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A Weekend at the Chicago Blues Festival
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11:30 in the morning is the best possible time to arrive at the blues festival--not only did the temperature hover at a manageable seventy degrees, but the grounds were almost empty. I was able to stroll up to the stages without impediment. Seating was not a problem, and I could dance with the reckless velocity of a whirling dervish without smacking into anyone. Not many people were doing this so early in the day. The crowd smiled and nodded sleepily at the Keith Frank and Soileau Zydeco Band when I arrived at the Front Porch stage. The band is largely a family affair, consisting of several members of the Frank clan--including Keith's precocious and lovely adolescent daughter, Julia. Julia danced throughout most of the songs, stepping up to the microphone to sing a stirring rendition of "If You Should Lose Me, You Lose a Good Thing." Keith alternated his playing between two accordions and the electric guitar. The music was straghtforward, southwest Louisiana zydeco. One of the band members sported a cool washboard vest--he gave one of the best solo performances of the day, eventually leaping off the stage and performing on the grass, strumming his vest with the energy of a man possessed. 
The skies were still ominous, and forty-mile-per-hour gusts kept everyone on their toes. At one point, the sky opened up, and sheets of rain began to fall, scattering the crowd. Some of the more prepared folks reached into packs and pulled out pieces of plastic and umbrellas; the rest of us hovered among the trees. I found myself in a moving cluster of folks that migrated into the Route 66 Roadhouse, a live conversation venue. A stately African-American man sat at a large table, surrounded by a variety of handmade instruments. I soon discovered that his name was Charles Wsir Johnson, and he was on a mission to explain to a bunch of listless, confused middle-aged white people how to do a call-and-response routine. Most of the people seemed to have come in simply to get out of the rain, and they kept botching the call and response horribly. Charles began to get very frustrated, urging them repeatedly to show some spunk and raise their voices. He showed us some of the fascinating instruments, most of which he had made himself. My favorite was the diddly bow, constructed from a board and one string--an instrument from which Bo Diddly took his name. Charles explained that most of the blues greats, including Muddy Waters, starting playing the diddly bow before they were able to afford a guitar. "When you had no guitar in the Delta," he explained simply, "you played what you had." 
Eventually, the clouds parted, and I made my way to the Louisiana Bayou stage. Les Getrex and Creole Cookin' filled every inch of the tiny stage. There was a small horn section, including saxophone, trumpet and trombone, as well as guitar, bass, and drums. Guitar player and vocalist Les Getrex was dressed in a fantastic white suit with gold shoes, and he was quite a showman. He led the band through a variety of upbeat, New Orleans inspired tunes, as well as a few slower songs, like the Neville Brothers' "Tell It Like It Is." The band did an especially poignant version of Louis Armstrong's "What a Wonderful World"--a song that always makes me cry shamelessly. 
I mopped my face and wandered over to the Mississippi Juke Joint stage, where I was in for the biggest treat of my day--Afrissippi, a six-person band that combines the sound of delta blues with a jam band sensibility, infused with a pulsating African rhythm. This northern Mississippi band consists of two righteous southern hippie dudes and three African guys, who combine effortlessly to create a huge, exciting sound. Eric Deaton plays the electric guitar, Guelel Kumba provides vocals, and Kinny Kimbrough plays the drums. The result is a danceable, yet melodic style that makes it extremely difficult to stay in your chair. Just try to remain seated--your feet will twitch uncontrollably until you finally stand up. Their CD, "Alliance" is available at the festival; I purchased it without hesitation. It's great music for a party or an extended road trip, when you need something to break up the monotony of the long highway. 
When I tried to leave the festival, I found a pile of beer tickets blowing down the sidewalk, so I had to return for a while. The blues fest is halfway over, but two more days remain. Don't miss Buckwheat Zydeco on Saturday, or BB King on Sunday, both on the mainstage. Heck, just get down there and try to see everything--you won't regret it. Some of the best action is on the small stages. Forget the paper schedule--the best way to see the festival is to just drift aimlessly, and see what grabs you. Be sure to check the ground for discarded tickets.
