Between the two weekends of the Jazz Fest, New Orleans is hopping with music at other venues. On Thursday, Adrienne, Bill and I went over to The Columns Hotel on St. Charles where Morikeba Kouyate, master of the kora, an African gourd harp, was sitting in with guitarist John Rankin.
It was awesome.
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Every tracking shot is a moral statement . . .
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The truth about girls and geeks . . .
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Every year during Jazz Fest a guy in The Garden District puts up a display on his porch, in solidarity with the event.
New Orleans is not a big city — these days it contains only about 350,000 souls, most of whom seem to believe that they’re part of one big neighborhood, at least during times of festival, and there are festivals in New Orleans most weeks of the year.
Augustus St. Gaudens’s great statue of Sherman, Fifth Avenue, New York — one of the things about the city I miss the most.
[Photo © 2012 Huger Foote]
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Jim Russell’s, on Magazine Street in New Orleans. There are a zillion LPs in this shop, but so disorganized that searching for anything becomes a bewildering chore. I picked up a couple of musical soundtracks, which I’ve yet to test on a turntable, but felt that there must be even finer treasures lurking on the shelves — it was just too much work to find out.
Still, it was wonderful to be surrounded by so much vinyl, and the chaos had its own kind of charm.
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. . . with elephants.
A magical photograph by my sister Libba, recording a magical moment at Governor’s Camp in Kenya in the 1970s.
Shallow focus . . .
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With Bill and Adrienne at Fat Harry’s on St. Charles Avenue in New Orleans, streetcar in background . . .