First up, on Friday, was the 30th Annual Chicago Blues Festival. This is a free festival put on by the City of Chicago (and a ton of sponsors) in Grant Park downtown. According to its website, it is the largest free blues festival on the planet, and it is the largest of Chicago's many music festivals. Typically a half million people will attend over the course of three days. It is massive.
What's funny however, is that it is unexpectedly hard to find. When I got off the subway late Friday afternoon, I expected to see a large stream of people walking toward the festival; my plan was to follow them. But there was no "them," or at least not enough of "them" that I could differentiate "them" from the rest of the sea of humanity leaving work on a Friday afternoon. That's how big Chicago is: an event that draws half a million people (granted, not all at once) is not easily distinguished from the rest of the city. Anyway, I found it the same way I find anything else in downtown Chicago: I wandered around a bit, completely without a clue, and eventually figured out where to go after exhausting all other directions.
Of course, with a music festival you start to hear the event before you see it, and that helped. I came in from the back so my first encounter was with a small stage (they have five stages). This was a smaller group, John Primer and the Real Deal Blues Band, and they ended their set with "Sweet Home Chicago."
Much to my surprise, I did not hear that song again. Perhaps it's just too obvious.
The Blues Festival is one of those events where they make you buy annoying food and drink tickets at a separate booth from where you actually get the food and drink. I dislike this for two reasons: first of all because it makes you decide in advance how much you plan to eat and drink, and often you have to do it in the absence of knowing how much food and drink costs; and second, because it makes you have to stand in two lines rather than one. I always feel like I'm in the Soviet Union, standing in the egg line, then standing in the bread line....you get my point.
But it was in the ticket line that I met Mr. Miller. He and I started chatting, and then were joined by a young woman whose job as a bartender seemed well suited to her outgoing personality. For instance, I know his name is Miller because she asked him what his favorite beer was and he answered, "Miller, because that's my name." Mr. Miller is one of those older guys who looks younger than he is, despite, he told us, having had 19 children. The bartender was somewhat flabbergasted at this and Mr. Miller said "yeah, it was a lot of fun," and I suggested that there were ways to still have a lot of fun without getting so many kids out of the deal, but luckily the conversation quickly turned into Mr. Miller telling us he was 71 years old. "Get out," said my bartender friend, and I also expressed disbelief. So Mr. Miller whips out his wallet to give us proof, at which time I observe that he has two Illinois driver's licenses. (I guess that would be drivers' licenses, with the possessive after the plural.) "I have several ID's because I travel a lot," said Mr. Miller. I didn't even know where to begin with that one, so I let it drop, and then confirmed that the ID (the one I looked at, at least) did support his claim to be 71.
The interesting thing was that the name on the ID wasn't Miller.
But hey, it's Chicago.
Anyway, another interesting thing, I thought, about the Blues Festival were some of its sponsors. There are the usual suspects (a beer brand, a soft drink brand, an IT brand, and a couple of miscellaneous large corporations) but the sponsor list also included the tourism departments of the States of Mississippi and Louisiana. I guess those are bluesy places, along with the City of St. Louis, which had a booth as well, and they must figure that people who like the blues might go on vacation there. Perhaps they're right - after all, I like the blues and I traveled through Mississippi and Louisiana.
After looking around, hearing a local band play for a while at one of the smaller stages, and getting my first Chicago hot dog since I moved here, I headed over to the main stage, where Earnest "Guitar" Roy was just getting started.
On stage I saw something I haven't seen since the last time I went to a women's music festival: a sign language interpreter so that deaf people can follow along.
Like drive-through bank machines embossed with braille, I've always wondered how necessary this type of accomodation is. Not that there's anything wrong with it. And of course, with blues music the interpreter really only had to know about fifteen words so he had a relatively easy night.
"Guitar" Roy was great, and then the Blues Queen of New Orleans, Irma Thomas, took the stage. She was even better.
Blues songs, like country music, seem to have more than their share of funny names. "You Can Mess With My Husband but Please Don't Mess With My Man," is nearly as good a line as the country song, "If You Want to Keep the Beer Ice Cold Set It Next to My Ex-Wife's Heart." The Blues Queen of New Orleans had the crowd on our feet with "Hip Shakin' Mama" and then I started to see something curious. At first I just saw one person waving a handkerchief, but then it caught on.
