L'chaim, Louisiana style: the New Orleans Klezmer All-Stars. (Patrick Jarenwattananon/NPR)

Jewish communities are hardly written into the central narrative of New Orleans history. But open cultural exchange is. Which makes the New Orleans Klezmer All Stars as unsurprising as they are talented.

Think about the trademarks of klezmer. Its sinuous clarinets play major roles in early jazz; its accordions are just as important to zydeco music. And it's a fundamentally a dance music -- New Orleans has an unquenchable thirst for that, too.

Of course, as the last act on the Lagniappe Stage of the first Sunday at the Jazz and Heritage Festival, the All Stars defined klezmer liberally. There were jazz lines from a saxophone, rock 'n' roll lines from an electric guitar, backbeats from a drum kit. They joined an electric bassist, a Stroh violinist, and, of course, a clarinetist and accordion player. So seamless and fun was their tradition mindmeld that a small coterie of people started dancing in the aisles and in the front of the stage -- and this was a seated show.

Only a few minutes after the All Stars began, the Hot 8 Brass Band closed out the Jazz and Heritage Stage. Brass bands are at the beating heart of the city's musical life; trumpets and sousaphones appear on every other street corner. But for an out-of-towner, it's hard to imagine how vividly alive that tradition is until you see a group like Hot 8.

Hip-hop, electronic pop, and rock, broadly considered, are the musics of today's young people. Neither of these things generally compel people to play most of the instruments normally seen in brass bands, and New Orleans certainly isn't immune to our growing entertainment monoculture either. In a city with declining public school music education and Lil Wayne as a folk hero, you'd wonder if kids here would start to see the brass band tradition as passe.

Perhaps it's true in some respect, but not for the members of Hot 8. They're an intergenerational crew, but compared to the Treme Brass Band I saw the previous week, they certainly skew young. They dress like it, too: t-shirts with purple lettering, bright purple kicks, flat-brim Colorado Rockies baseball caps (because the colors are purple and black, see). Their selection of tunes, and the beats behind them, leaned toward funk, hip-hop and R&B -- they're known for their version of "Sexual Healing."

Hot 8 gave the impression that it was trying to express the aesthetic of a younger culture through the brass band. As someone invested in young people's relationships to instrumental improvisation -- while remaining a fan of Lil Wayne -- I was very happy to see the renewal of the tradition. And I was even happier to be moving along to the music.

It's tempting to say "only in New Orleans" to describe both these groups. This is, of course, not true: klezmer is hybridized everywhere the Ashkenazy diaspora leads, and brass bands pop up everywhere horns are taught. But in this city of cultural borrowing and everpresent tradition, both groups felt right at home.

Fried soft shell crab on a bun. (Patrick Jarenwattananon/NPR)

At some outdoor festivals, you eat the food because you're hungry and it's tolerable. At the New Orleans Jazz and Heritage Festival, it's as much a star as those on nearby stages.

At the risk of cliche, here's some of what went down my gullet -- or at least what I remembered to photograph. Heart attack in 3, 2, 1 ...

Crawfish Monica is a pasta dish; as far as I can tell, its main ingredients are rotelli noodles, crawfish tails and butter sauce. Crawfish comes in all shapes and sizes in New Orleans: elsewhere at the festival, it was boiled with onions and spices, embedded in bread or even found in the fried doughnuts called beignets.

Crawfish beignets. (Patrick Jarenwattananon/NPR)

Cochon de lait po-boy. (Patrick Jarenwattananon/NPR)

Meat on a sandwich will never go out of style. I was told to order the cochon de lait (suckling pig) po-boy; I didn't argue. Goes well dressed with a bit of slaw and hot sauce.

Or you could enclose the meat inside the starch, as in this alligator pie, with Mandarin orange iced tea to wash it down.

Alligator pie. (Patrick Jarenwattananon/NPR)

Mandarin orange iced tea. (Patrick Jarenwattananon/NPR)

And for dessert, a sorbet-like concoction called a mango freeze.

