More Goddang Mothafucking Time, Would Be Nice

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Spoon, Republic, New Orleans, Louisiana

Spoon was one of those concerts that I was going to see, regardless of the fact that I don’t know their music.  When I saw on Poll Star that they were coming to New Orleans, I pretty much decided right then and there that I was going.  Of course, not being a devoted fan, I didn’t stand in line the day tickets went on sale, and apparently they sold out quickly.  I wasn’t really bothered because, as I told my bearded friend Baldwin, “I’m sure I’ll see them eventually.”

Baldwin isn’t as passive as I am however.  The afternoon before the show, he texted me, “Spoon tomorrow night?  $22.”  So I said yes, and I caught a ride to the show on Thursday night with Baldwin, his date Caroline, his younger brother Pike, the noteworthy and broken-footed Jon Guidroz, and Guidroz’s lady Meghan.

Foburg Festival, New Orleans, Day 3

I woke up Sunday morning feeling like I was underwater.  I had a 10 am meeting that lasted until around 2.  I coasted through most of it, partially because I couldn’t hear anything, but mainly because I got 4 hours of sleep.  Needless to say, Sunday would be the first day in several years that I got to enjoy a nice, lengthy nap.

I called Matt at around 5 in the evening.  “I slept ‘till 3:30 today man!” he boasted.  After Friday night, he had slept until 2:15, while I was up at 10:30.

“Shut the fuck up dude,” I muttered to him.  “You want to do this between 8 and 9?”

“You read my mind,” he said.  “I feel rough today.

By the time Matt and I showed up reenergized at Maison, the early show had already ended.  Though it would have been nice say that I was there for everything, I wasn’t bothered.  With 23 solid hours of live music in a span of 48, it’s safe to say I was pulling my weight.

Foburg Festival, New Orleans, Day 2

I awoke, incredibly hungover, to a text message from my good friend Megan: “Just farted so bad that it went through my pants and left a spot on the couch.”  Sometimes, I could just marry that girl.

We celebrated St. Patrick’s Day a few days early on Saturday.  We had the uptown parade, and I happen to live on the route with my roommates, David and Lillie.  Five weeks prior, I had ordered a Kelly green windbreaker that bore the CAKE logo – it was really awesome – but it never arrived (you can see it here).  Later, it would arrive just in time for real St. Patrick’s day, but I had work and couldn’t party.  I was pissed.

Nevertheless, I had the opportunity to try my first taste of crawfish for the season at my friend John’s house, so I wasn’t that pissed.  Before I dug in I asked John, “Are they good?”

“My boy Cusimano makes ‘em HOT,” John replied in a thick New Orleans accent.  You know you live in New Orleans (or Jersey?) when your “boy” is Cusimano, whoever he is.  But John wasn’t lying, Cusimano indeed made them hot, and by that I mean great.

Foburg Festival, New Orleans, Day 1

Friday

Foburg Music Festival started, for me, before 4pm on Friday, March 12. My three and a half year old computer, Sony “Bono” Vaio, crashed the day before, so my friend Meggie and I went out to Best Buy to get a new one. “I’m going to get a new camera,” she said. Though she had no luck, I’m now the proud owner of a tiny little Gateway Netbook for $358.64, courtesy of federal loans.

“Let’s go thrifting too,” Meggie demanded on the way home. So, to Bloomin’ Deals we went, where I found a gold mine of 8 cassettes, including albums by Pearl Jam, R.E.M, Jimmy Buffett, Hall & Oates, and Callaway. You wouldn’t believe this, butChanges in Latitudes is the third Buff’ album I own on cassette, and as such was the first one I listened to.

Then it was time for the festival. I heard from Matt (@EatPizza) early in the afternoon. “It’s such a beautiful day, why don’t we just go down there now and get started?”

“Sounds good to me,” I said.

