Producing Africa at
the New Orleans Jazz
& Heritage Festival

Helen A. Regis

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The gangly teenager in the black frame glasses

saunters up to the camera with a lively step. His
image flashes across the screen then is gone (Fig.
1). But the laughter in the audience suggests
something else. I thought I recognized the young
Uomo, but I wasn’t sure, so I asked the filmmaker
Dopo. In a broad, knowing smile, he confirmed my speculation.
But did everyone in the room recognize him too? Or were they
laughing because of the incongruity of his presence? What is this
white young man doing here, among the deeply etched faces and
dignified dance steps of the African American elders leading the
procession? And why does his presence prompt laughter?

Growing up in New Orleans in the early 1960s, Quint Davis
was introduced to the working class African American per-
formance traditions of second-line parades, jazz funerals, E
Mardi Gras Indians by photographer Jules Cahn, who was a
friend of the family. The films of Jules Cahn, now archived at
the Historic New Orleans Collection (HNOC), contain several
images of a young Quint, at perhaps fourteen years old, bespec-
tacled, wearing long shorts and a plaid shirt, dancing at parades.
At around the same time this footage was made by Cahn, Davis’s
image was also captured by photographer Lee Friedlander, Poi
in New Orleans working on a project on New Orleans jazz musi-
cians. The music historian and archivist Dick Allen brought
Friedlander to the parades, just as he had brought countless
others before him (Friedlander 1992). Cahn brought the young
Davis, initiating him into a world of black music, tradition, E
dignity that most whites in New Orleans ignored or avoided.
This footage appears in Royce Osborn’s film All on a Mardi Gras
Day—a film that focuses squarely on the black performance tra-
ditions that developed in counterpoint to the dominant carnival
traditions historically orchestrated by the city’s white elite (Vedere

also Smith, this issue). Davis is one of only two white men who
appear in the Osborn film. His is thus a notable presence in a
documentary whose major actors, cultural historians, carnival
experts, and cultural workers are all African American. In docu-
mentary films about black culture, white faces are more likely
to appear as the historians or other experts than as the research
subjects. Osborn’s film cleverly reverses the gaze with this wink
at documentary filmmaking tradition. Davis’s cameo as a wiry
young second liner arouses knowing smiles among the viewers
of the film who know this history. Decades later, Davis would
become the producer of one of the most successful music festi-
vals in the world, a major cultural institution in its own right, UN
landmark site for the display of Louisiana’s cultural heritage, E
a powerful economic engine in the city with an economic impact
greater than Mardi Gras.

In the years since the founding of the New Orleans Jazz & Heri-
tage Festival in 1970, Mr. Davis has become not only its executive
producer, but also the public face of the festival, often appear-
ing on stage to introduce major acts or to close out a major stage
and often giving interviews about the festival and heading up
press conferences on its annual music lineup. Because of the fes-
tival’s scale, overwhelming success, and influence, it has become
a touchstone for discussions around the cultural economy of the
city and debates around the commodification of music, culture,
and heritage (see Regis and Walton 2008). And while the festival
is a complex organization with a broad diversity of participants
and social actors, Mr. Davis has also become the focus of festival
critics, who sometimes seem to blame him personally for any fes-
tival policy or decision with which they disagree. Infatti, what sur-
prised me when I first began researching the festival in the early
2000s was the frequency with which New Orleanians referred to
Mr. Davis as “Quint” as if they knew him personally, when they

had often never met him. The personalization of the festival in the

figure of one person, Ovviamente, erases the complexity of a seven-

day event involving hundreds (if not thousands) of workers and

volunteers and running a production company that operates year-

around, presenting events as different as Superdome half-time

1

Quint Davis circa 1963, marching with the

Eureka Brass Band.

Photo: Still from film footagE By JulES Cahn,CourtESy

of thE hiStoriC nEw orlEanS CollECtion

shows, Essence Festival, and the Bayou Country Superfest. As

This paper begins with the figure of Davis as a starting point for

an anthropologist who studies the festival and its relationship to

a consideration of the intertwined strands of personal and collec-

the city, I am struck by this common confusion of the personal

tive heritage that come together in the project of bringing African

and the institutional. And yet, in some ways, because of the fes-

performers to Jazz Fest. The festival represents music, culture, E

tival producer’s deep love for New Orleans music and culture, Esso

heritage. But in its forty-plus year history, it’s also become a site for

is personal. In interviews with media (as well as this anthropolo-

the creation of heritage. As I shall show, the personal and the col-

gist) and on the production company’s web site, the work of creat-

lective intertwine in the public dialogues about African and Afri-

ing the festival is clearly grounded in the producer’s personal life

can American music and culture—framed in terms of Diaspora

experiences and commitments (Vedere, Per esempio, www.fpino.com

and African heritage at the Festival.1 Since its beginning, one of

“who we are”). When I first interviewed Davis in 1999 and asked

the central themes of festival was to reconnect roots and branches

about the role of second-line parades at the festival, he said, “What

of American music, so that, Per esempio, gospel, blues, and tra-

you are talking about is central to my entire existence.” The way

ditional jazz were shown to be related (and generative of) Dopo

Davis and others talk about parades has to do with the way many

popular music styles of rock, soul, and R&B. At some point, IL

New Orleanians understand power, knowledge, and how to get

roots of gospel, blues, and jazz were further extended across the

things done. Embodied knowledge, personal relationships, E

Atlantic to Africa. While this reframing of roots and heritage in

patron-client ties remain central to day-to-day life in the city. It

trans atlantic perspective no doubt reflected the personal interest

softens the hard edges of bureaucracy, and it is also a shorthand

of festival producers and the distinctive history of New Orleans,

for representing social dynamics.

it is also a reflection of the festival’s long encounter with cultural

70 | african arts Summer 2013 vol. 46, NO. 2

vol. 46, NO. 2 Estate 2013 african arts | 71

African462_070-085 CS6.indd 70-71

3/19/13 1:25 AM

Producing Africa at

the New Orleans Jazz

& Heritage Festival

Helen A. Regis

1). But the laughter in the audience suggests

image flashes across the screen then is gone (Fig.

saunters up to the camera with a lively step. His

The gangly teenager in the black frame glasses

But did everyone in the room recognize him too? Or were they

Dopo. In a broad, knowing smile, he confirmed my speculation.

Uomo, but I wasn’t sure, so I asked the filmmaker

something else. I thought I recognized the young

laughing because of the incongruity of his presence? What is this

also Smith, this issue). Davis is one of only two white men who

appear in the Osborn film. His is thus a notable presence in a

documentary whose major actors, cultural historians, carnival

experts, and cultural workers are all African American. In docu-

mentary films about black culture, white faces are more likely

to appear as the historians or other experts than as the research

subjects. Osborn’s film cleverly reverses the gaze with this wink

at documentary filmmaking tradition. Davis’s cameo as a wiry

young second liner arouses knowing smiles among the viewers

white young man doing here, among the deeply etched faces and

of the film who know this history. Decades later, Davis would

dignified dance steps of the African American elders leading the

become the producer of one of the most successful music festi-

procession? And why does his presence prompt laughter?

vals in the world, a major cultural institution in its own right, UN

Growing up in New Orleans in the early 1960s, Quint Davis

landmark site for the display of Louisiana’s cultural heritage, E

was introduced to the working class African American per-

a powerful economic engine in the city with an economic impact

formance traditions of second-line parades, jazz funerals, E

greater than Mardi Gras.

Mardi Gras Indians by photographer Jules Cahn, who was a

In the years since the founding of the New Orleans Jazz & Heri-

friend of the family. The films of Jules Cahn, now archived at

tage Festival in 1970, Mr. Davis has become not only its executive

the Historic New Orleans Collection (HNOC), contain several

producer, but also the public face of the festival, often appear-

images of a young Quint, at perhaps fourteen years old, bespec-

ing on stage to introduce major acts or to close out a major stage

tacled, wearing long shorts and a plaid shirt, dancing at parades.

and often giving interviews about the festival and heading up

At around the same time this footage was made by Cahn, Davis’s

press conferences on its annual music lineup. Because of the fes-

image was also captured by photographer Lee Friedlander, Poi

tival’s scale, overwhelming success, and influence, it has become

in New Orleans working on a project on New Orleans jazz musi-

a touchstone for discussions around the cultural economy of the

cians. The music historian and archivist Dick Allen brought

city and debates around the commodification of music, culture,

Friedlander to the parades, just as he had brought countless

and heritage (see Regis and Walton 2008). And while the festival

others before him (Friedlander 1992). Cahn brought the young

is a complex organization with a broad diversity of participants

Davis, initiating him into a world of black music, tradition, E

and social actors, Mr. Davis has also become the focus of festival

dignity that most whites in New Orleans ignored or avoided.

critics, who sometimes seem to blame him personally for any fes-

This footage appears in Royce Osborn’s film All on a Mardi Gras

tival policy or decision with which they disagree. Infatti, what sur-

Day—a film that focuses squarely on the black performance tra-

prised me when I first began researching the festival in the early

ditions that developed in counterpoint to the dominant carnival

2000s was the frequency with which New Orleanians referred to

traditions historically orchestrated by the city’s white elite (Vedere

Mr. Davis as “Quint” as if they knew him personally, when they

70 | african arts Summer 2013 vol. 46, NO. 2

had often never met him. The personalization of the festival in the
figure of one person, Ovviamente, erases the complexity of a seven-
day event involving hundreds (if not thousands) of workers and
volunteers and running a production company that operates year-
around, presenting events as different as Superdome half-time
shows, Essence Festival, and the Bayou Country Superfest. As
an anthropologist who studies the festival and its relationship to
the city, I am struck by this common confusion of the personal
and the institutional. And yet, in some ways, because of the fes-
tival producer’s deep love for New Orleans music and culture, Esso
is personal. In interviews with media (as well as this anthropolo-
gist) and on the production company’s web site, the work of creat-
ing the festival is clearly grounded in the producer’s personal life
experiences and commitments (Vedere, Per esempio, www.fpino.com
“who we are”). When I first interviewed Davis in 1999 and asked
about the role of second-line parades at the festival, he said, “What
you are talking about is central to my entire existence.” The way
Davis and others talk about parades has to do with the way many
New Orleanians understand power, knowledge, and how to get
things done. Embodied knowledge, personal relationships, E
patron-client ties remain central to day-to-day life in the city. It
softens the hard edges of bureaucracy, and it is also a shorthand
for representing social dynamics.

Quint Davis circa 1963, marching with the

1
Eureka Brass Band.
Photo: Still from film footagE By JulES Cahn,CourtESy

of thE hiStoriC nEw orlEanS CollECtion

This paper begins with the figure of Davis as a starting point for
a consideration of the intertwined strands of personal and collec-
tive heritage that come together in the project of bringing African
performers to Jazz Fest. The festival represents music, culture, E
heritage. But in its forty-plus year history, it’s also become a site for
the creation of heritage. As I shall show, the personal and the col-
lective intertwine in the public dialogues about African and Afri-
can American music and culture—framed in terms of Diaspora
and African heritage at the Festival.1 Since its beginning, one of
the central themes of festival was to reconnect roots and branches
of American music, so that, Per esempio, gospel, blues, and tra-
ditional jazz were shown to be related (and generative of) Dopo
popular music styles of rock, soul, and R&B. At some point, IL
roots of gospel, blues, and jazz were further extended across the
Atlantic to Africa. While this reframing of roots and heritage in
trans atlantic perspective no doubt reflected the personal interest
of festival producers and the distinctive history of New Orleans,
it is also a reflection of the festival’s long encounter with cultural

vol. 46, NO. 2 Estate 2013 african arts | 71

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2 the scale of the festival is evident in this photo
taken from acura stage during a performance by
Bon Jovi, Saturday, may 2, 2009.
Photo: SCott aigES

3 Shona soapstone sculpture by “african authen-
tics” of Chelsea, massachussets.
Photo: hElEn a. rEgiS

activists who saw the current predicament and potential futures
of black New Orleans as tied up to with Africa. These intersec-
tions—both temporal and spatial—involve economic and political
structures—the means of production—as well as public history
and personal biography. After an exploration of the festival’s his-
tory and contemporary landscape, we turn to a moment in the
history of the festival to examine more closely how African heri-
tage is produced in diasporic dialogue at the festival. Central to
this drama are the strategic ways the past (personal biography
and regional, national, and transnational histories) is invoked to
underwrite relationships in the present. Much of the significance
of this conversation comes from the way social actors create the
temporal framework for their encounter. While they alternately
embrace, or resist being told, what heritage they can claim for
themselves, individuals and collectivities aspire to self-determi-
nation, and to enhance their capacity and freedom to create (E
produce future heritage) in the present.

Displaying african Heritage
Since its founding in 1970, the festival has hosted numerous
African musicians, dancers, and artists, including such lumi-
naries as King Sunny Ade, Ali Farka Toure, Baaba Mal, Lady-
smith Black Mambazo, and many African-centered artists from
the Diaspora, from Natchez, Mississippi-born guitarist Olu Dara
to Brazilian carnival marching group Ile-Aye and Guadeloupe-
based roots kreyol language ensemble Kan’nida. Many of these
groups have played on the festival stage named after the city’s
legendary Congo Square, the site of the festival’s first founding
years and a widely mythologized sacred site.

Today, Jazz Fest is a seven-day festival, drawing 400,000 visi-
tors into the city from the East Coast, the West Coast, Europe,
Japan, and beyond (Fig. 2).2 Glancing at the program on any
given day, one might choose between a bluegrass-infused

72 | african arts Summer 2013 vol. 46, NO. 2

singer-songwriter duo on the Lagniappe Stage, a traditional
jazz orchestra like Don Vappie and the Creole Jazz Serenaders
in the Economy Hall tent, a popular jam band at the Gentilly
Stage, Nicholas Payton in the Jazz Tent, Bruce Springsteen at
Acura, and so on. Or you could take a break from the music to
find refreshing rose-mint ice tea to accompany the famous sea-
food combo that includes delectable crawfish beignets, oyster
patty, and crawfish sack (questo è, crawfish etouffee spooned into
a crepe that is tied up into a bundle and deep fried). Seasoned
participants have widely diverging strategies for navigating the
multitude of offerings, with those who prize their freelance
improvisational style (going where the music calls them) in con-
trast to those who prefer to camp out at one of the big stages for
the entire day, and others who meticulously plan their itinerary,
including their drinks, snacks, and meals, and pathways between
stages and craft areas scattered throughout the racetrack. There
is now a Jazz Fest app to facilitate this process. But even the most
compulsive planners are bound to be sidetracked by one of the
many parades of social club members powered by brass bands
or percussion-driven Mardi Gras Indians as they snake their way
through the infield crowds in full regalia.