Mango freeze. (Patrick Jarenwattananon/NPR)

Clarinetist Evan Christopher. (Patrick Jarenwattananon/NPR)

The New Orleans Jazz Orchestra won a Grammy Award this year for Best Large Ensemble Recording. Perhaps that's why the WWOZ Jazz Tent was packed to overflowing late on Sunday at the Jazz and Heritage Festival.

Then again, front man Irvin Mayfield is a popular guy here in New Orleans. Full of charisma and energy -- I refer you to this concert from New Year's Eve -- he's a jazz club impresario, leader of multiple bands and an official cultural ambassador for the city. That, and he's also a wildly talented trumpeter, full-toned with plenty of technique.

He's hardly the focal point of the show, however; he writes, organizes, conducts and oversees, meaning that his solo time is relatively limited. He leaves the heavy lifting to his star soloists.

More photos and thoughts, after the jump.

Ed Alexander is a Chicago transplant, a tenor saxophonist as furiously torrid as they come; he handles a good deal of blowing for the group. Trombonist Ron Westray stood up for "Somebody Forgot To Turn The Faucet Off," blowing whirlwinds around the tune's central repetitive figure. There were features for saxophonists Derek Douget and Aaron Fletcher, and an appealing turn for vocalist Johnaye Kendrick, a recent Monk Institute graduate. Finally, Evan Christopher is a clarinetist based in New Orleans, and if you're a professional clarinetist in New Orleans, you're probably well-skilled when it comes to early jazz. Christopher's bag also extends further -- "It's a Creole Thing" was essentially his solo feature, and he romped through it.

Credit Mayfield for writing original compositions where arrangements of warhorses would probably have sufficed. Alternately parade, funk, pre-war swing, Latin and modern jazz, his band's rhythms reflect the multicolored approach to groove in this city. It very much feels like a summation of New Orleans music at large, translated to 13-piece jazz orchestra.

His ensemble passages don't have much dramatic arc -- they're mostly built around simple riffs, harmonies, forms and interplay -- but with soloists like his, Mayfield doesn't have to do much more than that. (It's an approach more Basie than Ellington, led by a man more Ellington than Basie.) Sometimes individual brilliance leaves you coldly stunned -- or worse, unimpressed. But it was warm on Sunday, and the band was hotter: every single feature dug hard, and won wild, enthusiastic applause.

Johnaye Kendrick, backed by Irvin Mayfield (right) and the New Orleans Jazz Orchestra. (Patrick Jarenwattananon/NPR)

Michiel Huisman and Lucia Micarelli as Sonny and Annie. (Paul Schiraldi/HBO)

The most powerful scene in episode three of Treme takes place in the destroyed Lower Ninth Ward of New Orleans. Mardi Gras Indians from several tribes have gathered to commemorate the death of their comrade, who literally died during Hurricane Katrina. In the middle of the highly spiritual ceremony, set amid grey destruction, a "Katrina Tour" bus barrels through. The hostility is searing.

Treme is about the residents of New Orleans, but the real town depends economically on tourism, and its cinematic depiction doesn't ignore this. Antoine and the buskers make their livings playing music largely for tourists; restaurants like Janette's do business with out-of-towners; Davis' last paycheck came from working at a hotel. And not just the debauchery/Bourbon Street side of tourism, but the marketing of culture, of authentic experience of an eccentric city. The New Orleans Jazz and Heritage Festival, as amazing and overwhelming as it is, testifies to this.

With the "Katrina Tour" bus, and the clueless Wisconsin tourists of episode two, Treme's creators seem to be hinting at what they feel constitutes authentic experience. It can't be voyeurism, or passively observed; it's participated in, lived every day by everyday people. It's an argument that compelling cultural activity happens all the time.

