It is early evening and I have just finished settling in at the Holiday Inn for a reprise of the Montréal Jazz Festival I covered last year. Couldn't wait to do it again.

Without a set schedule at this point, I head for what I found last year was a sure thing: the Carrefour General Motors stage at the corner of Maisonneuve and Jeanne-Mance. This is where the blues is showcased, but only instrumentally. They have just announced another performer, whose name I do not know - Johnny A. - but the level of excitement, engendered by a sense of discovery is what made this spot so attractive to me last year. A.'s ensemble features him on guitar - a Les Paul sunburst with a Bixby tremolo tailpiece - a bassist playing electric and a drummer. They have a nice, clean sound, with the occasional fuzz; but when he employs the latter, it is sparingly and it works. He has 'em bopping or bobbing their heads, a healthy-sized crowd, assembled at a street corner pub, or standing just below the stage. Some just stand and stare. His music is anti stand-and-stare. I reckon those latter to be comatose.

The highlight of my visit this time is the Norah Jones concert at the Club Soda on St. Laurent, just around the corner from the main doings at the festival. I first heard a track from her debut album on WFUV, a National Public Radio station, based at Fordham University in The Bronx, which plays an eclectic mix of musical genres. I loved the cut and bought the album: "Come Away with Me." There is not a mediocre track on it. Jones was signed by Blue Note Records, one of the few pure jazz labels that have weathered the scourges of time, bottom lines, and, of course, changing tastes. It sold a half million in a few months, a phenomenal accomplishment for the genre. Problem with Jones is she appears to be genre-less. Daughter of famed sitarist Ravi Shankar and an American mother, she has spent most of her 23 years in Texas, has a bit of a twang, a totally unique singing voice, plays piano laden with country and blues influences and incorporates songs from those genres into her act, interpreting them with her unique style.

Her band includes a talented bassist, Lee Alexander, who has written a number of songs in the repertoire; and guitarist, Adam Levy, who also contributes to the writing and carries much of the lead during breaks. When she does one of her songs from the album, "Nightingale," I cannot help but wonder how someone so young could craft something so beautiful. The audience has given her and her band a rousing welcome when they walked on, then will not let them off the stage until they've played two encores, the second one with Jones soloing. "We've played all the songs we know," she says, apologetically. It is enough. Leave 'em lookin' for more. I, for one, am lookin' for more, much more. Eight months later, Jones and her ensemble become one of the most honored acts in the history of the Grammy Awards. Once again, at this wonderful festival, I feel like I have been in on the ground floor of something a-building.

Summer Festival in Québec City

The fact that the Montréal Jazz Festival and the Festival D'Été de Québec, as in Québec Summer Festival, are virtually back-to-back in early July, with a bit of overlap, makes it easy to catch some of both, especially if you choose to drive. The drive on Canada 20 from Montréal to Québec City is an easy haul along super highway, most of it flatlands, some cultivated in wheat or produce. The Pont Pierre Laporte over the St. Lawrence into Québec City takes you to the heart of the business district with the boxy glass structures that make those sections of major cities so uninteresting. However, as you proceed east on Laurier, one of the main drags, the city begins to reclaim its character, the charm that has made it one of Canada's most appealing. Handsome, older residences along Grande Allée Ouest, then Est, morph into restaurants, outdoor cafés, boutiques, galleries, small hotels most dramatically at the point where the street changes nomenclature to Rue Saint Louis. It is a pleasant experience to take lunch, an afternoon tea or cold drink break, or dinner at just about any of the shoulder-to-shoulder eateries. There are even Burger King and McDonald's on opposite sides of the street, nicely nestled into antique buildings, each with legitimate outdoor cafés.

With the waning of the sun, comes the increase in volume, first with the thickening crowds, strolling about in Canada's version of the passeggiata, then the music emanating from the outdoor venues. Unlike other festivals, where the headliners play strictly the indoor, tickets-only arenas, at the Québec Festival the top acts play the outdoor venues. A small, metal pass, about 3/4s the size of a credit card, gets you onto the grounds virtually everywhere and costs about $10 US. It has a neat little red light built in that blinks when you turn it on and adds an interesting effect to nighttime audiences.

