Bo Diddley remains one of the most entertaining, if not most important R&B or rock players in the history of recorded music. The reason for skirting his being ridiculously important (even though he clearly was and is) stems from the huge number of players springing from the late forties and fifties that sought to work in the same aural terrain as Diddley. Of course, no one else has a beat named after him. So, there’s that.

Helping to solidify a genre, though, left Diddley and a number of other stars lost during subsequent musical innovations. The trouble had as much to do with changing the approach to music as it did with simply being of an earlier generation. And while a great many albums recorded to cash in on whatever was perceived failed miserably, Diddley was able to turn in a few discs after his prime had passed that warrant a new spate of listeners.

1971 saw the release of Another Dimension. The album didn’t do too much for the guitarist financially or artistically. Which isn’t a surprise if examined in a vacuum. But the disc preceding that 1971 effort, Black Gladiator, was a pretty engaging listen working to meld Diddley’s understanding of guitar theatrics with a new world of harder funk.

There’s not a straight stinker on the entire album. And even when Diddley falls back on his earlier successes, as on “Power House,” it’s done with enough verve as to not matter all that much. His guitar playing, though, isn’t as consistent.

That shuffling two notes Diddley is known for plundering couldn’t have ever presented too much of a difficulty in performances or recordings. It doesn’t here either. But on “Elephant Man,” there’s a wayward snatch of random guitar flubs which were apparently supposed to outline the song’s chord progression. It doesn’t work at all. And there’s no reason for the mistakes not to be edited out. But they were. So why place that track at the head of the album? The rest of it’s that strong.

“Elephant Man” is easily the most engrossing listen over the course of the entire album. Diddley whoops and hollers in total abandon. His backing band raves up a good fury – ala Root Down – and the man himself wrenches some good noise from his surprisingly distorted guitar. Counting as a masterful effort regardless of the period – or performer – doesn’t explain the odd inclusion of those missed notes. Not being with Chess Records any longer does.