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We followed John Fehlner’s lead on Friday night and went to the Republic to hear Ozomatli. Dan had never heard them, but said John had never led him astray, and we now have to agree.
We got there early enough to pick virtually any spot in the place – Dan, Nate, Brian and I headed up to the balcony and staked out our views along the railing overlooking the band. The first band wasn’t even on the “bill” so this opening set was a complete pot luck. The group came on stage (and exited the stage at the end of their set) ringing various bells – some on strings around their neck, some on leather straps like sleigh bells, some like tambourines. The rhythms built and layered as they each picked up their instruments – horns, a saxophone, a drum set, congas, an electric bass, keyboards. They looked like they might have been a college band, exploring new sounds and going with one another’s jams following a mix of ska, funk and jazz. Two guys played the conch shell at one point – a mellow overtone complementing the baritone sax and drums. The bass player also song one piece, but otherwise the set was purely instrumental. They had a ton of energy and had the place hopping. After their set, we wondered how Ozomatli could be any better! But no one in our area caught the band’s name until Dan went to pick up a CD during the break and came back with the answer: Nomo. I’ll be interested to hear the CD later this summer – I wonder if they are as good on the album as in person.

Next Ozomatli took the stage. Between sets as Nomo cleared their instruments and gear, we noted there were still three percussion stations, and indeed there was percussion of all sorts, from a traditional drum set to a steel drum to bongos. While Nomo had some interesting individual moments, they primarily played as a group. Ozomatli was comprised of diverse multi-cultural characters who each shone at different points. The main vocalist’s style was a reggae and rap flavor (sounding at time like Sublime), and another vocalist brought a hip-hop style. One of the horn players clearly brought a Latin influence, soulfully switching to traditional Spanish vocals during one ballad. A very pale white man danced continuously (he also sang and played percussion), identifying directly with the crowd and often serving as a cheering section to keep the audience engaged at the same energy level as the band. To complete the world tour, the group also had an Asian percussionist. it’s hard to describe their sound – their web page calls it “Spanish-English mash-ups of hip hop, salsa, cumbia, dub, and Middle Eastern funk” and that seems reasonable to me.

We were introduced to Beatle Bob during the show. I had seen Beatle Bob at Jazz fest, but based on his appearance I’d assumed he was a member of one of the bands. Dan explained that he’s a local character, seems to be everywhere that good music is being played in NOLA, and is sort of an uber-fan. He was dressed in a shiney maroon jacket, white shirt, black dress pants and loafers – like a smooth jazz club singer. Ozomatli invited him up on stage to dance during one of their songs, and then he enjoyed the rest of the show from the VIP section. I saw Beatle Bob the next day at Jazz Fest looking just as dapper, apparently unphased by the heat.
To end their set, Ozomatli marched out into the crowd and played in a circle before parading around the building. Evidently this is common – when John first heard them at Jazz Fest they processed off the Fais Do Do stage and around the fair grounds picking up fans as they went. It definitely limited the encores but frankly after 3+ hours of solid energetic music, we were ready to head out on the town.

We went down to Bourbon Street after the show to grab a hurricane, since we’d not enjoyed this tradition yet (me since Abigail’s bachelorette party, Brian ever). We went to Pat O’Briens, home of the hurricane, where we could sit on their patio near the fountain. Two ladies sitting behind Karl and Brian tapped them on the shoulder and asked for their help. Evidently they really wanted some mini-hurricane glasses, but just couldn’t bring themselves to drink the seven-layer shot held therein. After some cajoling, Brian and Dan decided to be gentlemen and help out their fellow tourists. They still can’t quite describe what was in the beverage, but Grenadine was on the bottom. On our way home from Bourbon Street, Brian sampled a Lucky Dog, from one of the hot dog stands that seem to grace every street corner in the French Quarter. He pronounced the chili-drenched dog “tasty!”.