And then,
Noticing this growing movement, Irma explained to the rest of us that this was called the Second Line, a New Orleans tradition. The First Line in a parade are the main marchers. The Second Line is made up of people who are just walking along with the music waving their handkerchiefs.
Now that we knew what was happening, everybody in the crowd joined in. I didn't have a handkerchief but I had a white napkin left over from my hot dog dinner, so I pulled it out of my pocket and started waving it. Good arm exercise.
Another thing I did that everyone else was doing was to snap a picture of the Blue Cross and Blue Shield of Illinois Building:
When in Rome, as they say...so I've become a minor Blackhawks hockey fan. I don't have a jersey or anything, though. At least not yet. But they're pretty cool so who knows what could happen by next season?
The headliner Friday night was Bobby Rush and his Blues Band. I'd been sitting down for a while at this point, and it was starting to get just dark enough that it made me realize that it would be a good time to check out the port-a-johns while I could still see. So I took a little break and when I returned I just stood at the back of the amphitheater, along with a bunch of random people and an enthusiastic group of exhibitors wearing blue Intel jackets. There were a fair number of uniformed police officers around, and I assumed there were at least a few in plain clothes, so I was a little surprised when the wind shifted slightly and I caught a quick but clear whiff of marijuana. And then it was gone.
I was starting to wear down by this point so I listened to Bobby for a while and then decided to find the Red Line home. On the way out I saw some other musicians playing.
I found the Monroe Red Line station, which as you know isn't on Monroe at all, and called it a night. I had big plans for Saturday, after all.
Those plans began with hopping back on the Red Line Saturday morning to head back downtown. This time when I got off at the Harrison Street station, which is actually on Polk and State, I went one block west rather than three blocks east, and found myself in the middle of the Printers Row LitFest. It is a free event, organized by the Chicago Tribune, that brings together authors and readers of all types. Part of it is a street festival, although without music.
Lots of book vendors and exhibits by publishers, writers' groups, and so forth. There was also a display by a yarn shop, which happens to be located in Printers Row, so I checked in with her about weaving classes which, along with bridge, is on my to-do list. But I may delay my weaving career, because I'd rather use time this summer to figure out what I want to do about novelizing the Driveabout and you can't do everything at once. LitFest inspired me.
Printers Row itself has a number of older buildings which are impressive. One of the buildings had this plaque above its door. It's kind of a high standard.
They have a ton of speakers and workshops at LitFest - all of them free, but many requiring advance tickets. I had come across it just the day before (thanks to my $12 subscription to the Tribune) so it was too late for me to get into the workshops. I did see the 90 Second Newbery Film Festival - where kids submit videos of a minute and a half that act out a Newbery Award winning book. The auditorium was filled with librarians who had read every single book that was mentioned. If you work with kids (elementary through high school), you might find this to be a fun project. Just check out their website.
While I was wandering through the tents I heard a 20-year-old poet who participated in a program called Young Chicago Authors read some of her work. It was very powerful and very good. She also read some poems that other people had written but hers were the most evocative, I thought. It's tempting - and I know this because I succumb to it all the time - to write about topics that are both political and personal by emphasizing the big picture. I think they are more powerful (especially in poetry) when you focus more on a personal angle. This young woman did that, and she was excellent.
I found a great hamburger place, if you're ever in the mood for such a thing when you're in Chicago, and then went to hear Boston Globe reporters Kevin Cullen and Shelley Murphy talk about Whitey Bulger. Bulger is the mobster who was also an FBI informant for decades, during which time he allegedly killed a bunch of people that the FBI knew about. (They made a Law & Order episode based on this story, if that sounds familiar.) Then Bulger disappeared for more than a decade until a neighbor in Santa Monica recognized him on TV, and his trial is starting today. It was interesting to hear the reporters (who have written a book) talk about Bulger and their experience covering him for over twenty years. Plus they had great Boston accents. Fortunately, everyone was very polite about the upcoming Hawks versus Bruins Stanley Cup battle, so there were no fisticuffs.
Thus ended my LitFest experience, so it was back to the Red Line to go a few stops north to the Old Town Neighborhood and the Wells Street Art Fair.