In New Orleans, where musicians are very much everyday people, the show's soundtrack is more than just background music. Speaking of that soundtrack, WBGO's Josh Jackson and I, having just soaked up three days of Jazz Fest, e-mailed about episode three, as we have for the first two as well. HBO's full playlist is here.

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Patrick Jarenwattananon: Ok, so let's look at the music performances, which you and I recently learned were entirely recorded live to tape -- no studio mixing-in afterward. (It's an amazing engineering feat, if I may say so.) The first is Annie and Sonny's performance with the accordion player, doing "La Vie En Rose." That's in the French Quarter, I can recognize. I know there's a lot of competent busking in that part of town.

The accordion player with them is a real one, Bruce "Sunpie" Barnes. He's a zydeco player. I use that term rather generally, because he can play a lot of music that's not adherent to a singular word.

Tom McDermott as himself. (Paul Schiraldi/HBO)

PJ: At that moment, Tom McDermott approaches them -- as in the actual musician, Tom McDermott. I know I've heard that name before: he played piano during Toast of the Nation 2009, and I know you saw him a few days ago backing up singer Lillian Boutte. Who is this cat?

JJ: Tom McDermott is a very versatile pianist. I think he's been in the "talent deserving wider recognition" category for most of his professional life. Tom has an incredible knowledge of creole dance music that contributed in some way or another to the development of jazz, or more broadly, the identity of New Orleans music. He can play contradanzas, habaneras, choro and ragtime. He can also play the rumba style of Professor Longhair, or the florid classical funk of pianist James Booker. He can navigate the complexity of Jelly Roll Morton's "Finger Buster" with savoir faire. When I saw him at Donna's, he opened with Sousa's "Stars and Stripes Forever," and he put many of these elements into the performance. He's also a great accompanist for a singer. He brings a lot to the bandstand.

PJ: Tom hires Annie to play a gig with him, duo violin and piano. Even though it's her birthday, she takes the gig -- she could probably use the money. They're shown jamming on an old standard, "King Porter Stomp." Now, I noticed when Tom was chatting up Annie, he asked her if she played jazz, if she read music, stuff like that. Which brings up this point: if you want to make a living as a musician in New Orleans, you have to be exceptionally good and exceptionally versatile.

JJ: You have to be a very capable musician to survive in New Orleans. Musicianship is an age-old craft here, so it doesn't seem exceptional when you live in the city and hear so much of it. I'm thinking of one immediate example: sousaphonist Matt Perrine, who had seven different gigs this past Saturday alone during Jazz Fest. That's what it takes to raise a family on performing music alone. Otherwise, you better know a handy trade, like so many of Creoles traditionally performed, including plastering, tinsmithing and other crafts that contribute to the preservation of New Orleans' architectural heritage.

PJ: Dr. John makes a performing cameo in this episode, being a bit gruff and rehearsing his take on "My Indian Red" for the [Jazz At] Lincoln Center New Orleans benefit show. I hear him shouting out a lot of tribes and their leaders, using the word "jockamo," etc. What's all this about?

JJ: The specific meaning is a little cloudy, but most folks agree that the origin is part of the Creole patois associated with the Mardi Gras Indian rituals. There's no academy guarding a precise definition. A generally accepted belief is that it is some kind of call to awareness between two rival tribes.

PJ: That's an obvious contrast to the version of "My Indian Red" at the end, chanted so chillingly by the Mardi Gras indians as a sort of funeral rite. ("Hey Pocky A-Way" is in there too, I believe.) In fact, Dr. John says something about how he's a bit tense about co-opting the Indian chant for his own performance, but ultimately, we see that he goes about it with respect for the song's artistic value and the tradition behind it. Or did you think otherwise?

JJ: Well, I was glad to hear him mention Danny Barker's recorded version of it. Notice also he mentions Wardell Quezergue, a legendary arranger of New Orleans music also known as the "Creole Beethoven."