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The first day of the blues festival is always filled with the same sort of anticipation that accompanies Christmas morning. There was a brief but dramatic thunderstorm on Wednesday night, and the Thursday morning sky was gray and creepy, filled with ominous clouds. When I arrived at the festival, drenched with sweat, the thermometer was almost at ninety degrees. The crowd was enthusiastic, but strangely listless. The unbearable humidity caused me to collapse in front of the Front Porch Stage, where I remained for the rest of the afternoon. 
The youngest blues fan at the festival takes it easy.
Fortunately, a stellar lineup was on the agenda, which included Louisiana Red, Honeyboy Edwards, and Pinetop Perkins. Louisiana Red was in full tilt boogie mode as I approached the stage. Dressed in a heavy, uncomfortable-looking red polyester jacket, Red calmly and efficiently plucked the strings of his guitar as he sang, "Baby, please don't go baby please don't go baby please don't go back to New Orleans because I love you so." 
Louisiana Red's scorching set
After a few songs, Johnny "Yard Dog" Jones took over guitar-picking duties, leading the band in a blistering set. The sun was merciless as Johnny tore into the strings of his guitar, causing him to break into a profuse sweat. We were all sweating in unison when he finished. Johnny mopped his forehead and exclaimed, "I gave up drinking, but I could sure use four fingers of Jack Daniels right now." He held up the fingers of both hands, with all digits pointing skyward. "That's four fingers of TWO hands", he clarified. The crowd laughed appreciatively. At the end of the set, Honeyboy took the stage, looking astonishingly refreshed after his previous night of revelry. Looking dapper in an iridescent red shirt and gold vest, he played guitar and sang in his trademark, gravelly voice. At this point, Honeyboy seemed familiar and comforting, but still capable of inspiring awe in the ever-swelling crowd. 
Honeyboy Edwards
At 4:30, the crowd was treated to a set by members of Muddy Waters' original band, which included Willie "Big Eyes" Smith on harmonica, Bob Margolin, guitar and vocals, and Pinetop Perkins on piano. At ninety-five, Pinetop makes Honeyboy seem like a youngster. His fingers were so light on the piano keys, that it was hard to believe he was one of the elder statesmen of the blues. A highlight of the set was a tribute to Bo Diddley, featuring a rendition of "Who Do You Love." Bo, as many of you know, passed away last week at the age of 79--an age that seemed fairly advanced to me, until I saw Honeyboy and Pinetop.
I inhaled a cold Hacker-Pschorr (German wheat beer) at the nearby Artist's Snack Shop while waiting for Johnny Winter's set to begin. I briefly worked at Artist's as a waitress in 1979. All of my jobs were brief in those days. The place hadn't changed; it still had its comfortable retro vibe, complete with black and white striped stools at the counter There is nothing more blissful than a Hacker Pschorr with lemon on a 90 degree day. Surprisingly, the restaurant was almost empty. even though its Michigan Avenue location is only a stone's throw from the festival. 
An almost imperceptible breeze was blowing when we made our way over to the Petrillo Bandshell for Johnny Winter's set. We had arranged to meet our friends Joel and Mark at the festival's edge, near a statue of a seated Abraham Lincoln, whose stiff stance always made me think he looked constipated. My mother was kicked out of Abraham Lincoln's lap many years ago by one of Chicago's finest, while she perched up there, eating a hot fudge sundae. Since then, the statue has become an important landmark, at least for me. Johnny Winter's band warmed up the stage in preparation for his set. After a few minutes of scorching guitar playing by an anonymous band member, Johnny came out and seated himself in a folding chair, where he remained for the entirety of his set. I had the impression that he was not feeling well. His playing was impassioned and flawless, however. After a few songs, he was joined by James Cotton on harmonica. A highlight of the set was a spirited rendition of Jimi Hendrix's "Red House" immediately followed by the Stones' "I Used to Love Her, But It's All Over Now." After a standing ovation, Johnny and James treated us to a version of Dylan's "Highway 61 Revisited." We savored every moment of this long, wordy song, knowing that when it was over, the blues festival would close for the evening, not to re-open until the following day at 11:00 AM. 
