Atlantic City Weekly

"Fifty-one"

says Bo Diddley, correcting the interviewer's lazy math -- the figure being the number of years since the release of the iconic musician's first single.

Put out by the Chess Records' subsidiary Checker Records in May 1955, "Bo Diddley" with "I'm A Man" on the flip side was a one-two combination that would knock its way up the charts and guarantee the Mississippi-born singer, songwriter, guitarist and performer a big place in music history.

Recorded while he was still being called by his legal name, Ellas McDaniel, the 45 rpm gem would not only help break the rock 'n' roll genre of popular music wide open, but also bring into prominence the signature "Bo Diddley Beat," that addictive bomp, ba-bomp-bomp, bomp-bomp that was the rhythmic bedrock of not only Diddley's namesake song, but several of his now legendary hits such as "Mona" and "Who Do You Love."

Although the origins of that beat have fueled many a debate over the decades -- nearly as many as why exactly the man changed his name to Bo Diddley -- several music scholars agree that, like most facets of American music, its derivatives were multi-fold. Once Diddley grabbed hold of the beat, the inventive and intuitive musician enhanced, perfected and tailored it to the times.

Born into a segregated south, McDaniel soon moved to Chicago with his mother's cousin who adopted and raised him on the city's south side. His interest in music began at an early age and he studied classical violin for several years through his church. One day, however, Diddley and his cousin were horsing around and he broke his little finger, ending his classical music career.

"He threw me on my ass," says Diddley, now 77. "I fell on my hand and broke my little finger. I had to quit because my finger wouldn't fall in the right place."

Diddley is glad, though, for that classical training.

"It gave me a different approach to music," he says. "Now I have to brag a little bit; I'm something else. I come up with some weird shit."

This melting pot of strange stuff included bits of classical, African and church music, R&B and the blues. "I put all that stuff together and mixed it up," says Didldley, who would also become a truly gifted lyricist. "I was just lucky enough to do that."

After switching first to the drums, Diddley soon became enamored of the guitar. Eventually he got an electric version of the six-stringed contraption and began playing in groups around Chicago. Years of performing on corners and in clubs eventually led to his first demo recording, which landed him the deal with Checker.

The song "Bo Diddley" would soon be heard on early rock disc jockey Alan Freed's groundbreaking and career making radio program, and then performed live on stages throughout the country. Diddley became a star among the throngs of screaming teenagers who were relieved from the sugarcoated film of '50s pop music, which, with acts like Fats Domino and Bill Haley taking over for the Doris Days and Les Baxter Orchestras, was just beginning to lift.

Soon, amid the atomic bomb paranoia that was sweeping the nation and the birth of a rhythm & blues music genre (not long beforehand "race records" was the industry term for R&B), the infectious shake and blues-soaked wallop of "Bo Diddley" would go on to inspire contemporary acts like Elvis Presley and Buddy Holly, and then a multitude of artists in the following generations. Songs from Holly's "Not Fade Away" and the Who's "Magic Bus" to George Michael's "Faith" and U2's "Desire" are scattered variations of the Diddley beat.

At the time, the 27-year-old former truck driver, elevator operator, construction worker, boxer and street corner busker had no idea what he was getting himself into.

"I didn't have any idea what the hell was going on," says Diddley, who spoke to AC Weekly on a recent morning from his Florida home, just prior to being served breakfast by his granddaughter. "I just made a record."

Soon he would be climbing up into the next stratosphere of popular music, and with the help of people like Chuck Berry and Little Richard, taking everybody else along for the ride. More powerful songs like "Road Runner" and "You Can't Judge a Book By Its Cover" followed, but soon the acts that formed the foundation for the British Invasion -- The Rolling Stones, the Beatles, the Animals, the Yardbirds, et al, all of whom were inspired in one way or another by Diddley -- were taking over the charts. And like many of Diddley's contemporaries, his star began to fade.

His impact on rock 'n' roll and the British Invasion aside, the sonic universe that he unleashed with his vibrato-affected guitar playing, chunky chords and hissing maracas (courtesy of longtime partner Jerome Green) would help pave the way for the psychedelic sounds of the 1960s, the funk of the '70s and eventually, one could say, because of his trademark style, his larger-than-life persona and his usage of street language in his songs, the emergence of rap music in the 1980s.

But a debt of gratitude is not what Bo Diddley feels that he is owed.