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Imagine the Great Meadow at Fort Mason, nestled below a cypress-crowned hilltop, looking out at the Golden Gate Bridge and the foothills of Mount Tam drifting in and out of fog and low clouds across a bay flecked with an armada of sailboats. Now imagine it with live music. That is undoubtedly the vision that appealed to the organizers of the first ever Festival of the Golden Gate, the [tag]Foggfest[/tag], held this past weekend: spectacular bay views, good food and drink, and a varied mix of [tag]great music[/tag].

The bands covered a lot of ground, musically speaking, from the brash energy of The Donnas, to a classy Sunday morning gospel set by the Blind Boys of Alabama, from the infectious Venezuelan disco of Los Amigos Invisibles to the urban neo-soul of Leeta James. The smaller stages featured a variety of lesser know musicians as well as daily performances by the Vau de Vire society, doing their own particular brand of Circque du Soleil-meets-the-North Beach acrobatics. And that?s without even mentioning the headliners, but let?s mention them, too.

Saturday?s show was sparsely attended, as the lineup was stacked toward a Sunday crowd. This was a mixed blessing: the crowd energy was lacking due to its small size, but it was easy to get a seat or a place to stand right up by the stage. And since the musicians were being paid whatever the crowd size, it didn?t seem to affect the music.

The highlight of Saturday?s music was Brian Setzer. He?s been through his share of musical changes since he burst on the scene with the Stray Cats, a minimalist rockabilly trio. At the far end of the spectrum from that was the Brian Setzer Orchestra.

This time he brought a four-piece band called Brian Setzer and the Nashvillains, featuring his long time drummer, a truly flashy stand-up bass player, and a fine barrelhouse, honky-tonk piano player. Oh, and Brian Setzer, of course, with his signature blistering rockabilly guitar. This was probably the most fun performance of the entire weekend, infectiously rump-shaking from beginning to end. The small crowd didn?t deter him in the least. He had a blast.

Sunday was better attended, assumedly due to the drawing power of James Brown, but there was plenty of other good music before it got to him. One act in particular deserves to be singled out.

Dr. John is a New Orleans fixture, as integral a part of its rich musical culture as The Meters and Big Chief Jolly, and one of the few people on earth who can get away with wearing a bright orange suit. His band, most from the Lower Ninth Ward of New Orleans (which translates into ?owners of sodden, worthless shells of houses?), call themselves the Lower 9 Eleven, though only four of them traveled with him on this gig.

The good doctor scored the weekend?s largest spontaneous outburst of applause when he introduced a song by saying ?I?d like to dedicate this one to all the goddamned politicians who didn?t do a damn thing for the people of New Orleans. They still haven?t did nothin?. I don?t know if y?all read the news. They pulled 2,500 bodies out of Claiborne Avenue. Some of them were drowning victims. Most were bullet-riddled taxpaying citizens. This is for them.? Whereupon he and the band launched into a minor-key, New Orleans street funeral version of ?When the Saints Go Marching In.? That was his only real reference to the Katrina disaster, but it was sufficiently venom-laced for the crowd to roar.

Mostly what Dr. John served up was a healthy serving of his inimitable style of good old New Orleans funk: punchy, clean and flavored with the rhythms of the bayou. This one was about the music, more than about danceability or showmanship, and the music was excellent.
The headliner, and the show?s final act, was James Brown, or to be more precise ?The James Brown Experience.? Twenty strong, it included eleven band members?the Soul Generals, in white pants, black cummerbunds and red jackets?six backup singers, two of whom sang lead on a couple of songs, their own MC, and two gratuitous dancers who could have tried out as cheerleaders for any NFL team.

James Brown may no longer be ?the hardest working man in show business,? but he?s a consummate showman, and knows how to work around the restrictions of his age. And the man definitely knows rhythm: the band featured three drummers, two bass players and three guitarists who played rhythm most of the time. Not many bands tour with an eight-man rhythm section.

Mr. Brown himself was in fine voice, and if he didn?t do quite as much of his trademark razzle-dazzle footwork, and if his scream before ?I feel good!? was an echo of its former self, it was easily forgiven. The band was great, James Brown can still play an audience like a master, and the music had the crowd dancing from beginning to end. What more can you ask from a concert in the park?

The Festival of the Golden Gate may have showed some signs of its first-ever status, but the music was not one of them, and based on the music one can only hope the Foggfest is here to stay.

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