The 24th anniversary of the Chicago Blues Festival is well underway when I arrive at Grant Park.  I am accompanied by my husband Russ, who is carrying a huge backpack full of mineral water, a Mexican blanket, and extra clothing. Trailing along behind us are two pre-teens, who are loudly bemoaning the lack of video game opportunities at the venue.  It's a radically transformed festival from previous years, which included people dancing on folding chairs while drunks attempted to kick them over, burning swaths of snow fencing, and barbeque grills smoldering with charred meat. Security is tighter now than in those pre-911 days, but the excitement is just as palpable.  Chicago is arguably the birthplace of the blues, having given the world such luminaries as Muddy Waters and Buddy Guy.  The park is packed with serious blues fans, sipping on overpriced cups of Budweiser and text-messaging their friends on their Blackberries. 

I make my way to the Gibson Crossroads Stage, where Mighty Joe Young is tuning up their instruments.  The crowd is restless with enthusiasm.  A drunken man dressed in a festival tee-shirt turns to me and shakes his head.  He seems ready to explode with frustration about having to wait so long to hear the band.  "Jesus Christ!" he screams.  They've been tuning up for TWO AND A HALF HOURS." He turns and makes his way through the crowd, away from the stage, just as the band begins to play.

I am stoked, because I have a bit of history with the Mighty Joe Young band, having known their previous piano player, Professor Eddie, back in the eighties.  After Eddie's suicide, which surprised everyone who knew this expansive, easy-going guy, the Mad Hatter assumed his place at the keyboards.  The Mad Hatter plays with the energy of a man possessed by angels, or demons, or both.  The band opens its set with a scorching rendition of "Use Me", which happens to be one of my favorites.  Expertly manipulating the crowd, they transition into "Sweet Home Chicago", which creates an amphetamine-like effect. No Chicagoan can resist "Sweet Home Chicago".  Civic pride runs deep in this city, which is fiercely loyal to the Cubs, although the beleaguered team has not won the World Series since 1908. 

Mighty Joe Young's son is now at the helm of the band, accompanied by lead guitarist Walter Scott.  Four women, dressed in immaculate white dresses, add their vocals to the mix.  It's an incredible hour of music, one that leaves the crowd wanting more. Still, the band ends its set promptly at 3:00 PM. Everything is running exactly on time, just as Mayor Daley (whose name is everywhere) would want it.

We make our way to the aptly-named Front Porch Stage.  This stage is cleverly designed to resemble a weatherbeaten front porch, with an old door leading to an imaginary back yard, windows framed by faded wood, and the numerals "2120" affixed to one wall, for no apparent reason.  Here the blues are more raw and growly, as you might expect to hear on a neighbor's porch. Brothers Vernon and Joe Harrington stick mainly to the classics.  These guys go way back to the days of Reverend Harrington, who ran the Atomic-H label back in the 50's and 60's.  They're also related to Eddy Clearwater, a beloved Chicago performer known to many as "The Chief." Vernon plays the guitar left-handed, which puzzles my husband, a left-handed guitarist himself.  Russ has never been able to understand why left-handed guitarists wouldn't want to use their dominant hands for fingering the fretboard.  Guest vocals for the Harringtons are provided by Larry Taylor, who is dressed in an immaculate white shirt, a staple in these parts.

Around nightfall, the action shifts from the smaller stages to the Petrillo Bandshell.  The larger acts, both in terms of size and popularity, play here.  A cool breeze is blowing off the Lake as Billy Branch's Sons of the Blues 30th anniversary begins.  It's a perfect early summer evening, and the sons and daughters of the masters assemble on stage with their instruments.  Willie Dixon's widow even puts in a brief appearance, while the band launches into a soulful rendition of Willie's anti-war song, "It Don't Make Sense If You Can't Make Peace." This song is as pertinent today as it was when Willie wrote it. Perhaps even more so. Willie's son, Freddy, plays bass and contributes vocals. Carl Weathersby mans the guitar, and later on, Carlos Johnson takes his place.  It is truly a family affair--at one point, nineteen musicians are playing together on the huge stage, sounding jubilant, upbeat, and totally in sync with each other.

More to come...