Whole Lotta Rosetta

Time to summon the iplayer if you didn't get the chance to see Friday's splendid documentary on BBC4. Sister Rosetta Tharpe isn't celebrated often, and 'The Godmother Of Rock And Roll' was making some bold claims with that billing. But happily, it delivered.

She was an impeccable singer and guitarist, with a physical presence that prepped American culture for Elvis, Chuck Berry, Pops Staples and the rest. The archive film was wonderful proof of her ability to ride that boogie while saving your soul at the same time. She could crank out these riffs at the end of a vocal line that have entered the rock idiom. But they have rarely been played with such individual verve.

Like Bessie Smith, another underrated pioneer, Rosetta had a vivid personal life, and the account of her public wedding at a Washington stadium before 25 000 paying guests was a great one. It was also unusual to see the Sister on a disused railway station outside Manchester, roaring through a downpour, willing us to ride that glory train.

Next morning, I woke in a state of unusual bliss. Her work, I'll wager. Sister Rosetta goes before us, still.