I learned a lot reading this book. The author has done a lot of research and has written a well balanced book about Blues Music and race.

This is a thought-provoking and provocative discussion. Delighted to feature it in The Gift of Books lists by theme - specifically, “For Allies” - among Zoomer magazine’s year-end lists. See link for full feature article and text.

Whose Blues? That was the question when the book opened, but as you read and the more you get into it you find that the question is really never answered. Was that the intent of the author who knows, for me the blues is for the person who is listening to it and it touches them. Like any music, not everyone likes or allows themselves to really feel the music.
The music the words and tone do not care about the color of your skin, it is what is inside of you when you hear the song, the person playing the tune. Especially when you lost a loved one, the blues was there for me. When I am happy it is there for me as well. I got into the blues when I was nineteen after buying a Fats Domino Record on the old one from the fifties. One side had all of the hits my father-in-law said listen to side “B” after I did, I was hooked and started looking for and collecting blues records glad I did because now they are hard to find. I would even buy them without covers or sleeves for I knew what they were history about life, it is about the songs the words.
Yes, the author talks about some artists wish he would have talked about more of the different artists and about some of the newer ones, Keb Mo who has some really good songs, plus a brand-new man King Fish who for a young man is really good. Overall a good book just thought it could have been more.

Whose Blues tackles the question of whether the blues should be strictly for black artists, black audiences, and the black music business, or whether white artists and audiences have a legitimate claim without automatically being guilty of cultural appropriation. Black bluesism vs. Blues universalism. Of course, the genie has been out of the bottle since black audiences largely abandoned the blues sixty years ago, during which time white artists and audiences have kept it alive starting with the Blues Revival.

The first part of the book, in which Adam Gussow lays out both sides of the argument -- along with a healthy (although unfortunately incomplete) history of both the blues and the revival -- is quite interesting, if a bit overly academic. But as we go along into the heart of the matter, a number of problems emerge:

1. Gussow himself is white, a teacher at Ole Miss of classes in Blues Literature, and also a blues harmonica player and teacher with a sizable YouTube following. He tells us in the introduction that he plans to propose an answer to the title question that lies somewhere in between the two sides. Which is of course a foregone conclusion, because you know he has to justify some white participation for his two areas of expertise to matter.

But that's not the problem -- the real problem is that he never offers a concrete answer, unless it's when he says that blues music is for everyone (now a global phenomenon, no longer an American issue based on race relations), but blues literature can only be written by black writers. But this raises another problem:

2. Blues literature? I can appreciate that there can be such a thing as blues literature, and I now plan to educate myself in it, and I can appreciate that Gussow has enough scholarship in the subject to teach it and write about it in depth. But really, we're talking about music here -- the debate is about where the music came from and where it should go. Some acknowledgement of blues literature would be appropriate, but there are three full chapters out of twelve, 70 of 277 pages, specifically on literature, and it is also discussed extensively elsewhere in the book. Meanwhile:

3. You won't find the names Blind Blake, Gary Davis, Willie McTell, Fred McDowell, or Blind Boy Fuller, and only scant mention of John Hurt or Bill Broonzy, or any of the black musicians in their acoustic Piedmont blues tradition like Keb' Mo, Eric Bibb, Guy Davis, or Dom Flemons, all still working, or any of the white revivalists directly or indirectly mentored by Davis, like Jorma Kaukonen, David Bromberg, Dave Van Ronk, Ry Cooder, et.al.

Whose Blues? Not my blues! I'm an acoustic blues player myself, the next generation mentored by the guys who studied with the Rev (Jorma, Bromberg, Woody Mann, Stefan Grossman, Roy Bookbinder, et.al.). How do you talk about the blues revival without ever mentioning Jorma, probably the foremost white blues artist of the past half century who plays both acoustic and electric? These guys are readily available for interviews and have written extensively themselves, Gussow could have gotten direct observations of their views on the matter.

A full chapter each for Langston Hughes and Zora Neale Hurston but not a single mention or only fleeting mention of dozens upon dozens of blues artists. I mean, kudos to Gussow for miraculously acknowledging the new generation of black blues players like Jerron Paxton and Quon Willis, but how can you write a book about the blues and not once include Blind Blake? I'm not looking for a completist compendium of every musician who ever flattened a third, but if you can devote an entire subsection to a Japanese harp player whose name you don't even know, how do you leave out the entire Piedmont Blues style (except for Sonny Terry)?