Of course, Dr. John knows this history very well. Read his autobiography, Under a Hoodoo Moon. He's been one of the cats for a very long time.

There's a racial context underlying that qualification he makes. No one worth a damn wants to trample on something so sacrosanct to the African-American experience of New Orleans. Being a cultural carpetbagger is a cardinal sin, and you don't want to be excommunicated in such a small town. Dr. John exposed this music to a lot of people, but he's been very upfront about the sources. His music also has a life of its own.

PJ: Davis is becoming a more complex character, rather than just the somewhat annoying, hot-headed fellow he first appeared to be. He's obviously a total dork and apologist about New Orleans music. I mean, in giving piano lessons to the Bernettes' girl, Sophia, he teaches not scales, rudiments, classical pieces -- but the Professor Longhair signature tune, "Tipitina." These sorts of people actually exist in New Orleans, I've learned.

JJ: Yeah. They have and continue to exist, especially at WWOZ. Even though Davis (the character) isn't working there right now, he'll be back -- that's according to show co-creator Eric Overmyer.

What can I say? Music lovers everywhere are passionate people. Recently, two volunteer announcers let that emotion get the best of them. I'm not naming names, but a small coterie of music freaks in New Orleans know who I'm talking about. I think I might want someone like that teaching my daughter about Professor Longhair. Hopefully, I'll get to her first, though.

PJ: Let's go back to the scene where a drunk Antoine joins the buskers in a rough-hewn but effective take on "Ghost Of A Chance." (As an aside, Wendell Pierce plays an amazing drunk.) It's an ironic selection: the police beat him up, basically for being clumsy, and he stands no chance against them.

JJ: Yea, that was a painful sequence to watch.

PJ: In The Wire, the police got to be complete human beings, with motivations for good or evil like any other human beings. Here, they're pretty much completely, almost inhumanly terrible -- and I get the sense that this is how most NOLA residents view their city's police department. I mean, they hassle Sonny and Annie, nab Delmond for marijuana, arrest Antoine for no apparent reason ... they're completely unredeeming. I mean, they and every single other government institution is portrayed as uncaring.

JJ: Maybe a more "nuanced" view of the cops will come. Some people have a strong position on justice in New Orleans, and whether it has ever been applied equally since Reconstruction. That's no different from many places, in the South especially. Welcome to the advanced discussion on culture and memory. Feel free to add your comments below.

Anyway, New Orleans did have a few more pressing issues three months after Katrina than possession of marijuana or bumping into a police cruiser with a trombone slide. I'm not an apologist for either side of the coin, but to be fair, everyone in Treme is living in a shattered image of a community, even the fictional police.

PJ: Related to that is Delmond's sentiment, which he expresses to his fellow horn players (including Trombone Shorty). Delmond is now a New York resident -- he feels like the best musicians have to leave New Orleans to "get their due." He cites Louis Armstrong and Louis Prima as examples. There is, of course, disagreement with this, but nobody will deny that New Orleans is certainly a very different scene (especially for a "modern jazz cat" like Delmond), in both size and character, than New York is.

JJ: Before Jazz Fest, you and I were at the Louisiana Music Factory for trumpeter Maurice Brown's in-store. (He has left New Orleans too.) The pianist Jesse McBride, who is still in the city, was telling me he had only one other gig besides his performance at the Jazz and Heritage Festival. He was very matter of fact when he said to me, "You know how this town is about modern jazz." New Orleans is different from New York, or anywhere. That has positive and negative connotations for individuals.

PJ: You're a jazz radio producer. You left New Orleans for New York. You know something about this.

JJ: Well, I had it in my mind to try New York for my own reasons. I got a lucky break, and I was brave enough to take a calculated risk. So far, so good. Obviously, I would love to be able to do my job from anywhere, but that opportunity does not yet exist. If you think prospects for modern jazz musicians are dim, what does that say about whatever this is that I do? Anyway, what I wanted ten years ago was very different. Now I simply will not tolerate anything less than world domination, Pinky.

