i can still hear the air-piercing whine of brass — sometimes mournful, always jubilant — when i look at these images. i thought i knew what new orleans jazz sounded like. it’s distinct enough. i could always pick it out if i heard it on the radio. but i hadn’t heard nothin’ till last month, when i finally got to hear new orleans jazz in new orleans.

it’s not just the music. it’s the way the wailing horns fade into the distance as you walk down the streets of the french quarter… then crescendo again around every turn, with every new band you stumble upon. it saturates the city. it’s the way everyone seems to have the time to stop and soak in the notes that push their way through the thick, salty air. new orleans has its own time — slow time.

that slow pace is part of what made our mini-vacation to the big easy so pleasant. the other part was hangin’ with dad pascual. as a structural engineer, eileen’s dad has been on assignment in new orleans for several months, primarily focused on designing the new levees meant to shield the city from the next katrina. as our tour guide, he introduced us to “nawlins” in a way that only someone familiar with the city could do… especially with respect to food. (it’s good to have connections!)

i photographed these musicians at the mouth of bourbon street. what we saw further down the street was better left un-photographed. let’s just say that, on bourbon street, every night is friday night… in sodom and gomorrah. (actually, friday night also falls every morning on bourbon street. the bar-hopping had begun by 10 am every morning we passed by.)

i have to laugh every time i remember this scene. in jackson square, a beautiful park filled with art and music at the heart of the french quarter, this jazz band caught my attention right away. they sounded terrific! high energy! clear resounding notes! then we got close enough to see the band. all that amazing sound appeared to be coming out of a group of guys who were half-asleep. perhaps it was just so “effortless” for them, but it came across as humorously lazy. the kid below, on cymbals and triangle, was texting with one hand and performing with the other. he also received a couple phone calls — but never missed a beat. the epitome of “the big easy” lifestyle.

when i say the food in new orleans was good, i mean it was out of this world. the food fare included warm delicious po’ boys (sandwiches, not underprivileged children), sugar-powdered beignets at the cafe du monde, crepes as big as your head (if your head is 14″ long and crescent-shaped), and the best bananas foster i ever tasted. (actually, i think it was the only bananas foster i ever tasted… but what better place to try it than in the town where it originated!?)

but our most exquisite cuisine experience by far took place over the course of a long, cool evening at jacques-imo’s (not “jackie mo’s,” as we had previously thought). the colorful, two-story shotgun house on oak street doesn’t look like much, but the throngs of people passing in and out of its single front door give it away.

if you go to new orleans, you have to eat here! it’s well known to locals, but not to tourists. this is where you really discover how (new orleanders?, new orleanish?)… new orleans people can turn a meal into an all-evening affair. it was worth every minute of our two-hour wait. (folks who arrived after 5 pm waited much longer!) besides, there was no want of diversion while we waited. when we arrived, oak street was completely shut down for construction. most businesses on the strip appeared to be suffering as a result, but jacques-imo’s just took the party to the street. 

picnic tables placed end-to-end expanded the restaurant’s capacity into the road. everyone squeezed together on every kind of available seating and shared the space, mingling and making new acquaintances. someone dragged some instruments out of the store across the street and — voila! — the evening pulsed with live music. men pried open fresh oysters in a makeshift outdoor kitchen, rhythmically thumping their screw drivers on the table and tossing the morsels onto a bed of ice.

when we finally sat down inside the ramshackle building, we filled ourselves with the sweetest cornbread that ever melted in our mouths. (please, jacques. if you’re reading this, will you send us the recipe??) we also ordered a most surprising appetizer — fried oysters with spicy garlic sauce. i say “surprising” because i’m not a big fan of oysters. in fact, i usually like oysters about as much as i like salted mucous. but i’ll try anything once (not meaning salted mucous — i draw the line there). so i cautiously popped a fried oyster in my mouth, and… wow! none of the anticipated slimy chewiness. it was more like a soft, creamy pastry. like i said, surprising! i couldn’t get enough.

at the risk of turning this blog into a food column, i’ll just mention my entree and be done with it. i wanted a local taste, so i went with stuffed catfish with crabmeat dressing. the catfish woke my mouth up without being too spicy. and the crabmeat dressing… mmmm! it stuck to the roof of my mouth like peanut butter; it was so good, i just let it stick there for a few days and licked at it till it disappeared. (the only downside, i couldn’t get eileen to kiss me during that time.)

to top off the amazing weekend, dad got us tickets to jazz fest 2009! thanks, dad. it was awesome. there’s no one else we’d rather sit in the sun, listen to music, and get burnt crispy with.

the energy was contagious. thousands of proud new orleanians dancing, waving handkerchiefs, and singing together the traditional music that somehow expresses who they are. multiple stages offered gospel, african roots, jazz, folk, bluegrass, and blues music simultaneously. you can take your pick — and grab another po’ boy every time you pass the concessions en route to the next stage. (or you can even grab a po’ boy and then return to the same stage you just came from!! the combinations are endless!)

below, the great irma thomas leads the crowd in singing.

and the act i was looking forward to for months… james taylor! he didn’t disappoint (especially not the googly-eyed lady above, who sighed contentedly — and often — throughout mr. taylor’s performance. i have a feelin’ this wasn’t her first sweet baby james concert.) what can ya say? he’s still got it!