My first stop was Scène Metro, opposite a stone battlement on a rise just above where a hill slopes down to the river, to hear Fairport Convention, the Irish band that has been generating a Celtic folk influenced rock sound for more than 35 years and launching careers of the likes of Richard Thompson. They do a series of numbers featuring a weepy violin that is, for me, a nice introduction into an evening I am sure will become more energetic. That is certainly the case at my next stop.

Heat and humidity, much of it augmented by wall-to-wall humanity, is near stifling at L'Emprise Bar in the Clarendon Hotel on Rue Des Jardins, a turn or two past Chateau Frontenac, the immense edifice that dominates the old city area. The indoor climatic elements add immeasurably to the heat and humidity already grown oppressive in the region, much of it held captive by a pillow of gray smog the result of intense wildfires burning in the north of the province. The atmosphere is . . . perfect for the heat-charged rhythms and spicy melodies of Rene LaCaille and his ensemble from Réunion Island in the Indian Ocean off southern Africa. I can barely squeeze in the door at the overcrowded hotel bar, then can't keep from getting into the zone, a mélange of African drum beats with Latin colorings, something primal. It is an odd contrast, just off the lobby of a sedate-looking, European-style hotel. After a couple of sets, the addition of guitarist Bob Brozman brings even more melodic accents to the charged atmosphere of the room.

I end my evening with a cold beer, under a canopy at the far end of the Scène Molson Dry, listening to a young man named Remy Shand, a Canadian favorite from Manitoba, doing his Motown thing. He accompanies his singing mostly on keyboard, with some guitar thrown in to demo his multi-instrument capabilities. He is backed by an accomplished guitarist, bass, drums and two back-up singers. His sound is so Stevie Wonder, I draw comfort in the sense that we can continue to create, recreate and/or embellish pop music genres, but its not just about creativity for its own sake; it's a matter of execution. Hell, maybe there is no place new to go, but so what? There's an old copper beech in my backyard. Time after time I've sat and watched the sun set behind it. Every time there are subtle nuances in the intensity of the light, the dance of tiny winged creatures in the beams, the molecular bounce of misty particles on humid nights. I never tire of the view, a boring sameness to the uninitiated. Art for arts sake to me.

It's early evening, up north, mid-summer, a little after 7, the sun still thinks it's mid-afternoon. The ambient light is still heavily under the influence of forest fires raging in the north of Québec province with such intensity the water bombs they are dropping on them are evaporating before they hit the ground. The light of what would otherwise have been a clear, cloudless day has settled into a smog whose intensity varies with the wind direction. Oddly, the effect is not unpleasant and I am feeling guilty in the pleasure I take in it. It's as if someone has spread a veil across the landscape. My vantage is a platform, maybe two stories above ground level at Scène Bell, where they have set up a buffet with surprisingly good cuisine. Scène Bell is the principal stage at the festival, a huge affair that dwarfs the performers, but is appropriate to the volume which generally rages at outdoor concerts. We are waiting for Big Joe Turner, a Memphis blues icon of long standing, once the bassist in B.B. King's band. In Big Joe's case, however, the canyonesque setting seems ill-suited to the music, something I have always associated with smoky-joint stuff, look-the-guitar-guy-in-the-eye, without the benefit of binoculars. This venue has Stones, The Who, Aerosmith written all over it. But the make-up of the crowd is telling, presenting a kind of VIP cast, success stories of a decade or more.

Beyond the stage, a hillside slopes to a stand of hardwoods, from this great distance I cannot tell what kind. A picnic table sits solitary, its horizontal surfaces defined in thin lines of sunlight. Hell, the scene is almost pastoral. Anomalies abound. I wait the bassist and his bluesmen with a sense of anticipation fused with positive energy. The bluesman show up, on time, at 8, start that great E-A-B7th progression. Works every time. The grounds are shaking; the temporary platform I'm on is literally quaking. What is it with white-collar white men, with our bejeweled ladies, that won't let us free ourselves from the primal sounds of this Afro-Hillbilly stuff? What is it that gets beneath our ribs and vibrates there and no amount of scratching can get it out?

I wander back to the Radisson Hotel in a night now gone black, totally exhausted.