4. And if the central issue is going to be cultural appropriation of black music, what's been going on with jazz, soul, disco, hip-hop, etc.? Surely it's worth some comparison to see whether the issue extends beyond the blues -- either it should, or it shouldn't be an issue in blues.

I've spent half a century taking musical sides -- Beatles vs. Stones in the 60s, disco vs. punk in the 70s, synths vs. strings in the 80s, grunge vs. hip-hop in the 90s, and who knows what not in the 00s. Over the past ten years I've discovered an easier, less stressful way of life in music -- if I like it, I play it. Period. This summer, I've learned songs by Irving Berlin, Fats Waller, Ravel, Ray Charles, Jorma (always Jorma), Blind Blake, Jethro Tull, Iz Kamakawiwo'ole, Porno For Pyros, and the Shins. I'm from Eastern European Jewish ancestry, so even the British folk tradition underlying Tull is cultural appropriation for me, let alone the various forms of African American roots music that is at the heart of my repertoire, and even Iz's Hawaiian, alongside classic folk and rock.

So the blues debate is not much of a debate for me. I like it, I play it. If anyone wants to challenge my right to play it, good luck with that, I'm going to play it anyway. I try to do what I can for the cause -- for example, teaching audiences that if you change "babe" to "boss" you understand what they were really singing about, as in Blind Blake's (yes, that Blind Blake) Chump Man Blues (kudos again to Gussow for the discussion of signifiers, although it came way late and was too short).

Still, I found Whose Blues a fascinating read for the most part, despite the problems outlined above. I'm sure blues enthusiasts and especially players will feel the same way. Probably too academic for casual readers, though. Thanks to NetGalley for providing an advance reader's copy in exchange for an honest review (sorry if this review is a little too honest).

Whose Blues?: Facing Up to Race and the Future of the Music by Adam Gussow is a compelling account of the history of blues with the emphasis on race and who, if anyone, truly "owns" the genre.

I found this book to be almost like several books in one, and they all worked well together to create the larger book. As the title makes clear, this is about opinions, namely who owns the blues. But to even begin to have the discussion, several topics need to be openly and honestly looked at. The underlying topic, race, is one that is rarely discussed honestly in this country, particularly by whites. Gussow offers a history of race in the US from, to the extent a white man can do so, the perspective of blacks. This brings to light the extent of the harm of Jim Crow rather than the usual idea that it was simple discrimination. No, it was government sanctioned terrorism and the effects are still with us today, as is the government sanctioned terrorism, just dressed differently.

The presentation of the two main viewpoints, what he calls black bluesism and blues universalism, are accomplished with respect for each view while pointing out both strengths and weaknesses in each. In doing so Gussow presents a history of the United States as well as a history of the blues. More importantly, he highlights where these histories impact each other. Perhaps the strongest aspect of the book is how Gussow weaves these various threads (add in the music as music, audience reception, the economic world of the blues industry, internationalism) together without getting so far into one that we lose sight of the others. These areas all interact and to discuss any in isolation is to ignore far too much.

As a life long blues lover I found myself questioning what I may have unconsciously thought or believed about the music, the artists, and the history. My introduction to the genre was when an older man gave me his records when I was about 6 years old, so in 1964. He lived down the road and I used to visit him and listen to his stories and he indulged my curiosity and love of music. Those records included BB King, Howlin' Wolf, Big Maybelle, Big Joe Turner, and many more. For a young boy, that was quite an education. Since that time I have found myself returning to the blues whenever I wanted or needed grounding. So I had a long personal history to think about as I read this book and I wasn't always pleased with what I realized.

