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    Jean Knight, Who Struck Platinum With ‘Mr. Big Stuff,’ Dies at 80

    Her anthem of female strength topped the Billboard R&B chart and reached No. 2 on the pop chart in 1971. Its appeal has endured.Jean Knight, a soul singer whose memorable single “Mr. Big Stuff,” a brassy anthem of female strength, rose to No. 1 on Billboard’s rhythm and blues chart in 1971, died on Wednesday in Tampa, Fla. She was 80.Her death, in a hospital, was confirmed by Mona Giamanco, a publicist for Ms. Knight’s family. She did not specify the cause.The gutsy narrator of “Mr. Big Stuff,” which was released on the Memphis-based Stax label, tells a wealthy ladies’ man — with his “fancy clothes” and “a big fine car” — that she will never love him:Mr. Big StuffWho do you think you are?Mr. Big StuffYou’re never gonna get my love.When she sang “Mr. Big Stuff” on the television show “Soul Train,” Ms. Knight exhibited the narrator’s disdain for the wealthy man in her facial gestures and in the way she defiantly planted her hand on her right hip and wagged her right index finger. But her strong voice softened when she sang that she would rather have a “poor guy that has a love that’s true.”Ms. Knight received a Grammy Award nomination for best female R&B vocal performance (Aretha Franklin won for “Bridge Over Troubled Water”), and “Mr. Big Stuff” was nominated for best R&B song (Bill Withers won for “Ain’t No Sunshine”).“Mr. Big Stuff,” written by Carrol Washington, Ralph Williams and Joseph Broussard, topped Billboard’s R&B chart and rose to No. 2 on the magazine’s Hot 100. It was also certified double platinum for selling at least two million units.The music historian John Broven, the author of “Rhythm and Blues in New Orleans” (1978), said in an email that “Mr. Big Stuff” “marked the end of the Golden Age of New Orleans R&B and helped to kick-start the city’s funky soul era.”He added, “It was also remarkable for being recorded on the same day as an earlier No. 1 R&B hit, ‘Groove Me,’ by another New Orleans artist, King Floyd, by talented producer Wardell Quezergue” at a time when “New Orleans was suffering from a dearth of big hits.”In 2002, before singing “Mr. Big Stuff” at the New Orleans Jazz & Heritage Festival, Ms. Knight told the audience that the royalties she received from it had helped sustain her financially.“‘Mr. Big Stuff’ is better for me now than 31 years ago,” she said. “All I have to do is sit at home and wait for the mailman.”It would be her only major hit, but it had a long afterlife. It can be heard on the soundtracks of numerous movies and TV shows. It has been sampled by Heavy D, Eazy-E and John Legend.Ms. Knight at the New Orleans Jazz & Heritage Festival in 2003. She was a regular at the festival and last appeared there in 2016.David Redfern/Getty ImagesMs. Knight was born Jean Audrey Caliste on Jan. 26, 1943, in New Orleans. Her father, Louis, was a storekeeper, and her mother, Florence (Edwards) Caliste, was a homemaker.After graduating from high school, Ms. Knight sang at a cousin’s New Orleans bar. In 1965, she recorded a version of Jackie Wilson’s hit 1960 song “Doggin’ Around” as a demo. That led to a contract with the Jet Star/Tribe record label. Around that time, she changed her surname to Knight, because she believed that Caliste was difficult to pronounce.She earned money in the 1960s as a baker’s assistant at two New Orleans universities.After she recorded “Mr. Big Stuff,” according to a tribute to Ms. Knight on the Stax Museum website, the song was shopped to national labels, but each entreaty was rejected — until “Groove Me” became a hit and “a producer at Stax Records remembered Knight’s recording of ‘Mr. Big Stuff’ and released it.”Ms. Knight had another hit single in 1971, “You Think You’re Hot Stuff,” which rose to No. 19 on the Billboard R&B chart and No. 57 on the Hot 100. Fourteen years later, her cover of the zydeco musician Rockin’ Sidney’s novelty song “My Toot Toot,” recorded for the Mirage label, peaked at No. 50 on the Hot 100 and No. 59 on the R&B chart.Ms. Knight graduated from nursing school in the 1980s and was a licensed practical nurse for about 15 years. She also continued to perform around New Orleans, but she was displaced from her home by Hurricane Katrina in 2005 and lived in a FEMA trailer for about six months.She was a board member of the Louisiana Music Commission and was inducted into the Louisiana Music Hall of Fame in 2007.Ms. Knight was a regular at the New Orleans Jazz & Heritage Festival, last appearing there in 2016. Its producer and director, Quint Davis, said she had been integral to the event.“Jean Knight is a core artist in R&B, certainly in New Orleans and Gulf Coast R&B,” Mr. Davis said in a phone interview. “She wasn’t only a singer and artist; she was a performer who knew how to reach the crowd and work it.”She is survived by her son, Emile Commedore; four grandchildren; and three great-grandchildren. Her marriages to Thomas Commedore and Earl Harris ended in divorce.During her performance at the 2007 festival, Ms. Knight told the story behind “Mr. Big Stuff.” First she sang its melody as originally written; then she demonstrated how she had changed it.“That ain’t got no bite to it,” she recalled telling one of the songwriters, in response to which he said, “Jean, everybody knows how sassy you are” and encouraged her to alter it.“It worked — in one take, she insisted,” The New York Times quoted her as saying. And when the song is played, she added, “The checks come to me.” More