Franco Folies in Montréal

Back in Montréal, late July, Franco Folies. The concentration is on French music both from the motherland and Québec, with a range of performers from other parts of the world: Brazil, Cuba, north Africa, among those I am interested in. Franco Folies 2002 is the 14th edition of same, attracting bands from all over, but predominantly North America and Europe. The emphasis on French music is alien to many of us in the English-speaking world, so my lack of unfamiliarity with these acts intensifies the sense of discovery. For any music lover, it is electric. Like its counterpart, the Montréal Jazz Festival, Franco Folies displays many more musical talents than anyone could possibly sample, so I scan the program for acts that may open some doorways to new music for me.

From my perch on the veranda outside the press room at the Hôtel Wyndham, I am besieged by the power cords of Phillipe Berghella, a Canadian vocalizing his Francophone compositions, while banging away on a Danelectro, the learner's guitar of 60s garage bands; now, I guess, max retro-funk appeal. His lead-guitarist is chiming in on an Epiphone knock-off of the Les Paul solid-body that is de rigueur in rock bands. Loud, muddled sounds. The crowd loves it. It's all about power. Duh.

I'm on this deck, two stories above the Place des Arts, sipping a cold Bud and building toward a dressing down from my dermatologist, as I bask in the sun of a beautiful mid-70-degree, late afternoon. The clouds portend a gloomier day tomorrow for this changeable weather I've come to expect in Montréal. But this is definitely right for a bask, and judging by the reaction of the young, appreciative crowd below, eating up the folk rock sounds of Phillipe Berghella the perfect weather for this entire setting.

Evening at the L'Intimité du Cabaret. I am in the balcony rimming the floor just above the stage, at a small table, sipping a scotch rocks, soda back, waiting to be transported, via Robert Charlebois and ensemble, to the French Cabaret scene pre-WWII, à la Django Reinhardt, the gypsy guitar legend; maybe even a touch of Stephane Grappelli on violin. The promo photo of Charlebois - all I have to go on - shows him with a vintage Gibson archtop slung down his back. I am mildly anticipatory, despite the terra incognita of the photo. The atmosphere speaks of possibilities. Candles glow red on each of the tables, small lamps rimming the balcony emit a magenta light, cigarette smoke rises in cobra-like columns from the floor below.

What I get, instead, in Charlebois is a kind of Quebecois Elvis, whose sextet has such a polished level of musicianship I quickly get into their groove. Charlesbois, himself, trades off guitars every other song, first accompanying only with rhythm chords and letting the man with the Fender Strat handle the heavy stuff. But, halfway through the set Charlebois launches into a killer break that quickly establishes for this audience why my recently seated tablemate seems surprised when I tell him I'd never heard of Charlebois and he responds with appropriately raised eyebrows. "He's a legend here in Québec."

I understand very little of the lyrics and as little of the inter-song banter, but the music quickly converts me and alters my preconceived mindset. I did, after all, grow up on Elvis. I almost forgive Charlebois his spoof on "musique Americain," where he sings only "uh-uh-oh" in various syllabic combinations and his lead guy plays on a 12-string half the size of a ukulele. I almost forgive him.

I end the night with a cappuccino, along with a dish of two scoops of ice-cream with chocolate syrup, sitting by the window of the Café Republique on Rue St. Catherine, with music washing over me from a wonderful Latin band, displaying their Cuban, Moroccan and French influences on the stage across the street. Music is everywhere, everywhere in this wonderful city on a warm summer night.

The following night, I catch Paulo Ramos and his band playing at the Spectrum theatre/club. He plays guitar and sings an anthology of bassa nova and samba tunes, with his band acceding to the heavy influence of African drums, Paulo trading solos with a duo of female singers. Then I head outside to catch Sylvie Paquette and her combo, playing French folk/rock/pop. When she lights into a rockin' version of a song called "Donné Moi," I do my best to hold out despite a sudden squall, but the rain quickly becomes too intense for anyone save a person intent upon taking a shower with clothes on. I recede into the Wyndham, a mere half-block away and decide to call it a night. Music, however, wafts up to my third floor room from a stage on the street just below. I take a look out before turning in. The steady rain has driven away all but a few stragglers, most of them huddled under the overhangs of the hotel and other nearby buildings, but the music plays on into the night, finally shutting off, like a faucet at exactly 12:38 a.m., according to the red numerals on the clock radio.

Despite the occasional bouts with a bit of bad weather, impossible to avoid during a multi-day festival, taking place, for the most part, outdoors, attendance at the 2002 event was estimated as 765,000, an increase of 24% from the previously year, of this increasingly popular event.