PJ: All right, Brain. Finally, what recorded music worked well for you? I noticed that the end credits roll out on Donald Harrison Jr.'s beautiful, modal take on "Indian Red." Davis listens to an Ernie K-Doe song, and blares the New Orleans Nightcrawlers to annoy the neighbors. Any thoughts on this or anything else I neglected?

JJ: I love Donald's version of "Indian Red" -- reminds me of Coltrane's "Dear Lord." It's worth noting that his sister, Cherise Harrison-Nelson, is in the final scene with the Indians. She's an amazing woman, and it was overdue from someone to really recognize that Indians are not just anpther boy's club. Women sew and dress too.

Also, Vernel Bagneris, a very talented man, is Bernard, LaDonna's brother-in-law. His character introduces another complexity about race, which is too big to address at the moment. I'm sure we'll get to it sometime.

Davis is listening to "A Certain Girl" to great effect. The Nightcrawlers are playing their take on "Lil' Liza Jane"; it's called "Funky Liza." The Big Chief inspects feathers to Coleman Hawkins. I love that record, The Hawk Flies High, though I wonder if they considered Lester Young; Pres has the stronger connection to New Orleans. Maybe there's a connection to the name of the song itself, "Think Deep."

I heard Huey "Piano" Smith and James Booker, and Lil' Queenie in the strip joint. Longtime blues-rockers The Radiators are also represented with "Ace in the Hole." I need to get me one of those.

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Related At NPR Music: All of our Treme discussions live here.

After well over a decade in New Orleans, Theresa Andersson developed her one-woman show. (Patrick Jarenwattananon/NPR)

Snare drum, rack tom, floor tom. Acoustic guitar. Violin. Tambourine. Portable turntable. Two microphones. At least 10 pedals.

Theresa Andersson isn't the first to create full, artful pop out as a one-person show, precisely looping her voice and multiple instruments and gutsily emoting atop of it. It certainly commands your attention, though. And on a sunny Sunday at the New Orleans Jazz and Heritage Festival, she packed a rapt crowd at the Fais Do-Do Stage as full as it was the entire weekend.

Though raised in Sweden -- she still has a very faint tinge to her accent -- she's been based in New Orleans now for about two decades. She's used that time to integrate herself into the tight-knit musical community here. (Allen Toussaint appears on her latest album and concert DVD.) And some bluesy flavor came out in her gritty, complex take on "Blue Skies," alternately scatted and belted with energy.

But she's capable of catharsis too. So captivated was the crowd that Andersson was obliged to take an encore, an a cappella take on "Find The Cost Of Freedom." Of course, she was Crosby, Stills, Nash and herself all at once.

It's been a rainy whirlwind down in New Orleans -- Josh Jackson and Patrick Jarenwattananon divided, then conquered the festival, sending back photos, reports and tape. So far this weekend Josh has been enthralled by both a little boy (the Spy Boy for the Comanche Hunter Mardi Gras Indians) and a youthful 99-year-old. Patrick found The Bounce Extravaganza and caught the festival's headliners: My Morning Jacket, Drake and Simon & Garfunkel.

And every night the two met up to exchange war stories and eat really really good food. You can download their recaps of Day 1 and Day 2. Check back soon for Day 3's roundup, their weekly Treme dissection -- you know it's going to be hot, considering this tweet -- and more.

The professional side of Donald Harrison, Jr. (Patrick Jarenwattananon/NPR)

These days, alto saxophonist Donald Harrison Jr. often plays a sort of instrumental R&B. His set at the Congo Square "My Louisiana" stage on the first Sunday of the 2010 Jazz and Heritage Festival led off with The Meters' "Cissy Strut," and two songs later, went into "Feel Like Making Love."

But years before that, Harrison established his reputation in music as a leading straight-ahead jazzman. And years before that, he first masked as a Mardi Gras Indian.

