Voodoo ‘07

Some general impressions on the 2007 Voodoo Music Experience:

The new location — directly behind the New Orleans Museum of Art — was a vast improvement over the previous arrangements. The tree-lined double road leading away from the museum provided a logical traffic artery, with a wide neutral ground in between for vendors, food and drinks. It set up a tracklike drag for easy moseying during downtime and also separated the stages for minimal audio bleeding. Anyone who’s suffered through unfortunate mash-ups due to the poor layouts of some music festivals — the 2004 Austin City Limits’ combination of Los Lonely Boys and Sheryl Crow (Los Lonely Crows?) comes to mind — knows the importance of this last point. It was, however, incredibly dark once the sun went down. Next year, Rehage and Co. should seriously consider running lights through the canopy of branches overhead. Meager street lamps did nothing to allay fears of being steamrolled by the thousands of emo tweens rushing from Gym Class Heroes to Fall Out Boy.

Which brings us to the next issue: the mallrat infestation. Since when did Voodoo become so kid-friendly? It seemed like the three-day crowd — over 150,000 strong, according to one estimate — was made up entirely of clones of only two types of people: thirtysomething Rage-ers all wearing the same The Battle of Los Angeles tee and roving packs of preteens oblivious to their immediate surroundings. Another suggestion for Rehage: less emo, more rap. That Common was the weekend’s sole hip-hop draw was more than a little sad, particularly for a city whose modern music scene is dominated by the genre. Where was Lil’ Wayne?

By and large, though, the music was tops. Highlight sets included M.I.A.’s Friday-night banger, which featured both the finest multimedia accompaniment (a favorite segment featured the Sri Lankan/British baile funk diva playing drums in an animated jungle) and the best impromptu dance-a-thon (dozens of fans joined the singer onstage for one extended segment). Spoon was good — and even better at Saturday’s late-night One Eyed Jacks showing, among the more memorable thrown-together area concerts in some time. Rage was suitably enraged, but all accounts were that Smashing Pumpkins stunk. Kings of Leon put on a suprisingly fresh show on Friday, and Clap Your Hands Say Yeah injected some energy into Sunday’s mid-afternoon delight. I’m only slightly ashamed to say I skipped Wilco to watch the Red Sox clinch the World Series on Sunday night.

At a steady 60-70 degrees and crystal clear, the weekend’s weather couldn’t have been nicer. One more memo, this one to Quint Davis: All NOLA music festivals should be in late October.

The final encore at Voodoo on Sunday night came in the modest-sized African Culture Tent just inside the gates. The Rebirth Brass Band was in spirited form, doing everything from the theme from Ghostbusters to Feel like Funking It Up. Long after all the other stages went dark, Rebirth was still going. To close that late night, unannounced show, a Haitian band took the stage with the Rebirth (all courtesy of the New Orleans - South African Coalition), blending some voodoo and hoodoo vibes, and finished it New Orleans style with a second line out of the tent.

Wilco played a well-received 90 minutes, which included most of the songs off Yankee Hotel Foxtrot. Jeff Tweedy seemed more into the music than the audience though he sportingly helped some unnamed Voodoo-goer propose to a woman identified on the jumboscreen as Yuri. As a brief silence followed, presumably giving Yuri time to contemplate the offer, Tweedy explained to the audience that he had changed a line in the previous song refering to girls lifting up their shirts at rock shows. He acknowledged that he was killing the romance of the moment, but reported that Yuri said yes.

Tweedy found a little more self-satisfaction when the band came on for an encore and he announced that they had to play “Hoodoo Voodoo” off of Mermaid Avenue, which they turned into a sort of countrified romp. But even those going home single seemed to like it.

Ending his set at 6:30, Mr. Quintron - shirtless and manic - exhorted, “The Saints have scored a milion points! The universe has riven! The world is coming to an end! A lot of things have happened in the last half hour… ” for all the fans parked blissfully at the alterna-universe that is Voodoo all day.

While wailing during the psych-jazz Liquidrone set at noonish, Casey McAllister flat out split his solid-body guitar in two with, I guess, the sheer power of unadulterated rock.

