Hey Bo,

Sad to see you go. But rest in peace, brother, knowing that your legacy beats in the hearts of all rock 'n' rollers tonight... and tomorrow night... and the night after that.

You kept it savage and primitive for years, and we, disciples of the big beat, will always look to you whenever things around us get too civilized. Man, your music always had one foot in the jungle.

OK, so Chuck Berry had the licks, and Elvis got all the chicks. Buddy Holly had the twang, and Little Richard made ‘em shake that thang. But Bo, you had the beat: the Bo Diddley beat. And those Chess sides you cut were the most. Your music was salacious -- bodacious, if you will -- speaking to the more immediate urges; the ones that either got panties in a bunch, or down around ankles.

We spoke back in 2004 and you explained the initial ruckus to me like this:

"They hollered because the beat made people feel primitive -- as we all are," you said. "They was sayin' a lot of funny shit like, ‘What the hell is this?' and ‘This is jungle music.' And that's the reason why they'd use the word ‘primitive.' People beat on tin cans and buckets and things before instruments came along and made rhythms, you understand? So everybody didn't understand what the hell I was doin' on the guitar. And then I added the drums to it and they started to call it ‘the beat.' But it's the beat and the melody all in one."

Bo, I plugged in my guitar last night, turned up the amp and blasted "I Can Tell," "I'm a Man," and "Roadrunner" in your honor. It's the closest I've come to praying in years.

Vaya con reverb,

Frank