Bickey-Bi, Bo-Bo-Go: Rockabíllys Rabíd Moment

So, seeing Narcissus wandering through the lonely country-side, Echo fell in love with him, and followed secretly in his steps. The more closely she followed, the nearer was the fire which scorched her: just as sulphur, smeared round the top of torches, is quickly kindled when a flame is brought near it. —Ovid, Metamorphoses x

I dont know anything about music. In my line I dont have to. —Elvis Presley, 1955

For thirty years, country music gave birth to a series of musical crossbreeds through an on-again, off-again, illicit relationship with black blues and jazz. In 1954, Elvis Presley delivered the strangest and meanest mutt of them all—rockabilly. Like a grubby mongrel tormented by fleas, the reckless genre of rockabilly attracted hordes of hillbillies. Countless grits let their sideburns blossom and their libidos roam, surrendering themselves to ihe intoxication of absolute chaos—hiccups, stutters, gasps, shudders, and ultimately, quivers, down the backbone of lust.