Among the most able white blues interpreters around, Rory Block turns classic songs from such prominent -- one might say formidable -- figures as Skip James, Rev. Gary Davis and Mississippi John Hurt into treatments that are uniquely her own. She grew up, both literally and figuratively, in the middle of the Village folk scene of the 1960s and absorbed all the right lessons.

Ain't Nobody Worried, the third in the series, continues Block's current project, called Celebrating Great Women of Song, but from a less retro perspective than previous editions. One is not surprised at the presence of material associated with Etta James, Mavis Staples and Koko Taylor, and she does them honor. One expects no less. The album concludes with a superior reading of Elizabeth Cotten's "Freight Train" of which, however familiar to us folk geeks, it's hard to imagine tiring.

An acquaintance once remarked that sometimes when he's walking down the street, he finds himself feeling sorry for passersby who have never heard Carter Family recordings. I know what he means, though I would add "Freight Train" to that.

It is my long experience that the finest traditional songs don't wear out their welcome. If I were to compile a list of songs that will always be welcome to my ears, a significant percentage, maybe even most, will trace their origins to the tradition. That's no coincidence. These songs survived without a music industry to support them not because people were sold them but because they liked them. The downhome blues, which Block has made her speciality over the decades, is a form of folk music that, as was true of other varieties of homegrown tunes, drew on local styles even when the particular piece was tied to a named creator. It helped, obviously, that there weren't stern copyright laws in those days.

About half of Worried, alas, is familiar pop songs known to everybody who's old enough to harbor earworms from the 1960s through the '80s. Block's versions aren't bad, but are they really needed? Even for those whose engagement with pop is less than overwhelming -- the undersigned, for one immediate instance -- there is no escaping these songs in one's daily life in the third decade of the 21st century. They're as near as the produce section of your local supermarket or the deafening jukebox at your neighborhood watering hole.

Some of the cuts are originally Motown hits, in other words among the most drearily treasured Black songs in the limited musical imaginations of white folks of a certain age. (I'm going to sound like a snob, as I no doubt am, when I say that I preferred the competing Stax artists on radio in those days.) Though I respect Carole King as a gifted songwriter (not to mention a public-minded activist), Block does not alter my longtime belief that "You've Got a Friend" is pretty sappy. On the other side, it's been a while since I last heard "Love Has No Pride," associated with Bonnie Raitt and written by Eric Kaz and Libby Titus, and it proved to be a pleasant reunion.