It's 640pm on the Fourth of July, and I'm drinking a Newcastle Brown Air on the front porch of my humble abode. Even though it's drizzling and overcast, it's hot-- sweaty hot. There are three hours and twenty minutes until the Waterfront Fireworks, but less time until the Neville Brothers take the stage. And while I know I'm not the Wicked Witch-- friends may disagree-- who will melt into a split-pea-colored puddle if I get a little wet, I'm just not sure I'm willing to sog my way through the festivities.
Not to mention the fact that I haven't totally forgiven the Neville Brothers-- Aaron Neville specifically. While most New Orleans musicians have worked overtime since Katrina trying to bring attention and money and renewed culture to the city, the First Family of New Orleans has been notably lax. From bad mouthing the city to abstaining from Jazz Fest (due to Aaron Neville's supposed asthma-- I'm not saying he's lying, per se, but you got to wonder where hometown boy got pipes like that if he has breathing issues), they've lost the First Family cred to the Marsallises and the Mannings in my mind.
That being said, they put on a hell of a show. And if they can't be playing in New Orleans for the Fourth (Aaron: "cough! cough!), then I'm happy that they're in my new ville. Maybe I should try an anti-rain dance. Although, if it worked, I'll be sorry I didn't try it during Katrina.