The line to get in slung around the venue’s building, all the way down the block. They came from Massachusetts and Virginia, Minnesota and the Northwest suburbs; the people up-front had been waiting four to six hours, and the only ones waiting who seemed to be first-timers were young. A usual sight for any concert, except that this was something else: a birthday celebration for one of the greatest bluesmen to ever live, sure, but also an elegy for a musical universe in which it increasingly seems as though he is the center, if for no other reason than he is the brightest star not to burn out yet.
“He’s the last of ‘em, really,” said Geoff Miller, who was visiting Chicago from Boston with his wife Lynn. They had been waiting since noon; Geoff had flown to Chicago several times for business, but had never had a chance to see any of the January or Blues Fest shows, to say nothing of seeing Buddy Guy on his birthday.