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    Bob Jones, Behind-the-Stage Force at Newport Festivals, Dies at 86

    For decades he helped shape Rhode Island’s venerable folk and jazz events, presenting stars and unknowns alike. One colleague called him a “test pilot of jazz.”Bob Jones, who began as a volunteer at the Newport Folk Festival in the early 1960s before rapidly gaining the trust of its impresario, George Wein, and going on to produce the event over two decades, died on Aug. 14 in hospice care in Danbury, Conn. He was 86.His daughter Radhika Jones said the cause was complications of dementia.Mr. Jones spent a half-century with the folk festival, held every summer in Rhode Island, as well as with its companion, the Newport Jazz Festival, and other events produced by Mr. Wein. He was there when Bob Dylan outraged purists by going electric at the 1965 folk festival, and he helped persuade Mr. Wein to resurrect the festival in 1985 after a 16-year hiatus.In his autobiography, “Myself Among Others: A Life in Music” (with Nate Chinen, 2003), Mr. Wein, who started the jazz festival in 1954 and the folk version in 1959, called Mr. Jones “an indispensable member of the hierarchy of Festival Productions,” his company.Mr. Jones in 1995 with George Wein, the producer of the Newport festivals. Mr. Wein called Mr. Jones “an indispensable member of the hierarchy of Festival Productions.”Collection of George WeinLike many of the people who worked for Mr. Wein, who died in 2021, Mr. Jones performed a variety of tasks for the folk and jazz festivals. Early on, he was in charge of arranging housing for performers and getting them to the stage on time.“Our closest call this year was Miles Davis,” he told The Newport Daily News in 1966. “He arrived at the field less than 10 minutes before he was to appear onstage.”For two years in the 1960s, Mr. Jones traveled around the South and Canada in search of new talent for the folk festival with the folklorist and mandolin player Ralph Rinzler.“They found these people who weren’t in the music business, who were playing on back porches and at house parties,” said Rick Massimo, author of “I Got a Song: A History of the Newport Folk Festival” (2017). “What still reverberates today is how they helped rediscover Cajun music, which wasn’t well known or appreciated outside Louisiana.”Mr. Jones and Mr. Rinzler’s roadwork led to an infusion of artists at the 1964 folk festival, including the singer and songwriter Jimmy Driftwood, the banjo player Frank Proffitt, the balladeer Almeda Riddle, the bottleneck guitarist and blues singer Mississippi Fred McDowell and the fiddler and singer Glen Ohrlin.Mr. Jones was also the road manager for international tours, arranged by Mr. Wein, that featured Thelonious Monk, Dave Brubeck and Duke Ellington in the 1960s and ’70s and Sarah Vaughan in the ‘80s.“Bob was an intelligent and low-key person who was unfazed by chaos and worked really well with artists,” Mr. Chinen, the editorial director of the public radio station WRTI in Philadelphia, said in a phone interview. “So you can imagine he was the right type of person to take Monk around the world.”Robert Leslie Jones was born on May 11, 1937, in Boston. His father, Edward, was an electrician, and his mother, Florence (Foss) Jones, was a homemaker.He entered Boston University’s junior college in 1956 and received his associate arts degree two years later, around the time he moved with his sister Helen into an apartment above Cafe Yana, one of the coffeehouses at the heart of the Boston-Cambridge area’s folk music scene.He was intrigued by the music, and, having some talent, began performing, favoring Woody Guthrie songs like “Do Re Mi.” He also took on the background role of organizing hootenannies, and found he enjoyed it.He withdrew from Boston University’s bachelor’s degree program in 1960 and was soon drafted into the Army; a conscientious objector, he served stateside as an Army medic. After his discharge, he continued to play music in the Boston area.In 1964, he was featured, along with Phil Ochs, Lisa Kindred and Eric Anderson, on an album, “New Folks, Vol. 2,” released on the Vanguard label. Mr. Jones in performance at Club 47 in Cambridge, Mass., in 1968. He was a folk singer before he began his long career behind the scenes.Charlie FrizzellOnce he joined Mr. Wein’s staff in about 1965, Mr. Jones became involved in nearly everything in the Wein empire, including the Grande Parade du Jazz in Nice, France, and