Goodbye 2010, Hello Timbuktu!!

5,4,3,2,1, Happy New Year from 33,000' aboard Virgin America on the way to New York. Sir Richard Branson has kindly bought the plane a round and I've just popped a Karma Brut bubbly. I toast to my fellow passengers as I begin the journey to my final destination: Timbuktu.

Where is Timbuktu, you may wonder...next to Shangri-La? It's actually in the north of Mali, West Africa, where I will be attending the Festival in the Desert and meeting my good friend and fellow photographer/filmmaker Ron Wyman. I'll also be writing and shooting a travel piece for my newspaper, and this blog will be a terrific opportunity to lay down some color for that.

Ron recently made a wonderful film on Tuareg musician and amazing guitarist Bombino:
Bombino will be playing on the second day of the fest and I can't wait to meet with him and hopefully jam! Just picked up a Martin backpacker guitar, so I'll be spending the entire trip doing the two things I love most, music and photography...this sucker only weighs two pounds and sounds great!

Looking forward to a camel trek, trekking in Dogon country and meeting locals...stay tuned, more to come! Happy New Year!

When my mom got mad at me when I was a child, she used to say: "I'm going to send you to Timbuktu!" No worries ma, I'm going...

Good Night N'awlins

This brings the Big Easy blog to a conclusion for now, but I know I'll likely return to the Crescent City in the near future. Thanks so much for taking the time to view my first blog. Please wish the people of New Orleans and the rest of the gulf (please don't forget hard-hit Mississippi and southern Louisiana) luck during the upcoming storm season. Not to be a pessimist, but I have a feeling they're going to need it. I just hope it isn't to follow our Oaktown urban search and rescue teams during another storm. I don't think I could bear witness a second time.

On a positive note, in times of tragedy great music and art emerge from the wreckage and people are reminded what matters. I was fortunate to have witnessed that once again this weekend. I'm now inspired to make a film to submit to www.katrinafilms.com This nation must remember and never allow what happened in New Orleans to happen again anywhere. It was a disgrace to our country, one of the most wealthy in the world.



To those I met and spoke with on my journey, I really enjoyed my time with y'all, even if it was brief. Y'all we're awesome folks. To my really good friends, please come to the Fest next year and help share the cost of a room. I'll share my knowledge of the city. Fair trade? If you like this blog, please share it with friends. I will edit the earlier posts that I wrote when I the synapses weren't firing and improve the writing.

There's a certain mojo that works for me every time I'm in town. I always feel like I meet exactly whom I'm supposed to at just the right time. The syncronicity is uncanny, a slow flow like the mighty Mississippi that you just have to roll with. In all my many travels, I haven't experienced that to this level anywhere I've been. Have any of you had the same feeling? It's one of the powerful mysterious things that keeps me coming back to NOLA.

I know what it means to miss New Orleans. Good luck everyone. I'll be back.

Po Girls and Posters

This is my friend Chris Williams, (aka Cristina DeSoto) originally from the Cajun country of New Iberia, La. Chris is an amazing artist, psychically in tune and much like New Orleans, very unique. We go back to our days in Portsmouth, NH in the 80's, which now seems like another century. I wonder why? Though we don't see each other often, I've always felt a connection to Chris. She's been on the Jazzfest staff for more than 20 years and could write a book.

I had never heard of Jazzfest until I met Chris. Okay, I was clueless. Though she always encouraged me to go, for reasons that I'm only now beginning to understand, I never made it there until this year. All in all, I couldn't have picked a better year to lose my Jazzfest virgin status. Speaking of which, if like me, you didn't order your Jazzfest 2006 poster featuring Fats when they first went online, you missed out. It's a terrific work of art and history and I had no idea they were limited edition. I'm still clueless.



I guess that explains that long-ass line at the Fest and all those tubes. Can anyone hook me up? :-) DISCLAIMER: I will never sell it on E-Bay for profit even if I have to van it next year, and I'll treasure it forever because this fest meant so much to me personally.

Miss Chris (my new nickname for her) loves her city and has lived there on and off for years. "It's intoxicating, it's third-world, there's no other place like it. The Crescent City will keep calling you back." Chris said.

