New Orleans jazz festival celebrates 50 years – Quint Davis was behind the scenes for all: NPR

Every year, Quint Davis commissions two aerial photographs of the massive operation of the New Orleans Jazz and Heritage Festival at the Fair Grounds Race Course in the downtown area. The first is a still life: we can easily see white tents and purple, green and golden bleachers, grass still grows in front of the food stands and the scenes look quiet. The outer track that surrounds the field is, if it is not pristine, roughly. Without horses or people, it has the quality of a moat, which makes the distance between the stand and, say, the stables, a question of know-how in navigation: count to death on land. It's a rendering of possibility.

The second image is of possibility filled. In his conference room on the other side of town, Davis – who has been working on the festival since 1969 and has been its main steward for more than two decades – has this achievement in his hands. Taken in 2017, the aerial shot that he's holding shows what the peak of attendance on the fairground looks like. On this last Sunday, the constellation of tents and kiosks is obscured by a flood of humanity: festival-goers, Mardi Gras Indians, members of Social Aid and Pleasure Club, musicians, festival-goers, press. It's a microsecond in time, capturing up to 90,000 people in a vibrant mass of pointillists. It is what a half-century of dreams, modifications, cajoleries and implorations, risks and venerations has produced.

Davis is particularly eager to attend the scene. The Festival Productions Inc. – New Orleans conference room, located on the 22nd floor of the One Canal Place tower, is decorated with all kinds of Jazz Fest images. But the images that he likes the most are those of populated landscapes. He photographed Mahalia Jackson in 1970 with the Eureka Brass Band in the original place near the French Quarter, while the musicians would have exceeded the number of spectators. Then there is this great Sunday duper in 2017 on the fairground; Nearly half a million people attended the festival that year.

"My whole career is a testament to what you can do when you do not know better," says Davis as he looks at the picture. It is not the origin of the idea of ​​a festival "jazz and heritage" in New Orleans. George Wein, Founder and Producer of the Newport Jazz and Folk Festivals, has done this. But in 1969, while Wein was looking for recruiters in New Orleans to recruit local artists, Davis was one of those he had hired. Davis, whose father was the modernist architect Arthur Q. Davis, knew the kind of local music that Wein did not know yet – and was ready to work for a song.

A child's game

Some of Davis' first connections with popular music were made under his shirt. It's there that in his childhood, in the 1950s, he hid the cord connecting his brand new transistor radio to his ear. He would take it to school. He would take him to bed. "And wake up in the morning and he was still there and he continued," he said. "So it was in my subconscious at night." Growing up in a house with what he called "non-musical" parents, the young, white-haired, blond-haired V, was listening to black music on AM channels: WLAC of Nashville was a favorite of the generations of d & rsquo; Listeners at bedtime; WWEZ was the first station in New Orleans to hire an African-American DJ. WMRY and WBOK were the first to design their programming for a black audience. Much of their programming featured R & B gold group artists from New Orleans – Deacon John, Tommy Ridgley and Irma Thomas – some of the same people who would play during high school dances he would attend later.

At home, the young Quint was turning his parents' records and buying his own. He loved James Brown's "Maybe The Last Time" and Famous Flames. In addition, "I had this 45 on Kent's label" he said. "It was BB King's" Rock Me Baby. "I was going downstairs, and at that time we had turntables and I would put my arm to play" Rock Me Baby "again and again. "

It was in the early 1960s, when electrifying artists were electrifying the city's largest rooms: Jackie Wilson, Edwin Starr and Bobby "Blue" Bland at the Municipal Auditorium. Brown and the famous flames at City Park Stadium. Quint was there – dancing. Next, New Orleans photographer Jules Cahn invited him to join him as he photographed the Mardi Gras Indians in the streets of Carnival and again on St. Joseph's Day. Quint was there – dancing. And when Cahn photographed the city's welfare and recreation clubs at their second-row parades, Quint was there too – dancing again. In a check shirt, jeans cut under the knee and tube socks. (Really, there is a movie.)

