Guitar soul divas

What startled about Corinne Bailey Rae's performance of "Like a Star," from her recently released self-titled debut on Capitol Records, was the singer's coffee-colored skin and brown-sugar voice.

Women of color aren't usually seen playing guitar on screen, or at the top of the charts. A few have gained fame -- Joan Armatrading, Tracy Chapman, Lauryn Hill -- and artists like funky bassist Me'Shell Ndegeocello, mystical chanteuse Erykah Badu and poetess Jill Scott qualify as close relations. But mostly, "brown girls" don't take on the guitar-strumming, introspective pose that since the 1960s has been associated with rock genius. When they do, they throw a wrench in the thinking that, despite many examples to the contrary, divides "rockist" values from pop ones, mostly along racial and gender lines.

Since the days of Lennon and Dylan, at least, rock authenticity has been linked to the image of the white male genius stating his truths with rawness and depth, while pop authenticity (yes, there is such a concept) has stressed supposedly feminine ideals like beauty, adaptability to current fashions and a talent for working well with others. Racial differences create related divides: Soul authenticity, and now hip-hop "realness," stress rock-style heavy emotion, but collaboration matters here as much or more than individuality. Musicians from Elvis Presley to Prince to Kelly Clarkson have long defied these categories, and yet they still dominate the way music is marketed, judged and discussed, even as one form of realness -- say, hip-hop's mix of sonic innovation and from-the-streets testifying -- triumphs over another, like rock's tradition-minded soul-searching.