FINDING THE BLUESMAN AT BLUES ON THE CHIPPEWA

 

The one and only bluesman, Keith Zeller (click above for info on blues festival)

ABOUT A WEEK AGO, bluesman (and veteran Memory Brother) Keith Zeller informed me about Blues on the Chippewa in Durand, Wisconsin on August 3-5. He said he'd be there all day on Saturday and extended an invitation to me to come up and bring along our mutual friend, Johnny Dessel (a fervent blues aficionado.) So, my pal Johnny and I headed north yesterday (Sat, Aug 5) to Durand. There we attended Blues on the Chippewa—a blues festival held there annually at Memorial Park. The 136-mile drive due north from our hometown of West Union, Iowa runs smack dab through the Paleozoic Plateau (also known as the Driftless Area) of Minnesota and Wisconsin.

Mississippi River bluffs near Wabasha (south of Durand, Wisconsin)

The scenery itself was worth the trip—the Mississippi River running through the great hills and valleys of the Blufflands creates an awe-inspiring tapestry. Well-done, divine creator (or whomever may be in charge!) Upon arriving in Durand, it took a few minutes to find parking as the town was understandably overrun by festival goers. Eventually, I found a parking spot in a lot behind an office building about 2 blocks from Memorial Park. We collected our thoughts, decided we didn't need sweatshirts, double-checked to make sure we had Keith's phone #, locked the car and noted landmarks so we wouldn't forget where we'd parked. Off we went!

Some folks knew enough to bring lawn chairs!

The music was loud—very loud, but good. Nevertheless, due to my sensitivity to "loud," I kept my distance from the bands by staying on the periphery of this park area (about the size of a city block.) Side note: I have a feeling I'm in a minority when it comes to my aversion to loud music, 'cuz hundreds of folks my age (and older) were planted right in front of the two, adjacent stages—seemingly unaffected by the decibel level and thoroughly enjoying the music. We soon realized that we'd neglected to bring a couple of very important things—lawn chairs. So, we started searching for a spot where we might "plant" ourselves. Johnny deferred to my need for a quieter spot amid the din of the chest-thumping subwoofers. We ended up on the opposite corner of the block, behind the sound stages and right next to all the food stands—coincidence? You decide!

Bands alternated on two sound stages—the Local Stage" (above) and the Main Stage

So, what will it be—a rack of BBQ'd ribs, a cheesesteak sandwich or a designer hotdog? All sounded good; but, tellingly, the line in front of the cheesesteak place was twice as long as the others. That was a pretty good tip off! After we finished our cheesesteak sandwiches (excellent!), it was time to track down Mr. Zeller—easier said than done! Looking out on a sea of 60 and 70-year-old men dressed in Hawaiian shirts and baseball caps, every other one looked kinda like Keith. The phone route wasn't working, 'cuz every time we tried calling Keith, his phone would go to voicemail. So, I took off searching for him while Johnny held down the fort at the picnic table by the food stands. I made my way to the front of the main stage and began scanning the crowd while the kick drum fluffed my shirt with each beat. I finally waded into the crowd—looking quite official, carefully scrutinizing each face—not Keith . . . nope, that's not Keith, not Keith . . . no lady, I'm not working undercover, I'm looking for the bluesman! Finally, I heard, "Doug . . Doug!!" And sure enough, it was Mr. Zeller seated in an area he later referred to as the "sandbox" (a playground transformed into a seating area with a fine gravel surface.) After a big hug, we attempted to converse—shouting over the music: "Where's Johnny?" "Huh?" "WHERE'S JOHNNY?!" Pointing towards the food stands, I yelled, "He's waaay over there. I'll give him a call." But attempting a phone call was futile due to the volume of the music. "I'LL GO GET HIM!!" So, I worked my way back through the crowd over to the picnic tables. No Johnny. About 20 minutes later, I finally spotted Johnny standing over by the Local Stage (the smaller of the two sound stages.) "JOHNNY, I FOUND KEITH. FOLLOW ME!" We circled around the crowd and approached the "sandbox" area from behind. No Keith! After making a few more rounds through the crowd—back 'n forth, and several more phone attempts, we finally gave up and returned to the car. We tried calling Keith one more time but to no avail. It was getting late and kind of muggy (rain was in the forecast), so we decided it was probably time to head out as we did have a 3-hour drive ahead of us. All in all, the cheesesteak sandwiches were delicious, the company was great, the scenery was awesome, the music was . . . er, well it was LOUD. And at least one of us got to see our favorite bluesman, Keith Zeller!