If you look closely, you can see Johnny Winter on the right hand side of the stage.
The Loop skyline at dusk.
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Chicago is a town that can't get enough of the blues, and the annual blues festival kicks the typical Chicagoan's passion for the genre into overdrive. By the time the second week of June rolls around, we're impatient for the chance to sit in the sun, sipping ridiculously overpriced cups of warm beer and screaming at the top of our lungs. Several local venues feature previews for those people, like myself, who have trouble waiting until Thursday to get their annual blues transfusion. One such venue is SPACE, an Evanston spot that features performers who will be at the festival later this weekend. Ostensibly a birthday party for David "Honeyboy" Edwards, who just turned ninety-three, the Wednesday night concert featured Barrelhouse Chuck, Eddy Clearwater, and Honeyboy himself. SPACE was standing room only when I arrived with my husband, Russ. Happy to see that the venue featured locally brewed, cold Goose Island beer for only $3.00, we stood at the back, clutching our bottles. The MC was Katherine Davis, an expansive African-American woman in her mid-fifties. She immediately put the crowd at ease with several ribald jokes. She then introduced the first performer, Barrelhouse Chuck, a mustachioed fellow who looked like the villain in an old silent movie. Chuck, however, was considerably more cheerful, and played a mean electric piano. He was effusive about his love for the instrument, saying, "Piano is the thread--the glue--when you put a piano in the song, it really sparkles." 
David Honeyboy Edwards was the second performer, and just to behold him was a revelation. It was similar to sitting at the feet of a guru--a blues guru, at that. Honeyboy, along with Pinetop Perkins, is among the last of the living delta blues masters. He has played with Lightnin' Hopkins, Robert Johnson, and Howlin' Wolf, among many others. Born 93 years ago in Shaw, Mississippi, Honeyboy came to Chicago in 1956. He has been playing the guitar and performing since he was 12. Two nights ago, he was in England for a tour; he'll be at the festival tomorrow on the Front Porch stage, and then on to a tour in the southern US. He admitted to feeling a bit tired, but it wasn't evident from his playing. He picked the guitar with an ageless grace, singing such songs as "Sweet Home Chicago" in a growling, yet melodious tone. Between songs, the MC joked with Honeyboy, asking him what else he was able to do with his fingers. Honeyboy seemed amused, if a bit befuddled. He assured Katherine that he still liked women, a lot. She asked him, "If you had your life to do all over, would you do it again?", to which he replied, "I don't think I'd make it!" This brought a roar of laughter from the crowd. At the end of the set, everyone was treated to a slice of birthday cake, after Honeyboy had somewhat laboriously blown out the candle on his own slice. I felt honored just to be in his presence.  Honeyboy was a hard act to follow, but Chicago native Eddy Clearwater did a superlative job. Eddy used to wear a Native American headdress to his concerts, which earned him the nickname "The Chief." This night, however, he wore a more conservative fedora. This was the only conservative feature of his outfit, which featured iridescent gold pants, white shoes, and a sparkling gold jacket. The outfit matched his effervescent personality perfectly. Eddy smiled radiantly throughout his set. Having seen him once, twenty years ago, I remembered how cheerful he was, and was pleased to see that this hadn't changed. Eddy played a bright red Gibson guitar with his left hand, leading the crowd through old favorites, such as "Walkin' Through the Park" by Muddy Waters, and originals from his latest album, "West Side Strut." Two especially memorable songs from the new album were the melancholic "I Came Up the Hard Way" and the upbeat "Too Old to Get Married, Too Young to be Buried." The married, genteel Evanston crowd really went wild for the latter song, leaping to their feet, spilling their beers, and whooping. 
The perfomers united at the end of the evening for a raucous jam--except for Honeyboy, who was probably enjoying a hard-earned rest, dreaming of guitar-shaped women and pieces of cake. I am looking forward to seeing him at the festival tomorrow, and perhaps some of you, as well. SPACE will feature other performers throughout festival weekend, including Jimmy Johnson and Dave Spector on Thursday, Jimmy Burns on Friday, and Syl Johnson with Morris Jennings and Bernard Reed on Saturday. For more information, check out their website at www.evanstonspace.com.