Not long after his set, the children of the Guardians of the Flame tribe put on an exhibition at the Kids' Tent. (Photos of their performance are unavailable due to copyright issues, but I'll assure you they were adorable.) The Guardians are the tribe founded by Donald Harrison Sr.; his son grew up in that tradition. Now, Donald Jr. is a Big Chief too.

The rest of America has Little League, Boy Scouts, Sunday school. New Orleans has all that too, but for certain African-American folks here, Indian tribes also serve as a sort of youth group. It struck me especially hard when one Guardians song was introduced as a tool for teaching conflict resolution: Indian tribes aren't merely isolated spare-time pursuits. They're communities dedicated to a demanding craft and its attendant values.

Fittingly, that craft includes performing in an ensemble. I don't know how being a Mardi Gras Indian comes out in Harrison's music-making necessarily -- how his folk art affects his professional art. But it's tucked deep in there somewhere. According to this Times-Picayune report, at last year's Jazz Fest performance, Harrison stepped away from his (hard-swinging jazz) performance to change into costume and perform a few Indian chants. I couldn't stay for all of this year's show, but judging from photographs of the scene, it seems as if the Big Chief fancied purple for this year's outfit.

There's no need explaining
The one remaining is somebody I adore
I'm looking over a four-leaf clover
That I've overlooked before

If you think "I'm Looking Over a Four-Leaf Clover" is an old number, meet someone who was a teenager when it was written.

Lionel Ferbos, 98, is the oldest active jazz musician in New Orleans. (Josh Jackson)

Trumpeter Lionel Ferbos will be 99 in July, and he has every intention of reaching the century mark. He still maintains a weekly gig at The Palm Court Jazz Cafe in the French Quarter. He carries his own horn and handwritten sheet music. He dresses sharply.

Ferbos played trumpet with two masters of New Orleans jazz, Walter Pichon and Captain John Handy. When he sings songs like "I'm Gonna Sit Right Down and Write Myself a Letter" or "I Wish I Could Shimmy Like My Sister Kate," he adds a certain gravitas to songs with little currency to a jazz musician.

He can play "The Sheik of Araby" with enough bravura to make an audience spontaneously break into a second line. I know these things because I am a witness to his Sunday performance at the New Orleans Jazz and Heritage Festival.

One of the singers performing with the Campbell Brothers, a sacred steel ensemble. (Patrick Jarenwattananon/NPR)

Day two of the New Orleans Jazz and Heritage Festival has come and gone, and WBGO's Josh Jackson and I are reaching for that second cup of coffee. We both got up early to meet and interview folks behind HBO's Treme -- before a full day of Jazz Fest action. In the meanwhile, we ran down our experience of a rain-free Saturday.

Click here to download our recap, or stream it below.

Davell Crawford, next in a line of New Orleans piano whizzes. (Josh Jackson)

The scene at the Blues Tent was spilling out of the perimeter for an eagerly-anticipated set from Davell Crawford, a youngish, flamboyant piano professor and singer from the New Orleans tradition of "play everything."

I stepped out of hay-deprived mud and into the beautiful majesty of an inspiring gospel performance of Randy Newman's "Louisiana 1927," a tragically cathartic song about the Mississippi River floods and the federal response from President Coolidge. It's a familiar refrain at New Orleans Jazz and Heritage Festival every year, not to mention that has some added cultural currency in 21st-Century New Orleans.

Crawford is a star here, though he's yet to find his just desserts on the national stage. Pity that, because his overwhelmingly beautiful performance with two prominent piano players, Jon Cleary and Dr. John, was worth the price of admission alone.

Cleary, a Englishman with more than two decades of New Orleans blues and rhumba pianism under his belt, joined Crawford for Chris Kenner's "Something You Got" and Little Willie John's "Let Them Talk." Then Dr. John took the piano spot with Davell on keyboard for "Iko Iko," a song written and performed by Davell's grandfather, James "Sugar Boy" Crawford. (Who I happened to meet one day at WWOZ as a locksmith -- and not as one of the greatest purveyors of New Orleans rhythm and blues!).

