Diddley's death deprives us of yet another of the true bluesmen from Chess Records

As much as I enjoy listening to the music of the blues, I must admit that I rarely go out to the Chicago nightclubs that purport to offer the true blues experience.

There isn’t any point. Too many of them (in an attempt to appeal to the tourists) are in neighborhoods too refined to reflect the crudeness of the sound, which reflected the lives of the people who had to endure Jim Crow as a lifestyle.

THE BLUES MUSIC scene of the 21st Century offers an experience about as authentic as a Taco Bell. Too many of the musicians who try to make a living today play the same old songs. Do we really need to hear anything more from "The Blues Brothers," or yet another cover version of “Sweet Home Chicago?”

My point in this diatribe is that, for me, blues has become a recorded experience, one I enjoy primarily through the old LPs I collected when I was in college (and which I still own, along with a fully-functioning turntable).

And among the records I own are several of the albums produced by Chicago’s Chess Records label that feature the music of Bo Diddley.

The man who was “Bo” in Chicago long before multi-task athlete Jackson did a stint with the White Sox died Monday. Born Ellas Bates (later changed by his mother to McDaniel), he was one of the last survivors among the artists recorded by Chess during that record label’s heyday in the late 1940s and 1950s.

HE WAS ONE of the masses of black people who fled the Deep South in search of a better life, ultimately settling on Chicago’s South Side just like millions of other people. And like many other black people, he was exposed to the music of gospel and of the streets.

Diddley himself always said he was inspired to want to play the guitar after first hearing Detroit bluesman John Lee Hooker’s recording of “Boogie Chillen.”

But Diddley was different from the others who stumbled their way into the Chess studios at 2122 S. Michigan Avenue. While bluesmen such as Muddy Waters became known for songs such as “I Just Want to Make Love to You,” (which was about just what the title says it is, a plea for sex), Diddley became known for the upbeat tune with the jangling beat that he named after himself.

“Bo Diddley” (the song) was something that was meant to be danced to, not listened to too closely. It was fun.

IN FACT, THERE was a touch of fun to most of the records that Diddley made.

“You Can’t Judge a Book by Looking at its Cover,” and “Who Do You Love?” fall into the same mode.

My personal favorite, however, was a record made by accident.

In between songs, Diddley and band member Jerome Green (the man on the maracas) engaged in some verbal sparring – mostly along the line of “Yo Mama” type gags, trying to see who could come up with the coldest insult.

BUT THE REEL-to-reel tape recorders in the studio were running, and caught this bit of spontaneous sparring. When a musical track similar to “Bo Diddley” was put in the background, the war of insults became the hit song, “Say Man” (Literally, the 1959 record was Diddley’s only one to chart in the Top 40 of the pop charts).

Maybe it’s trivial for me to say that is my favorite Diddley track (although “Can’t Judge a Book …” is a close second). But where else are you going to hear lyrics such as the following.

DIDDLEY: “You’ve got the nerve to call somebody ugly. Why you so ugly, the stork that brought you in the world ought to be arrested.”

GREEN: “That’s alright. My momma didn’t have to put a sheet on my head so sleep could slip up on me.”

DIDDLEY MADE FUN records – ones that still produce a moment of joy when listened to all these five decades later. If anything, Diddley’s records may be among the most timeless produced by the old Chess Records (Muddy Waters’ “Rolling Stone” sounds too much like a historic artifact to be enjoyed – like something the Smithsonian Institute’s record label should have produced).

It’s a shame that Diddley became more known as the guy who influenced all the white rock stars of the 1960s, rather than the guy who became wealthy for his own musical work.

As Diddley himself would point out, he and Chuck Berry were making what are now considered to be rock ‘n’ roll records in Chicago three years before Elvis Presley made his first recordings for the Memphis-based Sun Records label.

But Diddley didn’t let this lack of fortune get to him – he literally kept working all these decades until last year, when a stroke finally forced him into retirement. How many other 78-year-old musicians still work the stage? Or work anywhere, for that matter?

TO ME, THE death of Diddley is a loss because it means one less of the authentic blues musicians from the era of Chess that so many musicians admire today, but do such an awful job of channeling through their playing on stage in the modern-day club scene.

But in a sense, we will always have the records – some of which have even managed to be re-issued on compact disc and can also be found around the Internet (for those of you people who absolutely abhor the concept of holding a physical piece of music in your hands). In that sense, Diddley won’t die.

Whenever I need a chuckle, I’ll be able to dig up my copy of “Bo Diddley Is A Gunslinger” (Bo does a solid-black cowboy outfit for the cover art) or “Have Guitar, Will Travel” – the album that contains the aforementioned “Say Man.”

Where else can you hear a truly philosophical debate (along the lines of Coke vs. Pepsi) about whether “South Texas” qualifies as being a part of “South America?” No matter how many times I hear that exchange, it cracks me up every time.

-30-

EDITOR’S NOTES: Ellas McDaniel may be deceased, but the music of Bo Diddley will (http://www.upi.com/NewsTrack/Entertainment/2008/06/02/musician_singer_bo_diddley_dead_at_79/6572/) live on for decades – if not centuries – to come.

Bo Diddley’s heyday may have been in the rearview mirror by 1973 (http://blogs.villagevoice.com/runninscared/archives/2008/06/bo_diddley_rip.php), but he continued to work the nightclubs with his music – as illustrated by this account of a Bronx nightclub where he performed “Hey, Bo Diddley” at gunpoint.

Diddley viewed himself (http://www.latimes.com/entertainment/la-et-boappreciation4-2008jun04,0,7947308.story) as a working musician, not just an oldies act in need of money (which is what Chuck Berry has become).

“Say Man” may well be one of the most unique recordings ever made in the history of (http://www.musicsonglyrics.com/B/bodiddleylyrics/bodiddleysaymanlyrics.htm) commercially recorded music.