"Then afterward I will pour out my spirit on all flesh; your sons and your daughters shall prophesy, your old men shall dream dreams, and your young men shall see visions." Joel 2:28
I have dreamed all my life (well, at least since 1984, when the event started) of going to the Chicago Blues Festival. I'm one of those southern white boys who needed Eric Clapton and Robert Plant to share the gospel about our own music. And when Clapton talked in Rolling Stone about the legendary Robert Johnson's The Complete Recordings as the Holy Grail of sound, I was immediately off to Sounds of Music (Later, Sounza Musik) in Jackson to get my hands on a copy. They didn't have it. But Peaches in Memphis sure did. From the first notes of Kindhearted Woman Blues, I was hooked. By Sweet Home Chicago, Cross Road Blues and Love in Vain, it was over. I already knew disco sucked, but there was something in this music that made the Eagles, Fleetwood Mac and Elton John seem like first-year music students.
Later came John Lee Hooker, Son House, Muddy Waters, Howlin' Wolf (Sam Phillips felt that the Wolf's music was the most important work ever to come out of Sun Records), Charlie Patton, Honeyboy Edwards, Sleepy John Estes, Mississippi John Hurt and all the rest. Those records had something going on that the stuff on the radio just couldn't deliver. The Blues are real, raw and powerful. They shame every other music in my ear, heart and head. They gave birth to all American music that came after them.
The roommate and I have calculated, thought and even prayed a little. We've still got two in college, a granddaughter coming in January, a future son-in-law we're trying to help, and a teacher's salary and a church that's still not close to doing what was promised four years ago. Still, we've decided: we're going to Chicago next summer. There's no place I'd rather vacation anyway. But next summer, we're going early. Right after Annual Conference. And the Cubs' and White Sox' schedules aren't the primary ingredient for this trip.
We're going to the Chicago Blues Festival.
Roomy will be a certified antique in a month. I got my AARP membership card today, courtesy of her upcoming birthday. This, and a grandchild on the way, adds up to a great big "let's get on with it!" And I absolutely cannot wait. Everybody who's anybody on the stages. More people in Grant Park than showed up for Barack Obama's victory speech. In my favorite city in the world. With my companion of choice. It just doesn't get any better than that!
And I'll be listening and looking for the ghosts. Robert Johnson will be there, and Hooker and Muddy and the Wolf; Son and Leadbelly and Luther Allison will be hanging around, too. I miss you guys, but I'll see you in Chicago come June!
"Back to that land of California; Sweet home Chicago." Robert Johnson (Hey, he was a Bluesman, not a geographer!)
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