Hippyana Herricane

Please bear with me through this last section or just look at the pictures and skim, I was on the plane and had more time to write.

If you can tell me what the title of this post plays on, you win a prize. So the big question friends always have is about the rental van that was my home for the duration of this adventure. No one is asking, "So how was the Boss?" "Did you see the Meters?" "Is D.L. Menard still alive?" It's: "Where did you park tonight? How did it go?" "I'm worried about your safety, be careful J.T. " "Have you had a shower?" "Where do you pee? "Don't you have to pee when you wake up?"

After spending two weeks on the gulf coast in September covering the aftermath of Katrina and the onslaught of Rita, I got pretty used to living in an SUV and eating MREs working for ANG. How's that for a bit of acronese? At least there was real food this time and the oysters and crawfish were back. I feel like on this fourth trip to NOLA I've come full circle by roughing it once again. So here's Hurricane Jane's wheels....a way nicer vehicle than I drive at home. The total age of my car and motorcycle there is 35. I hope someday a kind philanthropist will help support my altruistic artistic pursuits.



It really was quite a good little rig and it cost no more than a compact rental. The van's tinted windows and the power inverter which I brought to charge my batteries were my best friends. I must say the quarter is getting back to it's old sketchy self. It was the first time post-K that I felt like I truly had to watch my back, and parking has grown more difficult. Especially finding that primo cozy dark spot where the sun didn't hit until late and the cabs didn't cruise pass every 15 minutes. I was fortunate to have a great spot every night, but for security reasons I can't blog where in case I'm in this predicament the next time.



It often got a little warm in the mornings, but nothing like what I experienced back in the sweltering fall. I figured after all the partying each night, it was good for my system to sweat it out in my own personal sauna. If you want the intimate personal hygiene details, I'll be glad to share them with you. Let's say it was the longest I went without a shower since I used to crew offshore on sailboats. It rained pretty hard one night and I tried to walk under all the downspouts you would normally try your best to avoid. I need to use up vacation time at work and would have stayed for the second weekend of the fest if I had some friends with me to share a hotel. Those of you who know me well know I love winging it, but after a week the thrill was gone baby. Freedom's just another word for nothin' left to lose.

Mail Lady and the Levees

I'm afraid. I'm very afraid. I fear for the survival of the Crescent City and the remainder of it's residents. I got a first-hand look at the pile-driving process at the London Avenue Canal, which broke in two places as the surge from Lake Ponchatrain poured through. It's a slow, painfully slow, inch-by inch process. I'm no structural engineer, but I don't see how in the world the levees can be shored up before hurricane season. They expect more storms this year than last, and are already anticipating a few in July. Below, a couple guys on the left flee as the pile-driver slipped a bit.



Don't quote me, but I believe there were 5 levee breaks in total. Two on the industrial canal, including the massive breach that wiped out the Lower 9th ward, two on the London Avenue canal above and one on the 17th Street levee. As a local resident said: "We're in school and we're just out at recess right now." This is what the famous FEMA (Federal Employees Missing Again) trailer looks like. Word has it that these all will be crushed after their time is up. Great decision feds. This house is near the 17th St. levee break and you may be able to see the low-water mark on the house.



To be continued at the airport, heading out today...I'm ready. Though I tried to pace myself, I have a slight case of Big Easy Burnout..........................pffffft. Blogging is like crack, I'm a junkie now posting from a bench outside the terminal.



A ceiling fan spins eerily in one of the countless empty homes on the other side of the canal as each thud of the nearby pile driver sounds like the slow heartbeat of a critical patient in the ICU. The silence is deafening and there isn't a soul in sight except for a pair of birds that have landed on a nearby porch. Times like this are when I once again realize the enormity of the devastation and the sadness hits me. It's coming along though, it's not going to be an overnight process. There is way less debris than back in September.



I ran into a family who came all the way from Houston to sift through the rubble of their Lower 9th ward home which was flattened when the industrial canal levee gave way. Good thing they got out or these folks would have likely perished.