During these music fests, I adopt a two-meals-and-a-late-snack gastronomical model: a late breakfast, a late lunch and a night-time snack - e.g. ice-cream and a cappuccino. My favorite place for breakfast is the Ace Deli at the Holiday Inn on Sherbrooke, where the menu's No.1 is two eggs (for me, over easy) with ham, two pancakes, fruit, thick slices of bread and jams. Can never resist that combo and since I've eliminated one of three meals, I can pig out. The best late lunch I had was at Pino, an Italian restaurant on the corner of Crescent and Maisonneuve. Crescent between St. Catherine and Maisonneuve is barricaded off into a promenade with wall-to-wall restaurants, i.e. al fresco heaven, obviously designed for the summertime tourist trade. But, hey, I'm looking for a bellyful, not nuanced nouvelle cuisine. At Pino, the linguini neri con gamberi e pomodori secchi (as in black linguini with shrimp and sun-dried tomatoes) fills the bill perfectly.

Harvest Time Means Jazz & Blues in New Brunswick

"We look for jazz and blues acts that pair up well with our audience," says Dave Seabrook, marketing chair for the Harvest Jazz and Blues Festival in Fredericton, New Brunswick. "But we also like to explore new possibilities." He sites as an example the first time he suggested a Latin band to the program committee. "They were resistant at first, but finally agreed. It was only then that I added they did no songs in English."

Since Fredericton was off the beaten path and away from major cities, the festival organizers had to offer additional reasons for performers to come. "We assign each band a host," Seabrook says. "The hosts pick them up at the airport, show them around, even take them to dinner. We have built a reputation for hospitality. One performer even got married in the backyard of his host's house."

The musicians that come for the Harvest Jazz and Blues Festival may not be household names, but they are definitely premier performers. For example, Kenny "Blues Boss" Wayne is rockin' the Fujitsu Mojo Tent with his blend of Big Joe Turner vocals and Fats Domino keyboarding, to the delight of both '50s/'60s aficionados and a much younger audience. For his final number he does a conga-line version of "When the Saints Go Marching In," while snaking throughout the tent, a theatric that veritably begs an encore. A nice contrast is the Scott Marshall band in the River Room at the Lord Beaverbrook Hotel, an intimate bar that is perfect for this drummer-less bass, piano and horns trio, Marshall on the latter. It is the perfect ambiance for soft jazz and a cocktail to bring the late evening to a close.

The following night at the Bud Lite Blues Tent, we are treated to back-to-back takes on that great and influential musical genre. First up is The Downchild Blues Band, a Canadian ensemble, which, for more than 30 years, has been pounding out their Blues Brothers type bigger band sound. In fact, Donnie Walsh, the band's leader and lone remaining member of the original band was the inspiration for his friend Dan Akroyd's character in the Blues Brothers skits on Saturday Night Live and the subsequent movie. They rock with numbers like "Flip, Flop and Fly" and "I've Got Everything I Need (Almost)."

A real treat for me is Sonny Landreth, a Louisiana born and bred guitarist whose stylings are so innovative and slide work so dazzling he needs only a bass and drums for support.

By the third day, when I feel I will have ODed on new music and will just be going through the paces, I pass the large outdoor deck at The Capital pub, soaked in late afternoon sunshine where the Mark Green Band is wailing away on electric blues and it is impossible to keep on walking. The end of their set leaves me sated I think and ready for a quiet evening of soft jazz, but passing the Fujitsu Mojo Tent is equally attractive, the solo, acoustic sounds of Guy Davis adding that plaintive accent to deep southern black blues. No better luck trying to slip by the Bud Lite Blues Tent, where the Showcase Winner Flat Top quartet is blowing away the audience with its synchronized covers of country blues standards and some rocking originals.

The music is everywhere in the afternoon. I can't walk half a block without some collection of instruments in play. There is so much talent out there, below that despised and vastly overrated radar screen, which filters most of what we are exposed to through a mesh of mediocrity. This background world of music festivals is one of the great discoveries a music lover can make. Every town should have one. They are liberating, regenerating, invigorating, energizing - choose your own adjective(s). You'll have a head full of them - during those breaks between songs when you deign to let in anything but the music.

