A curated crawl through the Big Easy’s best jazz spots, one brass note at a time!
It’s mid-November in New Orleans, and the rain drapes the city in a soft, lingering beat—like the city itself has picked up a slow jazz tempo. I’m seated solo at Cafe Beignet in the French Quarter, powdered sugar from a beignet dusting my fingers, the bitter warmth of chicory coffee cutting through the chill. My itinerary, creased and hopeful, rests beside me, mapping out a day devoted entirely to jazz. Across the street, a guitarist strums a love song with such aching tenderness, the notes don’t just echo—they drift through the air like memories you forgot you were holding. The air hums with longing, and yet—I’m not sappy. I’m still. Entirely present. There’s a particular kind of happiness that only travel brings: when your senses are tuned, your heart open, and the city speaks in music. I realize, in New Orleans, you don’t chase the rhythm. The rhythm finds you.
With a raincoat draped over my shoulders and an umbrella poised like a statement accessory, I set out on the New Orleans Historic Music Tour—more than a walk, it’s a reverent glide through the beating heart of America’s most musical city. Congo Square marks our first stop, now nestled within Louis Armstrong Park. There’s a quiet reverence in the air, broken only by the soft rain and the calm, steady voice of our guide, David Higgins—his words drifting through the drizzle like a familiar old tune playing low on a record player.
Congo Square is more than a landmark—it’s the ancestral heartbeat of New Orleans music. David paints vivid scenes from the past, tracing how enslaved Africans, once allowed to gather here on Sundays, fused their ancestral beats with European harmonies. Afro-Caribbean beats met brass bands; field chants met church hymns. Syncopation. Improvisation. The alchemy of survival. Here, jazz wasn’t born gently—it erupted. Around 1895, the genre began to take shape from a swirl of influences: the laments of blues, the ragged joy of ragtime, the precision of military marches, and the soaring spirit of gospel. It grew from the grit of funeral processions and the rawness of brothel backrooms, when music offered both defiance and dignity in a time when doors were closed to freed Black men. Jazz, as David describes it, emerged as a radical language—one that took the tools of the master and transformed pain into poetry.
David himself is as much fun as the music he reveres—part storyteller, part musician, and all charisma, with a tempo that keeps the whole tour grooving. Not even the weather can dampen his enthusiasm—or ours. A New York native, he’s a writer, a self-taught musician who plays everything from the melodeon to the harmonica, and a composer whose work explores the deep, sometimes bruised beauty of Louisiana’s past. And then there’s his lineage: David is the son of Billy Higgins, the most recorded jazz drummer of the post-war era. It’s not just a tour. It’s a deeply personal offering—one artist guiding you through the footprints of another, beneath a gray New Orleans sky that somehow feels full of color.
David leads us through the heart of the French Quarter—or Vieux Carré, as it was once known—where the story of New Orleans first began in 1718. With its weathered balconies, gas lamps flickering in the rain, and streets that seem to hum underfoot, this historic district feels less like a neighborhood and more like a living poem. Here, people don’t just walk—they glide, twirl, and sometimes break into dance mid-crosswalk. Hooves echo softly on cobblestones. Music seeps out of every doorway. Jazz isn’t just heard—it lingers in the air like perfume.
Our afternoon unfolds at the New Orleans Jazz Museum, a spirited tribute to the music that defines the city. Set within the stately Old U.S. Mint, at the crossroads of the French Quarter and the ever-lively Frenchmen Street, the museum is perfectly placed in the city’s musical bloodstream. Inside, jazz comes alive through interactive exhibits, vibrant live performances, and stories that bridge generations. From Louis Armstrong’s legacy to present-day improvisations, it’s more than a museum—it’s a celebration of a city that doesn’t just play music, but lives it.
As twilight drapes the French Quarter in a soft, amber glow, we slip through the unassuming doorway of Preservation Hall, a venue intimately tied to the soul of New Orleans. Founded in 1961 to safeguard the spirit of traditional New Orleans jazz, the Hall remains one of the city’s most sacred listening rooms. There’s no bar, no amplification, no frills—just pure, unfiltered music. Inside, the air is thick with history. The wooden benches creak, the dim lighting casts long shadows on oil paintings that seem to breathe along with the music, and every surface—pillars, floorboards, even the worn doorframe—feels alive with every note. The Preservation Hall Jazz Band, guardians of a century-old legacy, takes the stage without fanfare. What follows is an hour of fire and finesse—each set a living archive of the city’s musical roots.
As evening settles in, the pulse of the city draws us indoors, where velvet curtains and vintage brass details set the mood at The Jazz Playhouse, tucked inside the Royal Sonesta. It’s a sultry, upscale lounge with a retro flair—equal parts speakeasy charm and polished stage energy. We’re here for Big Sam’s Funky Nation, a riotous fusion of jazz, funk, rock, and hip-hop that fills the room with swagger. With plush seating, expertly mixed cocktails, and a lineup that spans the full spectrum of New Orleans sound, this isn’t just a jazz club—it’s a front-row seat to the city’s evolving soul. Midway through the set, Sam invites a few of us on stage to dance. The room erupts in cheers as strangers become performers, hips swaying in sync with the horns. It’s spontaneous, joyful, a little wild—pure New Orleans. The evening is far from over. I brace myself for what comes next: a long, glorious night of jazz club hopping, chasing sound from one velvet-lit venue to the next.
