Confessions of a Voodoo Practitioner

Ok, Ok, I really don't practice voodoo, not that any one out there really thought I did, although I think at times this would not have surprised my parents... Anyway, this is merely a not so subtle hint of a rambling concerning my recent trip to the Big Easy, a weekend in New Orleans, a full day in the sights and sounds of the 2nd annual Voodoo Festival. If you want to just skip to the end...it rocked, however, not really just the music.

Real quick, the Voodoo festival was/is a big music fest held in City Park, New Orleans and included well over 15 bands, most of whom the average person will be quite familiar with: Blues Traveler, Eminem, Cypress Hill, Ben Harper, 311, Live, STP, Counting Crows, Cowboy Mouth, Guster...

The trip seemed to be a guaranteed success. Just look at the music that was going to be playing. Even if you don't like some of the bands, at least one would be interesting to see for you; I can list many. For one, I was counting on Eminem to be my main comedic interlude during a hot day...I was wrong. He proved to be nothing other than a small skinny white kid cursing at me through tons of high tech speaker equipment. I had to leave the area quickly. Very quickly. If you are given the chance to see him, don't go, it sucks.

Everything else lived up to its calling. I've seen Blues Traveler before, no biggie there, never been shocked with the live version; Ben Harper is very cool to see live as he sits on a chair and plays quasi-guitar like instruments; Guster was the surprise of the day, very cool; slow dancing to Counting Crows in the middle of a field, can you beat it?; Live as always, great music; Cowboy Mouth, the main attraction of any native New Orlean-ite, put on the show of their lives in my opinion.

Then there is New Orleans...I have never seen a more beautiful city. Streets lined with wrought iron, carving mazes on front porches. Each seemingly guarded by ancient live oaks, limbs curved like giant serpents. The people, as quirky as you can imagine, and friendly as a New Yorker just after the ball drops (at that moment I have seen NY's kiss random strangers...amazing).

The drive to/from New Orleans from central Louisiana is a poem waiting to happen. The scenery is augmented by the fact that your car is at one point speeding on a ten mile long beam bridge over the Atchafalaya Basin, swampland stretching out further than your imagination. It is a mobster's paradise. You see occasional oil rigs, which in an odd beautiful way, drill home the fact that you are actually there. Pieces of Lake Ponchartrain are like paintings as you grow closer to the city. I loved this trip just for the drive.

In recap, never go to New Orleans, or Louisiana, just for the music. You will miss the best part. Meet the people, drive down random side streets, stop at a nice breakfast café...be cheesy and take a tour (guided or not).