Day four of Jamcruise started as late as any of them for me.  My roomie Amber and I had heeded a warning from a kind hearted Repeat Offender about the good practice of signing up early for off ship excursions while in port and signed up as soon as we could find the registry for a snorkeling/ beach trip, which sounded long enough of each to get some excellent underwater shots and to learn and grow as a photographer.  And then Skerik blew the roof off the Jamroom and I vaguely remember jumping up and down and not being able to stop.  That was at about 5:45 am.  So the 9am roll call the shuttle was met with complete disgust from the both of us.  So, it turns out that I had met my match.  I pride myself on never stopping at festival, going on two or three hours of sleep a night for three or four straight days.  GO GO GO says the crazed voice in my head, pounding away at it like a deranged rhesus monkey.  Oh wait, I think I need some ibuprofen. A testament I suppose to the level of excitement, of sheer nonstop danceabilty that in the plushest of circumstances I have ever encountered at a festival, I was still beaten down

    Several long, maniacal saxophone peels echoed in my ears and rattled through my head not at all happy to be there and eager to find a way out of my mind.  But as soon as I opened the door I was greeted by those epic blue skies and the warmth of the sun I had been so looking forward to.  It was our second port of call's skyline that greeted my squinted eyes, George Town, Grand Cayman Isles. Preparing to go down after the ritualistic visit to the buffet-I ate constantly, devouring pounds of pineapple and the never ending supply of fresh fruit, and still lost a couple three pounds.  At this point I was approached with my day’s opportunity to love the universe, as well as the previous says opportunity to meet  a few civic minded public defenders, and a couple of music fanatics who actually had my year long escapades beat!   A woman approached me with a camera.  I carry a kind of, well, huge camera, and people always want to ask me photography questions.  She had used an off market battery and it had gotten lodged inside the slot.  Needing tools or at least small metal pointy things far more small,metal and and pointy than readily available, I informed her that she was out of luck unless a production guy had some tools, and felt sad at her look of disappointment.  I saw this as my opportunity to do my day's good deed and volunteered my services as her free festival photographer.  She graciously accepted, and introduced herself as Cindy, a pediatric doctor from Pennsylvania.   After the previous day’s good fortune, I was pleased to so quickly find someone else of such magnificent character.   We agreed to meet at her room, closer to the exit than mine by far.  She told me her room number, and headed our separate ways.

       Now at your average fest I carry a note pad and an Edirol 9 for taping purposes, for mote taking, but a jump in the hot tub ruined my note pad and cards, well not ruined I guess, more altered into to a peel off cardboard wide bloated state.  Not wishing to carry everything I own at this little vacation as I usually do at fests, I had luckily left the I pod back at the room.(Ha!  I typed tent when I should have been typing room in my first pass, so used to camping am I!)  I should take this opportunity to mention how tight these cabins were, hell the entire ship overall.  The cabin Amber and I were sharing was high up, on the fourteenth floor, and our door was like three down from the exit to the upper deck overlooking the pool stage.  So like five feet from the music on the main stage was as close as we could be.  The magnificent environs of the ship were jaw dropping in places.  And everywhere you looked attentive staff.  Having been a bartender for quite some time I know when people don't like their gigs pretty well, and these were a dedicated and attentive lot.  I interact with large banquet staffs on a weekly basis, and I usually see, like, say, fifteen percent not care in any way shape or form.  Just seems like a normal human percentage. I saw nothing but smiles or studious looks as they did their jobs quietly, quickly and effectively.  It was like seeing concerts on a floating four star hotel.   As I wandered down the halls to the tenth floor, I was lost in the opulence, lost in the design, lost in the…Hey!?  What was that room number again?  Crap!!!  So no note pad, no recorder and no memory means going down and sitting in front of the shuttle point and hoping to catch Cindy, my new found subject for Random Acts of Weirdness: Jamcruise

   After fifteen minutes or so I was relieved to see her round the corner.  I copped to my gaff and was happy to find she wasn’t annoyed, just figured I’d got caught up in something, which is usually my way, after all.  So we rode the ferry to shore, and after a zippy car ride, walked the beach in the sun, like I had dreamt of as I had lain awake anticipating the trip.  We stopped and she enjoyed her frozen whatever fruit thing (Seriously, like no notes whatsoever, like I was on vacation instead of on assignment. Hard to keep focused while being transported to island paradise!  Sue me! )  As she answered my questions on life and medicine, I was as usual shocked at my luck when it comes to meeting people.  Here I was sitting with one of the noble, a doctor, a children’s doctor no less, and listening to her tell the wonderful stories of her successes, and feeling her pain as she lamented her losses.  She is preparing to focus her career on cardiopulmonary work, and I couldn’t think of a more wonderful thing in the world then to save the lives of kids with sick hearts.  It takes a stronger hand than mine to face that kind of pressure, and I am glad there are people like her out there.  Scampering back to be sure to get to the boat with time to spare, we parted company, having planned to join up later at the main stage on deck

    And the riot of dark tales of characters of questionable character, searing horns piercing knee deep southern rock sensibility and old school stage-fronterymannery that is J.J.Grey and MoFro was there to open our day’s musical mayhem.  With new friends all around, we danced as the sunset, the horn’s dramatic blasts and the gathering darkness signaling a long night ahead!  Though his band is deep and wise and the ways of the jam, J.J.Grey is one of those folks who demand the eye, as a photographer and just a wild-eyed observer, as he obviously is having such a good time doing what he does.  Stomping his foot in time, ripping away on his electric guitar, or just looking on, captivated, smiling, as his band mates trade hot peals, fat riffs, and tight beats in a widening circle of rock, he was as happy as the crowd, and having the same good tome we were.  The unity between the bands and the artists is the allure of this magnificent voyage to me.  I often experience it a festival as a photographer, and I knew form the loving reports that I had read that this was to be the case.  This was in a way my prime example.  It for a few moments there seemed as if Grey wasn’t part of the band at all, that he was a manic fan who had slipped on stage, and was going to have just as much fun as he could until the stagehands pulled him away