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It is difficult to believe that an entire year has passed since the last blues festival, even after the exceptionally cold winter and spring. Many times, as I was shivering and cranking the heater in my apartment in April and May, I consoled myself by remembering that the blues festival was only a few weeks into the future. Well, those weeks have passed, and the blues festival is little more than a week away. An almost imperceptible warming trend gives me hope that I will not have to wear a down coat to the event this year, as I frequently had to do at summer festivals when I lived in Seattle. This year's festival, which runs from June 5-8, boasts a stellar lineup, which includes BB King, headlining Sunday's festival at the Petrillo Bandshell, and Johnny Winter, who is Thursday night's highlight. I saw BB King almost twenty years ago, thinking that it might be the last time I would have the chance. The highlight of the evening was his rendition of "The Thrill is Gone", which he prefaced with a long monologue about a deteriorating relationship. "You know how it is at the beginning of a love affair" he said, creating a ripple of nods within the large, half-wasted crowd. "She's so nice to you...you wake up in the morning, and she has breakfast waiting for you. Pancakes and sausage, and you have just barely opened your eyes when she sticks a cup of coffee in your hand, and says "I love you, baby." The crowd murmured in approval of this romantic picture. "But then...." BB continued, shifting to a melancholic tone, "One day you wake up. You realize that she hasn't made breakfast for you in a long, long time." The crowd moaned. "So you ask her--how about making me one of those nice breakfasts? She turns to you and she just says, "Make it yourself!" That's how you know...." and he launched immediately into the opening chords of "The Thrill is Gone." Twenty years later, BB is still kicking it, and you should go to see him, as he has gotten a bit older--but who knows, he could be around twenty years from now! I am especially looking forward to seeing Johnny Winter, whose supernaturally pale visage has stared at me from rock and roll magazines for many years. I first saw him in a copy of "Cream" magazine at the local drugstore in downstate Illinois when I was twelve. Many years later (the exact number escapes me) he remains arguably one of the best practitioners of the blues/rock genre. Don't miss him, since he doesn't play many concerts. Did I mention that the Chicago blues festival is the largest FREE blues festival in the world? There's no excuse for you not to go--the CTA stops only four blocks away, so driving and parking is not necessary. Other acts include James Cotton, who will appear with Johnny Winter on Thursday night, Chicago favorite Koko Taylor on Friday, and New Orleans accordionist Buckwheat Zydeco on Saturday. Those are just the mainstage acts; there are several smaller stages, as well, which feature superb acts that are not as well known. As always, the event will be held at Chicago's amazing Grant Park, from 11 AM-9:30 PM, Thursday June 5th-Sunday, June 8th. See you there! For more detailed information, go to the festival's website: http://www.chicagobluesfestival.org
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I'm feeling a bit melancholy, now that the festival is over, and I imagine that others may be, as well. However, Chicago is a mecca for this musical genre, and you can hear blues in the clubs, seven nights a week. Here is a short, but handy guide to some great clubs in Chicagoland where you can dance, sob into your beer, and do other fun things. BLUES ON HALSTED 2519 N. Halsted www.chicagobluesbar.com This tiny club can get so packed that I once had an agoraphobia attack in there, and had to grip my beer tightly to keep from falling off my seat. However, I was young then, and I'm made of sterner stuff now. I'm sure that anyone still reading this blog is, as well. BLUES rocks until the wee hours, seven days a week. Open since 1979, It retains its neighborhood feel, offering free cover to everyone who lives in nearby zip codes 60614 and 60657 on Tuesday nights. Also, on Sundays, admission to BLUES scores you free cover to Kingston Mines, located across the street. Billy Branch and the Sons of the Blues, whom I reviewed in my Friday post, will play there on June 30th. Don't miss these guys; they rocked the Festival.