Their community had it's problems, but going back generations, was extremely close-knit. There are some solid, righteous people here. I did a video interview with Fats Domino's mail lady Michelle McMillan, who lived in the neighborhood all of her life. Many of the people she knew on her route died in the storm. Michelle is good friends with Fat's daughter, and she's looking forward to seeing him headline the final day of Jazzfest next weekend.



Conisha Bee (great name) showed me a picture of her sister with her son that they found on their property. The only other items they were able to salvage were eight dinner plates. When you lose everything, even retrieving one thing must be like finding gold.

They were a terrific family and I felt like I connected with them. I'm going to e-mail Michelle some pictures, so they can at least have a memory of their former home if they haven't taken pictures already. I've talked to SO many people all over the gulf coast who lost everything they owned, and it breaks my heart each time. Losing your belongings is one thing, but they have lost more than that. They lost their family and their community as they were scattered across the country in the biggest diaspora since the dust bowl days. This is huge, now I wish I had followed a family who had migrated to Oakland early on. Maybe it's not too late? Anyone know anyone who has relocated to Oaktown from NOLA?

Jigger the Swamp Pirate

Jigger Bordelon is one cool dude, a great human being and unique individual. A big guy with a big heart, he cooks at the historic French Market restaurant on lower Decatur Street and is by trade a welder who at one point worked on the levee system. He "rode the bitch out" back in August as his home shook during Katrina's 180 mph plus winds that struck the St. Bernard Parish.

A resilient swamp ace, ("We navigate in our mind.") Jigger had the foresight to tie his boat off his side door, and launched it to rescue neighbors as soon as the winds died down. While doing this, he and his momma survived by living on her rooftop for 10 days and cooking up food on a propane stove. Here's a note he left on his side door for her:



His grandparents built the house back in the day, and as a 7th-generation St. Bernardian, he's lived there his entire life. He also owns another home around the corner and 62 acres out in the swampland of Hopeland, where his trailer was washed 50 yards from it's original location. He's determined to rebuild here in his getaway spot, and will "ride the bitch out" again.



Jigger, thank-you for sharing, it was deep.

Springsteen to St. Bernard

The 2006 Jazzfest theme "The Healing Power of Music" is shown here as Springsteen does a moving gospel rendition of "When the Saints Go Marching In." Being a Jersey gal who has long had a love affair with New Orleans, and having spent so much time here since September covering Katrina and Rita, this experience was beyond words. I think it was for the Boss as well, as he wiped tears from his eyes talking about the man-made disaster that befell the city. He toured Lakeview and the Lower 9th, and the Boss was pissed. He mentioned our "Bystander President". Make Levees, Not War. Get your T-shirt here: www.metrothree.com Sorry, haven't figured out how to make a link on Blogspot. Their "insert link" button doesn't do the trick.



Bruce is looking so good these days. The best news is that there is a teen son of Springsteen. I hope the boy plays. And the girl too. I hadn't listened to the "Seeger Sessions" album beforehand because I wanted to hear it live for the first time. It was way better than I anticipated, and Bruce and his huge and talented band payed true homage to the music of New Orleans in his renderings of Seeger's tunes. They even did a little second line action as they walked offstage still playing right before the encore. Small Tyska claim to fame: I once played bass in a Cajun band called "The Crawdad Wranglers" and we opened up for Pete Seeger at the Lowell Folk Fest in Massachusetts. I'm looking for a cajun accordion, anyone got any leads? Since there are many displaced New Orleanians in the SF Bay Area, I want to start a zydeco/blues band.



PHOTO DISCLAIMER: These shots suck because even though I had a photo pass for the pit of all stages at the fest, Bruce's publicist decided they would only allow a small contingent of wire and local photogs. What's up with this? My company, Media News Group, just bought the San Jose Mercury News and three other papers and is now the fourth-largest newspaper chain in the country. I'm not saying this is good, but it should be enough for a Jersey girl to get up front and center. Booooooruce. No reflection on the Jazzfest PR team who were super-awesome and had nothing to do with this decision. Needless to say, I didn't move the picture for a daily because it would make me look bad in comparison to the other images that moved that day. I'm incorporating it into my Flash movie/documentary on the fest and current status of NOLA post-Katrina.