My view, in case anyone cares, is neither of the dominant views or, to put it another way, a little of both views mixed together. Whose blues? When I am listening to them, they're mine, but not exclusively and not really even primarily. I think that the history, of the blues as well as of the culture and society within which it was created, has to always be in one's mind when thinking about the music. I don't play so I can't speak to musicians playing it. I also think, as an art form, it is meant to speak to as many people as possible. But not in a colorblind noncontextualized manner. Let me offer an analogy. I can read a novel that is about a character facing both familial problems alongside societal racism. I read the book as a whole with an eye toward the sociological message. That said, I may also relate very strongly with some situations the character experiences. In those moments I am also bracketing the sociological aspect while I empathize with the character on a personal level. There is certainly empathy on the bigotry as well, but that often manifests as a "what can we do to make things better" feeling (or, frankly, anger). But on the more personal level where the similarities exist I am personally engaged and invested because I can feel that part of the character's overall angst. I may not know or feel some parts but what I feel I feel strongly. I think in a very rough way that the same is true of the blues. I know I can't truly feel the full depth of emotion that goes into the blues, but I can genuinely feel the parts that speak to our common experiences. And that feeling is both deep and genuine. So, who owns the blues? All of us and none of us. As a white listener, I am at least one step removed from ever gaining a full understanding, other than an intellectual understanding, of what the blues responds to. But that does not minimize what I do feel and understand. I'm not sure I did a good job of expressing my views very clearly, but don't hold that against the book. Gussow writes far better than I do.

Okay, stepping off my soapbox, I highly recommend this to fans of music in general as well as fans of the blues. I also recommend this to readers who like history, the stories and facts Gussow presents about the Jim Crow era is alone reason enough to read the book. Even those who might not want to think too deeply about the music they love will still find a lot here to appreciate and probably some artists that will be new to you.

Reviewed from a copy made available by the publisher via NetGalley.

I love blues music. I love a lot of music, but blues is one that speaks to me deep down. It's the emotion and power. It's raw expression, at least early on, as sometimes it's too polished for me in more modern recordings. Give me Blind Lemon Jefferson telling us about John the Revelator any day of the week. I also fall hard for the storytelling of the blues, as it reminds me of my own cultural background in music with Scots-Irish ballads. As a historian, I want to know you story. Blues invites me in for a while to give me that glimpse.

This book does this, too, but takes me on a journey into the past, back to the present, and into the future of blues music. We even take a trip around the world. All to find does anyone own the blues? Can the blues be owned?

What is interesting to me is how blues "lost" its original audience with the arrival of soul music. This section, it's "Bar 3," was the best part for me. Going back and forth in the development of what we call the blues. The music is ultimately a Black art form, and at some points perhaps carried by white audiences to keep it alive. I do wonder though if that's because of the power of a white voice in this society? This is touched on later in "Bar 4" mentioning why we know Johnson and not Carr. Myth building is huge in history. The book digs into this idea even more as we continue reading because there have been Black voices championing the blues and using the blues, but as has often happened throughout history, and even sadly in present day, is that non-white voices are ignored.

Loneliness, romantic hopelessness, homesickness...there are other feelings associated within blues music, but these stood out to me as part of that connection. Sometimes we say the same things but I'm our own dialects. I love when world's collide and we recognize shared experiences. The author does this well, even if he isn't saying it directly. Another piece that I want to explore more now that I've finished the book is literary blues. I hadn't made the connection, but that's exactly what it is.

Overall, I found myself nodding along with what I knew about the genre, but equally found myself excited over new musicians to listen to, new books to read, and uncovered histories of which I wasn't aware. The purpose of reading is to learn and discover, which this book certainly did. The book ends at an odd place. I wanted more of a conclusion, even if the author feels like they cannot answer the question of who owns or can claim the blues. Yes, the blues can be reinvented and reinterpreted, but the lack of a strong ending to this book left me wanting. I'd enjoyed the book, got into its groove, but then the bottom fell out.

The only other thing I would say as a negative about the book is when bluegrass is mentioned early on. It's an interesting take on bluegrass, but actually, bluegrass has very African roots. It should be a far more inclusive genre of music. I understand the larger point being made, but without Africa, without enslaved Africans, bluegrass wouldn't have its banjo. Historically this reads wrong to me. All of this being said, as a banjo picker, I'm going to have to find a patch for my case that reads, "bomb-ass 'grass."

Thank you to NetGalley for early access to this book in exchange for a review.