Jan 16, 2026 admin_bitlc Features, Music News, Reviews 0
By James Currie
On a bitter Chicago night in January, the glow spilling out of Buddy Guy’s Legends felt warmer than usual. The marquee didn’t need explaining. It rarely does in January. Buddy Guy was home again, holding court during his annual residency, and the faithful packed South Wabash Avenue shoulder to shoulder knowing exactly what they were about to witness something rare, something living, something you can’t stream or rewind.

But before Buddy ever touched a string, Grammy winning artist, and fellow Louisianian, Bobby Rush set the tone. At 92, the flashy gold jacket wearing Rush, walked onto that Legends stage like a man who still owns the room, because he does.

His set was equal parts blues, funk, storytelling, and wink-at-the-crowd humor, delivered with the confidence of someone who’s lived every lyric. Watching Rush open for Buddy felt less like an opening act and more like a sacred handoff between elders. Two architects of modern blues, still swinging, still sharp, still very much alive.

Then Buddy Guy emerged, Stratocaster in hand, that familiar grin flashing beneath the lights. Buddy, this July will be ninety years old. Ninety. As he made the statement, the number floated through the crowd like disbelief made audible. Because once the band kicked in, age became irrelevant. Buddy didn’t just play the blues, he inhabited them. Each note bent and screamed with the urgency of a man who still has something to prove, even though his influence stretches across generations, genres, and continents.

As usual, Legends was jam-packed and sold out nearly every night of his January run. People stood crushed together like sardines, winter coats and anticipation all colliding in one tight space, and no one complained for a second. This is the price of admission for history. This is what it means to be in the room.

Buddy made the room his own, as he always does. He stepped off the stage and wandered through the crowd, guitar slung, strings crying inches from fans’ faces. He paused mid-song to shake a hand, to say hello to a longtime friend Chicago blues radio legend Tom Marker (who introduced Buddy’s set), to soulfully grin at someone who’d clearly waited decades for this moment. At one point, Buddy walked right out the front door, guitar still wailing as he played to the city itself, Chicago, catching the blues on a cold January sidewalk.

Back inside, he leaned on the bar for a quick shot with friends, laughter cutting through the crowd, before drifting back to the stage like nothing had happened. Because at Legends, with Buddy Guy, anything can happen. The club isn’t just a venue, it’s an extension of him. His stories line the walls, his spirit lives in the room, and every January night feels like a reunion between the man and the music he helped shape.

Watching Buddy Guy still command a room at near 90 isn’t just inspiring, it’s essential. He is a living legend in the truest sense, a direct link to the roots of the blues and a reminder that this music isn’t a museum piece. It breathes. It sweats. It laughs. It walks past you with a guitar and locks eyes like the song is meant only for you.

As the final notes rang out and the crowd reluctantly spilled back into the Chicago night, one thought lingered louder than the applause: we are lucky. Lucky that Buddy Guy still chooses to do this. Lucky that he still shares these intimate, electric residency shows with the city that raised him up to the level he’s become and the club that bears his soul.

Here’s hoping the January residency at Legends stays a tradition for many years to come. Because as long as Buddy Guy is still walking the room, bending strings, and pouring the blues straight into the hearts of a packed house, Chicago will keep showing up, packed tight, smiling wide, and grateful to be there. And as the man himself says, “I aint’t done with the Blues.”
For more on Buddy Guy, click here
For more on Bobby Rush, click here
Photo Gallery of Buddy Guy, click here
Photo Gallery of Bobby Rush, click here
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