![]() We shuffle past the bouncers, pay $12 apiece, and enter a big low-slung building with two stages, and a kitchen serving ribs and Cajun food. ![]() We step out of a taxi at Kingston Mines (2548 North Halsted), a family-run club with live blues on seven nights a week. I say no to demon-infected thrash metal and the Rev doesn't like hip-hop, which rules out a visit to the South Side clubs where Kanye West and Lupe Fiasco got started – that and the 40-odd murders down there in the last month. ![]() At the normally reliable Cubby Bear (1059 West Addison), we walk out on a lame indie pop band. Chicago, where the blues got electrified, Curtis Mayfield honed his funky soul, and house music was invented, is proving tricky. We intend to stay drenched in regionally appropriate music and our hope is to find a good live show every night. ![]() We're revving ourselves up for a 1,000-mile road trip through the "wheelhouse of American music", as my travel companion Rev Timmy James puts it starting here in Frank Sinatra's kind of town, and swinging down through Louisville and Nashville to Memphis. We've downed Old Style beers at a great old dive bar, the L&L Tavern (3207 North Clark Street), where you can buy a legal spirit made from distilled coca leaves, the raw ingredient for cocaine. We've eaten hotdogs at a joint on North Clark Street where a "chocolate milkshake" costs $20 and the cashier gets topless. ![]()
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