Then, during the circus-arts set from Aurora Aerial, I somehow busted my camera. No more pictures today, but the lithe ladies in leotards enchanted and mystified high above the Bingo Parlor with silks and trapeze. Overheard during the tightrope walker’s performance: “I bet that dude never gets a D.U.I.”

Day one of the Voodoo Music Experience kicked off in City Park on a bigger and better layout.

Getting Buzzed
Not quite the Jazz Fest Mud Fest or Woodstock of lore, but the soggy grounds (after the week’s heavy rains) at the WWOZ stage welcomed the swampy soul/blues/rock of JJ Grey and Mofro. Grey stopped mid-set to tell the audience that he’d need to drink heavier to deal with the mic that was shocking him every time he got close. He declared that “wind screens are too sissified” for his tastes, and then launched into Muddy Waters’ “Mannish Boy.” And after that he stayed away from the mic. Spending most of his time at the organ on stage.

Not Your Chronic Christian Rock
I don’t know what it was like onstage, but second-hand smoke was a chronic perk just left of the soundboard for Kings of Leon. The Kings themselves were much more mellow than during last years three-guitar assault. But more than that the brothers were polite. They thanked the crowd for its quiet, “respectful” ways before the final song. “And God Bless you.” But there was no encore.

Tent Revival
Also putting in solid sets, if you could squeeze in the tents were the Soul Rebels in Preservation Hall’s tent, and Lez Zeppelin in the Bingo Parlor.

Lost in Translation
M.I.A. showed that some hip-hop gems are transnational - especially the honorific “M****rF*****r”. At one point, she told that crowd that she’d be teaching us how to do a dance — which she might have called, “butt hopping,” but I’m not sure. I am sure that what her sidekick did is known in some local quarters as “popping.” But when she invited people on-stage to try it, no-one volunteered. So maybe that just didn’t translate.

Maybe last year I never looked up after dark, but it seems like this year they’ve added something new at Voodoo - once the sun set, a huge pyramid of light formed over City Park from the beams of three high-powered klieg lights triangulating in the sky. (Ironically, one beam originates at the press check-in tent, which I ran myself ragged trying to find earlier)

Now I’m going to go walk like an Egyptian.

This guy loves the mighty sounds of Lez Zeppelin, the all-girl Led Zep cover band from New York. Note the Zoso T-shirt.

After this week’s on-again, off-again, on-again Andre Williams saga, news of Spoon’s “unannounced” Saturday night show at One Eyed Jacks might best be taken with a few grains of salt. (Or, depending on your ability to handle disappointment, a whole spoonful.) Regardless, if the Best Rock Band At Voodoo Fest does indeed feel like stopping by Toulouse Street tomorrow for an impromptu 1 a.m. follow-up to their 6:30 p.m. City Park appearance, it’s doubtless there will be plenty of ears in attendance eager to hear the reprisal.

The Austin, Texas, band released Ga Ga Ga Ga Ga (Merge), its finest offering to date and one of 2007’s top rock records, in July. Spoon hasn’t played in New Orleans since, meaning that Voodoo will be the first chance for area concertgoers to hear this dark, fantastically dour set in a live setting. Given the album’s pervasive brooding vibe, however, the smoky and dimly lit confines of OEJ seem infinitely more appropriate than the clean air and clear skies expected for this weekend’s festivities.

After what seems like hours trekking through the surreal landscape of Storyland, the Botanical Garden, and the backstage bowels of Voodoo, this reporter finally found the media check-in only to be thwarted by an Internet that, apparently, hates me. Well, I won. Do you hear me, Internet?

Anyway, in my travels, I learned that at Voodoo this year you can get a tattoo…

… see a real live FEMA trailer (no explanation for this exhibit)

… and experience what ceviche feels like inside SoCo’s giant lime dance tent.

Whew. In other news, both the Palanquin Diaries performance and the Heavenly Trip to Hell set are cancelled for today, and the WWOZ hospitality area has hot dogs. I’m going to go catch Clint Maedgen’s set at the Bingo Parlour and plot my revenge against the Internet.