In an era of racial integration, he integrated in the opposite direction. "I went to every Indian training every Sunday," he said. "I went to all the jazz funerals I went to all the gospel shows, I started going to gospel churches." [the predominantly black neighborhood] Shrewsbury and see blues players. "

He was a selfless student. Two colleges in almost as many years, Davis has nurtured an unwavering appeal for music to which the school rarely spoke. Norma McCleod, visiting ethnomusicologist at Tulane University in New Orleans and a specialist in West African music, was an exception. "I was a major actress, but I took everything she taught," Davis said. "So, for the first time, I started to see it from the outside – the role that music plays in society – a bit like Prince Hal."

Davis has organized a school concert featuring his muses: pianist Willie Tee, saxophonist Earl Turbinton and Wild Magnolias Mardi Gras Indians. He then produces the single "Handa Wanda" Wild Magnolias, now a must in the Indian repertoire. There is no overestimation of the impact of McCleod's visits to New Orleans. (Another McCleod student became co-founder of Tipitina's, the Uptown nightclub created as a base for Professor Longhair, professor, Henry Roeland Byrd, employee of the firm "Fess.")

"What is a producer doing?"

In 1969, Davis and Allison Miner of Hogan Jazz Records at Tulane University decided to book artists for what was then called "the New Orleans Jazz Festival and the Heritage Fair of the Louisiana". Dick Allen, Hogan's commissioner, had recommended them to George Wein as a kind of youth that a new festival needed. Wein encouraged them to think creatively and broadly of the artists they would include for the festival's debut in 1970. So they did it. "George said we needed Cajun, blues and gospel," said Davis. "I've never been involved professionally in concerts." I just told him: "I know these people."

By all accounts, the Jazz Fest of 1970, on what was then called "Beauregard Square", was an artistic success, if not commercial. The program included intimate performances of the best local artists: tiny scenes under huge live oaks, a upright piano in the grass, no microphone in the evangelical tent. Men in ties and toupees. Women in pearls. Nuns. "You could have put them on a school bus," recalls Davis. "But I've personally shaken hands with about 120,000 people who say they've been to the premiere." In 1971, Wein and his company repeated the experiment at the same place, later renamed Congo Square. For this festival, Davis and Miner continued their work of identifying and booking Louisiana numbers for the day's concerts. But they almost missed one.

"That's how Longhair was discovered, because of George," Davis said. "I took him to Indian practice at H & R Bar [in Central City] and, as usual, it started late. We are on the sidewalk and it is Mardi Gras time. There is a house that has, like, a small shop in the front room. They had drinks and a little food and other things – a storefront. And then, 'Go to Mardi Gras' Comes, Fess, and George says, "Who is it?" "

This question has changed the story. "Fess" was Professor Longhair and he did not play in public for a decade. He was in poor health and doing odd jobs to earn money – like sweeping the floor in a record store near his home. And while other music lovers had been looking for him over the years, his career was going nowhere. "(George) said:" Go find that person, that's someone, and that's New Orleans. "

Longhair's 1971 performance at the festival revived his career. It also helped establish him as the undisputed boss of all postwar pianists in New Orleans. In addition, Longhair's popularity confirmed Wein's vision: the future success of the festival would be on the side of the Louisiana Fair, which was held during the day and featured mostly local artists, and not the other side. 39, national acts. Wein had bet on the idea of ​​high caliber and local artists combining the best principles of Newport jazz and folk festivals. The artists of Louisiana would represent the unique cultural landscape of Louisiana by playing a wide variety of sublime and indigenous music. It worked. More people came. And when the festival moved to the exhibition grounds in 1972, even more. Soon, Fess was calling Davis "Quince". And Wein called him a "natural producer".

"I said," What is a producer? "Davis recalls." He said, "A producer is: if something happens, it's your fault."

