IT NEVER RAINS IN CALIFORNIA BUT IT DOES IN NEW ORLEANS!!

Heavy overnight rain has made the Fairground sodden underfoot for the start of the second weekend, and although the mud is squelching between toes the sun is shining by the time we get to the Fais Do-Do stage to see a bit of the Savoy Family Cajun Band, the very same one that features the pompous Marc and his more amenable (and talented) wife Ann; putting aside the pettiness, it has to be said that they sound terrific and there's plenty of high kicking in the crowd.

I just don't want to be here!

Cyril Neville wears many hats, and one of the is Swamp Funk, who are OK but nothing startling. It has to be said though that Cyril is quite photogenic and manages to attract a happy crowd.

For those inebriated by loooong guitar solos then the Acura Stage is the place to be. First up we catch some of slide supremo Sonny Landreth's set. He's always far better live than on record and so it proves today, he really is a great player. Around now the storm clouds gather again and proceedings are suspended on numerous stages (fortunately only temporarily), and any chance of the grounds drying out is long gone.

A quick dash to the other end of the festival is needed to catch the Lost Bayou Ramblers, but it's well worth it. I've never seen/heard them before and it's fair to say I totally misjudged what to expect.

Wearing his cleanest dirty singlet!

The first of their special guests (Rickie Lee Jones, these days a resident of Nawlinz) had already finished when I arrived,

Rickie Lee backstage

but their curious blend of punk and folk is highly intoxicating, if slightly familiar. It all makes sense when none other than the 'Terror Of The Tin Whistle', "Spider" Stacy (a founding member of the mighty Pogues) joins the Ramblers onstage for a rousing knees up that draws heavily upon his former band's catalogue, including a crackling 'Dirty Old Town'. It's one of the festival highlights, even if I'm pretty sure nobody in the crowd had the foggiest who Spider was.

And who should be nearby cavorting and cartwheeling around the place, but Anat, the crazy San Franciscan samba instructor.

Someone named Brandi Carlisle, looking somewhat silly in headband and poncho, has let it go to her head and banned photographers from the pit. Frankly, from what I heard she should have been standing in the mud and applauding the crowd with putting up with her. All she did was send me searching for a Brandy Alexander.

Back at the Acura and Gary Clark Jr is doing his thing. He's too important these days (!!) to allow photo pit access so Don L just enjoys the music from afar which, to be fair, is mighty fine, some of his pyrotechnic solos are dizzying in their ferocity and permeated with a healthy whiff of psychedelia.

Today's a real balancing act, and once again we're hightailing it to ensure we're up close and personal to the coolest injun on terra firma, Buffy Sainte-Marie. Now in her mid-seventies, the world's most famous Cree still looks and sounds totally fabulous. There aren't any vampires around to be slain, but she slays the big crowd of devotees as she runs through a greatest hits set of her oldest and more recent protest songs, including of course 'Universal Soldier'. Roca encendido Buffy.

Why does my geetar sound so hollow today?

Headliner time and with military precision we manage to catch the headline acts on four stages. Tinno's got Snarky Puppy (in case you're wondering, it's a band and not a rapper) covered in the Jazz Tent, and I take in the first part of the Tedeschi Trucks Band. They're a seriously large band and all handle their chosen instruments wonderfully, it's just that, well, it's so boooring! The songs are just passable, but Derek seems to think that playing a 10 minute solo with his back to the audience every song is a pre-requisite (at least Van The Man stood motionless facing the crowd!).

Jeez, can you make it a 5 minute solo?

Nuh!

How about a 1 minute solo?

Nuh-uh.

Hang on folks, here comes another one.

Enough of this self indulgent nonsense, it's over to the Congo Square Stage to catch a bit of.....Flo-Rida! 

Boo!!

Confession time - I am no fan at all of hip hop, rap, whatever it is that he sings, but in a live setting this dude was fabulous, and the sea of teenies were having a ball - great to see.

This year's best image - fabulous!

He had a pumping band

No argument from me

and bevy of outrageously stunning backing singers (I don't actually recall them singing, to be honest), and he had the capacity crowd humming. I really was surprised and...yep...impressed.

Final act for the day was the one Don L was waiting for. No matter how many times I've seen him, he never disappoints and today is no exception. When Elvis Costello & The Imposters start with a triple whammy of 'What's So Funny 'Bout Peace Love And Understanding', 'Watching The Detectives' and 'Mystery Dance' before catching their breath and delivering another knockout blow 'Radio Radio', then you just know this is special.

And so it proves to be as the great man draws from a peerless 40 year canon, frequently paying tribute to his lamented friend Allen Toussaint.

It has to be said that Elvis was looking a little different to the last time I saw him, resplendent in a smart Swinging 60's tailored jacket (probably from Sherry's off Carnaby Street - Don Legsy's retro fashion house of choice), a four day stubble, and the natty fedora foresaken for a purple beret bearing an Allen Toussaint button (which he regularly pointed to in tribute to the New Orleans legend).

