Once upon a time in a small town just off a long highway, in a basement of a rental cinder-block house up on a ridge in the hilly hamlet, I played Bo Diddley songs with my friends. We weren't much as a band but we had some good fun in that basement, beating out our primitive covers of Bo Diddley's drivin' rockin' 'n rollin' rhythms. The band didn't last long, and we didn't learn but a few songs. But sometimes we got in the groove, and those Bo Diddley rhythms picked us all up and blew us all away like Dorothy and Toto up in the twister, off to a land of pure delight and desire and dancing and just getting down deep in the joy of making this noise together for a few fast minutes.
I remember those moments well and fondly now for they feel far far away. I still see all those folks sometimes but things aren't like they used to be. I dare say we will never again all be in a room together, beating out a rhythm and kicking up our own little tornado of rock 'n roll love between us. Because things change and on down the long highway we all move on, but no matter where or when, when I hear that ol' Bo Diddley beat coming through the ether I will tap my feet, remembering how I shook the maracas and shuffled my feet to the music. As I danced on the concrete floor of that basement, surrounded by my friends banging away on their instruments, I was moving to the beat of one of the gods of rock 'n roll. I want to thank him for bringing his particular joy to the guitar and thus the world, and for giving this non-musician wanna-be rock 'n roller white boy a taste many years later of what it is to get rock 'n roll deep in your soul as the vibrations and rhythms surround you and carry you away for a few fast minutes, no matter where you are, where you've been, or where you're going.
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