the Kool Jazz Festivals — stadium shows around the country that he ran from 1976 to 1985 as technical producer from a base in Cincinnati.In 1985, Mr. Jones became the top producer of the Newport Folk Festival, which had been dormant since 1969, following the gate-crashing that had disrupted that year’s jazz festival, when rock acts like Led Zeppelin and Sly and the Family Stone joined the bill. The jazz festival moved to New York City in 1972, where it continued under various names for three decades. (Mr. Wein brought jazz back to Newport in 1981, but the folk festival did not revive as quickly.)In his book, Mr. Wein credited Mr. Jones — with part-time help from his daughters, Radhika and Nalini — with helping to restore the folk festival to life. Asked what she and her sister, both teenagers at the time, had done, Radhika Jones, the editor in chief of Vanity Fair, said, “My guess is that George saw that a younger generation was enthused by it, which gave him a sense that this was something that would draw an audience.”The festival lineup that year included Joan Baez, Bonnie Raitt, Judy Collins, Dave Van Ronk, Doc and Merle Watson, Arlo Guthrie, and Ramblin’ Jack Elliott. A year later, the festival became a platform for a future star: the bluegrass singer and fiddler Alison Kraus, who was 15.Mr. Jones was long immersed in the jazz festival, as a producer and production manager, with Mr. Wein retaining the title of lead producer. He was also involved in the New Orleans Jazz & Heritage Festival, known as Jazz Fest, which Mr. Wein also produced.“Bob was like a test pilot of jazz, always smooth and calm,” Quint Davis, the current producer and director of Jazz Fest, said. “His brain was like a Univac. He had all the knowledge to make a show work.”Mr. Jones’s active involvement in production ended in early 2004 with a diagnosis of Guillain-Barre syndrome, which left him mostly paralyzed and breathing through a ventilator. He recovered enough to stay on as an adviser and mentor through 2009; his daughter Nalini, who had been his assistant, became an associate producer and helped run the folk festival from 2004 to 2009.When Mr. Jones was able to return to the Newport site in August 2004, he was carried onto the stage by a forklift.“He loved logistics,” Nalini Jones said, “and he looked delighted.”Mr. Jones at Newport in 2015. His active involvement in production ended in 2004 with a diagnosis of Guillain-Barre syndrome.Alan NahigianIn addition to his daughters, he is survived by his wife, Marguerite (Suares) Jones; his son, Christopher; three grandchildren; and his sisters, Helen von Schmidt and Marcia McCarthy.In 1984, Mr. Jones sang at Symphony Hall in Boston at a reunion concert of performers who had worked at the storied folk music venue Club 47. Billed as Robert L. Jones, he was on a program with Richie Havens, Tom Rush and others.“We were stunned,” Radhika Jones said. “I was 12 at the time, but we really didn’t realize he’d been a performer. He’d sung to us, and we listened to folk music at home.“It was really special to see him onstage. This was a part of him we started to discover.” More

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    How BayouWear Came to Represent New Orleans Style

    The colorful prints of BayouWear, born at a New Orleans jazz festival, reflect the city itself.It all started with a poster.In 1975, while in graduate school at Tulane University, Bud Brimberg had to come up with a project for a business class. His idea: have an artist in New Orleans create a poster as merchandise for a local music festival.That event, now known as the New Orleans Jazz & Heritage Festival, has become one of the city’s cultural staples. This year’s Jazz Fest, held over seven days in April and May, featured hundreds of performers across 14 stages. According to organizers, about 460,000 people (including staff and vendors) attended.Since 1975, each Jazz Fest has been commemorated with an artist-designed poster. Mr. Brimberg, 73, still oversees their production. And since 1981, he has also made printed Hawaiian shirts sold at the festival. After introducing the shirts, which also feature a unique motif each year, Mr. Brimberg started to offer other pieces, including shorts and dresses.The clothes, called BayouWear, have turned into a sort of unofficial uniform for Jazz Fest attendees and performers like Irma Thomas, a soul singer and a festival fixture known for taking the stage in a custom dress featuring the latest print.Bud Brimberg, who started selling printed clothes at Jazz Fest in 1981, wearing a jacket with BayouWear’s alligator print from 1999.Emily Kask for The New York Times“Whenever someone wears the clothing, the festival, along with the culture that created it, lives on,” said Quint Davis, the producer of Jazz Fest, who has helped plan the event since it began in 1970.Lisa Alexis, the director of the Office of Cultural Economy in New Orleans, said the BayouWear clothes have also come to represent the city itself. “Everyone looks