It's been an excellent day, but what should we do tonight Tinno? I know......let's go to Chickie Wah Wah's to see the double header. Just after 8:00pm and here we are, standing close enough to touch the 'Titan Of The Telecaster' Bill Kirchen and pianist Austin De Lone.Bill's in fine form, wise-cracking and firing off licks from his 1959 Telecaster as they run through a whole pile of his best loved songs, and Austin sings one of his own "I've Put A Bar In My Car And I'm Driving Myself To Drink". None other than Pete Thomas (from The Imposters) sits in on drums and before long it's a real hoedown with pianist Bob Andrews (from Graham Parker & The Rumour), Susan Cowsill and clarinetist Seth Kibel all joining in for an all-star jam; money doesn't buy this. Cowsill, does a drop dead version of John Prine's immortal  'Angel From Montgomery'.

They leave the stage to be replaced by Austin legend Alejandro Escovedo. It's punk, it's Tex-Mex, it's rock'n'roll, and it's totally unique as the little man with a big attitude simply rips CWW apart, shredding a few eardrums along the way. A truly awesome experience, and just maybe the best musical evening I've had in the Crescent City.

Friday, and once again the lack of stirring acts has us arriving around 1:00pm, in time for 'The Life And Music Of Allen Toussaint', what we hope is an interesting interview with Irma Thomas, Cyril Neville and members of AT's family. Unfortunately, it's a fizzer and serves as a chance to catch up on lost sleep, and the interview is immediately wound up with the first challenging question from the audience....ah well. The Honey Island Swamp Band raise the spirits with their rockin' cajun mix,

so much so that my tootsies  are tapping along - nice and dry in their Festival Feet courtesy of Skull & Lois.

The Soul Queen Of New Orleans strutted her stuff on the big stage, and Irma was, as usual, in fine form. It was interesting to note from her earlier interview that, even at 75, she still sings in the same key she always has - mighty impressive!

Classic Irma pose

There's a blue ribbon event up next. The wonderful Los Lobos are performing 'La Pistola Y El Corazon' in its entirety. Notwithstanding the initial hiccups with the sound - it was diabolical - and the overlooked obligatory band introduction "From East L.A.", they settled into a fabulous acoustic set of traditional Mexican music that left the crowd (the uneducated part) a little bemused - "who're those guys playing mariachi music?" - and had us champing at the bit for later that night.

Unquestionably the happiest man at Jazzfest

Paul Simon locked the press out of his show (whoopee do!) so it was quickly into the Blues tent to catch a bit of legendary Paul Butterfield Blues Band guitarist Elvin Bishop and "Red Dog", his Gibson ES-345. He got off to a slow start (which left Tinno disillusioned and heading elsewhere) before unwinding with some ferocious slide (which left Don Legsy elated!).

It dawned on me that most of the great blues performers (and a few others like Irma) are a well into the back nine of life, and it's great to see them all still very capable of delivering the goods.

A slight detour past the Fais Do-Do to see how the day's headline act the Pine Leaf Boys were doing was illuminative - a cesspool of mud surrounded the handful of people watching, and it pretty much summed up the lacklustre music too.

Jim James is the lead singer of My Morning Jacket and, after a string of excellent albums, I've wanted to see his band for a long time. The time was right and they were astonishingly good, he has a dynamic personality and their psych tinged epics were very well received.

Time to dash over to see MS. Lauryn Hill. I'd heard reports that she treats audiences, indeed people, with contempt and is notorious for  being late. Her DJ started up right on time and had the crowd of very young, predominantly African Americans in a high state of frenzy,

however Hill did not see it necessary to take the stage until 30 minutes after her scheduled appearance (even the band was bored to stupidity waiting around),

Oh hi, sorry I'm late....again!

Waiting...

...waiting...

...waiting...

...waiting...

...yep, waiting...

....waiting!

at which point she sat down with an acoustic guitar and sucked the energy out of the crowd. Arrogance? Who knows, but she was clearly oblivious to everything but her own self importance. Unforgettable - for all the wrong reasons. And For The Record - I couldn't name any songs by her beforehand and I still can't.

I hope my yarmulke's on straight

How did I get that blackhead on my schnoz?

Friday night and we head to the Republic nightclub to see a certain band "from East L.A." again, this time wired for sound. Tab Benoit (without his mum) warmed up the audience with a ho hum blues rock set and then Los Lobos (the newest inductees into the Rock and Roll Hall Of Fame by the way) took the stage and proceeded to peel the paint off the walls and pin back every ear in the house. They were seriously LOUD, and seriously FABULOUS, even if David Hidalgo looked like he would burst any minute and Cesar Rosas clearly wanted to be anywhere but Republic at 1:00am.

Saturday and the weather looks ominous, make that IS ominous. It's pouring, the mud is ankle deep and I've had a blowout with my Festival Feet!

Gentilly Stage photo pit - you expect me to stand in THAT!