One of the sites for all of these activities is the area within the
fair grounds known as Congo Square. At a recent festival, IL
Congo Square marketplace included a broad variety of artisans
and vendors. Shona soapstone sculpture from Zimbabwe was
on display in one booth (Fig. 3), while in another, contemporary
batik clothing from Nigeria was on offer by vendor Nnamdi Ibe-
nagu of Chapel Hill, North Carolina (Fig. 4). Binta Diabu of New
Orleans offered “Zulu, Mbukishi & Mbunda basketry; central
and southern African Tribal art” while Abdoulaye Gueye and
Darou Rakhmane of New Orleans offered “ceremonial Statues
from West & Central Africa.” Suzy Cameleon of On the Road
to Marrakech sold “handmade Moroccan leather handbags”
and Bilali Sunni-Ali of Atlanta Georgia sold “handmade Fulani
hats, Kuba cloth, oils, incense, trade beads, & jewelry from Mali
and Burkina Faso” (Fig. 5). While some vendors clearly serve as
importers and curators, with their festival booths serving as a
mobile gallery, others sell their own handiwork, like Andaiye Ali-
mayu of King & Queen Emporium, New Orleans, offering hand-
dipped incense, oil, and handmade, beaded jewelry. Henry O.

Colby of the Timbuktu Art Colony sold handmade jewelry while

Abdou Diouff of Aziz Fashions constructed “afrocentric patterns

on mudcloth & linen.” The marketplace includes Africans who

have developed import-export businesses in the US drawing on

their personal networks and business acumen; US-based sculp-

tori, painters, photographers, and artisans, who produce work in

some way inspired by Africa and the diaspora; as well as Miami-

4 Contemporary batiks offered by nnamdi ibe-

nagu’s “spirit of courage.”

Photo: Xiomara CaStro

5 Bilali Sunni-ali’s display in Congo Square fea-

tures trade beads, cloth, and a credit card machine.

Photo: hElEn a. rEgiS

or New Orleans-based curators, who import handcrafted objects

African-centered artistic creation, and economic development.

from Latin America and the Caribbean, especially Haiti. Note-

The creative arc that links historic Congo Square to the Festi-

worthy are those vendors whose work interjects a folk aesthetic

val’s contemporary black marketplace is dynamic, evolving, E

or a modernist key into contemporary diasporic dialogues.3 Both

vibrant, infused with new aspirations anchored in collective

the Congo Crafts and the music stage feature contemporary as

memory (see Evans 2011, Sakakeeny 2011).

well as traditional artists. In recent years, the stage has increas-

ingly hosted artists such as R&B luminary Solomon Burke, Gogo

Out Of cOngO square

legend Chuck Brown, and soul superstars Earth, Wind, and Fire,

In its inaugural year of 1970, the New Orleans Jazz & Heritage

as well as Soul artist Cee Lo Green, Wyclef Jean, contemporary

Festival was held in Congo Square, a hallowed place in the his-

R&B artist Ne-Yo, conscious hip hop sensation Lupe Fiasco, E

tory of the genesis of jazz and American popular dance, yet one

jazz bassist and singer Esperanza Spaulding with her crossover

that had been submerged by dominant narratives for much of the

venture Radio Music Society.

twentieth century (Fig. 6). When the first festival was held there,

On the festival grounds, text panels recount the origins of

its official name was Beauregard Square, after the Confederate gen-

Congo Square as a market and space for cultural performance

eral. But in spite of official fiat, it continued to be known as Congo

on the edge of the eighteenth and early nineteenth century city:

Square well into the twentieth century (Evans 2011:20). For many

A thriving market existed at Congo Square on Sunday afternoons;

and market women, following the tradition of marketing modeled

in their homeland of Africa, conducted most of the transactions.…

Some of these female entrepreneurs eventually earned enough money

to purchase freedom for themselves and their family members. IL

same spirit of cooperative economics, collective work, and commu-

nity responsibility, flourishes with the artists and vendors of today’s

Congo Square African Marketplace (2009 Festival panels).

New Orleans intellectuals, music lovers, and civil rights activ-

ist, Congo Square was a touchstone—a sacred site—often cred-

ited as the birthplace of jazz and African-American dance. Those

who were at the 1970 festival recall ruefully that the musicians on

stage outnumbered the audience.4 But it was also full of special

moments: Mahalia Jackson spontaneously singing “A Closer Walk

With Thee” with the Eureka Brass Band and jazz lover Woody

Allen sitting in on clarinet with the Preservation Hall Jazz Band

(Offbeat 2001; Clifford and Smith 2005:9–10). It was also adja-

In this way, the Festival’s Congo Square invokes the historic

cent to the French Quarter and within walking distance of several

Congo Square and perhaps even claims a genealogy for its dis-

downtown neighborhoods—a logical place to hold an outdoor

tinctive intersections of culture and commerce. But that link is

music festival and heritage fair. Rampart Street, once the edge of

also rejoined by social activists, historians, poets, and entrepre-

the colonial city, long served as a border zone between the tourist

neurs, many of whom are African American. For many, the fes-

section and the rest of the city, including the now mostly African

tival is also a focus of social activism, which employs Africa as a

American neighborhoods of Tremé and the Seventh Ward.

symbol of self-determination, empowerment, and decoloniza-

In a procession that opened the first Festival, Mardi Gras Indi-

tion of consciousness. Così, the Congo Square space in particu-

ans led the way through the French Quarter, marched up Canal

lar is the site of multiple racial projects, such as Pan-Africanism,

Street and then down Rampart through the gates of Armstrong

vol. 46, NO. 2 Estate 2013 african arts | 73

African462_070-085 CS6.indd 72-73

3/19/13 1:25 AM

2 the scale of the festival is evident in this photo

taken from acura stage during a performance by

Bon Jovi, Saturday, may 2, 2009.

Photo: SCott aigES

3 Shona soapstone sculpture by “african authen-

tics” of Chelsea, massachussets.

Photo: hElEn a. rEgiS

singer-songwriter duo on the Lagniappe Stage, a traditional

jazz orchestra like Don Vappie and the Creole Jazz Serenaders

in the Economy Hall tent, a popular jam band at the Gentilly

Stage, Nicholas Payton in the Jazz Tent, Bruce Springsteen at

Acura, and so on. Or you could take a break from the music to

find refreshing rose-mint ice tea to accompany the famous sea-

food combo that includes delectable crawfish beignets, oyster

activists who saw the current predicament and potential futures

patty, and crawfish sack (questo è, crawfish etouffee spooned into

of black New Orleans as tied up to with Africa. These intersec-

a crepe that is tied up into a bundle and deep fried). Seasoned

tions—both temporal and spatial—involve economic and political

participants have widely diverging strategies for navigating the

structures—the means of production—as well as public history

multitude of offerings, with those who prize their freelance

and personal biography. After an exploration of the festival’s his-

improvisational style (going where the music calls them) in con-

tory and contemporary landscape, we turn to a moment in the

trast to those who prefer to camp out at one of the big stages for

history of the festival to examine more closely how African heri-

the entire day, and others who meticulously plan their itinerary,

tage is produced in diasporic dialogue at the festival. Central to

including their drinks, snacks, and meals, and pathways between

this drama are the strategic ways the past (personal biography

stages and craft areas scattered throughout the racetrack. There

and regional, national, and transnational histories) is invoked to

is now a Jazz Fest app to facilitate this process. But even the most

underwrite relationships in the present. Much of the significance

compulsive planners are bound to be sidetracked by one of the

of this conversation comes from the way social actors create the

many parades of social club members powered by brass bands

temporal framework for their encounter. While they alternately

or percussion-driven Mardi Gras Indians as they snake their way

embrace, or resist being told, what heritage they can claim for

through the infield crowds in full regalia.

themselves, individuals and collectivities aspire to self-determi-

One of the sites for all of these activities is the area within the

nation, and to enhance their capacity and freedom to create (E

fair grounds known as Congo Square. At a recent festival, IL

produce future heritage) in the present.

Displaying african Heritage

Congo Square marketplace included a broad variety of artisans

and vendors. Shona soapstone sculpture from Zimbabwe was

on display in one booth (Fig. 3), while in another, contemporary

Since its founding in 1970, the festival has hosted numerous

batik clothing from Nigeria was on offer by vendor Nnamdi Ibe-

African musicians, dancers, and artists, including such lumi-

nagu of Chapel Hill, North Carolina (Fig. 4). Binta Diabu of New

naries as King Sunny Ade, Ali Farka Toure, Baaba Mal, Lady-

Orleans offered “Zulu, Mbukishi & Mbunda basketry; central

smith Black Mambazo, and many African-centered artists from

and southern African Tribal art” while Abdoulaye Gueye and

the Diaspora, from Natchez, Mississippi-born guitarist Olu Dara

Darou Rakhmane of New Orleans offered “ceremonial Statues

to Brazilian carnival marching group Ile-Aye and Guadeloupe-

from West & Central Africa.” Suzy Cameleon of On the Road

based roots kreyol language ensemble Kan’nida. Many of these

to Marrakech sold “handmade Moroccan leather handbags”

groups have played on the festival stage named after the city’s

and Bilali Sunni-Ali of Atlanta Georgia sold “handmade Fulani

legendary Congo Square, the site of the festival’s first founding

hats, Kuba cloth, oils, incense, trade beads, & jewelry from Mali

years and a widely mythologized sacred site.

and Burkina Faso” (Fig. 5). While some vendors clearly serve as

Today, Jazz Fest is a seven-day festival, drawing 400,000 visi-

importers and curators, with their festival booths serving as a

tors into the city from the East Coast, the West Coast, Europe,

mobile gallery, others sell their own handiwork, like Andaiye Ali-

Japan, and beyond (Fig. 2).2 Glancing at the program on any

mayu of King & Queen Emporium, New Orleans, offering hand-

given day, one might choose between a bluegrass-infused

dipped incense, oil, and handmade, beaded jewelry. Henry O.

72 | african arts Summer 2013 vol. 46, NO. 2

Colby of the Timbuktu Art Colony sold handmade jewelry while
Abdou Diouff of Aziz Fashions constructed “afrocentric patterns
on mudcloth & linen.” The marketplace includes Africans who
have developed import-export businesses in the US drawing on
their personal networks and business acumen; US-based sculp-
tori, painters, photographers, and artisans, who produce work in
some way inspired by Africa and the diaspora; as well as Miami-
or New Orleans-based curators, who import handcrafted objects
from Latin America and the Caribbean, especially Haiti. Note-
worthy are those vendors whose work interjects a folk aesthetic
or a modernist key into contemporary diasporic dialogues.3 Both
the Congo Crafts and the music stage feature contemporary as
well as traditional artists. In recent years, the stage has increas-
ingly hosted artists such as R&B luminary Solomon Burke, Gogo
legend Chuck Brown, and soul superstars Earth, Wind, and Fire,
as well as Soul artist Cee Lo Green, Wyclef Jean, contemporary
R&B artist Ne-Yo, conscious hip hop sensation Lupe Fiasco, E
jazz bassist and singer Esperanza Spaulding with her crossover
venture Radio Music Society.

On the festival grounds, text panels recount the origins of
Congo Square as a market and space for cultural performance
on the edge of the eighteenth and early nineteenth century city:

A thriving market existed at Congo Square on Sunday afternoons;
and market women, following the tradition of marketing modeled
in their homeland of Africa, conducted most of the transactions.…
Some of these female entrepreneurs eventually earned enough money
to purchase freedom for themselves and their family members. IL
same spirit of cooperative economics, collective work, and commu-
nity responsibility, flourishes with the artists and vendors of today’s
Congo Square African Marketplace (2009 Festival panels).

In this way, the Festival’s Congo Square invokes the historic
Congo Square and perhaps even claims a genealogy for its dis-
tinctive intersections of culture and commerce. But that link is
also rejoined by social activists, historians, poets, and entrepre-
neurs, many of whom are African American. For many, the fes-
tival is also a focus of social activism, which employs Africa as a
symbol of self-determination, empowerment, and decoloniza-
tion of consciousness. Così, the Congo Square space in particu-
lar is the site of multiple racial projects, such as Pan-Africanism,

4 Contemporary batiks offered by nnamdi ibe-
nagu’s “spirit of courage.”
Photo: Xiomara CaStro

5 Bilali Sunni-ali’s display in Congo Square fea-
tures trade beads, cloth, and a credit card machine.
Photo: hElEn a. rEgiS

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African-centered artistic creation, and economic development.
The creative arc that links historic Congo Square to the Festi-
val’s contemporary black marketplace is dynamic, evolving, E
vibrant, infused with new aspirations anchored in collective
memory (see Evans 2011, Sakakeeny 2011).

Out Of cOngO square
In its inaugural year of 1970, the New Orleans Jazz & Heritage
Festival was held in Congo Square, a hallowed place in the his-
tory of the genesis of jazz and American popular dance, yet one
that had been submerged by dominant narratives for much of the
twentieth century (Fig. 6). When the first festival was held there,
its official name was Beauregard Square, after the Confederate gen-
eral. But in spite of official fiat, it continued to be known as Congo
Square well into the twentieth century (Evans 2011:20). For many
New Orleans intellectuals, music lovers, and civil rights activ-
ist, Congo Square was a touchstone—a sacred site—often cred-
ited as the birthplace of jazz and African-American dance. Those
who were at the 1970 festival recall ruefully that the musicians on
stage outnumbered the audience.4 But it was also full of special
moments: Mahalia Jackson spontaneously singing “A Closer Walk
With Thee” with the Eureka Brass Band and jazz lover Woody
Allen sitting in on clarinet with the Preservation Hall Jazz Band
(Offbeat 2001; Clifford and Smith 2005:9–10). It was also adja-
cent to the French Quarter and within walking distance of several
downtown neighborhoods—a logical place to hold an outdoor
music festival and heritage fair. Rampart Street, once the edge of
the colonial city, long served as a border zone between the tourist
section and the rest of the city, including the now mostly African
American neighborhoods of Tremé and the Seventh Ward.

