One of the benefits of living in Kansas City, Mo. is the Saturday Night Fish Fry, a music program on local public radio you can hear every Saturday night from 8 to midnight. The host, Chuck Haddix, serves up vintage and current blues, soul, jumpin' jive, zydeco, funk, doo-wop, four-handed boogie woogie piano, Mardi Gras mambos, gospel, R&B ballads, and Cajun stomps, along with notable barbecue recipes and lively chat about the local music scene and domino games in summer backyards. In our house the Fish Fry is welcome background music, but over the years I notice it's also become, for me, an kind of ongoing prayer, though of the "noisy contemplation" variety.
Do these names ring a bell? Pinetop Perkins, Eddie "Cleanhead" Vincent, Muddy Waters, Slim Harpo, Professor Longhair, Etta James, Ma Rainey, Peetie Wheatstraw? They're all stellar lights in the genre known as the blues, which is largely the music of black America a few generations ago, what 60 years ago used to be called "race music." It's the fertile seedbed of rock 'n' roll and has become the quintessential music of American working folks.