Sensation

The fear of "f *** ups" may be the reason why festival photos without people give Davis the heebie-jeebies. They are needed for logistics, but, "a photo without anyone? It's horrible," he said. "I want perspective from one end to the other, looking [over] the festival. So, you have an idea. "

At the beginning of the Jazz Fest, Davis spent several months away from New Orleans producing tours for Wein. He needed to feel the effects. After all, producers can be visionaries, but they most often solve problems. First, 44 concerts in 42 days with Duke Ellington across Europe and the Soviet Union. Then he took B.B. King across Europe and West Africa. "I was with these giants and they allowed me to lead," he said. "I was the director of production, the tour manager, the sales manager, I got the money back, got me some money and put it in my jeans – not in my pockets, in my pockets. my jeans – until I get back to the hotel. "

Producing meant negotiating the realities on the ground for touring musicians, that it 's about a political roar in Portugal or a reluctant South African Airways during apartheid. Or it meant getting into a Spanish prison with Chuck Berry and getting out. He pushed vans full of equipment in the hills and used dubious bathrooms. He saw the sun rise twice in a day from two distant countries. He slept head-to-head on cushions in an airport with the man who had sung "Rock Me Baby" on this record in New Orleans – the one that Davis had played over and over again.

"I've never missed a show," he says about those years of touring.

B. King nicknamed Davis "General Custer". But almost everyone in New Orleans calls it "Quint". That's because, regardless of his title, Davis has become synonymous with a festival he has produced for nearly two generations. Local residents may not know what Wein did for the festival – not even Allison Miner, who began interviewing musicians at the fairground and for whom this space was named in tribute. They may not know the names of the eight mayors of New Orleans who signed 50 years of festival-goers proclamations, or exactly when Fess first played – or Pops Staples – or when the piano magician James Booker finished his set saying hour, you were entertained by the great Eartha Kitt! "But they know Quint, General Custer, or – as trumpeter Clark Terry called him" Quinstville ".

It's a wonderful thing when everyone is happy. But the other side of leadership is present when people are unhappy, as when the Afrikan American Jazz Festival Coalition asked Quint, Wein and Festival Productions to include more local African Americans in its decision-making and exchanges. on the fairground. The scene and the market of Congo Square (originally called "The Koindu Market") are at the origin of these tensions and ultimately a better status for the festival in the city black majority.

Another aspect of leadership is repairing what does not work. And the people who solve their problems to earn a living receive a lot of calls. When the tribune burned in 1993 and the owners had to rebuild quickly, they called Quint. When it rains heavily at the festival and the staff needs advice, they call Quint. When Hurricane Katrina hit, George Wein called Quint. And Quint Davis, with the new AEG production partners and Shell's sponsorship, has found a solution. "There was not a structure all over the place, including the grandstand, which had a roof," he said. "There was no plumbing, there was no electricity, there was no telephone and there was no hotel there. Where to put people in. Our people who built the festival grounds came down and slept in barns.We had some challenges.But it's like I never miss a concert on tour.We never let go of it. That's where I have to lead. "

"The girls were crying"

And then there is music. Have you ever tried to make happy 450,000 people? "Three or four times, everyone said that I had ruined the festival," recalls Davis. "The first thing they did not understand was Dave Matthews, but the main instruments of this band are baritone sax, violin and acoustic guitar, Allman Brothers Band and Santana, and Jimmy Buffet – music Southern Caribbean But had Bon Jovi, it was a departure. "

And Pearl Jam. And the Red Hot Chili Peppers. And Billy Joel. And Snoop Dogg. And Pitbull. And Phish. Many festival goers worry about the fact that these headliners are costing too much and are done at the expense of heritage deeds. The booking of the Rolling Stones for the 50th Anniversary in 2019 was a blow for Davis, but the day of that performance would have cost more than double the $ 85 regular ticket. The illness that followed Mick Jagger forced the group to cancel, which caused confusion among the ticket holders. Their confusion then worsened when Fleetwood Mac agreed to replace him, and was also canceled due to illness. (Fleetwood Mac was later replaced by the Widespread Panic jam group.)

And yet, Davis rejects critics, arguing that the headliners, or "guests" as they are called, help open the festival to new fans and their families. "You have to bring in the next generation," he said. "There are a lot of people from here who never came to the festival, and they came in. Who are you to say that these people do not belong to here? That must be for everyone Jon Bon Jovi can sing Ed Sheeran was like the early years of Elvis and The Beatles The girls were crying.