In a procession that opened the first Festival, Mardi Gras Indi-
ans led the way through the French Quarter, marched up Canal
Street and then down Rampart through the gates of Armstrong

vol. 46, NO. 2 Estate 2013 african arts | 73

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7 Congo Square entrance archway circa 2009.

Designs by Douglas redd and members of the

Congo Square collective.

Photo: hElEn a. rEgiS

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3

not only would black and white musicians be permitted to play
together on stage, dine in city restaurants, and stay in the same
hotels, but where the audiences also would be mixed. Wein, who
was married to an African American, was unwilling to move
ahead until city leaders had changed their position (Clifford and
Smith 2005:3, Wein 2003:352–58). But city leaders (astonishingly,
in retrospect) did not believe that jazz could be a selling point
for marketing the city and thus were unwilling to invest finan-
cially in the creation of a jazz festival. They were also mostly
unwilling to risk losing their segregationist patrons. Finalmente, In
late 1969, Wein received an invitation that stuck and set about
courting advisors and organizers (Wein 2003:360). It was Dick
Allen, the curator of the jazz archives at Tulane, who introduced
Wein to Allison Miner and Quint Davis, two young people who
were knowledgeable about New Orleans music and who were
recruited to work on the festival.

Davis, who graduated from high school in 1965, came of age
at the height of the civil rights movement, and like many music
aficionados of his day, became fascinated with the black musi-
cians whose artistry had inspired soul and rock musicians. Davis
and Miner’s passion for the music and their personal relation-
ships with musicians throughout the city made their participa-
tion invaluable. As Allison Miner remembers it in the book Jazz
Fest Memories, she and Quint did most of the fieldwork for the
festival, recruiting performers from barrooms where Mardi Gras
Indian practiced and churches where gospel choirs performed.

The festival was a labor of love. Quint and I didn’t even get paid.
George took us out to dinner to all the finest restaurants in town. Noi
loved every minute of what we were doing. We were committed to
the music and knew we were doing something worthwhile, some-
thing that counted, something that would be a lasting memorial to
the people and the music that they were making (Miner 1997:20).

Miner remembers the challenges of organizing a desegregated
festival with whites and blacks both onstage and in the audience.

At that time no one else was “out and about.” Integration laws had
just been passed, and people like Allen and Sandra Jaffe were get-
ting arrested for having black people in Preservation Hall. So here we
were, two young people trying to put on a multiethnic music festival,
and that had never been done before in the Deep South city of New
Orleans (Miner 1997:20).

Growing up in a city that was no longer legally segregated but
that was still largely socially, economically, and professionally
so, Davis had found that black communities were welcoming
to those who loved and demonstrated respect for their culture
and traditions. The intercultural intimacy he had experienced
at countless social club parades, jazz funerals, and Mardi Gras
Indian gatherings would have generated powerful feelings of sol-
idarity and connection with other participants (Regis 1999). For
this reason, the critiques of the festival’s production structure,
which became sharper as the festival became more successful in
the late 1970s, shocked Davis. Some of these critiques examined
the racial asymmetry at the intersection of culture and com-
merce—with mostly white producers, mostly black performers,
and mostly white audiences. As New Orleans became a majority-

6 a poster for the first new orleans Jazz & heri-
tage festival held at Congo Square (then officially
Beauregard Square) and the municipal auditorium.
Poster designed by Bruce Brice.
Photo: CourtESy of BruCE BriCE anD thE louiSiana

StatE muSEum

Park and into Congo Square. Mr. Davis told me that this was the
first time Mardi Gras Indians had paraded outside of the estab-
lished events of Mardi Gras and St. Joseph’s Day. The Indians, he
said, were at the heart of what the festival was all about. And yet
at that time, “Indians” were still largely ignored, misunderstood,
and widely feared in many sections of the city (see Becker, Questo
issue). Reweaving the links between the roots and branches of
American popular music were central goals of the “heritage fair,"
the outdoor portion of the festival. This was intended to valorize
black music and culture and to honor the black musicians whose
creative genius was often overlooked, thus contributing to a vin-
dicationist project that was explicitly anti-racist. It was also cen-
tral to George Wein’s vision for how to brand his New Orleans
event as distinctive from his Newport and New York festivals.

festival as racial prOject
In his memoir, Myself Among Others: A Life in Music, Wein
(2003) recounts that he was asked three times by local business-
men to produce a jazz festival in New Orleans. But the first two
efforts, In 1962 E 1964, were preempted by the recognition
that the city was “not ready” to host a desegregated event where

74 | african arts Summer 2013 vol. 46, NO. 2

black city in the 1970s and 1980s, the city’s increasing reliance on

legian (Michna 2011). Salaam recalls that the owner of the beer

cultural tourism intensified the public display and commodifica-

distributorship for the Festival (Neal Kaye, Sr.) was on the board

tion of black and Afro-Creole cultures (Souther 2006, Gotham

of directors and that at the St. Bernard meeting, they poured

2007). As long as the festival remained small and its numbers

Schlitz beer out on the ground (Salaam 2004). This gesture dem-

were in the red, it hadn’t attracted much scrutiny. The success of

onstrated the seriousness of the activists. In an interview with

the festival changed this framework, shifting the scale of inter-

festival historians, Salaam objected to the characterization of

personal negotiations and opening up the “bargain” to a much

their actions as a boycott (Salaam 2004). “We were gonna dis-

wider evaluation and scrutiny by participants and nonpartici-

rupt. Don’t get us confused with the NAACP. We were gonna

pants. As Wein recounts in his memoir, he was called to a meet-

shut it down!” Salaam explains the principal argument of the

ing in the Saint Bernard housing project,

deep in the bowels of New Orleans’s black ghetto … A cloud of vio-

lent energy hung in the air as I entered a small cement-block room.

Thirty or forty African Americans, per lo più maschi, were standing about

coalition. “We were saying, “You’re not gonna have a major

event, and make money off of black culture, and not include

black people in the decision making process.” Clearly, this threat

of disruption would have alarmed not only the festival produc-

… The man in the dashiki spoke: “We’re going to force you to take

ers but also the sponsors, whose brands were associated with the

more blacks on to the board of directors. You have been ripping off

Festival. By pouring out the beer, they were showing that, if their

black culture. The community is not benefiting nearly enough by

what’s happening” (Wein 2003:371).

demands were not met, they would cut into the profits generated

by the festival. Salaam explains that the festival had to take them

seriously because of their history of successful actions, including

The tone in this account is revealing of the producer’s racial anx-

the boycotts on Canal Street, IL 1969 student takeover of South-

ieties. As Wein remembers it, the activists, who called themselves

ern University, protests against police brutality, and demonstra-

the Afrikan American Jazz Festival Coalition (but are often referred

tions to free Gary Tyler, among others.5

to as “Koindu,” after the festival space they created) demanded that

a greater number of African Americans be part of the decision-

making and management of the festival, a challenge for producers

We had a track record. And I have no doubt they checked. We had a

track record of what some people would term … “militancy.” And they’d

look up and all of a sudden, they were dealing with a bunch of militants.

who felt that they already had an excellent team who worked well

Not just one or two people saying “give me a cut” (Salaam 2004).

together. More, “there were intimations of racism toward Quint and

me … The atmosphere grew toxic” (Wein 2003:373). Wein, who

Several of the Festival Foundation board members agreed with

describes himself as “a Jewish kid from Boston” reflects, “my out-

the activists’ goals, even if they disagreed with their methods. “I

sider status actually served as a plus, since I was not a part of New

didn’t want to be part of an organization that was just there to

Orleans’s southern white establishment” (Wein 2003:360, 375). Lui

put on a big party. It seemed to me that there was a real need

never had any illusions that his role as a producer came with cer-

we weren’t really addressing,” said Marion Greenup Kelly, who

tain structural tensions. But Davis, who grew up in New Orleans

had joined the board in 1977 as one of the first African Ameri-

and had long personal relationships with many of the musicians and

cans (Greenup 2008). At the time, she was working in City Hall

performers at the festival, may have felt differently.

as deputy director of the Human Relations Committee under

Kalamu ya Salaam, a participant in the 1978 meetings, era

Mayor Moon Landrieu’s administration. Emilio “Monk” Dupre,

already known as a writer, activist, and editor of the Black Col-

who was also a board member in the 1970s, remembers

vol. 46, NO. 2 Estate 2013 african arts | 75

African462_070-085 CS6.indd 74-75

3/19/13 1:25 AM

not only would black and white musicians be permitted to play

together on stage, dine in city restaurants, and stay in the same

hotels, but where the audiences also would be mixed. Wein, who

was married to an African American, was unwilling to move

ahead until city leaders had changed their position (Clifford and

Smith 2005:3, Wein 2003:352–58). But city leaders (astonishingly,

in retrospect) did not believe that jazz could be a selling point

for marketing the city and thus were unwilling to invest finan-

cially in the creation of a jazz festival. They were also mostly

unwilling to risk losing their segregationist patrons. Finalmente, In

late 1969, Wein received an invitation that stuck and set about

courting advisors and organizers (Wein 2003:360). It was Dick

Allen, the curator of the jazz archives at Tulane, who introduced

Wein to Allison Miner and Quint Davis, two young people who

were knowledgeable about New Orleans music and who were

recruited to work on the festival.

Davis, who graduated from high school in 1965, came of age

at the height of the civil rights movement, and like many music

aficionados of his day, became fascinated with the black musi-

cians whose artistry had inspired soul and rock musicians. Davis

and Miner’s passion for the music and their personal relation-

ships with musicians throughout the city made their participa-

tion invaluable. As Allison Miner remembers it in the book Jazz

Fest Memories, she and Quint did most of the fieldwork for the

festival, recruiting performers from barrooms where Mardi Gras

Indian practiced and churches where gospel choirs performed.

The festival was a labor of love. Quint and I didn’t even get paid.

George took us out to dinner to all the finest restaurants in town. Noi

loved every minute of what we were doing. We were committed to

the music and knew we were doing something worthwhile, some-

thing that counted, something that would be a lasting memorial to

the people and the music that they were making (Miner 1997:20).

Miner remembers the challenges of organizing a desegregated

festival with whites and blacks both onstage and in the audience.

At that time no one else was “out and about.” Integration laws had

just been passed, and people like Allen and Sandra Jaffe were get-

ting arrested for having black people in Preservation Hall. So here we

were, two young people trying to put on a multiethnic music festival,

and that had never been done before in the Deep South city of New

Orleans (Miner 1997:20).

6 a poster for the first new orleans Jazz & heri-

tage festival held at Congo Square (then officially

Beauregard Square) and the municipal auditorium.

Poster designed by Bruce Brice.

Photo: CourtESy of BruCE BriCE anD thE louiSiana

StatE muSEum

Park and into Congo Square. Mr. Davis told me that this was the

first time Mardi Gras Indians had paraded outside of the estab-

lished events of Mardi Gras and St. Joseph’s Day. The Indians, he

said, were at the heart of what the festival was all about. And yet

at that time, “Indians” were still largely ignored, misunderstood,

and widely feared in many sections of the city (see Becker, Questo

issue). Reweaving the links between the roots and branches of

American popular music were central goals of the “heritage fair,"

Growing up in a city that was no longer legally segregated but

the outdoor portion of the festival. This was intended to valorize

that was still largely socially, economically, and professionally

black music and culture and to honor the black musicians whose

so, Davis had found that black communities were welcoming

creative genius was often overlooked, thus contributing to a vin-

to those who loved and demonstrated respect for their culture

dicationist project that was explicitly anti-racist. It was also cen-

and traditions. The intercultural intimacy he had experienced

tral to George Wein’s vision for how to brand his New Orleans

at countless social club parades, jazz funerals, and Mardi Gras

event as distinctive from his Newport and New York festivals.

Indian gatherings would have generated powerful feelings of sol-

festival as racial prOject

idarity and connection with other participants (Regis 1999). For

this reason, the critiques of the festival’s production structure,

In his memoir, Myself Among Others: A Life in Music, Wein

which became sharper as the festival became more successful in

(2003) recounts that he was asked three times by local business-

the late 1970s, shocked Davis. Some of these critiques examined

men to produce a jazz festival in New Orleans. But the first two

the racial asymmetry at the intersection of culture and com-

efforts, In 1962 E 1964, were preempted by the recognition

merce—with mostly white producers, mostly black performers,

that the city was “not ready” to host a desegregated event where

and mostly white audiences. As New Orleans became a majority-

7 Congo Square entrance archway circa 2009.
Designs by Douglas redd and members of the
Congo Square collective.
Photo: hElEn a. rEgiS

black city in the 1970s and 1980s, the city’s increasing reliance on
cultural tourism intensified the public display and commodifica-
tion of black and Afro-Creole cultures (Souther 2006, Gotham
2007). As long as the festival remained small and its numbers
were in the red, it hadn’t attracted much scrutiny. The success of
the festival changed this framework, shifting the scale of inter-
personal negotiations and opening up the “bargain” to a much
wider evaluation and scrutiny by participants and nonpartici-
pants. As Wein recounts in his memoir, he was called to a meet-
ing in the Saint Bernard housing project,

deep in the bowels of New Orleans’s black ghetto … A cloud of vio-
lent energy hung in the air as I entered a small cement-block room.
Thirty or forty African Americans, per lo più maschi, were standing about
… The man in the dashiki spoke: “We’re going to force you to take
more blacks on to the board of directors. You have been ripping off
black culture. The community is not benefiting nearly enough by
what’s happening” (Wein 2003:371).

The tone in this account is revealing of the producer’s racial anx-
ieties. As Wein remembers it, the activists, who called themselves
the Afrikan American Jazz Festival Coalition (but are often referred
to as “Koindu,” after the festival space they created) demanded that
a greater number of African Americans be part of the decision-
making and management of the festival, a challenge for producers
who felt that they already had an excellent team who worked well
together. More, “there were intimations of racism toward Quint and
me … The atmosphere grew toxic” (Wein 2003:373). Wein, who
describes himself as “a Jewish kid from Boston” reflects, “my out-
sider status actually served as a plus, since I was not a part of New
Orleans’s southern white establishment” (Wein 2003:360, 375). Lui
never had any illusions that his role as a producer came with cer-
tain structural tensions. But Davis, who grew up in New Orleans
and had long personal relationships with many of the musicians and
performers at the festival, may have felt differently.

