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john paul jones
REMEMBER THIS: The "co-headliner" made its new songs sound old and recyled; Mr. Jones made his old songs sound new and cool. Of course, being a professional, he had to include a few new originals from a forthcoming album, which were not as memorable. But it was worth it just to hear his version of Black Dog, which he did instrumentally on lead slide guitar (a surprisingly credible rendition with his two sidemen on Chapman Stick and drums). And bonus points for not attempting Stairway to Heaven. I wish I had been able to see his show with Diamanda Galas back in '94. . .
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katey red
REMEMBER THIS:
Festival organizers gave up the Congo Square Stage
to local acts, including the impeccably-culotted and laconically-rhymed
Katey Red and her butch posse of two guys who could penis pop. The crowd was huge and varied, from toddlers to
grannies supplying all the choruses to the one or one and a half hits that
katey red had playing in the hip hop underground: welcome to the dirty south. Welcome to bounce.
I was one of four or five white people who had left
the ragin cajun crawdad suckin seriously complicated folding chaise lounge
flag totin people as they circled the haj, and stumbled upon what music from
new orleans was actually sounding like
these days. ABOUT 5,000 PEOPLE WERE WITH ME, WITH ANOTHER 100,000 MILLING AROUND THE CORNER EATING BEIGNETS.
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