I owe a small debt of gratitude to Bo Diddley, who died yesterday. I saw him play the Clapham Grand in about 1995, and was so taken by his three-chord charisma, I sent off a fevered gig review to Mojo. They liked it, but didn't have room, but would I like to write about a compilation of Pet Shop Boys b-sides instead? Thus was I introduced to the bizarre mindset of music journalism. No Bo, probably no earnest tomes about Radiohead and all that malarkey. I thank you, Mr Diddley, even if nobody else does. In fact, if it's all the same by you, I might even relax that pesky self-imposed YouTube prohibition.
PS: Musical genius from the polar opposite end of the spectrum; Radio 4's Lost Albums strand goes all alt. hist. on us, and forces us to wonder how modern culture might have mapped out had Stephen Duffy never left Duran Duran. (Repeated on Saturday, or online here for the next week.)
PPS: "Polar opposite end of the spectrum"??? A scrambled metaphor with a side order of cliché. Apologies.