New Orleans’ Voodoo Music Experience returned Oct. 28 and 29 to its place of birth for the eighth annual weekend festival. After relocating part of the festival to Memphis last year following Hurricane Katrina, bands and fans alike celebrated Voodoo’s homecoming as if it had never left.
The Voodoo experience can best be compared to a holiday feast: You save room for the headlining main course but tend to fill up on sides you don’t normally experience. Besides, a dried out bird (or in this case, a Chili Pepper) is hardly as appealing as the genre-mixed lineup including Brazilian Girls, the Flaming Lips, Social Distortion and Duran Duran.
SATURDAY
Friday’s rain ravaged parts of City Park, but gorgeous weather and a tarp begged forgiveness for our mud-soaked sneakers.
Artsy Canadian collective Broken Social Scene hit the main stage during peak sunshine hours, bringing their lush melodies to a crowd as diverse as their instruments.
BSS takes some flak for their unwieldy sound, but the counterbalance of drums, strings, brass, and guitar is hypnotically good.
Over at the Brazilian Girls’ set, singer Sabina Scuibba had converted even some of the most disinterested rock kids by the end. Initially, I was concerned that an outdoor daytime set wouldn’t convey their stylized tribal beats justly, but the crowd couldn’t sing loud enough to “Don’t Stop” and the deliberately forward “Pussy”.
Roman-born Scuibba employed her trademark costume-y get-up, and offered some interpretive dance moves between songs. She’s sweet and modest enough to pull it off (imagine Karen O. on downers), giving a taste of their New York Art roots without seeming pretentious. The band didn’t take themselves too seriously, which could have worked against them considering that none of the four members are Brazilian and only one is a girl.
California Punk revivalists Social Distortion packed the main stage, partially due to Chili Pepper fans trying to beat the crowd. Blaring sirens opened the set, and stage hands threw long-stemmed roses into the crowd, rallying war-cries from teenage punks.
Frontman Mike Ness’ hairline may be receding and his stage jumps no longer as agile, but hardcore fans didn’t seem to notice. When they covered “Ring of Fire,” all Hell broke loose as I clung for safety from the mosh pit.
The hour spent standing like canned sardines in anticipation for the Red Hot Chili Peppers was far from pleasant, but this year’s headliners satisfied the crowd with old favorites.
Anthony Kiedis crab-walked, pogo-ed and twirled like a first grader; John Frusciante and Flea can still shred harder than guys half their age. It’s hard to criticize a now-sober psychedelic-metal band so integral to modern rock, so without risking what some might call blasphemy, the Chili Peppers put on a good show.
Kiedis’ performance was less like a cocaine trip and more like a guy who spends a lot of time in his private gym. Just kidding, Anthony; I kid because I love.
SUNDAY
Catching the end of My Chemical Romance was a little awkward; while preteen girls wormed their way to the front of the stage, everyone else hung back to “alter” themselves before the Flaming Lips.
To their credit, lead singer Gerard Way’s skeleton-embossed jacket was probably the most Halloween-appropriate, when you don’t account for the fact that he dresses like that all-year long. While in line for the bathroom, two high school freshmen eagerly showed us up-close pictures of Gerard on their pink Razr phones. That says it all.
Words always fail when describing the Lips’ live performances, but Loyola drama freshman Zach Hunter suggested “orgasm”, if by which he means the kind where color, motion and sound fuse into a communion of the senses.
Opening with a “Bubble Boy” reenactment, Wayne Coyne floated atop the crowd in a plastic gerbil ball before blissful performances of “She Don’t Use Jelly” and “Do You Realize?” Glitter and confetti illuminated the stage props as the inimitable front man spoke through anthropomorphized hand puppets and apologized for missing last year’s festival.
After the Lips, Dallas’ Secret Machines, who were supposed to appear both days, played at the opposite end of the park. The festival Gods must have been frowning on us by scheduling former tour mates Kings of Leon and the Machines simultaneously.
Sadly, we disbanded from the sloppy stoners at the Machines’ stage, needing a break from all the psychedelia, to join the well-dressed frat guys at the Kings of Leon. That’s what you get, Machines, for canceling your Saturday show.
Braving the surprisingly rambunctious crowd, we finally got up close enough to see singer Caleb Followill’s comb-over. The crowd hardly needed any prompting from the band, and sang along word-for-word to Caleb’s incomprehensible warbling. During “Four Kicks” and “Molly’s Chambers,” a few even attempted to crowd surf.
People continued to shout requests for old favorites, but the Kings continue to perfect their sound without completely losing their signature Southern rock edge.
Duran Duran closed out the festival with a string of their greatest hits. For being the year’s token retro act, Duran was energetic and entertaining, and singer Simon Le Bon ages like a fine English single malt.
Unsure if he was apologizing or mocking us, he began with, “We’re from England, that means we talk funny,” as if people in the Deep South have perfect enunciation. After a few songs, however, the crowd began to interact with Le Bon’s showmanship, and when they played “Notorious”, everyone was dancing.
Their cover of “House of the Rising Sun” was greatly appreciated. They seamlessly slipped in “Sunrise”, the modest hit from their latest album, a testament to their pop formula that continues to please after 25 years. Duran closed the generation gap like only classic pop hooks can.
In both a laughable and sweetly earnest moment, the cold, tired, mud-caked patrons danced their hearts out to “Rio,” the last song of the night. Young and old, boy and girl, removed from time and space, were collectively conscious that this was their festival, and despite their struggles, they finally brought it home.
Nicole Mundy can be reached at [email protected].
Voodoo Fest, which was held at City Park over the weekend, spanned two days and featured several stages with a variety of artists. (Alethia Picciola)
Shooter Jennings and the .357s play at Voodoo Fest on Saturday. Thousands attended Voodoo Fest in City Park. (Alethia Picciola)
Fans gathered the second day of Voodoo Fest to watch a Halloween parade where musicians and festival goers in Halloween cosutmes marched through City Park. (Carrie Gillen)
