Remembering Von Freeman

Lincoln Park's blues scene comes alive in a cool, thumping tantrum of Chicago sound. Belting voices, bottleneck guitars, the melancholy sirens wail all night long in the dives and doorways near DePaul. They bellow in River North and on the South Side, from House of Blues to Buddy Guy's. Carl Weathersby, Koko Taylor, B.B. King. Those were the names lighting up the marquees back then. The legends got people in the door; the music kept them there. C over after cover I made the rounds, from Blues on Clark to Rosa's Lounge. Each joint beckoned with soulful serenades and crying six-strings that could make you weep if you let them. So it seems strange that once I discovered jazz, I never set foot in a blues bar again. It's Michael's fault. Or Von's . I really can't say. All I know is, once I heard their music, I never needed anything else. Andy's on Hubbard, that's where it was. Von never liked me on the South Side. Without a car, it wasn't feasib