Gris-gris fucking excellence” — Dr. John bellowed the lyric, from the hit song on his famous debut album, to a buzzing crowd on the second night of August’s Telluride Jazz Festival in Colorado. The parlance in his praise may have suggested New Orleans, but the blues legend, clad head-to-toe in purple and sitting behind a grand piano, was holding court at a location far more surreal.
Dr. John, along with The Funky Meters, had just wrapped a rollicking 90-minute set from a stage situated at bottom of a box canyon, nestled between firs and pines, flanked by the towering San Juan mountains in every direction. It was the highlight of a music festival that is both exceedingly unique and proof of jazz’s continuing renaissance.
All weekend, the crowd was genial and relaxed, the venue picturesque and spacious, the bands loose and jovial. At Telluride Jazz Festival, you will see grown men and women smoking legal weed, children fishing in a stream running through the park, and locals sprawled out under canopies on chairs and blankets. You will not see the appropriating of Native American headdresses or “sponsor activations.” In fact, this may just be the festival for those who couldn’t typically stomach the thought of a festival.
The band booking was smart, too, including transgenerational classics like Dr. John and Mavis Staples, but also spotlighting younger talent that hint at jazz’s future, like Miles Mosley, fatsO, and Davina and the Vagabonds. Many musicians played sideshows at intimate concert halls, like the jaw-dropping Sheridan Opera House (where I saw Mosley), or in outdoor parks.
In keeping with the festival’s relaxed, intimate atmosphere, I swapped a few gear stories with the musicians.
