For a certain stripe of blues fan, the older, wilder and more obscure the performer the better. If you’re of that mindset, you probably saw Drink Small, the 80-year-old South Carolina bluesman who’s been playing various joints for the past half-century. The opening of his set, where he delivered a borderline-risque rap and then a song about how all guys should marry nurses, would have you thinking you’d struck gold. The rest of the set was a good deal loopier, as he played some very familiar songs—“Stand By Me,” “Little Red Rooster” and James Brown’s “I Feel Good”—in not-quite familiar ways, changing keys and lyrics at will. Backed by a tireless rhythm section (including drummer/writer Ben Sandmel), Small navigated the fine line between idiosyncratic genius and just plain wrong.
Drink Small (Photo: Earl Perry)
Thursday is traditionally family day at the Fest, which doesn’t mean you can’t get away with some innuendo: Fronting the Honeypots at Lagniappe, singer Margie Perez delivered a playfully sexy number whose chorus went “If I knew you were into Latin girls, I would’ve taken a chance.” Meanwhile at Economy Hall, Aurora Nealand sang a version of “Ain’t Nobody’s Business” that retained all the suggestion in Bessie Smith’s version and probably added a little. I expected zydeco’s queen of the double entendre, Rosie Ledet, to complete the trifecta, but she played a largely G-rated set, possibly because her own daughter was onstage with her (Ledet also let it be known that she’s become a grandma). That didn’t make her sound any less sprightly—she believes in keeping the songs short and fast, and she introduced a nifty one about the Rock ‘N’ Bowl.
He hasn’t released it yet, but Shamarr Allen has his hit: Once “My Girl Doesn’t Have Enough Sex With Me” gets out, he’ll be a patron saint to frustrated guys everywhere. It’s one of his classic-R&B styled songs, with a funny (but respectful) Michael Jackson mention in the lyric. When he played it at Congo Square he had most of the guys, and a few of the gals, singing along in agreement.
A rock band that impressed me at last month’s Freret Street fest, Gravy made their Jazz Fest debut at Lagniappe. This time they had a four-piece horn section, and some of their freer jams went into Galactic territory. But as on Freret, the highlight was a version of Pink Floyd’s “Fearless”—one of the Floyd’s few moments of outright joy, and one that translates well to gospel-rock context. The band’s own deep-Southern styled ballad, “Monterey” wasn’t far behind.
Patti Smith invokes "WOW." (Photo: Earl Perry)
Since last weekend’s George Benson set was for more enjoyable than expected, it seemed a good occasion to check out another jazzman who crossed over to smooth R&B success in the ‘70s/early ‘80s, namely vibraphonist Roy Ayers. His set at the Jazz Tent opened with some of the material that made him a hit back then: Elegant disco with cosmic overtones, completely enjoyable now that this kind of music is all but extinct. Ayers played MIDI vibes which sounded tinnier than real ones, but allowed for more variation of sounds. Unfortunately he followed that with Dizzy Gillespie’s “Night in Tunisia,” a classic tune that became a springboard for overlong sax, bass and drum solos, with a zillion melodic quotes and the tune itself falling by the wayside early on. Never thought I’d ever say this about anybody, but Ayers’ set needed less jazz and more disco.
On to Patti Smith, who was starting “Because the Night” as I arrived and went into frantic versions of “Banga” (with longtime guitarist Lenny Kaye doing the dog barks) and “People Have the Power”, a high level of intensity that I was told she’d maintained for the full set. There was a short breather on a piano/vocal Neil Young ballad, “It’s a Dream,” which she slotted in because “I didn’t do as much yakking as usual and we zipped through our set.” Then came the encore segue of “Land” into “Gloria,” a moment designed to inspire and to empower: As the song peaked for the third or fourth time, Smith made her testimony: “We have our blood. We have our imaginations. And we are fucking HERE!” Never mind if you’re too cynical to go to concerts looking for epiphanies: This was one.
