Singing the blues on Kennedy awards

WASHINGTON —  The celebration of a famous life always poses a dilemma for storytellers because it means having to decide what is relevant and what can be left on the editing floor. For those who received the Kennedy Center Honors this month, their lives are examined through their creative triumphs and they are given a national pat on the back for their contributions to the arts. When their stories are told, it’s impossible not to walk away awe-struck.

Some of the most inspiring musicians have been honored, including jazz artist Ella Fitzgerald and opera soloist Marilyn Horne. There have been musicians who have focused on gospel, soul, rock and pop.

But few blues musicians have been given Kennedy Center Honors since they were first handed out in 1978. There have been those whose work has undeniably been inspired by the blues. And there have even been entertainers such as Tina Turner, whose life story of poverty and domestic abuse has unfolded like blues lyrics. But aside from B.B. King and Ray Charles, those who peddled the blues have not been feted during the weekend-long celebration.

The Honors focus on uplift. You walk away from the blues feeling drained and spent. That is the nature -- and the beauty -- of the music.

The Honors are not a competition and so it’s a bit unseemly to start counting how many of the honorees have come from the various genres of music. The suggestions of those who are deserving and the list of those who are ultimately chosen are all subjective. (This year’s awards went to Barbra Streisand, Morgan Freeman, Twyla Tharp, George Jones and the Who’s Pete Townshend and Roger Daltrey. The ceremony will be broadcast on CBS on Tuesday.)

There is no clear way to measure cultural influence, but clearly, that influence has to have been positive. Otherwise, disco surely would have been acknowledged somewhere along the way. And notoriety alone isn’t enough to be honored, because if it were, Madonna or Michael Jackson would have been nestled in the president’s box for the annual gala by now. The only rule is that the recipient must be living and willing to accept the Honors in person. Have all the blues greats passed away? Or are they still too busy suing record companies and rock bands to claim the royalties they are owed to come to Washington?

The subject of blues performers -- and their place in history -- comes up in part because of the recent release of the film “Cadillac Records.” It tells the story of Chicago’s Chess Records and its roster of influential blues singers such as Muddy Waters, Little Walter, Howlin’ Wolf and Etta James. The movie, most prominently, stars Jeffrey Wright, who plays Waters with a Mississippi accent so thick it could benefit from subtitles. Beyonce portrays the gritty-voiced, foulmouthed, drug-addicted, vulnerable and voluptuous James. Beyonce has the booming voice, the platinum hair and the bonus pounds packed on for the role. But when she sings James’ famous ballad “At Last,” her glamorous voice doesn’t have the rough emotion of a woman who struggled through heartbreak to finally get a glimpse of love.

But never mind that. The film is less about the individual stories than the tide of frustration, poverty, wild-eyed desire and brutal realism on which the music floated. Racism comes in the form of brutal police officers, shortsighted club owners and folks who just didn’t like “race music.” There’s nothing romantic in the story of “Cadillac Records,” not in the way so many jazz tales have unfolded. It’s hard not to compare blues and jazz, two homegrown musical forms so rich in history, but with limited modern appeal. Jazz is played for artistic expression, not for money. In “Cadillac Records,” money is the essential motivation. Getting paid and getting a new Cadillac -- those were the promised rewards for signing with Chess Records.

If there’s any lesson learned from “Cadillac Records,” it’s that the blues is messy. It doesn’t have the controlled aloofness of jazz.

In the film, the music is sung by grown-ups who have known pain. They are not smooth.

There’s something about the blues that seems almost too untamed and oozy for an institution like the Kennedy Center. Without the blues, there would have been no Chuck Berry -- a Kennedy Center honoree in 2000 and played by Mos Def in “Cadillac Records” -- and without him there would have been no rock ‘n’ roll.

But rock makes us think of youth, rebellion, sex and swagger. Rock is tight. Blues is paunchy.

It lacks the lean, swivel-hipped, youthful cool of the music that it inspired.

The Kennedy Center Honors make us proud of our performing arts. They inspire us to stand taller and straighter. “Cadillac Records” reminds us of the music that’s there when we’re bent over and burdened. It is not the music that reassures listeners that everything will be all right.

But sometimes, catharsis is far more satisfying than a pep talk.

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Givhan writes for the Washington Post.