Thunder Knocking on the Door

The mainstreaming of the blues, which brought it in the 70s from the smoky haunts of 47th Street to the frat-boy territory of Lincoln Park, may have rescued a great many artists from poverty and obscurity. But whether it boosted the art is another matter. Widespread acceptance can breed complacency and a certain lack of innovation, and though “Sweet Home Chicago” must be doing wonderful things for the Willie Dixon estate, and B.B. King may be making a bunch more off residuals from TV commercials than he ever got from “The Thrill Is Gone,” that doesn’t make going to Kingston Mines any more interesting. Artists like Junior Wells and Buddy Guy may be selling tons more copies and have a more polished studio feel than they did in the 60s, but a raw vitality has been lost.

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Glover is certainly not the first to realize this. Blues songwriting has influenced Broadway legends from George Gershwin to Leonard Bernstein. And August Wilson has created Pulitzer Prize-winning dramas that echo the structure of a three-hour death-letter blues. But writer-director Glover succeeds at weaving together original if somewhat derivative blues songs with a narrative structure that itself mimics a digressive blues number.

What makes Glover’s story interesting is its ambivalence. Though Thunder shares traits with the devil, he’s not an evil character; his goal is self-preservation, not malice. And the fairy-tale dilemma he faces at play’s end–whether to render his love blind forever or lose his own life–is resonant and compelling. Glover has also layered his trickster tale with beautifully imagined elements from magical realism–fantastic descriptions, voodoo rituals, and peculiar metamorphoses. These elements and Keb’ Mo’s songs, which are lyrically suspect but have the vibrance of early Chuck Berry, the soulfulness of Curtis Mayfield, and the swagger of a young Muddy Waters, are so strong that they can almost create a diverting evening of theater in themselves.

Art accompanying story in printed newspaper (not available in this archive): theater still by James Fraher.