They buried Bo Diddley last weekend, and a rocking affair it was.
According to reports, a gospel band played his signature tune while mourners filed past the body. Pretty soon, the crowd was clapping along to the beat and singing “Hey Bo Diddley.”
It was a fitting finale for a rock ’n’ roll pioneer that cast a long shadow on the history of music.
His “shave and a haircut” beat is one of the bedrock rhythms of rock ’n’ roll.
You can hear it in Buddy Holly’s “Not Fade Away,” Bruce Springsteen’s “She’s the One” and “I Want Candy,” a 1965 hit for the Strangeloves and an even bigger hit in 1982 for Bow Wow Wow.
Bo burst on the scene in 1955 with the two-sided monster hit “Bo Diddley” and “I’m a Man” on Chess Records
The first percolated right along with that beat. The B-side had a bone-crushing blues riff. “I’m a Man” also became a hit for the Yardbirds.
But Muddy Waters took the song, retitled it “Mannish Boy” and made it one of his signature tunes. Muddy’s version has been featured in films and commercials.
Other hits included "Who Do You Love?," "You Don't Love Me," "Diddley Daddy," "Pretty Thing," "Diddy Wah Diddy," "Mona," "Road Runner," and "You Can't Judge a Book by Its Cover."
As rock ’n’ roll slipped into the safe comfort of Pat Boone’s white buck shoes, Bo gave it some funk and humor.
He and vocalist Jerome Green started trading jiving insults one night in the studio. Bo slapped a funky beat on it and made himself a hit called “Tell It to Jerome.”
His homemade square guitar was always a head turner and what he did with it made musical history. His work with tremolo or just dragging his guitar pick down the strings on “Road Runner” lead to the experimentation of guitarists such as Jimi Hendrix.
By the time I met Bo Diddley 20 years ago, he was a bitter old man.
I was jazzed to interview such a legend. MCA had bought the Chess Records catalog and was reissueing Bo’s LPs on virgin vinyl with the original covers.
Our phone interview was a disaster. It took me two days to track him down to a Boston hotel room.
He kept telling me to phone back because he was taking a shower, then he was shaving, then he was brushing his teeth. When I finally got him sit down and talk, he didn’t want to talk about his glory days in the 1950s and 1960s.
“That’s old stuff,” he said.
What he did want to talk about was how he had been cheated out of royalties.
Back in the 1950s, most black artists were paid a flat fee to record. It was common for someone like Bo or Muddy to go in the studio, lay down a track and leave with $50 in his pocket. Better to have cash in hand than the promise of maybe some royalties down the line.
Even those that had a deal for royalties were usually cheated out of them one way or another.
It’s a common story. Bruce Springsteen signed a management contract on the hood of a car. It ended up costing him two years in court and more than $7 million to get back control of his music.
A few days later I went backstage at Bo’s concert in Fair Park. I asked him to sign the MCA reissue albums.
“What’s this?,” he asked withn a snarl. “Something else I’m not getting paid for.”
He refused to sign the albums on the front.
In a way, Bo and his Chess labelmates lucked out. In 1989, MCA decided to give them the going rate — a 10 cent royalty rate — though they were not legally required to pay it.
Family and friends talk about how much he liked people and how eager he was to help his fellow man.
But interviews seemed to bring out his dark side.
Bo’s story is a cautionary tale for any artist, athlete or inventor. Always consult a lawyer before you sign that contract.
A member of the Rock ’N’ Roll Hall of Fame, Bo had to keep touring until his health wore out. That’s no way to treat a legend.
