How others will see it. This concert is of interest to musicians and to fans of "old school" black music. As one might expect, the quality of the performances varies from adequate to inspiring. The overall buzz is a crowd-pleaser, and there's plenty of variety in the interpretations.
How I felt about it. All musical genres can have the same basic problem. Dedication to a certain style may provide consistency, but it can also limit where you can go. These unspoken restrictions keep artists earthbound.
If the blues are an expression of suffering, then why does the concert end up more like a celebration, or even a party? The best performances here push the envelope, and try to move the feeling away from the good time ensemble all-star gig.
The best example of this is provided by Chuck D and the Fine Arts Militia, who have the nerve not only to flip the finger at "a son of a Bush," but transform John Lee Hooker's "Boom Boom" from bragging blues into an angry anti-war hip-hop exercise. They're breaking the rules of genre and inclusion, but they don't care, and neither should we.
Another surprise is "King Bee," featuring Steve Tyler and Joe Perry of the rock group Aerosmith. They tear into the sexual imagery of the old bragging blues number, which meshes well with the rebellious backbone of rock and roll.
A final standout is the Neville Brothers rendition of "Big Chief." Again, the source material is a blues standard, but the interpretation is different. It's all New Orleans.
But there is also at least one mistake. David Johansen, a.k.a. Buster Poindexter, is almost embarrassing in his attempt to sing the blues. He would have been better off imitating Eric Burden. John Fogerty is a shadow of his Creedence Clearwater Revival glory days on "The Midnight Special." Ruth Brown, Mavis Staples, and Natalie Cole try to work a comedy sketch with Bill Cosby into their cocky "It's Raining Men" prequel, "Men are Like Streetcars." Sometimes it rains second generation soul singers, too. And the first generation is usually better.
Where does the blues end, and at what point does it become soul, gospel, jazz, country, rock, or hip-hop? More to the point, does it really matter? Here is a group of primarily black musicians, along with a few white veterans of black-based music, such as Dr. John and Bonnie Raitt. They're glad to be here, and they have little interest in conforming to the simple acoustic guitar and vocals roots of the blues. For better and for worse.