Chicago Blues: Change of Venue

(Continued from Chicago Blues: Slippin’ In)

Featured Photo: “Lil’ Red & the Rooster, Live at Legends”  Chicago, Illinois—2025

Around 5:30, the opening act took the stage and started playing the Blues. They called themselves Lil’ Red & the Rooster, a nod to the classis Blues standard, “Little Red Rooster”. (Originally written by Willie Dixon, the song was first recorded in 1961 by the legendary Chicago Bluesman Howlin’ Wolf and later in 1963 by soul singer Sam Cooke. It was most famously covered by the Rolling Stones in 1964, whose rendition still stands as the only blues song to reach the top of the British chart. I’ve included links to each version, in case you want to listen to any or all.)

The duo on stage—captured in today’s Featured Photo—consisted of Lil’ Red, a talented singer with curly red-ish locks; she also narrated the show and played all things percussion, including a washboard. The Rooster, her bald-ish and somewhat less accomplished accompanist uttered not a word, instead letting his guitar speak for him; he was presumably nicknamed for their mascot, the pink-ish rubber chicken. Their dinner set consisted mostly of well-known Blues and R&B tunes, with a little Rockabilly thrown in, all played at low volume, which encouraged conversation throughout the club.

The solid-wooden bar top where we sat extended to our right then curved, continuing along to another array of taps, with access for the wait staff to pick up food and drink orders. There were more guitars mounted on the wall, including some from celebrated rock and jazz musicians.

I asked my friend to guard my stool so I could have a look around the club, then walked behind the servers at the bar and proceeded down a short hallway past the kitchen door, pausing to gaze at an impressive mural on the wall. The painting seemed familiar, like I’d seen it somewhere before. It was fittingly titled Mount Bluesmore, a reimagination of Mount Rushmore, but instead of the colossal sculptures of famous American presidents carved into the granite face of the Black Hills in South Dakota, the canvas depicted four of Chicago’s Blues luminaries in a similar stony setting.

Just beyond Mount Bluesmore, at the end of the hall, I found the restrooms, conveniently located just 30 feet from where we were sitting. I retraced my steps, passed by the back bar, and headed toward the front bar to check out the view. The club’s interior space was not large, having a couple dozen tables set close to the stage within a roped-off area where more fortunate patrons could sit and eat dinner while watching the show. Behind the tables was a section for the Standing Room Only crowd. All-in-all, including the two bars, I guessed the place could hold some 500 or so Blues aficionados.

The house lights were up while Lil’ Red & the Rooster played, and I paused behind the ropes in the SRO section to listen. As I scanned the brightly-lit and well-appointed interior, my distant memory resurfaced: something about the club just didn’t seem right. This was not the venue I remembered, neither inside nor out. You see, I’d been to Buddy Guy’s Legends nearly 30 years before, with my faculty friends from Gordon College. This was not the same place. On the inside, this club was fresher, better decorated, more spacious; before, it had seemed dark and cramped. On the outside, this edifice was red brick with lots of large windows; I’d recalled it being gray with only a few panes of glass. And the location was not as I remembered. On my first visit to Legends, the neighborhood felt seedier, raw, threatening.

Perhaps it had been, back then. It turns out Legends had actually moved to this new address about a decade and a half before my return visit, and they had brought Mount Bluesmore along to the new location. That was where I’d seen it before! The old club, which had been located just a block south…

…was itself demolished and replaced by a gleaming, modern structure, now housing the Student Center for Chicago’s Columbia College. Like the old Legends, the exterior of the new campus building was still gray, but the entire neighborhood now felt safer and more welcoming than before.

There was another big difference: the first time I was at Legends, Buddy Guy did NOT play. In this new club, the Legend himself was headlining the show. I moved along to the front bar and turned around to look toward the stage. Mr. Real Estate had it right: our back bar clearly had a better view. Hung on the walls behind this front bar were more guitars from well-known musicians…

…along with a great photo of the club’s namesake, flashing a huge smile as he posed with a couple of other illustrious Blues stars.

A little before 6:00, I finished my club circuit, marched once again behind the diners at their tables, and returned to our little haven at the back bar. A few more patrons had gathered in the area around us and most of the stools were now claimed, except the two next to me. I sat down alongside my friend where he’d held my place, and we talked about all I’d discovered in the club.

He nodded toward the empty seats and said it was good I returned because it was getting harder to hold my spot with the growing crowd. I looked along the bar toward the hallway with Mount Bluesmore. Standing behind the unclaimed stools beside me was a middle-aged guy with a friendly smile. He greeted me and said his name was Greg (or maybe it was Gary). He then introduced me to Omar, the bartender who had served our beer earlier. I chatted briefly with Greg (or Gary), and it seemed like he knew everyone in the joint on a first-name basis: the entire wait staff and most of the regular customers. He also explained he was saving one of the seats for a friend who would join him later.

After another half hour, the open space directly behind us at the back bar started to fill in. My friend and I greeted a few of the newcomers and struck up a conversation with one—a young guy (I didn’t catch his name). We told him how excited we were for this rare opportunity to see Buddy Guy play live. He nodded thoughtfully, then remarked, “I’ve seen Buddy play and he’s good. But honestly, I’m here to see Melvin Taylor. He’s fantastic!” My friend and I were dumbfounded by this blasphemy! We reacted, “Really? Better than Buddy Guy?! The legend himself?!” Silently, we were thinking, “You must be crazy.”

After that conversation stopper, my friend and I turned back toward the bar, silently nursing our beers. Eventually, we resumed our own discussion, shaking our heads and joking about his absurd comment. It never occurred to us he might be right!

(To be continued…)