THE NEW CHECKERBOARD LOUNGE 5201 S Harper Ct Not to be confused with the old Checkerboard Lounge, which closed in 2003, due to code violations. I remember the older location, which was located in a sinister-looking building on the south side. I only had the chance to visit the old location once, and I heard some scorching blues. When the guitarist hit the stage, a fellow jumped up from the crowd to join him. Without skipping a beat, the guitarist scooped him up by the collar, placed him back on the floor, and continued playing. I have no idea whether such shenanigans go on at the new location, which is located at the Harper Court Mall in Hyde Park. I am told that the new place retains much of the feel of the old, and this comforts me. It's a non-smoking venue, and is probably a lot cleaner, but the blues are as gritty as ever. 
BUDDY GUY'S LEGENDS 754 S Wabash www.buddyguys.com Buddy's has been open since June of 1989, and has hosted such luminaries as Dr John, the Rolling Stones, and David Bowie. It's a rarity for Buddy to play here, but I'm told it does happen occasionally. If you want to catch Buddy, you have to go some place else. This incredible singer and guitar player, whom Eric Clapton lists as a major influence, came to Chicago from Louisiana in 1957. He made his first guitar from a piece of wood when he was seven, and has been playing ever since. Needless to say, he knows how to pick the best musicians for his club. Don't miss Guitar Shorty on Friday, June 22. This is just a handful of the incredible offerings of the Chicago blues scene. Get out there and walk around the streets, pick up a copy of the Reader, and investigate for yourself. If you find someone amazing, let me know. 
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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............ 
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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...
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I am a lifelong blues aficionado. It began when I was a small child
in Chicago, listening to AM radio on my babysitter Liz' hand-held
transistor while walking home from school. When I heard the amazing
"Walk On By" by Dionne Warwick, it made my heart beat faster. Tears
formed in my eyes, and I loved it. Technically, this might not have
been a blues song, but it was blues the way Dionne sang it. Before I
was of legal drinking age (don't tell anyone) I was hanging out at
Kingston Mines and Blues on Halsted, catching every unknown band that I
could. By the time I was in my early twenties, I had discovered the
now-defunct Biddy Mulligan's on Sheridan Road. Every night was a new
kind of Nirvana for me as I heard Otis Rush, Screaming Jay Hawkins, and
Sugar Blue. My ex-boyfriend, Matt, once shot pool with Bo Diddley in
the back room. I don't remember who won.
The Blues Festival is, in my opinion, Chicago's
crowning achievement. Tens of thousands of people attend, from the city, the suburbs, and beyond. Free to the public, situated in the middle of
Grant Park, in the heart of the Loop, the Blues Festival is a truly populist event.
Almost everything goes. People set up tents, break out the barbeque
grills and marinated ribs, and crack open bottles of ice-cold brew. One year, during the late eighties, mayhem erupted when a group of people tore down a large section of snow fencing and set it on fire. They then stood around it in a circle, ritualistically chanting, "Nah nah nah nah, nah nah nah nah, hey hey, goodbye....." until the fire engines arrived. The crowd dispersed as mysteriously as it had formed. This year's lineup promises to be almost as good as the Festival's flagship event, back in 1984. It even features some of the same artists, most notably James Cotton, Bobby Rush, Sunnyland Slim, and the amazing Koko Taylor, who could surely mow down a brick wall with her powerful voice. In the twenty-four years of its existence, the Festival has grown from an event that was situated almost exclusively at the Petrillo Music Shell, to a six-venue extravaganza, featuring such diverse stages as the Gibson Guitar Crossroads and the State of Louisiana Bayou Station and Social Club. Seeing everything is almost impossible, but well worth a try. From the time the Festival opens, at 11 AM on Thursday, June 7, to when it closes, some time after 10:30 PM on Sunday, June 10th, the Loop will vibrate with the sound of the blues. A must-see on Sunday will be a tribute to Howlin' Wolf on what would have been his 97th birthday. This event will take place from 7:15-8:15 PM, and will feature such luminaries as James Cotton and Smokey Smothers, as well as many others. I'm countin' the days, and you should, as well.........In the meantime, check out the Festival's website.
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