     Mofro’s set was followed by a Jamcruise mass wedding officiated by the high priest of Funk himself, George Porter.  Though ninety-nine percent of the participants in the ceremony viewed it as a lark, I knew that any oath I ever uttered under the auspices of a man who I respected as much as Mr.Porter would be ever binding, so I chose to watch rather than participate.  So many musicians whose respect had been earned within me, such as the gentleman up next on the pool deck, the  true legend, Maceo Parker, and his golden saxophone.  While his band took the stage and fired the crowd with its first blast of searing hot funk, Mr.Parker stood in the wings, as he had done so many times before, preparing his mind, limbering his fingers, and breathing deep in anticipation of blowing his heart out into that sax of his.  From the days of James Brown calling to him to set the sound of his sax free, to his days with P-Funk, Maceo Parker has long earned an ease on stage, a presence of true ownership.  As he walked out to the roar of the crowd, he held his arms out, saying so much with a simple gesture:  Welcome, welcome to the show.  Touching the mouthpiece with his lips, the funk began in earnest, and the dancers stepped it up a notch.  A true bandleader, he made certain that everyone on the stage with him got a chance to shine, never forgetting to turn to the mike and let himself be heard.  Though I managed to pull myself away to see the first fifteen minutes of Zappa plays Zappa, I was drug back to watch (And dance) in awe at the feet of such talent, and fashion!  Maceo’s band was easily the snazziest dressed of the weekend, as if to say that music this stylish and pure could only come gift wrapped,  a present for all in present.  And on the subject of gifts, we have our next performance, a one of a kind session that exemplifies what Jamcruise meant to me, the Fantastic 4.

     The possibilities of pulling together of supergroups from the musicians on the boat was a favorite pastime of the music aficionados aboard, and I am not sure which dream lineup could have gelled as well as, or hosted seamlessly as many guests as did The Fantastic 4. With Robert Walters on keys, Eric Krasno on the eelectric geetar, Adam Deitch keeping both time and place and joining them on bass for the whole program, the ubiquitous Mr.Porter, doing what he can to remind bass players everywhere why they have thumbs!  My friend from earlier Cindy was there, going wild at the wizardry taking place before us.  One of her stated “Must sees” (Her and everyone else I spoke with!)  she grooved to the sorcerous spells being woven on that stage, a ritual of jam was being enacted, and we were calling on the funk gods to bless us.  And the parade of guests began, Ivan Neville, Skerik, Karl Denson and a high spirited Nigel Hall, who, as always reminded everyone just who it is who has the most energy on any stage he trod!  The truest distilled form of the entire week right here, the best at what they do doing it, and a fortunate group of awed onlookers, we were blessed, all of us, and we knew it.  Since I’m not sure if I am making it clear enough, this was my show of the week, the apex of talent and bliss, and it was very much like heaven.  Not that as they finally left us wired and begging for more that there was any drop off, any let down.  Ivan Neville was hosting the Jamroom, DJ Logic and Pretty Lights were getting ready to provide a place for the beat lovers amongst us, Dark Star Orchestra was recreating the spirit of a sound, a time and a place, and, following up his monster opening night show, Trombone Shorty and the Orleans Avenue  were going to have a 2 am to 4 am blast in the high contrast black and white madhouse of the Zebra lounge

     After taking in a half hour or so of the opening if Neville’s superjam, I jetted to the aforementioned lounge.  Everything was so close and accessible, and all the halls were filled all the time with jubilation, and the love in the air was uplifting.  It was weird; I am used to being a little detached from my surroundings at festivals when I travel about, as I zip around the back areas to save time.  But here not only was the entire party backstage, everyone was in love with each other.  I met some of my growing army of new friends and charged them with guarding my magic murder bag, (Not an official one, as those sold out in like two days!  Go Team Venture!) I took up a spot right at the stage lip, right in front of the horns.  It was my, like eighth Trombone Shorty show now and I know where to go.  So much madness, so much pure musical force was coming off the band.  I closed my eyes and opened up my hands at my sides as I love to do and felt it hit me all at once, every fiber of my being alive and one with the jam!  When I opened my eyes I was in for a surprise, as the horn section, Shorty’s trombone included, were thrust in my face, so close was I as they blasted their fury from inches away!  It was like my hair was being blown back, dead skin cells vaporized as I withstood the onslaught before me.  Glorious!  

     Though I actually felt a little wobbly, and the ship’s rocking a little more fiercely at sea, I managed to return to the cacophonous calamity of the Jamroom, as the heat had been steadily rising in my absence.  It seemed like every musician left awake and not on some other stage was right there, waiting for a turn, recovering from the exertions or on the stage itself, playing away.  Cycling in new players, and calling the tunes, there stood Ivan, behind his organ and keyboards, sharing his space with whoever he could cajole into joining him.  The genius of the set up was not lost on me, calling all these great bands together, and adding an arsenal of special guests created a mile deep talent pool, and the hosts each night had the wonderful problem of having too many superb players to choose from.  Each night on the cruise ended in the same fashion, me, finally exhausted, pulling myself away from the Jamroom.  I wish that there was a place like this that went on forever, where whenever you walked in there was a band composed of musical geniuses, locked in midjam full on loco, day or night.  While it might just be a crazy pipe dream, for five nights a year, Jamcruicse make it a reality.  And I thank them for that from the bottom of my heart

Words and pictures by Rex Thomson

Click on the images below to enjoy a photo slide show from Jamcruise 2010 Day 4.

Stay Tuned For Day5