Remember Mr. Miller from the Blues Festival? In another episode of Big City/Small World, I saw him as I was coming out of the Clark & Division L station (which is, curiously, located at Clark and Division Streets.) Really. At first I didn't believe it as he walked right past me but then I looked and realized yeah, this is Mr. Miller. I wasn't sure what name he was using that day, however, and I didn't particularly want to start a conversation, so I didn't say anything.
The Wells Street Art Fair is a nice art festival. It goes on for about five blocks, and is very popular. I arrived about 2:30 and as the afternoon wore on, the event turned from art fair to huge street party. I can't estimate crowds, but there had to be 10,000 people, nearly all of whom were carrying a large cup of beer. The preferred dress of most of the 20-something guys seemed like something straight out of the 1980's - button down shirts (some short sleeved, some long), often madras or plaid but also solid blue or white, and Bermuda shorts. Thank goodness none of the women had Big 80's Hair, or I would have thought I was traveling in time, and I didn't care much for the 80's.
Most of the exhibitors are what you'd expect, but they did have a large installation of a car with a giant snake-shaped balloon popping out of it. My favorite part of it, however, is the sign.
I couldn't get the entire installation, but you can sort of get a sense of it. The sign says "Please Don't Jump on the Art!" It's not as good as the "people have died" sign, but I liked it.
Initially I'd planned to walk through just to check it out and see if I could find a spoon rest (I did), but then I saw that at 3:30 Sophie B. Hawkins was going to play, followed by the Smithereens. These were not to be missed, so I hung around and enjoyed the shows.
Sophie B. was certainly getting into it. Her version of Janis Joplin's "Cry Baby" seemed oddly post-millennial, or something, to me - she hit all the right notes and performed with a lot of energy, but there was something authentic missing, even when she went all the way to the floor.
Still, I'm not complaining about a free concert.
By the way, the woman in the black shirt in this picture is someone I'd met a couple of times in Fort Wayne. Again, Big City/Small World.
The crowd got a little older for the Smithereens. (I guess I was time traveling after all.) It was funny to see a bunch of guys my age and older doing air guitar (to be clear: in the crowd, not on the stage). I was standing behind a guy who seems like the Smithereens Number One Fan, in addition to being a big Blackhawks fan.
Everywhere I've ever been - even in the south - I've heard the "don't like the weather, wait ten minutes" line as if it were something unique about their region. Right, weather changes. Everywhere. But it is very true in Chicago, and I am still not used to bringing along a jacket everywhere I go. By 6:30 the clouds seemed to be beating the sun and my t-shirt wasn't warm enough, so I decided to call it a full day and head back home to Edgewater, where I enjoyed some Indian food and was able to put on a sweatshirt.
Sunday was uneventful and although fun, not of particular bloggage interest until I was coming home, once again, on the Red Line (this time from visiting my friend Val in Lincoln Park). I don't remember for sure where they got on - I think Belmont or Addison - but a group of six early 20's guys, all very clean cut and white, and all wearing white dress shirts and black pants, got on my car. A couple of them had name tags and one had a red handkerchief tied cowboy-style around his neck. They were a friendly group and offered me a homemade chocolate chip cookie from the plateful that one of them was carrying. I initially declined, but eventually did have one - the guy with the plate was sitting right next to me and the cookies smelled delicious. They tasted just as good.
Anyway, all these guys are Irish, and are visiting Chicago for a few days for a bachelor party for Fergus, a red-headed accountant from Cork. None of them live in the United States, and both the bride and the wedding are in Ireland, so it was a little unclear to me what exactly they were doing other than clearly having a great time. They were really nice boys and we talked about Ireland for a while. As the train approached my stop at Bryn Mawr, I told Victor, the best man (and baker of the cookies) to make sure that he got Fergus back on that plane, and he seems like a very good friend because he said that yes, he was going to make sure of it.
Mr. Miller, the woman from Fort Wayne, the boys from Ireland - the randomness of it all is really fun.
Yes, I love Chicago.
1) I share your feelings about the buy tickets to buy food situation. It makes me stabby.
ReplyDelete2) I love the Smithereens! Total envy. :)
3) I have two driver's licenses. However, they have identical information on them.
Name of Miller?
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