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I’m writing from JazzFests gone past.
And, no, I’m not referring to the New Orleans Jazz and Heritage Festival which took place earlier this month. I’m talking about the JazzFest that goes down in our neighborhood the Sunday before Memorial Day every year.
The name, of course, is in honor of my neighbor and consummate host, Jazz Johnston. I’ve said it before, but it bears repeating: Jazz’s legal name is Jazz, and he’s as cool as they come. Think Baloo from “The Jungle Book” in a pair of Chaco sandals and you’re getting close.
I can’t remember how we came up with the idea for this lakeside party, but naming the event was never a problem.
The first two JazzFests were everything we hoped for and more. Thanks to the Typsy Gypsy (another neighbor), we’ve always had great live music. The Typsy Gypsy’s real name is Marilyn Spencer, and she’s got a voice that rivals Stevie Nicks. Her band plays everything from classic rock to Miley Cyrus. I’ve even been known to break out the old guitar and sing a song or two myself.
For me, JazzFests signals the start of summer. By Memorial Day Weekend, school is either out or close enough to the end it doesn’t matter. We kick things off in the early afternoon. Kids swim on the beach. Pontoon boats pull up on the bank. There are food trucks and Porta Potties.
People come by the hundreds. No joke. Hundreds. Nobody sends invitations. Everything travels by word of mouth. The same way horseshoe and cornhole tournaments sprout up across the lawn. There’s no agenda, no itinerary. The day just blooms.
By nightfall, the bands have all finished their sets, but they’re not done yet. Not by a long shot. What follows is a real-life jam session. All the members of the different bands come together and start taking requests. I can strum and sing a little, but watching these real musicians (some of the best Arkansas has to offer, in my opinion) play live is truly inspiring.
Last year, the Typsy Gypsy’s drummer, a man named Troy who is now living on a sailboat in the Gulf somewhere, pulled me aside and said that the whole thing reminded him of a scene straight out of the Florida Keys.
As a boy who grew up listening to Jimmy Buffett cassettes, I really dug that. We’re a long way from the Emerald Coast or A1A, but we make do with what we have here in Arkansas, and what we have is pretty durn good.
If you’re reading this, then it’s the Sunday before Memorial Day, the day of the third annual JazzFest. I’m not going to list my address, but if you know somebody who knows somebody, or, if you happen to be cruising the banks of Lake Dardanelle and spot a gang of wannabe Parrot Heads dancing along with the Typsy Gypsy, then, by all means, come join the party.
| Books authored by Eli Cranor |
Broiler
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The troubles of two desperate families—one white, one Mexican American—converge rest in the ruthless underworld of an Arkansas chicken processing plant in this new thriller from the award-winning author of DON’T KNOW TOUGH.
Gabriela Menchaca and Edwin Saucedo are hardworking, undocumented employees at the Detmer Foods chicken plant in Springdale, Arkansas, just a stone’s throw away from the trailer park where they’ve lived together for seven years. While dealing with personal tragedies of their own, the young couple endures the brutal, dehumanizing conditions at the plant in exchange for barebones pay.
When the plant manager, Luke Jackson, fires Edwin to set an example for the rest of the workers—and to show the higher-ups that he’s ready for a major promotion—Edwin is determined to get revenge on Luke and his wife, Mimi, a new mother who stays at home with her six-month-old son. Edwin’s impulsive action sets in motion a devastating chain of events that illuminates the deeply entrenched power dynamics between those who revel at the top and those who toil at the bottom.
From the nationally bestselling and Edgar Award–winning author of Don’t Know Tough and Ozark Dogs comes another edge-of-your-seat noir thriller that exposes the dark, bloody heart of life on the margins in the American South and the bleak underside of a bygone American Dream. |
Don't Know Tough
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In Denton, Arkansas, the fate of the high school football team rests on the shoulders of Billy Lowe, a volatile but talented running back. Billy comes from an extremely troubled home: a trailer park where he is terrorized by his mother’s abusive boyfriend. Billy takes out his anger on the field, but when his savagery crosses a line, he faces suspension.
Without Billy Lowe, the Denton Pirates can kiss their playoff bid goodbye. But the head coach, Trent Powers, who just moved from California with his wife and two children for this job, has more than just his paycheck riding on Billy’s bad behavior. As a born-again Christian, Trent feels a divine calling to save Billy—save him from his circumstances, and save his soul.
Then Billy’s abuser is found murdered in the Lowe family trailer, and all evidence points toward Billy. Now nothing can stop an explosive chain of violence that could tear the whole town apart on the eve of the playoffs. |
Ozark Dogs
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In this Southern thriller, two families grapple with the aftermath of a murder in their small Arkansas town.
After his son is convicted of capital murder, Vietnam War veteran Jeremiah Fitzjurls takes over the care of his granddaughter, Joanna, raising her with as much warmth as can be found in an Ozark junkyard outfitted to be an armory. He teaches her how to shoot and fight, but there is not enough training in the world to protect her when the dreaded Ledfords, notorious meth dealers and fanatical white supremacists, come to collect on Joanna as payment for a long-overdue blood debt.
Headed by rancorous patriarch Bunn and smooth-talking, erudite Evail, the Ledfords have never forgotten what the Fitzjurls family did to them, and they will not be satisfied until they have taken an eye for an eye. As they seek revenge, and as Jeremiah desperately searches for his granddaughter, their narratives collide in this immersive story about family and how far some will go to honor, defend—or in some cases, destroy it. |
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