Kalamu ya Salaam, a participant in the 1978 meetings, era
already known as a writer, activist, and editor of the Black Col-

legian (Michna 2011). Salaam recalls that the owner of the beer
distributorship for the Festival (Neal Kaye, Sr.) was on the board
of directors and that at the St. Bernard meeting, they poured
Schlitz beer out on the ground (Salaam 2004). This gesture dem-
onstrated the seriousness of the activists. In an interview with
festival historians, Salaam objected to the characterization of
their actions as a boycott (Salaam 2004). “We were gonna dis-
rupt. Don’t get us confused with the NAACP. We were gonna
shut it down!” Salaam explains the principal argument of the
coalition. “We were saying, “You’re not gonna have a major
event, and make money off of black culture, and not include
black people in the decision making process.” Clearly, this threat
of disruption would have alarmed not only the festival produc-
ers but also the sponsors, whose brands were associated with the
Festival. By pouring out the beer, they were showing that, if their
demands were not met, they would cut into the profits generated
by the festival. Salaam explains that the festival had to take them
seriously because of their history of successful actions, including
the boycotts on Canal Street, IL 1969 student takeover of South-
ern University, protests against police brutality, and demonstra-
tions to free Gary Tyler, among others.5

We had a track record. And I have no doubt they checked. We had a
track record of what some people would term … “militancy.” And they’d
look up and all of a sudden, they were dealing with a bunch of militants.
Not just one or two people saying “give me a cut” (Salaam 2004).

Several of the Festival Foundation board members agreed with
the activists’ goals, even if they disagreed with their methods. “I
didn’t want to be part of an organization that was just there to
put on a big party. It seemed to me that there was a real need
we weren’t really addressing,” said Marion Greenup Kelly, who
had joined the board in 1977 as one of the first African Ameri-
cans (Greenup 2008). At the time, she was working in City Hall
as deputy director of the Human Relations Committee under
Mayor Moon Landrieu’s administration. Emilio “Monk” Dupre,
who was also a board member in the 1970s, remembers

l

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74 | african arts Summer 2013 vol. 46, NO. 2

vol. 46, NO. 2 Estate 2013 african arts | 75

African462_070-085 CS6.indd 74-75

3/19/13 1:25 AM

9 Dizzy gillespie performed with Bongo Joe at the

1971 Jazz festival held in the original Congo Square.

michael P. Smith’s black and white photos of the

early festival are on display throughout the festival

grounds, anchoring the contemporary festival in an

impressive history (and genealogy) of performance.

Photo: hElEn a. rEgiS

l

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KOINDU seeks to correct a legacy of paternalism which had non-
Blacks speak for and determine the authenticity and work of African
culture. At KOINDU the creators of African and African-American
culture will perform, explain and evaluate their own cultural works.
Everyone is welcomed to share, and no one is allowed to dominate.

KOINDU marks the continuation of the conscious affirmation of the
importance and quality of African contributions to world culture
(Festival Program Book 1979:60).6

As Marion Greenup reflected on this period:

George and Quint and FPI really had to deal with [the view that]
this could not [be] simply a celebration that didn’t have more last-
ing effects for the community. And I didn’t think they were really
opposed to it once they kind of were faced with the inevitable. It
seemed to me that they rose to the occasion. But not without a lot of
hurdles on both sides. I think Koindu and the Congo Square was one
of the first signs that the Festival had broadened its interest (Greenup
2008).7

tHe art Of KOinDu
While the threat of disruption from the Afrikan American Jazz
Festival coalition pushed for structural changes in festival orga-
nization and decision making, it also had a dramatic impact on
the physical landscape of the festival. Longtime festival artist
Nan Parati remembers that when she joined the Festival staff in
the 1980s, “the only real serious gorgeous art was happening in
Koindu” (Parati 2009). Douglas Redd, who became the lead artist
for the Koindu (later Congo Square) area, worked with a team of
artists and builders to design the gates that serve as the entrance to
the area (Figs. 7, 16). In a conversation with Kalamu ya Salaam in
2006, Redd remembers how they came to build the arch:

We really wanted people to understand, to feel … that once they
walked into the gate, they were in a different environment, they were
in a different country. And I think that that’s the effect it had on most
people … It was almost like you needed a passport to get through
that gate! (Salaam 2006).

Reflecting on his work in those years, and especially at Koindu
and later Congo Square, “The design work was always African-
based … It was a way to introduce traditional African art, tradi-
tional stories into our contemporary setting.” Redd explains:

Everybody was looking to Africa and trying to find a context in
which to live and do their work. The thing you always heard about
Africa was that artists were an essential part of the community. Quello
in Africa the art [had a function] (Salaam 2006).

Redd, who had travelled to Africa, was aware that in reality,
African art didn’t always conform to the imagination that he had
of it in his youth. “It was part of the fantasy you have about Africa,
right, everything that was created was created for a purpose.” But
he had experienced this sense of purpose in his work with New
Orleans cultural organizations that proliferated in New Orleans in
the wake of the civil rights movement. “Tambourine and Fan and
the second-line groups gave me a way to feel and understand that,
cause you were creating for the community.”

Parati, who is known at the Festival for her distinctive hand-
lettered signs, recalls that the Koindu-Congo artists were work-

8 IL 1991 Congo Square poster was created by John Scott
and produced by Planet Publishing. Scott told Kalamu ya Salaam
in un 1993 interview: “i’ve always wanted to make art that moved
… my people move. Black people are not static … instead, Essi
move and they dance with their eyes and their hands. you see
them in the street. we say more about who we are with the way
that we walk than almost any other people” (Salaam 1993).
Photo: CourtESy of Jim SChEuriCh anD PlanEt PuBliShing/magCo

They [argued] everyone was making money off the festival except
black people, which was pretty much true. You had small vendors
like Sonny [Vaucresson], nothing major … I think Koindu opened
some of the white board members’ eyes to what racism was all about
…And New Orleans was in a state of flux at the time. I don’t know if
the city knew where it was going with the whole racial thing.

Salaam explains that the coalition’s actions were part of a larger
effort to challenge entrenched patterns of white dominance and
exclusion: “I was there, because at that time, anything that went on
in the city, black people should be part of … [in terms of] decision
making and participation. And not just participation at the lar-
gesse of someone else.” The coalition’s efforts became visible in the
1979 Festival. “When Koindu became part of Jazz Fest it was legally
a partnership because the jazz fest had no say-so about the deci-
sion makers of Koindu,” Salaam recalls, “So part of what Koindu
was set up to do, was to do its own selection method and thereby
ensure that black folk could participate in it.” The 1979 Festival
program book explains the purpose of the Koindu Area:

76 | african arts Summer 2013 vol. 46, NO. 2

ing on another level. She remembers the collective energy of

the white board members joined in the militant energy on the

their work site, “That was Doug Redd and his crew [who] Dopo

board” which soon had a black majority. In the late 1980s, IL

on became known as the “Congolians” … Doug Redd and Coach

Koindu area was incorporated into the Festival’s central produc-

[Collins Lewis] and all those guys who would literally camp

tion structure and was renamed Congo Square, but the idea of

out there and work on Congo and make this fabulous stuff …

Congo Square as an autonomous space continues in many initia-

and they’d stay up all night working and they were just amaz-

tives both inside and outside the festival (Fig. 8). The Festival’s

ing.” Redd attributes this collaborative work ethic to his appren-

Congo Square functions today as both a thriving site of eco-

ticeship in community-based arts with Tambourine & Fan, IL

nomic exchange and cultural performance and a site of memory

Bucket Men and the Sudan social clubs, and Mardi Gras Indi-

(O, after Pierre Nora, a lieux de memoire) for the original Congo

ans (Salaam 2006; see also Breunlin and Ehrenreich, this issue,

Square, which is evoked in numerous ways during the festival

for the Mardi Gras Indian connections of Tambourine and

(Fig. 9). Congo Square vendors today are an eclectic mix of up-

Fan). The Koindu artists’ imagination about Africa was filtered

and-coming artists and veteran participants, many of whom are

through Pan-Africanist and black nationalist aesthetics with a

“pioneers,” African American elders who were involved in the

long lineage in social movements, going back to Marcus Garvey

1978 actions that led to the creation of Koindu.

and the UNIA (United Negro Improvement Association). IL

In definitiva, African and African-Diaspora heritage became

emblematic pan-African Red, Black, and Green Flag that was

pervasive in the Festival landscape. An African Heritage stage

adopted by the UNIA in 1920 (Martin 1986) was on frequent dis-

became the site of extended conversations about community

play at Koindu. Redd recalls that “everything I did, during that

concerns, artistic endeavors, and Africa-centered educational

period, was red, black, and green.” The designs created at Koindu

programs. The activism and African consciousness which trans-

eventually transformed the look of the entire festival. Parati

formed the festival are still in evidence today not only at the

credits the Koindu artists with demonstrating the importance of

festival but in venues throughout the city. One of those sites con-

visual art in the built landscape of the festival: “everything else

tinues to be Congo Square, the location of the 1970 Jazz & Heri-

around the rest of the Festival was more just signage. That is all

tage Festival. As musician and activist Luther Gray put it: “We

I was really doing. We didn’t start doing art until much later on”

want to once again resurrect Congo Square. Create a new art and

(Parati 2009). Redd remember the impact of Koindu in this way:

a new music for the African people of today” (Gray 1992). Since

I think what it did is it sparked for them the understanding that signs

were important and design work and color and image … So you

look at Jazz Fest today, in terms of the images and things they put

2007, The Jazz & Heritage Foundation has produced the Congo

Square Rhythm Festival there, hosting a plethora of traditional

African drumming, dance, and contemporary African-US

su, I think that’s a direct result of the stuff that we started in Koindu

ensembles such as Ensemble Fatien (Evans 2011:129). As founder

(Salaam 2006).

of the Congo Square Foundation, Gray helped to nurture alli-

ances between activists, researchers, educators, archivists, E

IL 1978 actions and resulting conversations brought about

performers, employing research about the Square and African

substantial and lasting changes in the festival. The diversified

heritage more broadly, to reinvigorate contemporary perfor-

board of directors took a different role as new members chal-

mance, and craft visions of the future.8

lenged old ways of doing things, E, as Wein recalls, “many of

As the divisions of labor within the Festival began to shift,

vol. 46, NO. 2 Estate 2013 african arts | 77

African462_070-085 CS6.indd 76-77

3/19/13 1:26 AM

KOINDU seeks to correct a legacy of paternalism which had non-

Blacks speak for and determine the authenticity and work of African

culture. At KOINDU the creators of African and African-American

culture will perform, explain and evaluate their own cultural works.

Everyone is welcomed to share, and no one is allowed to dominate.

KOINDU marks the continuation of the conscious affirmation of the

importance and quality of African contributions to world culture

(Festival Program Book 1979:60).6

As Marion Greenup reflected on this period:

George and Quint and FPI really had to deal with [the view that]

this could not [be] simply a celebration that didn’t have more last-

ing effects for the community. And I didn’t think they were really

opposed to it once they kind of were faced with the inevitable. It

seemed to me that they rose to the occasion. But not without a lot of

hurdles on both sides. I think Koindu and the Congo Square was one

of the first signs that the Festival had broadened its interest (Greenup

2008).7

tHe art Of KOinDu

While the threat of disruption from the Afrikan American Jazz

Festival coalition pushed for structural changes in festival orga-

nization and decision making, it also had a dramatic impact on

the physical landscape of the festival. Longtime festival artist

Nan Parati remembers that when she joined the Festival staff in

the 1980s, “the only real serious gorgeous art was happening in

Koindu” (Parati 2009). Douglas Redd, who became the lead artist

for the Koindu (later Congo Square) area, worked with a team of

artists and builders to design the gates that serve as the entrance to

the area (Figs. 7, 16). In a conversation with Kalamu ya Salaam in

2006, Redd remembers how they came to build the arch:

We really wanted people to understand, to feel … that once they

walked into the gate, they were in a different environment, they were

in a different country. And I think that that’s the effect it had on most

people … It was almost like you needed a passport to get through

that gate! (Salaam 2006).

Reflecting on his work in those years, and especially at Koindu

and later Congo Square, “The design work was always African-

based … It was a way to introduce traditional African art, tradi-

tional stories into our contemporary setting.” Redd explains:

Everybody was looking to Africa and trying to find a context in

which to live and do their work. The thing you always heard about

Africa was that artists were an essential part of the community. Quello

in Africa the art [had a function] (Salaam 2006).

8 IL 1991 Congo Square poster was created by John Scott

and produced by Planet Publishing. Scott told Kalamu ya Salaam

in un 1993 interview: “i’ve always wanted to make art that moved

… my people move. Black people are not static … instead, Essi

move and they dance with their eyes and their hands. you see

them in the street. we say more about who we are with the way

that we walk than almost any other people” (Salaam 1993).

Photo: CourtESy of Jim SChEuriCh anD PlanEt PuBliShing/magCo

They [argued] everyone was making money off the festival except

black people, which was pretty much true. You had small vendors

like Sonny [Vaucresson], nothing major … I think Koindu opened

some of the white board members’ eyes to what racism was all about

…And New Orleans was in a state of flux at the time. I don’t know if

the city knew where it was going with the whole racial thing.

