Wolf. While in America, the home of these icons, white blues bands took a different approach to the music. Perhaps being a little too embarrassed to earnestly try and imitate their betters, they mixed the blues together with a very basic, more rough-edged rock sound. While doing so, they kept the blues rhythm, which was perfect for AM radio airplay, but it also stripped the music of its soul. Many bands like the Amboy Dukes (“Baby, Please Don’t Go”), Count Five (“Psychotic Reaction”), the Leaves (“Hey Joe”), Haunted (“125”), and the Standells (“Dirty Water”), found new life out of a blues hybrid that came to called “garage rock.”
At the time they recorded “Diddy Wah Diddy,”Beefheart’s group superficially resembled a garage rock band, but Don’s powerhouse voice and nimble harp playing gave them a blues authenticity. Once again, credit David Gates, who kept the blues spirit alive by giving this jabbing song a grungy veneer. “[Gates] came up with the idea of plugging the bass directly through the board so he could control it better,” Jerry Handley explained. “I could see the glass in the booth shaking.” Since it was rare to hear a bass cranked up so high in the mix, Handley loved hearing that glass rattle. But so did Vliet, whose voice and harp tore through the song. Snouffer recalled Gates, like a field general, pushing Beefheart beyond himself. “I mean, he was telling Don, ‘I want high notes on the harp
here
,’” Snouffer remarked.
On first listen, “Diddy Wah Diddy” resembles “a freight train coming through your speakers,” just as Handley would remember it. With the distorted fuzz tone of his bass pulling us into the song, Beefheart starts wailing on his harp with the speed and fury of Sonny Boy Williamson:
I got a gal in Diddy Wah Diddy
Ain’t no town and it ain’t no city
She loves a man till it’s a pity
Crazy ’bout my gal in Diddy Wah Diddy.
He sings it with gusto and confidence. To augment the coarse blues/rock sound, Gates added a harpsichord on the bridge which gave the rough edges of the song a quaintly colourful palette. This powerful single debuted in April 1966, but it failed to chart—except in California, where DJWolfman Jack heard a soulmate in the howl of Beefheart’s voice. The commercial failure of the song, though, lay not so much with the track itself as it did with its timing. Apparently, an East Coast outfit from Boston called the Remains had simultaneously released “Diddy Wah Diddy” as their first single. That version dominated radio airplay in the east, while Beefheart won the West Coast.
David Gates oversaw a number of Beefheart songs at the A&M sessions including the punchy “Frying Pan,” “Here I Am, I Always Am,” and “Who Do You Think You’re Fooling?” But he also decided to contribute a pop song himself called “Moonchild,” a tune he thought was “pretty out there.” Others, however, thought it was pretty out to lunch. While trying for an elliptically poetic effect (“Every time there’s a full moon up above / Then she’s out of this world”), Gates fashioned the kind of pop oddity that made Beefheart sound more like a spiritual cousin to Rod McKuen. “Well, let’s put it this way, [‘Moonchild’] was never our ‘cup of tea,’” Snouffer said diplomatically. Nevertheless, Gates decided to release it as their next single backed with the much superior “Frying Pan.” Not only did it flop, it created a huge dissension within the band. The argument led to the departure of Leonard Grant and guitarist Richard Hepner, forcing Alex Snouffer off the drum kit and back on guitar. But the failure of “Moonchild” did have one positive effect: Beefheart started writing more and more original material.
One of those new songs was an innovative psychedelic blues track called “Electricity”—and it placed the final nail in the group’s coffin at A&M Records. With the lyrics co-written by Herb Bermann, a
At the time they recorded “Diddy Wah Diddy,”Beefheart’s group superficially resembled a garage rock band, but Don’s powerhouse voice and nimble harp playing gave them a blues authenticity. Once again, credit David Gates, who kept the blues spirit alive by giving this jabbing song a grungy veneer. “[Gates] came up with the idea of plugging the bass directly through the board so he could control it better,” Jerry Handley explained. “I could see the glass in the booth shaking.” Since it was rare to hear a bass cranked up so high in the mix, Handley loved hearing that glass rattle. But so did Vliet, whose voice and harp tore through the song. Snouffer recalled Gates, like a field general, pushing Beefheart beyond himself. “I mean, he was telling Don, ‘I want high notes on the harp
here
,’” Snouffer remarked.
On first listen, “Diddy Wah Diddy” resembles “a freight train coming through your speakers,” just as Handley would remember it. With the distorted fuzz tone of his bass pulling us into the song, Beefheart starts wailing on his harp with the speed and fury of Sonny Boy Williamson:
I got a gal in Diddy Wah Diddy
Ain’t no town and it ain’t no city
She loves a man till it’s a pity
Crazy ’bout my gal in Diddy Wah Diddy.
He sings it with gusto and confidence. To augment the coarse blues/rock sound, Gates added a harpsichord on the bridge which gave the rough edges of the song a quaintly colourful palette. This powerful single debuted in April 1966, but it failed to chart—except in California, where DJWolfman Jack heard a soulmate in the howl of Beefheart’s voice. The commercial failure of the song, though, lay not so much with the track itself as it did with its timing. Apparently, an East Coast outfit from Boston called the Remains had simultaneously released “Diddy Wah Diddy” as their first single. That version dominated radio airplay in the east, while Beefheart won the West Coast.
David Gates oversaw a number of Beefheart songs at the A&M sessions including the punchy “Frying Pan,” “Here I Am, I Always Am,” and “Who Do You Think You’re Fooling?” But he also decided to contribute a pop song himself called “Moonchild,” a tune he thought was “pretty out there.” Others, however, thought it was pretty out to lunch. While trying for an elliptically poetic effect (“Every time there’s a full moon up above / Then she’s out of this world”), Gates fashioned the kind of pop oddity that made Beefheart sound more like a spiritual cousin to Rod McKuen. “Well, let’s put it this way, [‘Moonchild’] was never our ‘cup of tea,’” Snouffer said diplomatically. Nevertheless, Gates decided to release it as their next single backed with the much superior “Frying Pan.” Not only did it flop, it created a huge dissension within the band. The argument led to the departure of Leonard Grant and guitarist Richard Hepner, forcing Alex Snouffer off the drum kit and back on guitar. But the failure of “Moonchild” did have one positive effect: Beefheart started writing more and more original material.
One of those new songs was an innovative psychedelic blues track called “Electricity”—and it placed the final nail in the group’s coffin at A&M Records. With the lyrics co-written by Herb Bermann, a
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