I'm constantly amazed by the power of words, their casual discrimination and irony. Lunch at Denny's reemphasized the last point. Searching for a genre to fit the twangy, nondescript stream of music playing in the dining room, I could only come up with one: Americana.

Music Choice, the popular cable television "radio" network describes Americana as The Alt side of country from Texas grit to Nashville edge and everything in between. Part of Americana's appeal to me is its ability to combine the best parts of other genres while eschewing weaker aspects. In one song you might have the raucous strut of Rock's distorted guitars, the throaty hitch of a Country crooner, and the thoughtful, perceptive lyrics of Folk. I liked much of the music I heard but after a few songs I began to ponder why Americana always has a certain pallor to it.

Perhaps it's my fault for watching The Temptation's one too many times. While that tale of urban youths who worked their way up from a school boy choir to one of Motown's most succesful bands seems to epitomize American spirit, nothing I heard in Denny's that day supports that belief. Nor can I find any balance on the 24/7 Americana cable network. But part of that has to do with the historical and ongoing role black music plays in the music industry.

Black and other ethnocentric music is treated like a spice more valuable than saffron. A little of it gos a long way and blends with nearly any other variety of music. Sometimes this is a good thing. For instance, Garth Brooks' alternate persona of Chris Gaines. Although ultimately and thoroughly rejected by country music fans, Babyface's smooth R&B production created a perfect bed for Brooks' wide ranging voice and (who knew?) sweet falsetto. Other times this blending of genres is less successful. Which reminds me I have a pair of Cowboy Troy tickets I'm willing to sacrifice.

I don't mean to seem overly sensitive about this since genres are largely a marketing mechanism. And I understand the number of blacks trying to excel in this style of music is probably the same number who are interested in challenging Jeff Gordon's standing in Nascar. But statistics don't erase the most acute irony of Americana: that some of its most appealing traits are derivatives of music you'll never hear in an Americana playlist. In that respect it mimics Rock & Roll's emergence as a watered down version of the hyper-sexual blues played in juke joints across the rural southeast.

But truthfully, I like this music. And it's not musicians' fault they've been coralled within a genre whose name evokes thoughts of the coded words Republican candidates used during the last Presidential campaign. So listen and enjoy. But after you've had your fill, consider sampling America's true art form and one that encompasses every shade of humanity: Jazz.