Later, we drift into the jewel-toned glamour of the Peacock Room, a space that feels equal parts cocktail fantasy and cultural temple. On stage tonight: Robin Barnes and Pat Casey, better known as Da Lovebirds. Robin—the “Songbird of New Orleans”—is pure magnetism. Her voice, an effortless blend of soul, jazz, and funk, carries the weight of tradition and the spark of reinvention. Whether crooning in a candlelit lounge or lighting up a festival stage, she brings a kind of emotional clarity that reminds you why music matters.
As dusk descends on Bourbon Street, the city slips into something electric. Neon signs flicker to life, casting a candy-colored glow on the cobblestones. Crowds from every corner of the world spill into the night—laughing, dancing, sipping kaleidoscopic cocktails from “go cups” as if time itself has loosened its grip. Beads sail through the air—purple, green, and gold—more than party favors, they’re miniature gestures of joy, tossed like blessings into the current of celebration.
While Bourbon Street is all high-octane flash and flair, just a few blocks away lies its soulful sibling: Frenchmen Street. Often called the “locals’ Bourbon,” it hums with a different kind of energy. Here, you drift from club to club, beer in hand, pausing to drop a few dollars into a passing hat after a spellbinding set.
With so much music pulsing through the city every night, it can be thrilling—and slightly dizzying. The trick? Start with the sure bets: legendary residencies and clubs with a loyal following. From tucked-away stages in the French Quarter to iconic haunts Uptown, the city offers a curated chaos of sound.
The Spotted Cat
And its at the Spotted Cat, in a quiet corner of the heritage area, that I fall in love with jazz. The band is barely a few feet away, playing beside a tall window that frames the street like a moving postcard. The saxophone rises—not just as sound, but as feeling—raw, human, and hauntingly intimate. It cuts past language, past lyrics, and speaks directly to something unspoken. This cozy, no-frills music club hums with authenticity. The Spotted Cat is a local legend, not because it tries too hard, but because it doesn’t have to. The crowd sways close, the drinks flow easy, and the music? It’s pure New Orleans—alive, immediate, and unforgettable.
Snug Harbor
Leaving behind the lively buzz of The Spotted Cat Music Club, we slip into the more refined ambiance of Snug Harbor. Its dim lighting, close-up stage, and cozy vibe set the mood for intimate, world-class performances. Beloved by musicians and locals alike, it’s the perfect spot to pair Creole cuisine with an unforgettable night of live jazz.
Maple Leaf Bar
Uptown’s iconic Maple Leaf Bar is gritty, glorious, and packed with energy. From funk to poetry slams, it hosts it all—but Tuesday nights are sacred, thanks to the legendary Rebirth Brass Band, who light up the room with their signature brass-fueled fire. The $20 cover gets you two blazing sets and a crowd that dances like they mean it.
Yes, I let the night seduce me—one sax solo at a time—until morning slipped in through the cracks. In New Orleans, the music flirts, lingers, and refuses to let go. Sleep? Not when the city is whispering in jazz.
For music lovers, there’s no better time to visit New Orleans than during the Jazz & Heritage Festival. Since 1970, this iconic celebration has been honoring the city’s rich tapestry of sound, flavor, and culture. Despite the name, it’s not just jazz—expect everything from gospel choirs and brass bands to zydeco, blues, funk, Latin beats, and R&B, all filling the air across multiple stages.
Held at the historic Fair Grounds Race Course, the festival unfolds like a musical maze—each corner echoing with a distinct groove, a different dish, or a handmade treasure. You can wander the circuit and catch snippets of dozens of acts or settle in front of a stage and stay awhile.
And the food? Worth the trip alone. Between sets, festival-goers line up for local legends: crawfish Monica, cochon de lait po’boys, fried alligator, and the ever-addictive red beans and rice. Come for the Jazz, stay for the feast—this is New Orleans, after all.
Here’s what I know: if your soul’s been running on empty, a few days in New Orleans will fill it to the brim—with music in your step, spice on your tongue, and stories you didn’t even know you were waiting to live. It’s not just a city you visit—it’s a mood you carry home.
For more information, visit the Official New Orleans Tourism Website
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A New Yorker at heart, an unapologetic anglophile, national parks explorer and former head of National Geographic publishing in India, Ritika is the Global Editor for Travel and Food Network and leads all journalism across platforms, including news, digital, videos, and social media. She writes features focused on narrative storytelling, industry trends, destinations, culinary travel, and how-to advice and is an advocate for sustainable travel. You can follow her on Instagram @newyorkeratheart