Salaam explains that the coalition’s actions were part of a larger

effort to challenge entrenched patterns of white dominance and

Redd, who had travelled to Africa, was aware that in reality,

exclusion: “I was there, because at that time, anything that went on

African art didn’t always conform to the imagination that he had

in the city, black people should be part of … [in terms of] decision

of it in his youth. “It was part of the fantasy you have about Africa,

making and participation. And not just participation at the lar-

right, everything that was created was created for a purpose.” But

gesse of someone else.” The coalition’s efforts became visible in the

he had experienced this sense of purpose in his work with New

1979 Festival. “When Koindu became part of Jazz Fest it was legally

Orleans cultural organizations that proliferated in New Orleans in

a partnership because the jazz fest had no say-so about the deci-

the wake of the civil rights movement. “Tambourine and Fan and

sion makers of Koindu,” Salaam recalls, “So part of what Koindu

the second-line groups gave me a way to feel and understand that,

was set up to do, was to do its own selection method and thereby

cause you were creating for the community.”

ensure that black folk could participate in it.” The 1979 Festival

Parati, who is known at the Festival for her distinctive hand-

program book explains the purpose of the Koindu Area:

lettered signs, recalls that the Koindu-Congo artists were work-

9 Dizzy gillespie performed with Bongo Joe at the
1971 Jazz festival held in the original Congo Square.
michael P. Smith’s black and white photos of the
early festival are on display throughout the festival
grounds, anchoring the contemporary festival in an
impressive history (and genealogy) of performance.
Photo: hElEn a. rEgiS

ing on another level. She remembers the collective energy of
their work site, “That was Doug Redd and his crew [who] Dopo
on became known as the “Congolians” … Doug Redd and Coach
[Collins Lewis] and all those guys who would literally camp
out there and work on Congo and make this fabulous stuff …
and they’d stay up all night working and they were just amaz-
ing.” Redd attributes this collaborative work ethic to his appren-
ticeship in community-based arts with Tambourine & Fan, IL
Bucket Men and the Sudan social clubs, and Mardi Gras Indi-
ans (Salaam 2006; see also Breunlin and Ehrenreich, this issue,
for the Mardi Gras Indian connections of Tambourine and
Fan). The Koindu artists’ imagination about Africa was filtered
through Pan-Africanist and black nationalist aesthetics with a
long lineage in social movements, going back to Marcus Garvey
and the UNIA (United Negro Improvement Association). IL
emblematic pan-African Red, Black, and Green Flag that was
adopted by the UNIA in 1920 (Martin 1986) was on frequent dis-
play at Koindu. Redd recalls that “everything I did, during that
period, was red, black, and green.” The designs created at Koindu
eventually transformed the look of the entire festival. Parati
credits the Koindu artists with demonstrating the importance of
visual art in the built landscape of the festival: “everything else
around the rest of the Festival was more just signage. That is all
I was really doing. We didn’t start doing art until much later on”
(Parati 2009). Redd remember the impact of Koindu in this way:

I think what it did is it sparked for them the understanding that signs
were important and design work and color and image … So you
look at Jazz Fest today, in terms of the images and things they put
su, I think that’s a direct result of the stuff that we started in Koindu
(Salaam 2006).

IL 1978 actions and resulting conversations brought about
substantial and lasting changes in the festival. The diversified
board of directors took a different role as new members chal-
lenged old ways of doing things, E, as Wein recalls, “many of

the white board members joined in the militant energy on the
board” which soon had a black majority. In the late 1980s, IL
Koindu area was incorporated into the Festival’s central produc-
tion structure and was renamed Congo Square, but the idea of
Congo Square as an autonomous space continues in many initia-
tives both inside and outside the festival (Fig. 8). The Festival’s
Congo Square functions today as both a thriving site of eco-
nomic exchange and cultural performance and a site of memory
(O, after Pierre Nora, a lieux de memoire) for the original Congo
Square, which is evoked in numerous ways during the festival
(Fig. 9). Congo Square vendors today are an eclectic mix of up-
and-coming artists and veteran participants, many of whom are
“pioneers,” African American elders who were involved in the
1978 actions that led to the creation of Koindu.

In definitiva, African and African-Diaspora heritage became
pervasive in the Festival landscape. An African Heritage stage
became the site of extended conversations about community
concerns, artistic endeavors, and Africa-centered educational
programs. The activism and African consciousness which trans-
formed the festival are still in evidence today not only at the
festival but in venues throughout the city. One of those sites con-
tinues to be Congo Square, the location of the 1970 Jazz & Heri-
tage Festival. As musician and activist Luther Gray put it: “We
want to once again resurrect Congo Square. Create a new art and
a new music for the African people of today” (Gray 1992). Since
2007, The Jazz & Heritage Foundation has produced the Congo
Square Rhythm Festival there, hosting a plethora of traditional
African drumming, dance, and contemporary African-US
ensembles such as Ensemble Fatien (Evans 2011:129). As founder
of the Congo Square Foundation, Gray helped to nurture alli-
ances between activists, researchers, educators, archivists, E
performers, employing research about the Square and African
heritage more broadly, to reinvigorate contemporary perfor-
mance, and craft visions of the future.8

As the divisions of labor within the Festival began to shift,

l

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76 | african arts Summer 2013 vol. 46, NO. 2

vol. 46, NO. 2 Estate 2013 african arts | 77

African462_070-085 CS6.indd 76-77

3/19/13 1:26 AM

10 IL 2011 cultural exchange pavilion focused on

Photo: golDEn g. riCharD iii/ high iSo muSiC

(opposite)

haiti.

(this page)

11 members of ori Culture Dance Club perform

during the 2009 new orleans Jazz & heritage

festival. the louisiana heritage Stage backdrop

orchestrates a visual layering of music and dance,

with the iconic silouette of a traditional second line

procession, including a brass band and members of

a social aid and pleasure club, wielding umbrellas

and ostrich plume fans.

Photo: hElEn rEgiS

l

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3

entire festival weekend without being aware of this cultural exchange

or its relevance to the larger gathering.

Mendy begins the formal part of the panel by asking the Ministry

official to explain the significance of their participation in this cul-

tural exchange:

Kidjo: I’m pretty sure that part of our people from Africa came to

New Orleans and they brought something with them, which has

finally become part of New Orleans and American culture. It is very

important thing for us to come over here and see what is left of the

first heritage they brought from Africa and compare to what we’ve

brought, actually, to New Orleans ….

A Story of an Art Form in Four Acts (Frosch and Kovgan 2008).

The film makers document the US tours of contemporary African

dancers and choreographers as they encounter American audi-

ences and the expectations of colleagues and fans in the Diaspora.

Germaine Acogny, Artistic Director of Jant-Bi, Senegal, observes:

“I know that Americans, especially African-Americans, they like

traditional dance—they want their roots. But we can also invent

a completely new dance.” Beatrice Kombe, a choreographer from

Cote d’Ivoire, makes a similar point: “All these traditional move-

ments people saw in the 1960s, we are using them, but in a new

way … Because we are a people of the twenty-first century, we are

not people of the eighteenth century.” She concludes, “My themes

In this framing, “part of our people,” the eighteenth and nine-

are really about the present—things that are happening now.”

teenth century ancestors are merged (from “they” to “we”) in the

As Kamari Clarke has suggested, “The dialogue between black

last sentence, as the Minister of Culture collapses the past into

American heritage tourists and revivalists and African-born prac-

the present in order to make the 2009 meeting between Beninois

titioners is embedded in relative fields of power, the contours of

performers and Black New Orleans an encounter of ancestors

exchange tend to be unequal and asymmetrical” (2004:112). Sim-

and their descendants (Sutherland 1999). Further, the current

ilar asymmetries obtain for African artists who are interpolated

delegation claims the power to “see what is left” (the remnants

into the diaspora. Thus Ori’s festival performance is produced by

and survivals of diffusion, a la Herskovits).

and for a very particular audience with specific expectations. Their

The director of Ori Culture Dance Club, in his remarks, takes

music and dance form are an intervention in local debates about

us in a very different direction, as he emphasizes that his troupe

festivity, blackness, diaspora, and the work of culture in what is

began with contemporary dance, and it was only after winning

often called “the most African city in America.”

a gold medal in Canada at the Jeux de la Francophonie in 2005

Significantly, both the panelists and the interviewer are

that they began to extend their repertoire to traditional dance. IO

actively and quite deliberately involved in acts of translation.

was struck by this emphasis, because several of the group mem-

As the Ministry official explained, “some dances are performed

bers, with whom I spoke informally on the festival grounds, also

[in Benin], Quando, for example we have a new baby born and

immediately volunteered that they did contemporary dance (Fig.

we bring the new baby out and show it to the moon. We saw it

13). There seemed to be some resentment about the way they were

in Kunta Kinte. We still have those types of rituals there.” Thus,

being “framed” at Jazz Fest—in the “savage slot,” as it were (Trouil-

in his explicit reference to the movie Roots, the official actively

lot 1991). As embodiments of the past of Black New Orleans, Beni-

adopts the Black American perspective on “African culture” as

nois are asked to perform only traditional dances on the festival

roots. The discussion ends with the Ministry official inviting

stage, thus being cast into a strictly ancestral role. A similar point

everyone in the audience to come to Benin to see for themselves

is made in the documentary film Movement (R)Evolution Africa:

and to learn from the masters and owners of these traditions—in

much of the local community outreach was now being per-
formed by members of the Foundation or the expanding and
diversifying staff.9 In time, Davis became known for produc-
ing high-profile national events, such as presidential inaugu-
rations and the Essence Festival, and for brokering exchanges
on a national and international scale, bringing major national
and international artists to the festival. In the 1990s, he initi-
ated a series of cross-cultural exchange pavilions at the festival
to feature the music, crafts, and cultural performance of world
regions connected to Louisiana’s cultural heritage. Africa and the
Diaspora were central to this initiative, with the first year being
devoted to Haiti (Fig. 10), the second year to Mali. Participants
in these cross-cultural exchanges are encouraged to consider his-
toric linkages and ancestral connections between their countries
and Louisiana as well as contemporary ties. In this way, the cul-
tural exchange pavilion exemplifies a central aspect of Festival
discourse about heritage. As in most Festival displays and per-
formances, heritage is consistently oriented toward Africa and
the African Diaspora, though it has also featured Native Ameri-
can, Caribbean, and Latin American heritage. Tuttavia, other
heritages that have played an important role in southern Louisi-
ana (Italian, Irish, German, Vietnamese, Croatian, Arab, French,
Jewish, or English) are downplayed or sidelined entirely. In some
ways, like Zulu, the Festival shapes how New Orleanians imag-
ine Africa while its representation also reflects that imagination,
which is continually reshaped though artistic, social, and politi-
cal interventions, emerging primarily from African-American
communities.

afrO-atlantic DialOgue: Ori culture Dance club Of benin
The ambition of connecting American music to its African
ancestral roots across the Atlantic is one that has animated many
musical programs at the Festival. Building on J. Roland Matory’s
concept of Afro-Atlantic dialogues (2006:155), I consider a spe-

cific cultural exchange and genealogical reckoning between New
Orleans and Benin that took place at the 2009 Festival. That year,
members of Ori Culture Dance Club, along with representatives
from the Ministry of Culture, travelled to New Orleans for panel
discussions and performances at the Festival (Fig. 11). To explore
these issues further, I now turn to one ethnographic moment in
this exchange, as the following section drawing my 2009 field
notes.

It is Thursday, April 30, 2009, at the Allison Miner Music Heritage
Stage. When I walk upstairs to the Music Heritage Stage, the conver-
sation is already underway. On stage is interviewer Gabou Mendy,
with several representatives from Benin: The Director of the Ori Cul-
ture Dance Club, Laurent Hessou is there, as well as Oscar Kidjo, UN
representative from the Ministry of Culture, and Alex Amoussouvi,
who seems to be playing the role of translator and all-around cross-
cultural interpreter [Fig. 12]. Mendy, a long-time New Orleans resi-
dent born in the Gambia, is a physician and a frequent participant
in conversations about African music and culture in New Orleans, COME
well as the long-time host of the “Spirits of Congo Square” show on
WWOZ community radio. As I take my seat, Mendy seems to be in
the middle of an insider conversation with the representatives from
Benin about what happens when folk culture and music are recon-
textualized in radically different public forums. Glancing around me,
I notice that the audience is composed almost entirely of dancers,
musicians, visual artists, film makers, journalists, and scholars—afi-
cionados or creators of African Diaspora history, culture, and per-
formance. In the audience of 20 A 30 people, there were few casual
onlookers. The stage, located on the second floor of the grandstand,
is a fair walk from the festival’s biggest music stages, where bands like
The Neville Brothers or Bon Jovi might perform. We were a select
group whose keen interest in African music and dance impelled us
to wrest ourselves from the gravity pull of spicy food, cold beer, E
vibrant music in the fairgrounds’ infield. This isolation points to a
central disjunction between the festival producer’s view, shared with
other festival insiders, that African cultural heritage is at the heart of
the festival, and the demographic and spatial reality that suggests it is
marginal. Tens of thousands of festgoers could easily go through an

78 | african arts Summer 2013 vol. 46, NO. 2

vol. 46, NO. 2 Estate 2013 african arts | 79

African462_070-085 CS6.indd 78-79

3/19/13 1:26 AM

(opposite)
10 IL 2011 cultural exchange pavilion focused on
haiti.
Photo: golDEn g. riCharD iii/ high iSo muSiC

(this page)
11 members of ori Culture Dance Club perform
during the 2009 new orleans Jazz & heritage
festival. the louisiana heritage Stage backdrop
orchestrates a visual layering of music and dance,
with the iconic silouette of a traditional second line
procession, including a brass band and members of
a social aid and pleasure club, wielding umbrellas
and ostrich plume fans.
Photo: hElEn rEgiS

much of the local community outreach was now being per-

cific cultural exchange and genealogical reckoning between New

formed by members of the Foundation or the expanding and

Orleans and Benin that took place at the 2009 Festival. That year,

diversifying staff.9 In time, Davis became known for produc-

members of Ori Culture Dance Club, along with representatives

ing high-profile national events, such as presidential inaugu-

from the Ministry of Culture, travelled to New Orleans for panel

rations and the Essence Festival, and for brokering exchanges

discussions and performances at the Festival (Fig. 11). To explore

on a national and international scale, bringing major national

these issues further, I now turn to one ethnographic moment in

and international artists to the festival. In the 1990s, he initi-

this exchange, as the following section drawing my 2009 field

ated a series of cross-cultural exchange pavilions at the festival

notes.

to feature the music, crafts, and cultural performance of world

regions connected to Louisiana’s cultural heritage. Africa and the

Diaspora were central to this initiative, with the first year being

devoted to Haiti (Fig. 10), the second year to Mali. Participants

in these cross-cultural exchanges are encouraged to consider his-

toric linkages and ancestral connections between their countries

and Louisiana as well as contemporary ties. In this way, the cul-

tural exchange pavilion exemplifies a central aspect of Festival

discourse about heritage. As in most Festival displays and per-

formances, heritage is consistently oriented toward Africa and

the African Diaspora, though it has also featured Native Ameri-

can, Caribbean, and Latin American heritage. Tuttavia, other

heritages that have played an important role in southern Louisi-

ana (Italian, Irish, German, Vietnamese, Croatian, Arab, French,

Jewish, or English) are downplayed or sidelined entirely. In some

ways, like Zulu, the Festival shapes how New Orleanians imag-

ine Africa while its representation also reflects that imagination,

which is continually reshaped though artistic, social, and politi-

cal interventions, emerging primarily from African-American

communities.