The Soul Rebels, did a great set of brass rap with positive messages. "We gotta stop killin' for recreation." If you get the chance, don't miss them...Another highlight was New Orlean's legendary piano player Allen Touissaint's set with special guest Elvis Costello. They have a record coming out soon. I've never seen this musical treasure before, and he strikes me as a most gracious and amazing human as well. His smile alone lights up the world.



Okay, get ready to meet 7th-generation St. Bernardian Jigger Borderlon, who rode out Katrina in his home in Chalmette.

The City That Put the Fun in Funeral

These pictures are all from Sunday as I slowly catch up on the blog. The New Look Social Aid & Pleasure Club's parade was a real treat and the overcast light was terrific for black and white. Friends, remember I would like a jazz funeral when my time is up. That's not too much to ask, right?



These guys and others are the soul of the Crescent City, as are the Mardi Gras Indians, many of whom lost not only their homes, but their costumes which take so long to make. Many were reunited for the first time since the storm...





The text is getting shorter as I try to hook up with my Jersey/Frisco homeboy Fletcher Nielsen, one of the best budding piano players I've seen in quite some time. Check him out at Van Cleefs in Oakland, CA on Wednesday nights. This dude is bad ass since he also writes his own tunes and sings like he's from the delta. He sat in at the legendary Johnny Gordon gig at Lafitte's Blacksmith tavern on Bourbon. Here he is doing his best Ray Charles. Apologies for the point and shoot picture.


Gotta run, the amazing Springsteen ode to N'awlins set observations and pictures to come...

Bloggus Interuptus

You know it's been a while since you posted when you have to recover your user name and password. I thought I'd spend more time experiencing life than being glued to a computer the first weekend of Jazzfest, as it's been rich as always in the
Big Difficult.

I believe the secret to a successful blog is being succinct. I'm going to try and limit my comments to what was going on in the pictures and not ramble for my own self-edification and immediate gratification of self-publishing on the web. In SAT question fashion, I also believe blogs are for serious writers what point and shoot cameras are to photographers. But now I'm rambling and self-indulgent.

Here are some of my favorite pictures from Jazzfest, I'll be doing a multimedia piece at work when I return. It was the gal on the left's birthday on the second day of the Fest. You can tell it's a local's birthday by the money pinned to their shirt by family and friends. I'll have to figure out how this unique custom began. Anyone know?



Dwayne Dopsie, son of legendary "Rockin' Dopsie, (right) with John Robinson on washboard. Hot cajun accordian player from Lafayette, LA.



Here we have killer vocalist and raunch queen Etta James minus about 200 pounds due to a recent gastric bypass. Etta, there are kids in the audience, easy on submissive guitar boy! Good thing the tykes got some sex education before the current fascists outlaw it. Where will that start? Probably Idaho. Another blog danger is getting too political. It's already so bad that we can hardly stand any more.

I Have a Confession

I'll just say it... I'm a Jazz Fest virgin. How would this be? I play music. I love music. I love to travel. I love N'awlins. With as many times as I've been to New Orleans, how did I miss this event? I've always wanted to go, it just never happened. I guess it's because I could never afford the price of a hotel here at Jazz Fest time. I still can't...let's say I'm "camping out" at the moment.

Arriving at the festival after another 4am outing and very little sleep, there were a few things to navigate. Parking for one. I lucked out at finding a secret spot a few blocks where I wouldn't be ticketed and towed. There were only a few residents back in this area which took on some water during the storm.

As the music wafted over from the festival, a hanging lamp on the porch of a deserted home blew back in forth in the wind as the front door open and shut with each gust. I felt a flood (oops, sorry, wrong word) of emotions as the prevailing sadness seemed to compete with the nearby festivities.



Besides Jazz Fest, I have two other words: Cowboy Mouth.
I must have been living in a cave having never heard this band before. Their emotional, fired-up set was perhaps one of the best live performances I've ever seen. Definitely check them out. Eerily, the power went out in the middle of "Hurricane Party." Jazzfest personnel are trying to get to the bottom of this one. They say it might be a typical Cowboy Mouth publicity stunt, since the Fest generally runs flawlessly and has the coolest production team ever.



