Goodnight, Bo
Bo Diddley's gone.
He was in my head a lot while I was writing the fourth Kinkaid (Graceland); it deals with the emigration of blues, and the roots of certain musical styles. Farris "Bulldog" Moody, the octagenarian bluesman session player who is JP's idol and seminal influence, comes from a background of son and clavé, those odd rhythmic chucks from the bata drumming of Yoruban priests out of Africa, through Cuba and from there to the Delta.
Bo took that style mainstream, making that three-five chuck - BOMPdeBOMPdeBOMP beat BOMPBOM - as recognisable to listeners as any signature could ever hope to be. It's the base for "Not Fade Away", "Mona", "Who Do You Love"....
In memoriam, from Graceland, an excerpt: the scene is the Great American Music Hall in San Francisco, the band is JP Kinkaid's pickup band, the Fog City Geezers, and Ches Kobel, the man talking, is a music historian:
* * *
A couple of minutes before we were ready to head back onstage, Ches leaned over toward Billy.
"Can I ask you something?"
"Sure." Billy's fingers had been doing their thing, tapping away on the table. He's a drummer all through, Billy is; no matter what he's doing, there's always a rhythm going on in there, somewhere. "What's up?"
"That thing you're doing, with your fingers." He nodded his head at Billy's hands, which gradually stopped tapping and went quiet. "That particular beat. I'm curious - sorry, man, it's the nosy writer in me, tell me to back off if I'm getting on your nerves. But I really am curious - you must have listened to a lot of Cuban music, the old son stuff from Havana, a lot of clavé from the fifties. Right?"
"Huh?" Billy blinked; the houselights had flickered twice, which meant we were just about due back onstage for the second set. "I know what son is, vaguely, but I have no idea what that other one is. What did you call it? Klah-vay? Because whatever it is, well, no. That rhythm I was just doing? That's basic Bo Diddley."
He ran it again, his fingers tapping it out on the table: bomp ba bompa bomp, pause, babomp-BOMP. On Bree's other side, Patrick was watching Billy's fingers. He looked absolutely fascinated. So did Miranda. "You mean this, right?" Billy told Ches. "Basic Bo, dude."
"Nope. Basic clavé. Bo Diddley made it mainstream, but his stuff comes straight from the Havana beat, and that came straight from son. All from the original slave population in Cuba." Ches grinned at me. "Scary thought, isn't it, JP? The stuff all you rockers do, that three-beat thing? Sallie's great-grandfather was doing that back in Santiago de Cuba, a hundred years ago."
* * *
Damn. Good night, Bo. Go hang out with the other rockers, jamming in the ether.
He was in my head a lot while I was writing the fourth Kinkaid (Graceland); it deals with the emigration of blues, and the roots of certain musical styles. Farris "Bulldog" Moody, the octagenarian bluesman session player who is JP's idol and seminal influence, comes from a background of son and clavé, those odd rhythmic chucks from the bata drumming of Yoruban priests out of Africa, through Cuba and from there to the Delta.
Bo took that style mainstream, making that three-five chuck - BOMPdeBOMPdeBOMP beat BOMPBOM - as recognisable to listeners as any signature could ever hope to be. It's the base for "Not Fade Away", "Mona", "Who Do You Love"....
In memoriam, from Graceland, an excerpt: the scene is the Great American Music Hall in San Francisco, the band is JP Kinkaid's pickup band, the Fog City Geezers, and Ches Kobel, the man talking, is a music historian:
* * *
A couple of minutes before we were ready to head back onstage, Ches leaned over toward Billy.
"Can I ask you something?"
"Sure." Billy's fingers had been doing their thing, tapping away on the table. He's a drummer all through, Billy is; no matter what he's doing, there's always a rhythm going on in there, somewhere. "What's up?"
"That thing you're doing, with your fingers." He nodded his head at Billy's hands, which gradually stopped tapping and went quiet. "That particular beat. I'm curious - sorry, man, it's the nosy writer in me, tell me to back off if I'm getting on your nerves. But I really am curious - you must have listened to a lot of Cuban music, the old son stuff from Havana, a lot of clavé from the fifties. Right?"
"Huh?" Billy blinked; the houselights had flickered twice, which meant we were just about due back onstage for the second set. "I know what son is, vaguely, but I have no idea what that other one is. What did you call it? Klah-vay? Because whatever it is, well, no. That rhythm I was just doing? That's basic Bo Diddley."
He ran it again, his fingers tapping it out on the table: bomp ba bompa bomp, pause, babomp-BOMP. On Bree's other side, Patrick was watching Billy's fingers. He looked absolutely fascinated. So did Miranda. "You mean this, right?" Billy told Ches. "Basic Bo, dude."
"Nope. Basic clavé. Bo Diddley made it mainstream, but his stuff comes straight from the Havana beat, and that came straight from son. All from the original slave population in Cuba." Ches grinned at me. "Scary thought, isn't it, JP? The stuff all you rockers do, that three-beat thing? Sallie's great-grandfather was doing that back in Santiago de Cuba, a hundred years ago."
* * *
Damn. Good night, Bo. Go hang out with the other rockers, jamming in the ether.
posted by DebGrabien at
10:36 AM
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