It is Thursday, April 30, 2009, at the Allison Miner Music Heritage

Stage. When I walk upstairs to the Music Heritage Stage, the conver-

sation is already underway. On stage is interviewer Gabou Mendy,

with several representatives from Benin: The Director of the Ori Cul-

ture Dance Club, Laurent Hessou is there, as well as Oscar Kidjo, UN

representative from the Ministry of Culture, and Alex Amoussouvi,

who seems to be playing the role of translator and all-around cross-

cultural interpreter [Fig. 12]. Mendy, a long-time New Orleans resi-

dent born in the Gambia, is a physician and a frequent participant

in conversations about African music and culture in New Orleans, COME

well as the long-time host of the “Spirits of Congo Square” show on

WWOZ community radio. As I take my seat, Mendy seems to be in

the middle of an insider conversation with the representatives from

Benin about what happens when folk culture and music are recon-

textualized in radically different public forums. Glancing around me,

I notice that the audience is composed almost entirely of dancers,

musicians, visual artists, film makers, journalists, and scholars—afi-

cionados or creators of African Diaspora history, culture, and per-

formance. In the audience of 20 A 30 people, there were few casual

onlookers. The stage, located on the second floor of the grandstand,

is a fair walk from the festival’s biggest music stages, where bands like

The Neville Brothers or Bon Jovi might perform. We were a select

group whose keen interest in African music and dance impelled us

afrO-atlantic DialOgue: Ori culture Dance club Of benin

to wrest ourselves from the gravity pull of spicy food, cold beer, E

The ambition of connecting American music to its African

ancestral roots across the Atlantic is one that has animated many

musical programs at the Festival. Building on J. Roland Matory’s

concept of Afro-Atlantic dialogues (2006:155), I consider a spe-

vibrant music in the fairgrounds’ infield. This isolation points to a

central disjunction between the festival producer’s view, shared with

other festival insiders, that African cultural heritage is at the heart of

the festival, and the demographic and spatial reality that suggests it is

marginal. Tens of thousands of festgoers could easily go through an

entire festival weekend without being aware of this cultural exchange
or its relevance to the larger gathering.

Mendy begins the formal part of the panel by asking the Ministry
official to explain the significance of their participation in this cul-
tural exchange:

Kidjo: I’m pretty sure that part of our people from Africa came to
New Orleans and they brought something with them, which has
finally become part of New Orleans and American culture. It is very
important thing for us to come over here and see what is left of the
first heritage they brought from Africa and compare to what we’ve
brought, actually, to New Orleans ….

In this framing, “part of our people,” the eighteenth and nine-
teenth century ancestors are merged (from “they” to “we”) in the
last sentence, as the Minister of Culture collapses the past into
the present in order to make the 2009 meeting between Beninois
performers and Black New Orleans an encounter of ancestors
and their descendants (Sutherland 1999). Further, the current
delegation claims the power to “see what is left” (the remnants
and survivals of diffusion, a la Herskovits).

The director of Ori Culture Dance Club, in his remarks, takes
us in a very different direction, as he emphasizes that his troupe
began with contemporary dance, and it was only after winning
a gold medal in Canada at the Jeux de la Francophonie in 2005
that they began to extend their repertoire to traditional dance. IO
was struck by this emphasis, because several of the group mem-
bers, with whom I spoke informally on the festival grounds, also
immediately volunteered that they did contemporary dance (Fig.
13). There seemed to be some resentment about the way they were
being “framed” at Jazz Fest—in the “savage slot,” as it were (Trouil-
lot 1991). As embodiments of the past of Black New Orleans, Beni-
nois are asked to perform only traditional dances on the festival
stage, thus being cast into a strictly ancestral role. A similar point
is made in the documentary film Movement (R)Evolution Africa:

A Story of an Art Form in Four Acts (Frosch and Kovgan 2008).
The film makers document the US tours of contemporary African
dancers and choreographers as they encounter American audi-
ences and the expectations of colleagues and fans in the Diaspora.
Germaine Acogny, Artistic Director of Jant-Bi, Senegal, observes:
“I know that Americans, especially African-Americans, they like
traditional dance—they want their roots. But we can also invent
a completely new dance.” Beatrice Kombe, a choreographer from
Cote d’Ivoire, makes a similar point: “All these traditional move-
ments people saw in the 1960s, we are using them, but in a new
way … Because we are a people of the twenty-first century, we are
not people of the eighteenth century.” She concludes, “My themes
are really about the present—things that are happening now.”

As Kamari Clarke has suggested, “The dialogue between black
American heritage tourists and revivalists and African-born prac-
titioners is embedded in relative fields of power, the contours of
exchange tend to be unequal and asymmetrical” (2004:112). Sim-
ilar asymmetries obtain for African artists who are interpolated
into the diaspora. Thus Ori’s festival performance is produced by
and for a very particular audience with specific expectations. Their
music and dance form are an intervention in local debates about
festivity, blackness, diaspora, and the work of culture in what is
often called “the most African city in America.”

Significantly, both the panelists and the interviewer are
actively and quite deliberately involved in acts of translation.
As the Ministry official explained, “some dances are performed
[in Benin], Quando, for example we have a new baby born and
we bring the new baby out and show it to the moon. We saw it
in Kunta Kinte. We still have those types of rituals there.” Thus,
in his explicit reference to the movie Roots, the official actively
adopts the Black American perspective on “African culture” as
roots. The discussion ends with the Ministry official inviting
everyone in the audience to come to Benin to see for themselves
and to learn from the masters and owners of these traditions—in

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78 | african arts Summer 2013 vol. 46, NO. 2

vol. 46, NO. 2 Estate 2013 african arts | 79

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Amoussouvi [ruefully]: Well, you have now said everything! …

Kidjo: I want to add something. Don’t forget that Mr. Quint Davis has
been initiated in Benin. And he has the level, the level of a high priest
in our country, which is not an easy thing to do. And it’s not easy to
become a high priest. And Mr. Quint Davis is one from New Orleans,
and it’s very important, it’s very very important.

This awkward moment between Mendy and Amoussouvi and
startling revelation illustrate a critical dimension to the event.
Ori Culture Dance Club’s participation in the festival was under-
stood by the panelists as part of dialectic of reciprocity and
patronage, and was produced through their personal relation-
ships with Mr. Davis.

When I met with Quint Davis in the weeks leading up to
IL 2010 Festival, he spoke of his vision to develop a cultural
exchange between New Orleans and musicians, dancers, E
other artists from Benin. Talking with Davis in his home, Esso
became clear that his interest in Africa extends beyond music,
as his modernist home is filled with African masks and sculp-
tures, as well as paintings by Miami-based Haitian American
painter Edouard Duval-Carrié. The home conveys a passion for
all things African and a practice of collecting, which has played
out over decades.

Davis spoke of the powerful diasporic connections between

Benin and New Orleans:

So the eight million Africans that went down that road to the beach
where they built the gate of no return went to Brazil, Haiti, Martinique,
and ultimately New Orleans. The one thing that is consistent to all of
those … is Voodoo … Candomble … Santeria … And I think New
Orleans was the only city in North America that had a thriving practice
of Voodoo throughout those years and throughout the community.11

But the knowledge of these connections is not only based
on historical descriptions, it is confirmed through embodied
knowledge of ritual processions that share key aspects of perfor-
mance, and an unmistakable feeling of connection. Davis then
went on to describe an experience he had in the Slave Museum
in Whydah, a coastal town that once served as the primary slave
trading port for the kingdom of Dahomey:

When I was there, I was in the Slave Museum in Wydah, and I heard
a band, like a brass band, sort of, and I could hear it from inside
the building and I got all agitated, and they were like “its nothing,
its nothing.” [But I thought:] “Bullshit, bullshit.” So I went running
down the steps out of the building and across the street, and it was a
Jazz Funeral … A child had died, it was a little car with a coffin, it was
mothers and people following behind carrying stuff and there was a
little horn band walking behind them … I saw other funeral proces-
sions where it was the coffin, the family, umbrellas, palm fronds, E
drummers, lots of drummers and they were processing toward the
burial. That’s how jazz was born.

For someone like Davis who grew up going to jazz funeral
processions and social club parades led by brass bands, the feel-
ing of excitement generated by hearing a brass band going by
leading a procession creates an irresistible desire to drop any
and everything to follow that procession, and to be swept up in
the moment. In New Orleans, second line parades organized by
benevolent societies or social aid and pleasure clubs and funerals

12 Benin panel Dr. gabou mendy, oscar Kidjo, alex amous-
souvi, and florent hessou. allison miner music heritage
Stage. april 30, 2009.
Photo: EriCa StaviS, CourtESy of thE Jazz & hEritagE arChivE

voluntEEr PhotograPhEr Program

effect inviting us all to come and be initiated—a form of cultural
heritage/spiritual tourism. Alex, acting as the translator, adds his
own spin on this, making the implication plain:

It is calling you to come and learn those dances too. In other words,
those dances can only be performed in the shrines in the differ-
ent communities. And for you to be able to apprehend, understand
totally the secrecy of those dances, you have to be initiated. E così
you are invited to come [laughs]. So we are inviting you to come and
learn more of those dances.

Now comes the turning point in this presentation, for me, UN
longtime Jazz Fest observer who is fascinated by the intriguing
contradictions between hierarchy and community continually
performed inside the festival gates. A member of the Beninois
party attempts to thank the festival producer:

Amoussouvi: Before you continue, I would like to really thank some-
body here, he is the one who did everything to bring us here—

Mendy: [interrupting]: I’d like to say something here.

Amoussouvi: Please, okay then, when you’re ready.

Mendy: I do remember when this gentlemen was at MASA [Marché
des Arts du Spectacle Africains] in Abidjan and next trip he told me,
“Well, I’m going to Benin.”10 And he’s been going to Benin since, Poi,
for the last six or seven years, basically. I am talking about our beloved
Quint Davis, our producer of FPI, and producer of this festival. Quint
has found an interest in Benin that is very, very close to his heart. E
that interest was not by accident, because born and raised in New
Orleans, there is something …When you say, Benin, New Orleans
comes in next. When you say Benin, Haiti comes in next. When you
say Haiti, New Orleans comes in next. So there is a connection.

And that was the next thing, first of all, I want to thank Quint for
making this possible. I want to thank the Ministry of Culture for also
making this possible.

Mendy [turning to Alex]: So you can now say what you wanted to say.

80 | african arts Summer 2013 vol. 46, NO. 2

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13 members of ori engage in cross-cultural

exchange with individual festgoers in between per-

formances, 2009.

Photo: hElEn a. rEgiS

14 Sagbohan Danialou and george Porter, 2010

Photo: CourtESy of Doug SChnEiDEr PhotograPhy

F

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something we’ve never had before, he is the official Jazz Fest talent

coordinator of Benin and Togo … And so he does everything. He’s bril-

liant … he went to college in Russia, and graduated with a degree in

international relations. He speaks I don’t know how many languages.

When Alex Amoussouvi and I met during the 2010 Jazz Fest,

he explained that he studied international relations and was set

to pursue a career as a diplomat when the fall of the Berlin Wall

with music, two performance traditions anchored in the Afri-

precipitated a dramatic series of changes, including the advent of

can American community since at least the 1880s, are widely

multiparty politics and the dramatic restructuring of the economy

credited with fostering and nurturing the music that gave birth

along neoliberal lines, leading to the disappearance of public sector

to jazz (Regis 1999). In his narrative, Davis explicitly makes the

job opportunities in Benin. He began to reinvent himself, drawing

connection between this experience of a funeral procession and

on his language skills and his knowledge of cross-cultural issues to

the origins of jazz in New Orleans to this funeral procession in

start a career in culture and tourism, organizing trips, itineraries

Whydah, Benin. He also reveals that his immersion in African

for study groups, and facilitating international exchanges. It was

culture parallels his earlier immersion in the working-class Afri-

in this way that he met Davis on one of his first trips to Benin, E

can American traditions of New Orleans.

their collaboration grew from there.

Davis emphasized the importance of building relationships

As Paulla Ebron shows in her ethnography of Gambian griots

with people in Benin, something that takes years, to create a

(or jali) and their local and international networks of performance

musical and cultural exchange such as the one which has begun

and patronage, “jali negotiated with [foreigners] on terms congru-

at Jazz Fest. Personal relationship with individuals are the foun-

ent with their understandings about the making of relationships

dation of larger structural and institutional relationships. Davis

of patronage and power through performance” (2002:125). Music

has been travelling to Benin since 2003 and has travelled there

producers and concert promoters, are both implicated in politi-

regularly ever since. He has become a sponsor of the annual fes-

cal economies of roots and heritage, and interpolated by African

tival of Vodun, now known as the National Cultural Heritage

performers into relationships structured by differential access to

Festival of Benin, held every year on January 8–10. Each year

capital, mobility, and the means of production.12

that he succeeded in bringing a group of musicians, he was fur-

Steven Feld has written of the role of popular musicians in

ther strengthening relationships between his organization and

curating, producing, and promoting African popular musics, In

his interlocutors in Benin, including specific musicians, spiri-

some cases, under their own labels (such as Peter Gabriel’s Real

tual leaders, traditional political authorities (ad esempio, for exam-

World, David Byrne’s Luaka Bop, and Grateful Dead drummer

ple, the king of Allada), and officials in the Ministry of Culture,

Mickey Hart’s Planet Drum productions). These musicians have

and even including the president. The breadth of these relation-

provided both patronage and validation, as well as access to new

ships reflects both the importance of cultural tourism in Benin’s

markets for musicians who may well be stars in Senegal, Benin,

economy and the reach of a festival producer, who can provide

or South Africa, but have yet to find a global audience. In this

potential access to US audiences and US markets for Beninese

modo, Paul Simon introduced Ladysmith Black Mambazo of South

music and cultural exports (including potential US tourists, who

Africa to US audiences in his immensely successful 1986 Grace-

might travel to Benin).

land album (Feld 2005a:239). The album, which sold millions of

One of the key individuals who has facilitated the producer’s

copies, was “an international market breakthrough for the South

rapport with Benin counterparts, is Alex Amoussouvi. Davis

African musicians whose local pop styles (Soweto township jive,

explained that Amoussouvi is

mbaqanga, kwela, mbube, isicathamiya) form the instrumental

vol. 46, NO. 2 Estate 2013 african arts | 81

African462_070-085 CS6.indd 80-81

3/19/13 1:26 AM

Amoussouvi [ruefully]: Well, you have now said everything! …

Kidjo: I want to add something. Don’t forget that Mr. Quint Davis has

been initiated in Benin. And he has the level, the level of a high priest

in our country, which is not an easy thing to do. And it’s not easy to

become a high priest. And Mr. Quint Davis is one from New Orleans,

and it’s very important, it’s very very important.