Penny Grisamore, friends with the famous frontman Fred LeBlanc, was emotional while listening to "The Avenue", an amazing post-Katrina song on Cowboy Mouth's new record. The first time she heard tune was when Fred played it live at her house. I hear Ellen DeGeneres also cried when they played it on her show. I did too.



Also caught funky bad boy Dr. John for the first time as well...There were so many amazing acts at the fest that I needed to clone myself 20 times over. Locals say this is the busiest Friday at the fest that they can remember. Each note played was a step in the continued healing of this wonderful city.

Amber Lights and White Whine

Helen Taylor, 82, (left) and Dorothy Jones, 70, are friends, neighbors and a bright beacon in a mostly deserted block of Prieur Street in New Orleans' 8th Ward. While attention has focused on the obliterated 9th Ward, folks in the 8th were hit hard as well. I came across Helen and Dorothy hanging out on Dorothy's porch as her family was in the process of gutting and renovating her home. The spirit of New Orleans shines through as people like these gals slowly make their way home.


I paid a visit to Habitat for Humanity's Musicians Village in the upper 9th Ward shortly after visiting with Helen and Dorothy. Volunteers from all over the country are here lending a hand because we all feel like shit and can't believe the post-Katrina chaos that occured. Sober spring-breaksters have made their mark with legalized graffiti.



After a typical late NOLA night, I awoke this morning with noble intent but was only able to volunteer for 15 minutes after photographing the site since they quit at 3:30pm each day. I basically showed up for my own photo op. Don't I feel much better now? Don't we all want to volunteer for Habitat for Humanity someday? All cynicism aside, this is a terrific project to build homes for displaced musicians. Come on down, they could use your help. Uh, hours are 8:30am-3:30pm, don't stay out late...yeah, right.


Meanwhile, back in the swamp...I took a ride out to St. Bernard Parish, where I spent some time "embedded" with a Robert Dineroeseque National Guard colonel back in September. FEMA trailers have finally arrived, but like white ghosts they represent the former lives of their residents. Traffic lights are stuck on amber, a metaphor for the slow process of rebuilding. Mounds of trash and debris line the streets, discarded refrigerators lay on their sides and food from September still spoils and stinks. Signs reflect former gas prices or specials of the day, and time seems to stand still here as it does in the majority of the city. Did I need to see this again?


Today was the opening of the New Orleans Our Hometown photo exhibit at Lemieux Galleries. I was glad to contribute three pictures for the show, which will help raise money for displaced New Orleans' artists to do a residency program at Studio in the Woods in high and dry Algiers. You can purchase prints at www.nooht.org

It was cool to attend an art opening in New Orleans instead of photographing destruction. What a nice change. The picture on the upper right top row is mine. Openings are weird though, they sometimes seem a bit forced. I don't know if I could ever be an artist because of this. The Va Va Voom jazz band played and they were tight. Off to see Rockin' Jake, an old aquaintence from my Portsmouth, NH days. Jake, like others, lost most of his belongings in the storm. It takes a village.

Flyin' to New Orleans

As opposed to walkin'...trying to find some beauty in the chaos of the lower 9th ward...here's a picture I shot today.

Okay, I confess. I'm a hack of all trades but yet a virgin blogger. Listening to Walter "Wolfman" Washington at DBA in the Marigny neighborhood of New Orleans. How I arrived in town for the fourth time since Katrina is a long story which may be too boring to blog.

This all started with a quote I heard last night on Bourbon Street. "This is Bourbon Street, this isn't Sesame Street."

I'll start here and maybe work backwards at some point, maybe not. This sexy, sultry, surly city calls me back again and again...
When you meet guys like this, it brightens up your day.



This is blue dog, a stuffed Katrina survivor whose owners are rebuilding in the devasted upper 9th ward, which hasn't gotten a lot of media attention until NOLA Habitat for Humanity decided to create a musicians village in the Bywater area. I'll be visiting that site soon.

Abandoned Teddy says goodnight from N'awlins...thanks for checking in. The writing will get better when it's not so late...