If this doesn't sound orgiastic enough for a survey of New Orleans piano blues, all three men played Professor Longhair's "Tipitina" together. On the same piano.

Game. Set. Match.

Just squeeze me. (Josh Jackson)

South Louisiana makes plenty of music, and not all of it is exclusive to New Orleans.

Eunice is a small town west of the city, and it is the geographic and cultural heart of the traditional folk music of Cajun people in Louisiana. Aside from the surrounding rice patties and boudin joints of road-food lore, Cajun country is also home to a distinctive style of fiddle- and accordion-based music.

Mark Savoy, a master craftsman of button-style reed accordions common to Cajun music, owns the Savoy Music Center of Eunice. It is ground zero for this sound. Every Saturday, the center hosts a jam session; this year, they brought it to the New Orleans Jazz and Heritage Festival.

Crowds were unabashedly two-stepping in the wet field surrounding the Sheraton Fais Do-Do stage, as members of the Pine Leaf Boys joined community elders playing fiddles and slack key guitars. It was a close-up view of community music-making at its finest.

A few participants of the Savoy Music Center of Eunice jam session. (Josh Jackson)

Washboard Chaz's homemade instrument, opening to the enormous Acura Stage. (Josh Jackson)

A funny thing happened on the way to New Orleans Jazz And Heritage Festival on Saturday: it stopped raining. The looming tornado watch and 80% chance of precipitation for the city subsided by day's end, and the music continued uninterrupted.

Of course, there was plenty of mud from the preceding day's oversaturation. I sloshed my way through the photo pit at the Acura main stage for a chance to see Tin Men, a trio of washboard, sousaphone and guitar that bends the street-busking aesthetic into a sophisticated, countryfied version of New Orleans music.

Chaz Leary, his middle and ring fingers pressed inside metal thimbles, played his handmade washboard, an instrument that includes two cans and a hotel clerk bell. Together with Matt Perrine and Alex McMurray, two members of the defunct-but-beloved local band, Royal Fingerbowl, Tin Men opened what had to be their largest stage performance ever. Throngs of people had already set up camp here, in anticipation of the Simon and Garfunkel set that would close the festival in another seven hours.

Would this music translate to such a diffuse environment?

The bass drum of the Treme Brass Band, commanded by Uncle Lionel Batiste. (Josh Jackson)

HBO's new dramatic series, Treme, must have a glow effect. The pilot episode prominently featured the Treme Brass Band, and that has likely introduced the band to a whole new audience.

I say this because Economy Hall was uncharacteristically packed by noon. People were there to see the largest contingency of the Treme Brass Band I have witnessed in some time. More than a dozen musicians were playing the traditional music of New Orleans. People were second-lining through the aisles, and joy was abundant. The skies were beginning to clear.

The bass drummer, Uncle Lionel Batiste, had plenty of time on his hands. He willingly shared it with those in attendance while the band swelled in a polyphonic exuberance.

Jim James of My Morning Jacket, backed by his band and members of the Preservation Hall ensemble. (Patrick Jarenwattananon/NPR)

The folks who plan the New Orleans Jazz and Heritage Festival generally do well to pick big-name acts with connections to New Orleans. Which results in plenty of cameos for local musicians, as seen in arguably the three most popular names on Saturday's bill: My Morning Jacket, Drake and Simon & Garfunkel.

Jim James, the front man for beyond-Southern-rock band My Morning Jacket, recorded with New Orleans' Preservation Hall Jazz Band for a benefit compilation released earlier this year. He'll also appear with the Preservation ensemble on Sunday of the first weekend, and his band also sat in at Preservation Hall itself on Saturday evening.