This awkward moment between Mendy and Amoussouvi and

startling revelation illustrate a critical dimension to the event.

Ori Culture Dance Club’s participation in the festival was under-

stood by the panelists as part of dialectic of reciprocity and

patronage, and was produced through their personal relation-

ships with Mr. Davis.

When I met with Quint Davis in the weeks leading up to

IL 2010 Festival, he spoke of his vision to develop a cultural

exchange between New Orleans and musicians, dancers, E

other artists from Benin. Talking with Davis in his home, Esso

became clear that his interest in Africa extends beyond music,

as his modernist home is filled with African masks and sculp-

tures, as well as paintings by Miami-based Haitian American

painter Edouard Duval-Carrié. The home conveys a passion for

12 Benin panel Dr. gabou mendy, oscar Kidjo, alex amous-

souvi, and florent hessou. allison miner music heritage

Stage. april 30, 2009.

Photo: EriCa StaviS, CourtESy of thE Jazz & hEritagE arChivE

voluntEEr PhotograPhEr Program

effect inviting us all to come and be initiated—a form of cultural

all things African and a practice of collecting, which has played

heritage/spiritual tourism. Alex, acting as the translator, adds his

out over decades.

own spin on this, making the implication plain:

Davis spoke of the powerful diasporic connections between

It is calling you to come and learn those dances too. In other words,

those dances can only be performed in the shrines in the differ-

ent communities. And for you to be able to apprehend, understand

totally the secrecy of those dances, you have to be initiated. E così

you are invited to come [laughs]. So we are inviting you to come and

learn more of those dances.

Benin and New Orleans:

So the eight million Africans that went down that road to the beach

where they built the gate of no return went to Brazil, Haiti, Martinique,

and ultimately New Orleans. The one thing that is consistent to all of

those … is Voodoo … Candomble … Santeria … And I think New

Orleans was the only city in North America that had a thriving practice

of Voodoo throughout those years and throughout the community.11

Now comes the turning point in this presentation, for me, UN

longtime Jazz Fest observer who is fascinated by the intriguing

But the knowledge of these connections is not only based

contradictions between hierarchy and community continually

on historical descriptions, it is confirmed through embodied

performed inside the festival gates. A member of the Beninois

knowledge of ritual processions that share key aspects of perfor-

party attempts to thank the festival producer:

Amoussouvi: Before you continue, I would like to really thank some-

body here, he is the one who did everything to bring us here—

Mendy: [interrupting]: I’d like to say something here.

Amoussouvi: Please, okay then, when you’re ready.

Mendy: I do remember when this gentlemen was at MASA [Marché

des Arts du Spectacle Africains] in Abidjan and next trip he told me,

“Well, I’m going to Benin.”10 And he’s been going to Benin since, Poi,

for the last six or seven years, basically. I am talking about our beloved

Quint Davis, our producer of FPI, and producer of this festival. Quint

has found an interest in Benin that is very, very close to his heart. E

that interest was not by accident, because born and raised in New

Orleans, there is something …When you say, Benin, New Orleans

comes in next. When you say Benin, Haiti comes in next. When you

say Haiti, New Orleans comes in next. So there is a connection.

And that was the next thing, first of all, I want to thank Quint for

making this possible. I want to thank the Ministry of Culture for also

making this possible.

Mendy [turning to Alex]: So you can now say what you wanted to say.

mance, and an unmistakable feeling of connection. Davis then

went on to describe an experience he had in the Slave Museum

in Whydah, a coastal town that once served as the primary slave

trading port for the kingdom of Dahomey:

When I was there, I was in the Slave Museum in Wydah, and I heard

a band, like a brass band, sort of, and I could hear it from inside

the building and I got all agitated, and they were like “its nothing,

its nothing.” [But I thought:] “Bullshit, bullshit.” So I went running

down the steps out of the building and across the street, and it was a

Jazz Funeral … A child had died, it was a little car with a coffin, it was

mothers and people following behind carrying stuff and there was a

little horn band walking behind them … I saw other funeral proces-

sions where it was the coffin, the family, umbrellas, palm fronds, E

drummers, lots of drummers and they were processing toward the

burial. That’s how jazz was born.

For someone like Davis who grew up going to jazz funeral

processions and social club parades led by brass bands, the feel-

ing of excitement generated by hearing a brass band going by

leading a procession creates an irresistible desire to drop any

and everything to follow that procession, and to be swept up in

the moment. In New Orleans, second line parades organized by

benevolent societies or social aid and pleasure clubs and funerals

80 | african arts Summer 2013 vol. 46, NO. 2

13 members of ori engage in cross-cultural
exchange with individual festgoers in between per-
formances, 2009.
Photo: hElEn a. rEgiS

14 Sagbohan Danialou and george Porter, 2010
Photo: CourtESy of Doug SChnEiDEr PhotograPhy

with music, two performance traditions anchored in the Afri-
can American community since at least the 1880s, are widely
credited with fostering and nurturing the music that gave birth
to jazz (Regis 1999). In his narrative, Davis explicitly makes the
connection between this experience of a funeral procession and
the origins of jazz in New Orleans to this funeral procession in
Whydah, Benin. He also reveals that his immersion in African
culture parallels his earlier immersion in the working-class Afri-
can American traditions of New Orleans.

Davis emphasized the importance of building relationships
with people in Benin, something that takes years, to create a
musical and cultural exchange such as the one which has begun
at Jazz Fest. Personal relationship with individuals are the foun-
dation of larger structural and institutional relationships. Davis
has been travelling to Benin since 2003 and has travelled there
regularly ever since. He has become a sponsor of the annual fes-
tival of Vodun, now known as the National Cultural Heritage
Festival of Benin, held every year on January 8–10. Each year
that he succeeded in bringing a group of musicians, he was fur-
ther strengthening relationships between his organization and
his interlocutors in Benin, including specific musicians, spiri-
tual leaders, traditional political authorities (ad esempio, for exam-
ple, the king of Allada), and officials in the Ministry of Culture,
and even including the president. The breadth of these relation-
ships reflects both the importance of cultural tourism in Benin’s
economy and the reach of a festival producer, who can provide
potential access to US audiences and US markets for Beninese
music and cultural exports (including potential US tourists, who
might travel to Benin).

One of the key individuals who has facilitated the producer’s
rapport with Benin counterparts, is Alex Amoussouvi. Davis
explained that Amoussouvi is

something we’ve never had before, he is the official Jazz Fest talent
coordinator of Benin and Togo … And so he does everything. He’s bril-
liant … he went to college in Russia, and graduated with a degree in
international relations. He speaks I don’t know how many languages.

When Alex Amoussouvi and I met during the 2010 Jazz Fest,
he explained that he studied international relations and was set
to pursue a career as a diplomat when the fall of the Berlin Wall
precipitated a dramatic series of changes, including the advent of
multiparty politics and the dramatic restructuring of the economy
along neoliberal lines, leading to the disappearance of public sector
job opportunities in Benin. He began to reinvent himself, drawing
on his language skills and his knowledge of cross-cultural issues to
start a career in culture and tourism, organizing trips, itineraries
for study groups, and facilitating international exchanges. It was
in this way that he met Davis on one of his first trips to Benin, E
their collaboration grew from there.

As Paulla Ebron shows in her ethnography of Gambian griots
(or jali) and their local and international networks of performance
and patronage, “jali negotiated with [foreigners] on terms congru-
ent with their understandings about the making of relationships
of patronage and power through performance” (2002:125). Music
producers and concert promoters, are both implicated in politi-
cal economies of roots and heritage, and interpolated by African
performers into relationships structured by differential access to
capital, mobility, and the means of production.12

Steven Feld has written of the role of popular musicians in
curating, producing, and promoting African popular musics, In
some cases, under their own labels (such as Peter Gabriel’s Real
World, David Byrne’s Luaka Bop, and Grateful Dead drummer
Mickey Hart’s Planet Drum productions). These musicians have
provided both patronage and validation, as well as access to new
markets for musicians who may well be stars in Senegal, Benin,
or South Africa, but have yet to find a global audience. In this
modo, Paul Simon introduced Ladysmith Black Mambazo of South
Africa to US audiences in his immensely successful 1986 Grace-
land album (Feld 2005a:239). The album, which sold millions of
copies, was “an international market breakthrough for the South
African musicians whose local pop styles (Soweto township jive,
mbaqanga, kwela, mbube, isicathamiya) form the instrumental

vol. 46, NO. 2 Estate 2013 african arts | 81

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3

African462_070-085 CS6.indd 80-81

3/19/13 1:26 AM

On DiaspOric belOnging
During the 2009 Benin panel discussion, the ministry official
initially seemed to be framing his remarks in terms of North
American notions of belonging, grounded in biologically based
racial identities and elevated by intentional kinship claims to
Africanness. In doing so, he actively appropriated the Herskov-
itsian discourse of survivals and retentions in building rapport
with diasporic subjects. But working against any egalitarian Pan-
Africanism, the official also asserted the spiritual/ritual domi-
nance of Africans in this dialogue. Peter Sutherland (1999) ha
analyzed a similar dynamic in diasporic imagination in a Benin
Vodun festival, in which Dagbo Hou Non sought to bring mem-
bers of African Diaspora (particularly African Americans)
“back” to Benin as tourists to invest in the country’s neo-liberal-
izing economy (see also Hasty 2002).

In the division of labor constructed in the panel, African
Americans are positioned as consumers of heritage or, at best,
keepers of remnants of African culture in the new world—sur-
vivals to be evaluated by the African visitors. The Africans,
again in the official’s intervention—are those who control sacred
knowledge and initiation ceremonies, and who are thus in con-
trol of the terms of diasporic dialogue. Tuttavia, in the Ori
director’s complaint and in the translator’s invitation to come
be initiated are evidence of the material differences that struc-
ture this “Atlantic Dialogue” unambiguously underwritten by the
American Jazz Fest producer. The interviewer, Gabou Mendy,
and the Beninois’ own invocations of patron-client ties to the
(white) festival producer interrupts the Pan-African reverie of
kinship and cultural continuity. Or does it?

Music writer Keith Spera (2009UN), in a profile of the festival

producer, aptly sketches the larger-than-life character of Davis:

Forty-six years ago, a blond teenager in glasses, a plaid shirt and blue
jeans cropped below the knee stood out as he strutted in a second-
line parade. Four months ago, still blond but now 61, he took part
in a celebration in the small West African nation of Benin. Come il
drumming and dancing reached a crescendo, he dropped to all fours
to “pop the gator,” a particularly unhinged form of late-night New
Orleans self-expression.

In the photo caption published in the Times-Picayune newspa-
per, Davis is said to be “teaching the locals” how to do the gator
(a move in which the dancer hugs the ground in mock copula-
zione). This photo, taken by Beninois photographer Justin Saave-
dra, catches Mr. Davis dancing in a Vodun ceremony. That he
shared these photos with a journalist (and this anthropologist) È
suggestive of their importance in his personal narrative as mate-
rial evidence of his personal trajectory. Like the Friedlander pho-
tograph discussed above, it demonstrates an active embodied
participation in African cultural heritage. As with the Minister
of Culture’s disclosure, the photo counters the racialized con-
structions of community membership, Black Atlantic affiliation,
and cultural ownership highlighted in other contexts, includ-
ing those of the 1978 Afrikan American Jazz Festival Coalition
which led to the creation of Koindu as a semi-autonomous Black
Art space within the festival.

As for producer Quint Davis, his own embodiment of dia-
sporic dialogue is manifested in his onstage performance with

15 Quint Davis with club member and parade
designer Kevin Dunn, parading with the original
four Social and Pleasure Club at a memorial proces-
sion for michael P. Smith and Snooks Eglin at the
2010 Jazz festival.
Photo: JEffrEy EhrEnrEiCh

and general musical basis for much of the record’s distinctive
sound” (Feld 2005a:239). Like Simon, Gabriel, and Byrne, festival
producers can play a powerful role as tastemakers, both connect-
ing artists with new audiences and sometimes even introducing
adventurous festgoers who may be devoted fans of one genre to
another musical form entirely. The multistage format of such a
festival encourages sampling, while the effervescent atmosphere
of the festival could make audiences more receptive, particularly
if they trust music producers to present them with fantastic new
music. More, among festival attendees are other music produc-
ers, film makers, and festival organizers from throughout the
mondo, who might well invite a Jazz Fest artist to participate in
their own projects.

