Saturday is arguably the most popular day of the Chicago Blues Festival.  We are over a half hour late meeting my friend Joel at nearby Buckingham Fountain, and parking is almost nonexistent.  Joel and Russ (my husband) have never met each other, and we are stuck in bumper-to-bumper traffic, with me at the wheel.   I instruct Russ to look for a 50-something tall man with curly hair. Russ leaps from the car, sprints across Lake Shore Drive, hops over a fence, and disappears into the crowd.

I park twelve blocks away, but it's free. At the fountain, I discover that Russ and Joel have found each other, and are happily engaged in a discussion about their favorite bands. We make our way to the Mississippi Juke Joint Stage. Foot traffic is also bumper-to-bumper, the Budweiser is flowing, and drunken, raucous yells of appreciation fill the air.  It's all more than worthwhile. We are treated to my hands-down favorite performance of the weekend--Alvin Youngblood Hart, acoustic delta bluesman.  Alvin is the real deal, playing the blues in a languid, but passionate style reminiscent of Lightnin' Hopkins.  There is an almost ghostly quality to his guitar-picking, as this relatively young man channels the spirit of the old masters who first gave birth to the blues.  Few people in the crowd can take their eyes from the stage, and those foolish enough to engage in conversation are told to hush. Hart was recently featured in a seven-part PBS series about the blues, directed by Martin Scorsese, a huge fan of the genre. Unbelievably enough, Hart is a relative newcomer, having burst upon the scene in 1996 with his debut album, "Big Mama's Door."  Since then, he has garnered an enthusiastic fan base, and has played with Bonnie Raitt, the Black Crowes, and many others.

Still buzzing from Hart's performance, we make our well through the rapidly swelling crowd, to the Louisiana Bayou and Social Club Stage.  This venue features musicians who have strong ties to the bayou. Since the enormous devastation of Hurricane Katrina, the musicians' devotion to their birthplace is stronger than ever.  Few people realize that a huge mess still exists, both in New Orleans and along the Mississippi coast.  The bureaucratic mess is almost worse than the literal one. We reach the stage as Tony Llorens assumes his place at the piano.  Tony plays both standards, like "St Louis Blues" and originals, such as "Tilly Toot Shuffle" which he wrote for his mom only a couple of days ago. Between songs, Tony converses with the crowd, relating stories of his Louisiana upbringing.  He was born in a shotgun house, so named because of it shape--so narrow that a person can fire a shotgun from one end of the house, and the bullet will fly, unimpeded, to the back wall. "I was born three months premature" he says proudly. "In those days, we didn't have incubators. They just laid the babies in the sun. So I incubated in the sun, but as you can see, I turned out just fine." The crowd nods in agreement.

I take the opportunity to stroll out to the Buckingham Fountain again, killing time before Irma Thomas' set at the Petrillo Bandshell.  I pass the Blues Museum, the most popular of the vendor tents.  People gather around videos of Muddy Waters and Lightnin' Hopkins, clapping wildly as if they were watching a live performance.  The music is loudly amplifed over an impeccable sound system.  It's hard to believe that it isn't live.  At the fountain, three young men entertain an even larger crowd with an energetic drum solo, played entirely upon plastic buckets.  This is improvisation at its most primitive, and it sounds great.

Irma Thomas, reigning queen of New Orleans blues, takes the Bandshell stage at 7:20.  Irma has been around for almost fifty years, having  first achieved public recognition in 1960.  Few people know that she is the person who wrote "Time is On My Side", which was popularized by the Rolling Stones. Irma is energetic and engaging, effortlessly gliding through "Hold Me While I Cry", a weepy ballad about holding your sweetheart in your arms when she's sad, rather than asking her what is wrong.   A short while later, she brings the crowds' spirits back up with her up-tempo "You Can Have My Husband, But Don't Mess With My Man." Amen, sister. I sneak a peek to see whether my husband is listening. He smiles absently. We're both stiff-limbed and exhausted by now, from the combination of beer, sunshine, peripatetic wandering, and fine music. Still, we are able to last for the duration of Irma's set, as well as the first few songs of Magic Slim and the Teardrops, quintessential Chicago blues band (now living in Nebraska, for some unfathomable reason).  As we stagger towards our car, I make a mental note to see Magic Slim in a club as soon as possible, and also to start taking glucosamine again.
 

 Stay tuned for more............