Tickets for individual shows range from freebies to $20 Canadian (with an exchange of about $1.50 Canadian per U.S. dollar). Passes for individual evenings range from $22-$34C and entitle you to all shows that particular date. The Ultimate Pass at $100C gets you into all shows throughout the festival, except the playhouse performances, which have reserved seating.

Fredericton is a clean and kempt town with its wonderfully diverse architecture and green spaces everywhere. With the St. John River forming the northern border of the civic center, beautiful water views are ever present. Walks along the river in the fresh, breezy afternoons are perfect for clearing your head and preparing you for the next round of nightly performances.

Restaurants are spotted throughout the downtown area where most of the festival venues are located. My favorite is Brewbakers, on King Street, right in the thick of things. The seafood offerings, in particular, are delicious, especially the tequila and lime scallops over whipped mushroom and garlic potatoes.

The Sheraton Inn is a great place to stay. It is just close enough to the heart of things - a 15-minute walk - but just far enough away to get you free of late night jams that go on until sunrise. Club Floor rooms are spacious and include all the modern electronic conveniences, including data hookups that allowed me to get connected to the Internet within minutes of unpacking.

Late night jams are held at the Farmers Market just off the downtown core. If you hang in past the crack of dawn, you will be able to partake of stalls, indoors and out, selling everything from an array of cheeses, plump red tomatoes and cut flowers, to jewelry, wood carvings and artworks in various media.

The place to take in serious art is the Beaverbrook Gallery, which showcases local artists in rotating exhibits and an impressive permanent collection that includes bequests from local families. A giant-sized Salvador Dali, titled "Santiago El Grande," after the patron saint of his native Spain, is hung in the main lobby. The massive painting is flanked by two portraits, both also by Dali, of Sir James and Lady Dunn, major benefactors of the gallery.

A wonderfully fulfilling side trip is Kings Landing, 20 minutes west of Fredericton and a trip back a century or two or three. This national treasure was aside to accommodate dwellings built by British Loyalists who fled to New Brunswick after the fall of the American colonies. Many of the dwellings, which stood close to the St. John River, would have been flooded with the building of a damn a number of years ago. Many of the former inhabitants were among the more well-heeled citizens of the province and a tour through their homes gives you a great sense of how they lived. The credo of the park is authenticity, which manifests itself in the costumes warn by the "family members" inhabiting the house. It's a challenge to get them to act out of character. The authenticity pervades the food they prepare over wood-fired hearths, even the farm animals that browse throughout, many of them selected because they are the last remnants of older breeds. A must stop is the old saw mill, where you can get a first-hand look at mechanical wizardry in action before the age of electricity. Don't miss lunch at the King's Head, where the bill of fare includes tasty appetizers and entrées of home-grown ingredients. The pies are to die for.

Contact links are for Fredericton, http://www.city.fredericton.nb.ca and New Brunswick, http://www.gnb.ca

Air Canada, by far the carrier with the most service to, from and throughout Canada, offers 500 nonstops between the U.S. and Canada alone. Recently voted the best airline in North America by frequent flyers, the airline offers connecting service to Fredericton via its Air Canada Jazz subsidiary. For information and reservations, call: 888/247-2262 or visit online at: www.aircanada.ca

Contact links and dates for this year's festivals are:
Montréal Jazz, http://www.montrealjazzfest.com, June 26-July 6;
Québec Summer Festival, http://www.infofestival.com, July 3-13;
Montréal's Franco Folies, http://www.francofolies.com, July 24-August 3;
Fredericton's Harvest Jazz & Blues Festival, http://www.harvestjazzandblues.com, September 10-14.
Holiday Inn, Montréal: http://www.ichotelsgroup.com/h/d/HI/hd/yuldt
Hôtel Wyndham, Montréal: http://www.wyndham.com/hotels/YULMH/main.wnt
Radisson Hotel, Québec City: http://radisson.com/hoteldirectory/hotelbio.jsp?hotelCode=PQQUECTY&origin=Hotel%20Directory&backURI=%2Freservation%2FhotelPreference.do%3FlocationUni%3D6055%26dno%3D04230304240310
Sheraton, Fredericton: http://www.starwood.com/sheraton/search/hotel_detail.html?propertyID=160
Beaverbrook Gallery, Fredericton: http://www.beaverbrookartgallery.org
Kings Landing, New Brunswick: http://www.kingslanding.nb.ca

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