New Orleans French Quarter Festival 2007 Notes
by Bert Thompson
Part 1
In 2001, five days after the 9-11 attack on the Twin Towers in New York and some frantic
airline searches to replace cancelled flights, I was in New Orleans about to embark on a jazz
cruise on which the band I was in, Professor Plum’s Jazz, was to play. After the cruise I
thought the effects of that terrorist assault on the throngs of visitors that usually populate the
city were slight. (The same was not true of the number of passengers on the cruise, about
half of whom were missing when the ship sailed.)
In mid 2005 my wife and I decided it was time for a return visit to New Orleans, this time to
take in the French Quarter Festival, of which I had heard many good things. That year we
were visiting the Bude Festival in Cornwall, U.K., when Katrina hit, and we witnessed the
devastation in New Orleans on TV. We had already made our plans to attend the French
Quarter Festival of 2006, but decided to err on the side of caution and postponed them until
this year, when the festival was scheduled for Friday, April 13th through Sunday, April
15th. So we found ourselves back in The Big Easy a couple of weeks ago, wondering just
how much progress might have been made in the year and a half or so that had passed since
the Katrina tragedy and what might have changed.
The French Quarter, being on higher ground than much of New Orleans, escaped relatively
unscathed physically. Some roofs were damaged and still sport the blue tarps, but roofers,
most from Mexico, were busily working everywhere we went. The infamous potholes and
other sidewalk hazards are as plentiful as ever—no change from what was the case on all of
my previous visits. Every morning the storekeepers still hose down the sidewalks, and
adding to their efforts is a new garbage collection company whose trucks patrol the Quarter
24/7, literally, picking up the bags of garbage deposited on the sidewalks and any other
throwaway items, plus emptying the cans set out there as well as the city receptacles, the
result being streets that are cleaner than ever. Sidewalk areas where there are no stores are
pressure-washed by employees of the garbage company, all of them wearing black tee shirts
with the company logo emblazoned on the back, and others are sweeping the sidewalks and
gutters all day long. As if all of that were not enough, the company also has trucks that
spray some kind of disinfectant/cleanser on the streets, each followed by another truck that
washes it all down the gutters.
However, all is not well, as several discussions I had with merchants, together with what I
could see, attested. There were many real estate “For Sale” signs hanging from the balconies,
advertising condos or homes available for purchase, something I had never seen before, at
least not in such numbers, on any prior visit. Business is way off, I was told. One merchant
said our purchase was the first of that day, and it was late in the afternoon! Another antique
dealer on Royal Street said he was just about ready to call it quits as he was not making the
rent for his store. On our visit to the relatively new Riverwalk Shopping Mall, we saw that
half of the stores were vacant. Indicative of all this was the fact that before and after the
festival the crowds, compared to those of past years, were thin. Outside of the Quarter,
especially in the 9th Ward, devastation is still painfully evident and not much restoration is
going on, although Habitat for Humanity is making valiant efforts, including the
“musicians’ village” they are helping erect. But many homes are just about as they were after
the water receded—windows gone, bare wall studs revealed by missing siding and, due to
the wallboard’s also being gone inside, providing a view into the ruined home itself.
National Guard markings indicating the building had been searched and noting the results,
namely the number of bodies found, are still to be seen spray-painted on the wall by the
front door of almost every structure still standing.
But the crowds of visitors returned for the festival itself. (Perhaps New Orleans could be
revitalized if it had a festival every single week of the year!) As the week progressed toward
the opening of the festival on Friday, more and more people came to town. There was a
multitude of sites where music of all sorts could be heard. Stages were erected on Bourbon
(5) and Royal (4), Jackson Square (1), the Old U.S.Mint (2), and along the levee from the
Moonwalk toward the Aquarium of the Americas (3, the area being known as Woldenberg
Riverfront Park). In addition, several business establishments offered jazz from noon until
midnight before, during, and after the festival, including Fritzel’s European Jazz Pub on
Bourbon Street, Sean Kelley’s Irish Pub on St. Louis Street (just off Bourbon) and the Palm
Court Café on Decatur Street. (Preservation Hall did not participate in the festival proper, but
they were—and are, currently—open Thursday through Sunday nights for jazz and Sunday
afternoons for gospel.) Musical offerings varied from cajun, to zydeco, to blues, to funk, to
modern jazz, and, of course, to traditional jazz. Traditional jazz bands came from Germany,
Sweden, Canada, and the U.S., and these bands contained musicians from Australia,
Scotland, England, Switzerland, Denmark, and Norway, in addition to those from each
band's country.
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Part 2
I had the good fortune to be invited to play with some of the bands this year, the first gig
being on Wednesday at Sean Kelley’s Irish Pub with a group called Hans and His
Ragtimers. Sean Kelley’s, apparently a new venue with, of all things, a menu consisting of
entirely Mexican food (!), has a small stage which can not accommodate all the musicians,
resulting in the rhythm section’s being split with the piano and bass on one side of the stage
and the drums on the other, resulting in some occasional raggedness. Since at this time
people were still arriving in New Orleans for the festival, attendance was a bit sparse. From
Sweden, Hasse Gille (Hans) is a 76-year-old who can still blow an Armstrong-like cornet,
reaching high C’s with just a little effort. The others in his group were Boa Carlman, a banjo
player also from Sweden, and Jack McLaughlin, a reed player from Australia. On some of the
later gigs they were supplemented by others from other bands. From Wednesday on,
however, the other gigs I played with them were well attended—one Thursday, one Sunday,
and two Monday.