This is the "vision" part of production – knowing what needs to change and when. The vast majority of festival performers are actors from Louisiana. But even in heritage tents, Davis says he's looking to defy expectations. "We have to stay deep to find something because people become complacent." They say, "Blues – I know it. "Oh, yes, well, I'm going to find something to kick your ass, we want our roots to go further."

The festival invites musicians from around the world, including the African diaspora as a whole – Cuba, Haiti, Mali, Benin, the Democratic Republic of Congo – many countries of origin already visited by Davis. Sidi Toure of Bamako played at the blues tent in 2018. This year, Diassing Kunda of Senegal and Moonlight Benjamin of Haiti played.

"Maybe last time"

The last turn of the New Orleans racecourse at the fairgrounds is a humdinger. The entire dirt track is a little over one kilometer in circumference and is oblong, which means that after the last bend at home, the horses face the longest straight line. North America. Most Thoroughbreds do not have legs to handle a win from behind. But, again, some do it. Two champions are buried in the fairground, which speaks volumes about tradition and New Orleans, as well as some very difficult but worthwhile tasks. It also indicates that the living and the dead are not so far apart in the city or at festivals.

Almost every year, Davis walks with processions that mark the passage of local musical heroes on the fairground, which he introduced some to George Wein half a century ago. The guitarist Snooks Eaglin was commemorated in a procession, as well as gospel tents coordinator and Zion Harmonizer Sherman Washington, Buckwheat Zydeco, radio personality and producer Larry McKinley, photographer Michael P. Smith, producer Allen Toussaint and Fats Domino. Along with many other musicians and loved ones who have come to fame, they are represented by large painted plywood images painted in what is called the Village of the Ancestors. The village also includes Uncle Lionel Batiste, singer and bassist, clarinetist Pete Fountain, Allison Miner, Big Bo Dollis of the Wild Magnolias and photographer Jules Cahn, among others. "We are no longer presenting culture, we are woven into it," says Davis. "So we pay tribute to our ancestors, which is also an African affair, I do not know what another festival did for that."

Indeed – that the creators of a seven-day musical Brigadon making room to honor their dead each year seems to be a singular ritual in the world of festivals. Maybe that's another reason people talk to Davis and treat him as if they've known him forever – they probably did. In 1980, he was a porter at the funeral of Professor Longhair. In 2012, the family of Etta James asked him to speak at his memorial service in California. Nearly four years later, he was the animator of Allen Toussaint's memorial at the Orpheum Theater in New Orleans.

"It's part of the big mandala," says Davis in his conference room overlooking the Mississippi River. "We had three to four generations of people in the Jazz Fest, musically and [in terms of] audience over 50 years old. "

At 71, Davis lived long enough to enjoy the renaissance and what the new generations can bring. And yet, the loss and prospect of loss, which the festival addresses head-on, highlights the preciousness of what is happening on the fairgrounds during these seven or eight days each year. His old favorites, James Brown and the Famous Flames, would not have been more successful:

Maybe last time

It may be the last time

Maybe the last time we shake hands

Maybe the last time we make plans

Oh I, oh I – I do not know

Davis says that there will probably be no single successor to fulfill his role as producer-director of the festival, if that role were to be fulfilled. But he does not intend to withdraw. Many of his staff and he continue to work all year long. "We know what it means for the city and for the world."

Once a month, Davis travels to New York to visit his 93-year-old mentor, George Wein, who sold his financial stake in Jazz Fest several years ago. Wein is now focusing his attention on the Newport festivals. "He has a hearing aid and a walking stick, but when I sit in front of him in the kitchen, bam! He's right there."

What are they talking about?

"I'm asking him stuff and he's telling me stuff," Davis said. Discussion with the producer. No foreigner allowed. And yet, there is more in the relationship – a deeper connection.

"I was someone who loved not only jazz, but also gospel, blues, zydeco – the least commercial music in the world," said Davis, "I met the only person who had created one all over the world, what a blessing, we found ourselves .. who gets this? Whatever is in life, I've had it 50 times. "