Not even torrential rain can keep Tinno from his Key Lime Tart

We head for the relative safety of the Blues tent, meaning we can't get to see Dr John, Hurray For The Riff Raff and The Lone Bellow. Fortunately, one of the finest slide guitarists on the planet is next up. Roy Rogers and The Delta Rhythm Kings play a phenomenal set, his dexterity leaving the crowd awestruck, and ticking another LegsyBoy 'must see' box.

Ouch - my finger's stuck

Adding new meaning to the term "blues harp"

The deluge outside has the tents bulging at the seams, every seat taken and the aisles crammed with standing punters.

Jon Cleary & the Absolute Monster Gentlemen (you can never see them too often) come out and again strut their funkified stuff, and the house, well...tent, is rockin'.

There's a mic set up in the middle of the stage and, given Cleary has long been a part of Bonnie Raitt's band - and she happens to be in town for the final day - everyone is expectantly awaiting her entry as a guest.

Big Dee

Cornell

Instead, the stage announcer comes out and drops a bombshell...Jazzfest is abandoned for the day due to the storms and associated safety risks. Cleary has to stop playing, and Stevie Wonder, Buddy Guy, Beck and Snoop Dogg (!!) won't get to take the stage at all. As the standing crowd starts to slowly dissipate, only then does the seriousness of things become obvious. Despite nobody leaving their chairs, the tent is calf high in water! Outside there are knee deep pools at the Acura stage where Dr John had been performing; it adds a new definition to the word "deluge".

Saturday night, wet and bedraggled, we decide it's time to head for our favourite seafood and steakhouse, The Star. It's changed names, now called Estrelle, and without Mr New Orleans outside has lost a lot of its charm. The lobster is just so-so and I fear we shall not be back.

And on the Sabbath....it continued to pour down. The festival opened for business but, frankly, standing in ankle deep mud and teeming rain (for the 3rd day) is simply not our idea of a great time.

The lure of Neil Young, Mavis Staples, Punch Brothers, Arlo Guthrie and even the Isley Brothers (LegsyBoy was dying to see them) is not enough to convince us that going is a good idea, and so we abandon the last day. Instead, we stroll the drenched streets of the French Quarter,

Same place as last year!

Lurking near the bus stop!

and just for the hell of it, pop in to Frank's for a bite to eat and a final chat with the effervescent Brenda.

Our work is done and there's little more to do than pack our bags and bid 'adios' to Miss Mae. Except we have a date with destiny at the Three Keys for the South Louisiana Swamp Stompede featuring one of our fave artists - CC Adcock and Lafayette Marquis.

We've got our VIP tickets again and arrive to see a bit of Guitar Lightin' Lee & His Thunder Band 

before CC is unleashed. He's obviously got a girlfriend 'cos he's sporting a whole new look; gone is the long hair, jeans and snakeskin boots to be replaced by a manicured quiff and white suit Of course, he's in fabulous form, and for a man who,quite frankly, isn't technically the greatest guitarist going around, has the guitar hero poses fully covered, the reverb operating in overdrive, and makes Keith Richards look amateurish. Great night, and a perfect way to sign off from yet another ten days of reverie.

Jazzfest 2016 was very much about the late Allen Toussaint. His image hovered over the Blues Tent stage, there were tribute shows at the festival and around town, and there were few performers who didn't acknowledge him in some way, the most significant was from Elvis.

Others have also taken their instruments on high since last year. The great - and lovely man - David Egan, pianist and songwriter with the swamp pop supergroup Lil' Band O' Gold recently succumbed to illness,

and whilst we were there the Purple One - Prince - also drove off in his little red corvette. Another who is just hanging on is Big Al Carson (and he really is big!), a New Orleans institution currently fighting for his life. With the likes of the Neville Brothers, Fats Domino (88), Dave Bartholomew (95!), Chuck Berry (89), Little Richard (85), Irma, Warren Storm and Mavis (the last of the Staples), one suspects that the toll will continue in the coming years and the festival will increasingly be honouring the passing of those who have made it great.

Jacuzzi Jen was missing in action this year, so too Prudy and John from Boise, Idaho, and Skull and Lois, but unlike Allen Toussaint, they can redeem themselves by turning up next year. We hoped to bump into Marley from New York again around the spa, but that didn't eventuate either.

A six hour stopover in New York gave me time to pop into NYC for afternoon tea at the Plaza Hotel.

I also took the time to pop into Trump Tower to give The Donald a few pointers on political correctness (one of my strong suits!), but sadly he was too busy facing Mecca to see me. I did manage to visit the Trump gift store...indescribable really!

Wanna give the kids a nightmare...

An upgrade from British Airways made the flight home very pleasant, and it was nice to look out my window as the aircraft approached Heathrow and take in the majesty of the second greatest city on the planet.

Wembley Stadium...and my home's down there too.

And so, thanks to mi amigo Tinno for coming along and sharing the music, revisiting those favourite places, and chasing new adventures; it wouldn't be the same without you.

Meanwhile, y'all get yer act together and stick New Orleans in your planner for the last weekend in April and first weekend in May 2017.

Laissez le bon temps rouler.