The same was true of the other performances I took part in, right up to the official start of the
festival on Friday. On Thursday the KBR band, whose members are principally from Canada,
played at Fritzel’s and later at Sean Kelley’s. Fritzel’s, for those who have not been there, is a
German-themed pub, serving various brews, including schnapps. Its walls are lined with
stickers, photos, etc., of bands that have played there over the years, and clearly not much has
been done in the way of redecorating for many a year. The stage is tiny, but somehow all
seven players in KBR managed to squeeze on to it. The personnel consisted of leader Brian
Towers on trombone, Joe Van Rossem on trumpet, Jack McLaughlin on clarinet, Bill Evans on
string bass, Ron Simpson on banjo, Marcello Bona on piano, and Bert Thompson on drums.
The band was first named after Kid Bastien of Toronto, the initials standing for “Kid Bastien
Remembered.” Today, however, it is said to stand for “King Bolden Rules”—or anything
else of one’s choosing. The music they play is New Orleans ensemble style and was well
received. They also played one set Friday, two sets Saturday, and two Sunday, including
one on the Continental Stage on Bourbon. This last venue left much to be desired because
the stage was erected almost right in front of one of the bars that was blasting “music” at ear-
splitting decibel levels. We could barely hear each other, but the crowed bravely stayed with
us through the entire set. Promises were made later that this situation would not be repeated
in future. One can only hope.
The two other bands that I played with were the Magnolia Brass Band from Canada and Jack
McLaughlin’s OZ band. The Magnolia, consisting of several members of the KBR band and
the Happy Pals (Canada) band, supplemented by Kid Dutch from Florida on tuba, was one of
the four or five brass bands that played in the opening parade down Bourbon Street on
Friday morning. The Happy Pals is led by Patrick Tevlin (as is the Magnolia Brass Band), and
with him on the trip were several young players. The Happy Pals piano player, Roberta
Hunt, performs the Grand Marshal duties with the Magnolia. Marching down Bourbon
Street playing Maryland My Maryland, Salutation March, and countless other tunes is an
experience I will not readily forget. I was sorry to see it end when we came down St. Ann
Street and stopped in the front of St. Louis Cathedral. Even the weather cooperated
beautifully as the sun shone brightly (Tuesday had rained all day, and there was to be some
more on Saturday). The Magnolia Brass Band made one more appearance on the stage on
Bourbon later that afternoon.
Jack McLaughlin’s OZ band—Jack leading on clarinet; Patrick Tevlin, trumpet; Brian Towers,
trombone; Marcello Bona, piano; Pete Clancy, string bass; Ole Jensen, banjo; Bert Thompson,
drums—made two appearances, the first being on the Continental Stage on Bourbon on
Friday, the second in Fritzel’s Pub early Sunday morning. Jack loves hymns and gospels,
and his sets consist almost exclusively these. In addition, he is a fervent disciple of the
ensemble style of the old New Orleans Bands, the result being there are no solos of any
kind. I must admit I found it all quite congenial. The Sunday morning set at Fritzel’s was
the closest thing at this festival to the hymn/gospel set (often given in a church) of other
festivals, but somehow it did not seem so odd to be playing these selections in a pub (after
all the Salvation Army musicians did the same thing in days gone by), although beer was
not as tempting at that hour as coffee would have been! The proceedings were recorded, so
with luck there will be a CD some time down the road.
Other jazz bands which appeared but which I did not have a chance to hear other than a tune
or two from some, unfortunately, included the Canal Creepers (Sweden), Fat’s Jazz Cats
(Germany), and the Ponchatrain Owls (international). Other “local” bands which played
only one or two sets were led by Chris Burke, Jacques Gauthé, Lars Edegran, Duke Heitger,
Jamie Wight, and Clive Wilson. It was all, indeed, an embarrassment of riches.
I played my last gig on Monday afternoon with Hans and His Ragtimers, and they urged me
to stay on with them for the next two days, but I had to decline—seventeen sets in six days
were enough for me. There were two days left to my wife and me to pick up souvenirs for
our kids and grandkids and to see the 9th ward zone. There was also some more time to
sample more of the marvelous New Orleans cuisine—the po’ boys, the gumbo, the crawfish
étouffée, the blackened catfish, the bread pudding with whiskey sauce, and all the other
super dishes the city is noted for. Then it was back to Louis Armstrong airport for the flight
back to California. But I can still hear a shopkeeper’s farewell—“Now all y’all come back ‘n’
see us”—and the words of so many others to the effect that they desperately need the tourists
to return, to make healthy contributions to the local economy (as we did). As our cab driver
said on the way to the airport, “Tell ‘em we ain’t under watah!” O.K., consider it done!
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