Per esempio, Sagbohan Danialou, the veteran Beninois artist
who performed at the 2010 festival, has had a long genre-defy-
ing musician career that spans Benin, Nigeria, Ghana, and Côte
d’Ivoire and draws on Afro-beat, Funk, and Benin’s indigenous
vodun rhythms, has been referred to as “West Africa’s Best Kept
Secret” (VoodooFunk 2008). But of course, he is not a secret,
but rather a “music legend” in his home country of Benin. An
accomplished multi-instrumentalist, Danialou is the subject of
a recent documentary L’Homme Orchestre by Nicolas Moncadas
(available on YouTube). On the eve of his departure from Benin
to play at Jazz Fest in his first US appearance, Danialou’s bass
player was taken ill. He thought they would have to cancel their
performance, but Davis arranged for beloved New Orleans bass
player George Porter to play with the band. Porter, a member of
the renowned Meters, is considered to be one of the originators
of Funk. And thus, the Jazz Fest performance became a trans-
Atlantic funk reunion (Fig. 14). The producer was able to orches-
trate this diasporic reunion through his knowledge of the music,
his personal relations, and his imagination of the significance of
the diasporic dialogue.

82 | african arts Summer 2013 vol. 46, NO. 2

16 Congo gates designed by Douglas redd and

constructed by Bill Darrow of Stronghold Studios

and the festival art department in 2000. the mask

is adapted from the famous sixteenth century ivory

pendant worn by the oba of Benin (in contemporary

Photo: SCott Saltzman, CourtESy of StrongholD

nigeria).

StuDioS

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Ori at Jazz Fest but also in sharing of his own New Orleans dance

on twelve stages over seven days, choosing to forgo one of the

moves (like the gator) with African dancers. Così, he dances

headliners at the larger stages to listen to a relatively unknown

an African dance in New Orleans and a New Orleans dance in

group of African musicians is a mark of distinction and a perfor-

Africa. That the gator is viewed as an “African-derived” dance is

mance of personal identity. As a festgoer myself over a period of

just another layer in the dialogue.13 These public performances—

twenty years, I often recognize familiar faces standing, dancing,

which are then re-performed in the journalist’s account—would

or grooving near the front of the stage for African acts. Some of

seem to publicize the producer’s ties to a community in Benin

my friends make it a point to see every African band that comes

to which he evidently feels a profound personal connection.

to town and Jazz Fest is no exception. The music provides them

In Benin, Davis might be perceived by a casual observer as

(and us) with a way to reconnect with our travel experiences, O

a “white” man, but his personal cultural heritage (growing up

to imagine future journeys. “Certainly, how heritage is invented,

in New Orleans, going to second line parades with Jules Cahn,

imagined, and made visible by groups and individuals in Africa

and learning the gator at a high school dance) is already, ad a

has been reconsidered in important new ways recently by focus-

significant extent, African.14 It is here that Prita Meier’s and

ing on the contexts of heritage production, but how are locally

Peter Probst’s recent work on hybrid heritage in Africa provide

defined public and private narratives and performances related?"

a useful perspective. Peter Probst’s work on the Osun Grove in

(Meier 2009:16) The performance of African heritage explored in

Osogbo, Nigeria, suggest that part of what is required in the

this essay represents precisely one of these intersections between

study of African heritage is a shift in frame from the hybridity

private narrative and public performances, though here Meier’s

of objects to the “hybridity of subjects producing such objects”

insights are extended to the context of diaspora.

(2009:36). With this in mind, it is possible to see the figure of the

festival producer, and other actors in this drama, as hybrid sub-

cOnclusiOn

jects, with complex connections to languages, cultures, musics,

Jazz Fest as an institution produces African heritage through

and places—multidimensional relationships that are flattened,

an Afro-Atlantic dialogue that both builds on and supports spe-

or erased, when viewed from the perspective of a black-white

cific personal and collective identity claims, outlines specific

binary (Fig. 15). Prita Meier’s work on home displays of Swahili

genealogies, and orchestrates transatlantic “reunions” such as

heritage in the form of photography, porcelain dishes, and other

that evoked by the panelists, embodied by musicians and danc-

objects in East African cities of Lamu and Mombassa is sugges-

ers, and performed through exchange with specific sites, ad esempio

tive. According to Meier, “layered assemblages of prestige objects

those between Whydah, Cotonou, and New Orleans.15 At least

have long played an important role in coastal east African iden-

some of those identity claims are at odds with each other, as spir-

tity politics and constitute a particular category of display meant

itual communities, racial notions of belonging, and those based

to signal the oceanic transcultural identity of local merchant and

on cultural performance may simultaneously bring into being

land-owning elites” (2009:11). In a city like New Orleans, IL

different Atlantic dialogues and enable different identities. IL

display of African art, wearing African cloth, and listening and

processes that underwrite this production of African heritage are

dancing to African music are all ways of crafting a cosmopoli-

not reducible to US racial binaries, and yet they are nearly always

tan, diasporic, or African-centered identity. In the context of an

informed by them, as well as efforts to transform or transcend

event like Jazz Fest, where festgoers choose between drinks, food,

them; they are not reducible to political economy, though they

crafts, and listening to music by one of six thousand musicians

are deeply intertwined with patron-client ties and material aspi-

vol. 46, NO. 2 Estate 2013 african arts | 83

African462_070-085 CS6.indd 82-83

3/19/13 1:26 AM

On DiaspOric belOnging

During the 2009 Benin panel discussion, the ministry official

initially seemed to be framing his remarks in terms of North

American notions of belonging, grounded in biologically based

racial identities and elevated by intentional kinship claims to

Africanness. In doing so, he actively appropriated the Herskov-

itsian discourse of survivals and retentions in building rapport

with diasporic subjects. But working against any egalitarian Pan-

Africanism, the official also asserted the spiritual/ritual domi-

nance of Africans in this dialogue. Peter Sutherland (1999) ha

analyzed a similar dynamic in diasporic imagination in a Benin

Vodun festival, in which Dagbo Hou Non sought to bring mem-

bers of African Diaspora (particularly African Americans)

“back” to Benin as tourists to invest in the country’s neo-liberal-

izing economy (see also Hasty 2002).

In the division of labor constructed in the panel, African

Americans are positioned as consumers of heritage or, at best,

keepers of remnants of African culture in the new world—sur-

vivals to be evaluated by the African visitors. The Africans,

again in the official’s intervention—are those who control sacred

knowledge and initiation ceremonies, and who are thus in con-

trol of the terms of diasporic dialogue. Tuttavia, in the Ori

director’s complaint and in the translator’s invitation to come

15 Quint Davis with club member and parade

designer Kevin Dunn, parading with the original

four Social and Pleasure Club at a memorial proces-

sion for michael P. Smith and Snooks Eglin at the

2010 Jazz festival.

Photo: JEffrEy EhrEnrEiCh

and general musical basis for much of the record’s distinctive

be initiated are evidence of the material differences that struc-

sound” (Feld 2005a:239). Like Simon, Gabriel, and Byrne, festival

ture this “Atlantic Dialogue” unambiguously underwritten by the

producers can play a powerful role as tastemakers, both connect-

American Jazz Fest producer. The interviewer, Gabou Mendy,

ing artists with new audiences and sometimes even introducing

and the Beninois’ own invocations of patron-client ties to the

adventurous festgoers who may be devoted fans of one genre to

(white) festival producer interrupts the Pan-African reverie of

another musical form entirely. The multistage format of such a

kinship and cultural continuity. Or does it?

festival encourages sampling, while the effervescent atmosphere

Music writer Keith Spera (2009UN), in a profile of the festival

of the festival could make audiences more receptive, particularly

producer, aptly sketches the larger-than-life character of Davis:

if they trust music producers to present them with fantastic new

music. More, among festival attendees are other music produc-

ers, film makers, and festival organizers from throughout the

mondo, who might well invite a Jazz Fest artist to participate in

their own projects.

Per esempio, Sagbohan Danialou, the veteran Beninois artist

who performed at the 2010 festival, has had a long genre-defy-

ing musician career that spans Benin, Nigeria, Ghana, and Côte

Forty-six years ago, a blond teenager in glasses, a plaid shirt and blue

jeans cropped below the knee stood out as he strutted in a second-

line parade. Four months ago, still blond but now 61, he took part

in a celebration in the small West African nation of Benin. Come il

drumming and dancing reached a crescendo, he dropped to all fours

to “pop the gator,” a particularly unhinged form of late-night New

Orleans self-expression.

d’Ivoire and draws on Afro-beat, Funk, and Benin’s indigenous

In the photo caption published in the Times-Picayune newspa-

vodun rhythms, has been referred to as “West Africa’s Best Kept

per, Davis is said to be “teaching the locals” how to do the gator

Secret” (VoodooFunk 2008). But of course, he is not a secret,

(a move in which the dancer hugs the ground in mock copula-

but rather a “music legend” in his home country of Benin. An

zione). This photo, taken by Beninois photographer Justin Saave-

accomplished multi-instrumentalist, Danialou is the subject of

dra, catches Mr. Davis dancing in a Vodun ceremony. That he

a recent documentary L’Homme Orchestre by Nicolas Moncadas

shared these photos with a journalist (and this anthropologist) È

(available on YouTube). On the eve of his departure from Benin

suggestive of their importance in his personal narrative as mate-

to play at Jazz Fest in his first US appearance, Danialou’s bass

rial evidence of his personal trajectory. Like the Friedlander pho-

player was taken ill. He thought they would have to cancel their

tograph discussed above, it demonstrates an active embodied

performance, but Davis arranged for beloved New Orleans bass

participation in African cultural heritage. As with the Minister

player George Porter to play with the band. Porter, a member of

of Culture’s disclosure, the photo counters the racialized con-

the renowned Meters, is considered to be one of the originators

structions of community membership, Black Atlantic affiliation,

of Funk. And thus, the Jazz Fest performance became a trans-

and cultural ownership highlighted in other contexts, includ-

Atlantic funk reunion (Fig. 14). The producer was able to orches-

ing those of the 1978 Afrikan American Jazz Festival Coalition

trate this diasporic reunion through his knowledge of the music,

which led to the creation of Koindu as a semi-autonomous Black

his personal relations, and his imagination of the significance of

Art space within the festival.

the diasporic dialogue.

As for producer Quint Davis, his own embodiment of dia-

sporic dialogue is manifested in his onstage performance with

16 Congo gates designed by Douglas redd and
constructed by Bill Darrow of Stronghold Studios
and the festival art department in 2000. the mask
is adapted from the famous sixteenth century ivory
pendant worn by the oba of Benin (in contemporary
nigeria).
Photo: SCott Saltzman, CourtESy of StrongholD

StuDioS

Ori at Jazz Fest but also in sharing of his own New Orleans dance
moves (like the gator) with African dancers. Così, he dances
an African dance in New Orleans and a New Orleans dance in
Africa. That the gator is viewed as an “African-derived” dance is
just another layer in the dialogue.13 These public performances—
which are then re-performed in the journalist’s account—would
seem to publicize the producer’s ties to a community in Benin
to which he evidently feels a profound personal connection.
In Benin, Davis might be perceived by a casual observer as
a “white” man, but his personal cultural heritage (growing up
in New Orleans, going to second line parades with Jules Cahn,
and learning the gator at a high school dance) is already, ad a
significant extent, African.14 It is here that Prita Meier’s and
Peter Probst’s recent work on hybrid heritage in Africa provide
a useful perspective. Peter Probst’s work on the Osun Grove in
Osogbo, Nigeria, suggest that part of what is required in the
study of African heritage is a shift in frame from the hybridity
of objects to the “hybridity of subjects producing such objects”
(2009:36). With this in mind, it is possible to see the figure of the
festival producer, and other actors in this drama, as hybrid sub-
jects, with complex connections to languages, cultures, musics,
and places—multidimensional relationships that are flattened,
or erased, when viewed from the perspective of a black-white
binary (Fig. 15). Prita Meier’s work on home displays of Swahili
heritage in the form of photography, porcelain dishes, and other
objects in East African cities of Lamu and Mombassa is sugges-
tive. According to Meier, “layered assemblages of prestige objects
have long played an important role in coastal east African iden-
tity politics and constitute a particular category of display meant
to signal the oceanic transcultural identity of local merchant and
land-owning elites” (2009:11). In a city like New Orleans, IL
display of African art, wearing African cloth, and listening and
dancing to African music are all ways of crafting a cosmopoli-
tan, diasporic, or African-centered identity. In the context of an
event like Jazz Fest, where festgoers choose between drinks, food,
crafts, and listening to music by one of six thousand musicians

on twelve stages over seven days, choosing to forgo one of the
headliners at the larger stages to listen to a relatively unknown
group of African musicians is a mark of distinction and a perfor-
mance of personal identity. As a festgoer myself over a period of
twenty years, I often recognize familiar faces standing, dancing,
or grooving near the front of the stage for African acts. Some of
my friends make it a point to see every African band that comes
to town and Jazz Fest is no exception. The music provides them
(and us) with a way to reconnect with our travel experiences, O
to imagine future journeys. “Certainly, how heritage is invented,
imagined, and made visible by groups and individuals in Africa
has been reconsidered in important new ways recently by focus-
ing on the contexts of heritage production, but how are locally
defined public and private narratives and performances related?"
(Meier 2009:16) The performance of African heritage explored in
this essay represents precisely one of these intersections between
private narrative and public performances, though here Meier’s
insights are extended to the context of diaspora.

cOnclusiOn
Jazz Fest as an institution produces African heritage through
an Afro-Atlantic dialogue that both builds on and supports spe-
cific personal and collective identity claims, outlines specific
genealogies, and orchestrates transatlantic “reunions” such as
that evoked by the panelists, embodied by musicians and danc-
ers, and performed through exchange with specific sites, ad esempio
those between Whydah, Cotonou, and New Orleans.15 At least
some of those identity claims are at odds with each other, as spir-
itual communities, racial notions of belonging, and those based
on cultural performance may simultaneously bring into being
different Atlantic dialogues and enable different identities. IL
processes that underwrite this production of African heritage are
not reducible to US racial binaries, and yet they are nearly always
informed by them, as well as efforts to transform or transcend
them; they are not reducible to political economy, though they
are deeply intertwined with patron-client ties and material aspi-

l

D
o
w
N
o
UN
D
e
D

F
R
o
M
H

T
T

P

:
/
/

D
io
R
e
C
T
.

M

io
T
.

/

F

e
D
tu
UN
UN
R
/
UN
R
T
io
C
e
–
P
D

l

F
/

/

/

/

/

4
6
2
7
0
1
7
3
5
9
9
3
UN
UN
R
_
UN
_
0
0
0
6
7
P
D