When the New World is Revealed

It's the lull between Jazz Fest weekends in New Orleans, which means the locals have gone back to work even though the city is still full of visitors. There's an anticipation in the air as I slog through billing and phone calls, scheduling my client visits and wishing that Thursday would come a little faster. I've got a class left and a paper to finish before the semester is officially over for me, but the Hunger Games, a cold, and the mad chaos of the festival have kept me completely distracted. I just want to relive it, to soak it up, to remember every moment. I want to taste the Crawfish Monica again. I want to scream the words of "Last Dance with Maryjane" with Tom Petty from the back of the golf cart as we fly by the festival crowds. I want to find my soul again in the Gospel Tent, then give it away to the sweet melodics of Iron and Wine. I want to look around and find myself surrounded by friends and old lovers and strangers melting together as their voices drown in the music. I don't want this high to ever end. I know it will. But I just want to drown in it until I can't take any more.

I saw Bruce Springsteen play last night to what is probably a record-size crowd. If I have a church, this would be it. It was a deeply emotional and life-changing performance for me. I am amazed at how his lyrics touch on the political, social, and emotional needs of the people and society around him. I am humbled by his ability to raise up a group of people in their most vulnerable moments and to encourage them to keep going. And, most of all, I believe that he loves this town the way I do -- the way so many of us do. He sees its faults -- the crime, the blight, and the pain of a city destroyed by a government that refused to protect it when the perfect storm of poverty, racism, a hurricane, and the Army Corps of Engineers hit in 2005. He sees the way the sun sets on porches while we drink beers and tell stories. He sees the way we sing our dead into their graves, especially those who are lost too young. He sees the heartbeat of this city.

I tell you this because of his words:

"Anybody here back in 2006 [at our last show]?" Springsteen asked. A roar. "This is a song about calling on ghosts and spirits and asking them to speak. And we're in such a strong city of spirits, and such a strong city of so many ghosts, ghosts that have been powerful enough to haunt the rest of the nation and guard this town. And so we ask the spirits to inform us. To provide strength and faith to the living."

"This is a song about things we lose that never come back. And it's also a song about things that never leave. Things that stay with you for your life and to the next life, into the next world. Into the next place... " Springsteen talked about everyone in the crowd who lost someone. So many of us did. That's not brought up enough. Then he launched into My City of Ruins. (Karen Dalton-Beninato, Huff Po)

I heard these words, clear across the crowd of thousands, and I cried. I heard the lyrics of "My City of Ruins," and I couldn't stop crying. I heard him speak out against the mental health care cuts in the city. I heard him remind us that our history, our friends and family, our neighbors, are always here with us. He told us to sing to them, and we did. I laughed when he pulled a kid on stage to sing with him. I danced my heart out, barefoot, on the concrete. I will probably never forget the moment he sang "Dancing in the Dark," which is one of my favorite songs. But on the very last song, he pulled out all the stops. You could hear a pin drop. There are a handful of verses to this song, and even though it's probably the most common song any New Orleanian ever hears, those verses are so rare we all forget them. When he sang them, I realized this song was written for New Orleans. It is New Orleans. And those lost verses, the ones he helped us resurrect, are the stories written into our streets and our levees, our shotgun homes and our balconies, right down into the very soil and swamp we love so dearly. 

We are trav'ling in the footsteps 
Of those who've gone before, 
And we'll all be reunited, 
On a new and sunlit shore,
Oh, when the saints go marching in 
Oh, when the saints go marching in
Lord, how I want to be in that number 
When the saints go marching in

And when the sun refuse to shine 
And when the sun refuse to shine 
Lord, how I want to be in that number
When the saints go marching in
Oh, when the saints go marching in 
Oh, when the saints go marching in
Lord, how I want to be in that number 
When the saints go marching in

When the trumpet sounds its call 
When the trumpet sounds its call 
Lord, how I want to be in that number 
When the trumpet sounds its call 
When the saints go marching in
When the saints go marching in
Lord, how I want to be in that number 
When the saints go marching in

Some say this world of trouble, 
Is the only one we need, 
But I'm waiting for that morning, 
When the new world is revealed. 
When the new world is revealed. 
When the new world is revealed. 
But I'm waiting for that morning, 
When the new world is revealed. 

When the saints go marching in
When the saints go marching in
Lord, how I want to be in that number 
When the saints go marching in
Lord, how I want to be in that number 
When the saints go marching in

I leave you with "I'm on Fire" by a very young and dashing Bruce. He didn't play this last night, but it's one of the sexiest fucking songs.

Thank you again to a dear friend who works for Jazz Fest and who so graciously gifted me a seven-day pass this year. This is just one in a line of favors and actions I can probably never repay. Thank you, even more so, for your friendship.