On Capitol Hill, Bo Diddley hovered over an 1898 Edison recorder, playing his trademark rectangular guitar and singing into a large zinc horn as a vibrating needle scratched bands onto a slowly ...
It's the beat. After a half century, that syncopated bomp-da-bomp da bomp-bomp still gets toes tapping and hips wiggling and sounds and feels like an auditory representation of a primal urge. You know ...
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