But he volleyed back into their court for the finale sequence of MMJ's set at the Gentilly Stage. After the schizophrenic "Evil Urges," he invited the entire Preservation Hall Jazz Band on stage for several songs. The music sounded little like early jazz, but the extra instrumentation -- horns, percussion, piano -- added textures crucial to pulling off the tunes performed. On their penultimate number, Al "Carnival Time" Johnson came on stage to sing the hit that became his calling card. And for the last tune, the familiar horn riffs of Curtis Mayfield's "Move On Up" -- and James' ferocious energy -- made for a satisfying cover.

More photography and reportage, after the jump.

The teen actor turned Young Money affiliate, Drake. (Patrick Jarenwattananon/NPR)

Halfway across the Fairgrounds, the Canadian actor-turned-rapper Drake was holding court among a crowd of, largely, young women. Songs from his mixtape So Far Gone made him something of a young heartthrob; plus, they helped him formally ink a deal with New Orleans' Cash Money Records. He also owes much to the immensely popular New Orleans rapper Lil Wayne, who took him into his Young Money crew and is audibly the biggest influence on Drake's delivery. To Drake's credit, he called Weezy a "big brother" while on stage, and New Orleans his "second home."

Drake's existence is being more-or-less bankrolled by his New Orleans godfathers, so it was only natural that Birdman made a guest appearance. The Cash Money CEO, aka the 5 Star Stunna, is a recording artist too: he has a new song called "4 My City" featuring Drake and Wayne.

Birdman, co-founder of Cash Money Records. (Patrick Jarenwattananon/NPR)

Finally, Simon and Garfunkel finished their set at the main Acura stage in front of what appeared to be a sea of tens of thousands. It was nearly futile attempting to push toward the herd, so I only saw enough of the set to make my 18-year-old self proud. I did see trumpeter Terence Blanchard's pianist and drummer (Fabian Almazan and Kendrick Scott, respectively) watching from the crowd, though. That should have been a tipoff: reports have it that the songwriter duo brought on Blanchard, clarinetist Dr. Michael White and zydeco man Rockin Dopsie, Jr. for a finale on "Cecilia."

Katey Red acted as something of a hypewoman during the brief bounce music showcase. (Patrick Jarenwattananon/NPR)

On the surface, they couldn't be more different. A gender-bending rap trio making bass-heavy, repetitive music with little emphasis on lyrics and all attention to sexualized danceability. A Latin jazz band led by a harpist with a Honduran violinist and several Garifuna hand percussionists.

But on day two of the New Orleans Jazz and Heritage Festival, they both featured serious booty shaking.

The Bounce Extravaganza, featuring Sissy Nobby, Big Freedia and Katey Red, got off to a late start due to miscommunication about a near-cancellation due to weather. But the three openly queer stars of New Orleans' distinct rap subgenre got off a few tremendously booming, thumping songs in a limited set: Freedia controlling, Sissy shaking, Katey hyping. And, befitting of bounce music, they brought along a dancer to exhibit the genre's core move. It looks something like this:

Later in the day, on the Lagniappe stage, New Orleans harpist Patrice Fisher put together an attractive multicultural mashup.

Interested as she is in much of the music of Latin America, a trip to Honduras brought her in contact with a star violinist in Angel Rios, and a number of drummers from an indigenous Garifuna community. She wrested them all together, with other musicians too, for her Jazz Fest set.

With this ensemble, Fisher's technique is not the main draw in the way that Edmar Castaneda virtuosically plays Latin jazz on the harp. It doesn't have to be, with four percussionists (one who sings and chants), star soloists and a full, pulsating band. They are many; they are rhythmic. And on one song, the ensemble was joined by a dancer whose name I didn't catch. After some vigorous posterior strutting, Rios leapt up to join her.

Duet in dance. (Patrick Jarenwattananon/NPR)

Two different sonic worlds and social communities to match. But both like to move below the waist -- something the rest of us can all relate to as well.