- but I could be mistaken). And we actually get to sit for a change! I'm not blown away with Rosie, I mean Margie. Next, over to Gentilly for Trombone Shorty & Orleans Avenue, where we meet up with Kenny/Kippy (formerly Maureen) and Mark/Lisa. Excellent set from the young, not-your-ordinary trombonist. Coming up is the big decision between Van Morrison (complete with egg timer at the side of the stage so as to prevent him from giving us a minute too much music for our money) or The Dead Weather, Jack White's new supergroup. For me, no contest. It's The Dead Weather. But first, we slide over to Fas Do Do for Warren Storm, Willie Tee & Cypress. Mostly 50's-style oldies that got Gumbo dancing. It's raining off and on by now and I'm killing myself trying to get the poncho on and off (and on). This is also the point at which Billy V's short, pink-skirted friend reappears on the scene. It's very windy and he has nothing on underneath, so it's not a pretty sight. In addition, he is now wearing a shirt with the tasteful heading: Things that make my dick hard. Yes, I know you can't stand the suspense, so here goes- "You, beer, your mother, my hand, lesbians" - I must stop, even I have limits.
Gumbo is willing to try The Dead Weather (composed of Alison Mosshart , Jack White , Dean Fertita and Jack Lawrence), while the PHS go for Van. Good crowd, mostly younger, but overall the threat of rain seems to have kept the numbers down today. They come out dressed completely in sinister black, do a little instrument noodling, then slam the shit out of us for the next hour. I love it, Gumbo not so much, so he departs for places unknown (actually Luther Kent, I think). Mosshart is a poser (and a spitter), but it works. White is still the star of the show and the crowd goes nuts every time he takes vocals. He finishes the show by getting off the drums for a searing guitar solo as the rains poured down. Cool theater. Great show.
The end of Jazz Fest 2010 is near. The Studs and I start The Close with the Radiators at Gentilly, then over to Acura with Marshall's Crewe for the Nevilles. JG goes for Richie Havens at Fas Do Do and comes away disappointed on two fronts- first, that this old folkie was on the cajun/zydeco stage and, secondly, that he wasn't very exciting.
Dinner at the bar at Bacco on Chartres Street in the Quarter (yet another Brennan restaurant!) where Johnny Gumbo grabs the check! Barry hears that Eric Lindell is playing nearby at One-Eyed Jack's, so we venture out into a light rain, meeting Mark/Lisa and Kenny/Kippy (Maureen) along the way and convince them to come along. The first show is just finishing. It's approaching AM and I'm beat, can't do the intermission (guessing forty-five minutes) and the show. M/L & K/K(M) feel the same and we leave the Studs and Gumbo to enjoy Lindell. As luck would have it, the skies open as I'm three blocks away from the hotel. I'm absolutely soaked when I get to the room. Next morning, Gumbo utters the dreaded, "you should've hung out, man, Eric Lindell was fabulous. And we were up close by the stage. Really cool." (quick Dave Attell reference for the Studs: The one night you don't go out, there's always the guy who's like, "You should have hung out." That's when all the great stuff happens. The three-way with the Dixie Chicks. Midgets dressed as Lincoln. All that stuff.)
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