For some reason, I keep thinking of two rather disturbing, yet weirdly connected things: the band playing on as the Titanic went down and Nero fiddling while Rome burned.

These are not necessarily good thoughts to have while standing on the back deck of a large cruise ship listening to a band bashing out the blues.

It is early October 2008. According to all media sources, the economic world is about to end. Doom and gloom are the twins in every headline bearing news of disaster.

My husband, Kevin, and I are knocking back margaritas in the glow of a Pacific Ocean sunset with our friends Sharon and Andy. We are under way from San Diego to La Paz, Mexico, and the band is certainly playing on. Who cares if the world is ending and the ship—metaphorically speaking, of course—is going down?

To back up a little, I hate cruises. On prior trips, we found ourselves stuck with people who own way too many dress-up clothes and have an unhealthy preoccupation with dining with the captain. So when Sharon suggested a cruise, she was met with a rather tepid response. Until she mentioned it was merely a novel way to stuff a ship full of blues artists and bands from stem to stern. Suddenly, I didn’t care if the boat never left the dock.

Koko Taylor, Tommy Castro, Magic Slim, Dr. John, Elvin Bishop, John Nemeth”¦ The list of players contained a lot of names I knew, and many I didn’t.

Now, looking around at all the grinning passengers on the boat, I notice that only a few are wearing outfits nicer than their best jeans and T-shirts, a few of which are tie-dyed. A good start.

We had a week of almost too many choices of what to hear and where to hear it. We could hang on the outside pool deck with the warm breezes and hot licks of Kenny Neal, or we could sit in the showy Vermeer Lounge and listen to Etta James perform a sad train wreck of songs. I found myself fervently hoping that someone would take her off the stage and tuck her safely into bed. Mercifully, there were so many other amazing artists that she became more of a cautionary tale than anything else.

We drank dry gin martinis in the intimate Ocean bar and listened to a former truck driver, Bill “Watermelon Slim” Homans, do some old-timey slide guitar. Watermelon Slim is a fedora-wearing white guy with a face that looks like it’s seen a lot of rough road. His harmonica moans a story to match. But his rough demeanour and good ol’ boy mumbly way of talking belie the fact that he is a Mensa member and has two undergraduate degrees (in history and journalism), one of which he’s parlayed into a master’s. In between, he drove a lot of forklifts, officiated at funerals, and eventually found himself in Oklahoma, farming watermelons. Oh yeah, and in 2006, the self-titled album he made with his band, the Workers, won a Blues Critic Award for blues album of the year.

Another time, we saw Earl Thomas dance his faux-leopard cowboy boots across the stage in the Crow’s Nest, showing off his super-tight-jean–clad booty to loud applause. His vocals came from somewhere near the bottom of his feet and forced their way into the back of my brain and gut.

We went from one venue to the next, the music playing all around the ship from noonish until hours past midnight. In between, there were shore excursions into Mexico, the library for some quiet, or our stateroom to catch a quick nap between sets.

I fully intended to go to the yoga and aerobics classes, or at least stride purposefully around the outside deck. But apparently, I preferred the late-morning breakfast buffets and plenty of wine with my dinner, which made getting up in the morning my biggest effort of the day. Thank God the performers knew how to keep it going.

“We’re gonna move it and groove it all night long!” said 80-year-old Koko Taylor, my new hero. Koko performed several sets and never disappointed her die-hard fans. She was also never seen without her daughter, Cookie.

Yep, Cookie and Koko. Cookie helps her mother manage her diabetes and plugs the Koko Taylor Celebrity Aid Foundation before each set. The foundation assists people in the entertainment industry who need help with medical bills. Cookie explained that her mother has some of the best insurance a top performer like her can afford, and yet the medical bills for her ongoing health care are close to a million dollars. So, Cookie added, you can only imagine what it’s like for musicians and performers who can’t afford even the basic coverage.

Cookie told the packed lounge that Koko’s band was in a very serious van accident the previous summer. Some band members are still recovering, and because they didn’t have basic health insurance they are dependent on the foundation.

Soon after we returned home, Barack Obama was elected president. It seems to me that although the world hasn’t quite done a Titanic, he certainly has his work cut out for him—including doing something about a health-care system that relies on personal fundraising.

Maybe Obama should take a blues cruise. He can shake it and groove it and forget about things for a while as the ship steams ahead.

Let the bands play on.

Access: One-week Legendary Rhythm & Blues Cruises chartered with Holland America leave from San Diego every October travelling to Mexico’s Baja Peninsula, and every January for a Caribbean tour departing from Fort Lauderdale. Double-occupancy rates for the Pacific run start at US$1,350 per person and include all on-board entertainment and meals.