Many moons ago, Bo Diddley was booked for a show at the now-defunct Music Machine in West LA. At the time, I was a member of the Rockin' Jimmys--a band that specialized in early rock & roll--and we were hired to back up Bo. We met in the club's dressing room and Bo gave us our marching orders. These mainly consisted of: "Don't do the Bo Diddley beat. Nobody plays it right and if you start trying to play it, and I'm doing it, then it just sounds terrible. You just play straight and let me do the Bo Diddley beat."
As soon as Bo hit the stage, the SRO crowd erupted. We followed Bo through intensely grooving & swampy versions of his big hits for an hour until his road manager, standing in the wings, tapped on her watch and held up her index finger--that was it, he'd put in his contractually obligated one hour. Bo immediately turned to us, emphatically brought his guitar down to terminate "Who Do You Love," waved to the crowd and left. He'd given his fans their money's worth, and more. After all, he was one of the true pioneers of rock & roll and they'd just experienced him in all his glory, live and unmediated.
It was a true honor to share the stage with such a musical visionary.
Bo Diddley was also remarkably sanguine about the music business. In a 2005 Rolling Stone interview he said, "I tell musicians, 'Don't trust nobody but your mama,' and even then, look at her real good."
Rest in peace, Bo. Thank you for creating rock & roll. Your music lives on, even if nobody else plays your beat your way.