Michael Franti, Secret Show Outside New Orleans Arena

I got a text message on Wednesday telling me there was a free Michael Franti show at 4:15. Although I wasn’t familiar with any of his music, I knew the name. “I think that guy was on the Hempilation CD I had in high school,” I texted back.
It turns out he was opening for John Mayer that night at the New Orleans Arena. I checked Franti’s Twitter: “I will be busking in front of the arena tomorrow in new orleans at 4:15. At the entrance across from the superdome. See yall there.” Mar 9 3:27 pm. The subsequent tweet read, “Its been brought to my attention some people don’t know the term ‘busking’. That means playing music on the street.” Mar 9 3:28 pm.
I turned to my partner, Meggie, and told her about the free show. “Is it going to be any good?” she asked.
“I have no idea,” I replied.
“Okay, I’ll go. It’s probably going to rain though.”
So even though the weather looked menacing, Meggie and I got in the car and headed downtown from Tulane’s campus. I took the obligatory wrong turn and ended up on the West Bank for several nerve-wracking minutes, but we still managed to get there at 4:15 on the dot.
However, when we arrived, heard no music saw no concert, only a moderate crowd of obvious Franti fans. With tiny droplets of rain beginning to fall on our clothes, I said to Meggie, “I want to apologize in advance if this sucks.”
By 4:45, the crowd started getting restless. “Do you hear that?” a lady said ominously. “I hear music…coming from above…”
“It’s coming from that,” I said, pointing to a speaker above our heads playing elevator jazz.
I was starting to think this free show was a wash. “I’m titling my article ‘The Balk of the Century’ if this dude doesn’t show,” I said to Meggie, frustrated. Then at 4:50, a hatted, statuesque Michael Franti appeared out of nowhere, carrying an old acoustic guitar and a tiny amp. With him was a much smaller guy, also carrying guitar and amp.
While quickly looking for an outlet for the amps, Franti yelled to the crowd, “Sorry we’re late guys. This is Jay. He broke a string on the way, but he fixed it in record time!” I checked Twitter: “We’3e on our way to play in front of NOLA arena and jay broke a string. Pit crew quick fix.” Mar 10 4:46 pm.
At that point, the two men launched into several songs that Franti explained were new, which was valid considering this was a free show, the perfect place to experiment with new stuff. They happily demanded audience participation, even allowing a lady, who happened to have an egg shaker on her, to jam with them in front of the crowd.
One of the funnier moments involved audience clapping. Throughout the set, Franti would ask the crowd to clap the beat, since Franti and Jay had no beat otherwise. At one point, Franti yelled, “Gimme a soul clap!”, possibly not realizing realizing that in New Orleans we actually have a “soul clap”. Once we started the soul clap, Franti and Jay politely made it known that they didn’t want that many claps per measure.
Franti also played his hit single, “Say Hey”, which he said he wrote in Woody Harrelson’s bathroom. “Isn’t it crazy that Woody Harrelson’s dad was convicted of murdering a federal judge,” I whispered to Meggie.
“IIIIII know, it’s so bizarre that he was a freaking contract killer,” she replied, smiling.
We couldn't hold back the smiles that day, because Franti’s little buddy Jay had a massive frin from ear to ear for the entire set. I don’t know if those were his stage theatrics or if he was just that psyched to be there in front of the arena playing for such an intimate crowd, but Meggie said it best: “It makes me happy that he’s so happy.”
And that did indeed make us happy. One minute I’m sitting at a desk, sluggish from a sugar-high comedown, doing the most mind-numbing work imaginable on a dreary Wednesday afternoon; the next minute I’m watching this tall drink of water Michael Franti playing the happiest songs on Earth; and his little buddy is turning a cloudy day bright.
“It couldn’t have been better if John Mayer himself showed up and started telling racist jokes about his own dick,” I said to Meggie as we walked back to the car.
“UGH you’re so gross!” she yelled at me, still smiling.

Michael Franti, Secret Show outside New Orleans Arena

I got a text message on Wednesday telling me there was a free Michael Franti show at 4:15.  Although I wasn’t familiar with any of his music, I knew the name.  “I think that guy was on the Hempilation CD I had in high school,” I texted back.

It turns out he was opening for John Mayer that night at the New Orleans Arena.  I checked Franti’s Twitter: “I will be busking in front of the arena tomorrow in new orleans at 4:15.  At the entrance across from the superdome.  See yall there.” Mar 9 3:27 pm.  The subsequent tweet read, “Its been brought to my attention some people don’t know the term ‘busking’.  That means playing music on the street.” Mar 9 3:28 pm.

I turned to my partner, Meggie, and told her about the free show.

“Is it going to be any good?” she asked.

“I have no idea,” I replied.

“Okay, I’ll go.  It’s probably going to rain though.”