Awww, shit.
Bo Diddley died.
I have his phone number somewhere, scrawled on the back of a ticket and hidden in the bottom of a memory box. Years ago, he played the Iron Horse in Northampton, and hahathor and I went to see him; we were DJing together on my college station (WAMH, 89.3FM in Amherst... where there IS no alternative to alternative!) and we wanted to interview him after the show. He couldn't do it-- he had to get to another gig, or he was tired, or something, I don't remember. But he wrote his number on the back of my ticket and said, call me up at home and I'll talk to you.
Of COURSE I never called him, I was beyond chicken... he was BO FUCKING DIDDLEY and I wasn't about to call him up at home and ask if he remembered some chick in Massachusetts. But I always sort of vaguely thought I might, one day.
Dammit.
I have his phone number somewhere, scrawled on the back of a ticket and hidden in the bottom of a memory box. Years ago, he played the Iron Horse in Northampton, and hahathor and I went to see him; we were DJing together on my college station (WAMH, 89.3FM in Amherst... where there IS no alternative to alternative!) and we wanted to interview him after the show. He couldn't do it-- he had to get to another gig, or he was tired, or something, I don't remember. But he wrote his number on the back of my ticket and said, call me up at home and I'll talk to you.
Of COURSE I never called him, I was beyond chicken... he was BO FUCKING DIDDLEY and I wasn't about to call him up at home and ask if he remembered some chick in Massachusetts. But I always sort of vaguely thought I might, one day.
Dammit.