forward to the design each year,” she said. “It just seems to give a very comprehensive representation and feel of our New Orleans culture.”On a Friday at this year’s festival, Ann Patteson, 78, from New Orleans, said she was wearing one of the 18 BayouWear shirts in her collection. For her, the shirts represent just about every Jazz Fest she has attended.Austin Hajna, a 36-year-old physician assistant from Washington, D.C., was one of dozens of people browsing the shirts ($59), shorts ($39), dresses ($59) and sleeveless tops ($49) at a tent selling BayouWear. Many pieces featured the 2023 print — an architectural motif inspired by buildings in the French Quarter — and there were lots of clothes from past festivals.Mr. Hajna, who had a drink in his hand, was wearing a blue shirt covered with green streetcars and turquoise palm trees, the 2015 print. He said it was one of two BayouWear shirts he owns, adding that he planned to buy a third that day, “right after a sip of this vodka.”Austin Hajna, center, wore a shirt with the 2015 BayouWear print while shopping at the brand’s merchandise tent at the festival.Emily Kask for The New York TimesFrom left, Zach Meredith in a shirt featuring BayouWear’s red beans and rice print from 1998; Paige Nelson Stypinski, in an alligator print; and Tyler Stypinski, in the architectural print introduced in 2023.Emily Kask for The New York TimesBen DeMarais, who attended Jazz Fest with his son this year, wore a shirt with BayouWear’s 2013 print featuring iris flowers and brass instruments.Emily Kask for The New York TimesJamel Banks at the festival’s BayouWear tent, wearing a shirt with the Pucci-inspired print from 2019.Emily Kask for The New York TimesJamel Banks, a 38-year-old engineer from Houston, was in line behind Mr. Hajna. His shirt featured a colorful Pucci-inspired print of a dancing man that was introduced in 2019. The shirts, he said, “feel very father-ish — but a cool dad.”“I’m ready for the matching shorts now,” Mr. Banks added, “and something for my girlfriend.”Though clothes with past BayouWear prints are still sold, certain designs are harder to find. Original samples and stock of the 2001 print — plates of sugar-dusted beignets next to mugs of cafe au lait — were destroyed during Hurricane Katrina, Mr. Brimberg said.BayouWear garments are made entirely of rayon, which Mr. Brimberg said he chose because it dries fast, hangs loose and displays colors more vividly than other fabrics. “The gradations were missing in cotton,” he said, zooming in on a photo of the 2003 print (a jumble of crawfish) to show how the color of the crustaceans faded from a deep orange into a pale coral.Mr. Brimberg — who grew up in Brooklyn and has the mannerisms, and accent, of Larry David — comes up with ideas for BayouWear prints himself before finding artists to help bring them to life. He said his references over the years have included pointillist and Cubist art, the brand Marimekko and the French glassmaker Lalique.The ideas for the prints themselves, he said, typically strike at random, often while he is roaming around New Orleans. The first print, in 1981, was inspired by a palm-tree-dotted shirt on a man playing an upright piano in that year’s Jazz Fest poster.Kathy Schorr, a textile artist in New Orleans who helped make BayouWear’s 2023 architectural print, said she loves how fluid the designs are. “You can’t tell what it is until you’re right up on it,” Ms. Schorr said. “They just look like a beautiful pattern from a distance.”The buttons on many BayouWear shirts are no less thoughtfully designed than the prints. To match certain motifs, Mr. Brimberg has had buttons custom made to look like tiny drums (for a percussion-themed print from 2016), guitar picks (for a print from 2006) and water-meter covers (for this year’s architectural print).For garments featuring this year’s architectural print, Mr. Brimberg had buttons made to recall water-meter covers. Emily Kask for The New York TimesThe 2015 streetcar print.Emily Kask for The New York TimesFor shirts featuring a yellow-eyed alligators from 1999, Mr. Brimberg had buttons made to look like the reptiles’ teeth. “I went down to the voodoo museum and bought some alligator teeth,” he recalled. “Then I took them to my dentist, since they were kind of ugly, and asked if he could do some cosmetic dentistry to polish them up. And I had that cast as a button.”At the opening day of this year’s Jazz Fest, Kayla Biskupovich, 26, from New Orleans, was wearing an alligator-print shirt over a dress covered in watermelon slices, the print from 2014. “This dress was my mom’s, she bought it the year this pattern came out,” said Ms. Biskupovich, who graduated recently from Louisiana State University.For a better fit, she tied knots at the dress’s back to tighten it. “I didn’t want to cut it, because that would be sacrilegious,” Ms. Biskupovich said.“I also wanted to wear the gators,” she added as she held out one of her shirt’s triangular white buttons. “Look at the teeth! Could you die?!” More