Two consecutive girlfriends from New Orleans puts me in the mind of vintage Mickey Rourke screaming Angel Heart. Creeping past a haunted house on my way to Nick Cave at the House of Blues there in ‘98 had the same effect. Get my ass back to Austin and hurry.
New Orleans Jazz Fest makes me pause every year. What if a must-see headlines? My last visit, April 2003, yielded Fats Domino, Smokey Robinson, Allen Toussaint, Ornette Coleman, and Bob Dylan – all on the first weekend. And Dr. John, of course. His was the last time slot that Sunday. A buddy who then lived in the city and I took in the sunset and the vibe. Goin’ Back to New Orleans, Dr. John’s master statement, drips that same nostalgic patina.
Ol’ Mac Rebennack imported a precious portion of NOLA to the One World Theatre the first week of the month. This time the GF hails from Baltimore. The good doctor, who as recently as late last decade spent most of his time just down the road from Atlantic mogul Jerry Wexler on Long Island, moved a bit sluggish that balmy Wednesday evening, like a reptile without enough heat. We danced in the aisles along with the rest of the full house.
Goin’ Back to New Orleans’ “How Come My Dog Don’t Bark (When You Come Around),” greatest hit “Accentuate the Positive,” and closer/encore “Such a Night” still ring in my ears. Will I ever go back to New Orleans? Not with the Angel Heart hex on me. Botheration, as Dr. John says. I had H.E.B.’s Mardi Gras King Cake instead.
This article appears in February 20 • 2009.
