Banned bands on the run from TV's timidity | MARK HUGHES COBB

In 1955, Bo Diddley slammed into all five accents of his self-titled song, instead of "Sixteen Tons," and got banned from "The Ed Sullivan Show," though it wasn't rock 'n' roll showboating so much as failure to communicate.

Stoneface Sullivan heard one of the few folks for whom an entire beat is named — even if you didn't know that's what it's called, you'll recognize the Bo Diddley beat, based on a Afro-Cuban clave, in Johnny Otis' "Willie and the Hand Jive," Buddy Holly's "Not Fade Away," The Strangelove's and Bow Wow Wow's "I Want Candy," The Stooges' "1969," Elton John's "Billy Bones and the White Bird," Elvis Presley's "(Marie's the Name) His Latest Flame," The Who's "Magic Bus," U2's "Desire" and Bruce Springsteen's "She's the One," among more — cutting into Merle Travis' folk-blues lament, and asked Mr. Diddley — Elias Bates; nickname-origin stories vary — to croon that one.

But reading a cue card on the air, the singer-guitarist-songwriter-violinist saw "Bo Diddley," the name of his current No. 1 hit, next to "Sixteen Tons." So the young man thought he'd been asked to play a medley. Not unreasonable: Back when, a rock song might run under two minutes, so a medley wouldn't eat up much time. Sullivan banned him for not following orders.

In 1969, The Jimi Hendrix Experience wailed "Voodoo Child (Slight Return)" on "Happening for Lulu" — The "To Sir with Love" singer-actress hosted a BBC1 variety show, 1968-69 — then after, as the host tried to speak, a screech of feedback groaned into "Hey Joe." Hendrix had learned Lulu planned to join them on stage, and sing along. Instead, he cut the murder ballad short before Lulu could step up and become the Fourth Experience, and said:

“We’d like to stop playing this rubbish, and dedicate a song to the Cream, regardless of what kind of group they may be in. We dedicate this to Eric Clapton, Ginger Baker and Jack Bruce.” The original power trio had recently split. The Experience and Cream shared much: guitar wizards, heavy blues-rock foundations, psychedelic explorations. It's said Bruce wrote the riffs to "Sunshine of Your Love" after hearing Hendrix. Jimi's take on "Sunshine" ran over what would have been the show's ending, so that's the day Lulu got Hendrix banned from the BBC.

It happens a lot, this band-banning, from whiny producers, though, oddly, the legends who were supposedly going to be crushed, crushed, I tell you! — Sullivan predicted Bo Diddley wouldn't last a year — are what we still hear, still recall, still love. Funny, how corporate powers-that-be so easily forget it's art and artists people want, not packagers or packaging. It's still the same old story.

In 1967, the Doors sang their hit "Light My Fire," with its "girl we couldn't get much higher" lyric intact, despite admonitions, and thus got banned from, checking notes, yep, Ed Sullivan. Maybe it's just my brain that lets me think more than one thing at once, but getting higher could mean more than lighting up an illicit substance. Coulda been spiritual. Coulda been metaphorical. Heck, coulda been physical. Maybe Robbie Krieger was practicing slam dunks with his girlfriend.

After Sullivan, the worst prissy-pants offender has been "Saturday Night Live," once a purportedy subversive rock 'n' roll show. Its founder and guru Lorne Michaels has shown time and again to be a bit of a control freak, which is like saying Elon Musk shows a hint of ego. Among those no longer welcome in the sandbox: Rage Against the Machine, Sinead O'Connor, Fear, Cypress Hill, Kanye West and Frank Zappa, though the last two were apparently banned for being jerks, so that checks out.

Elvis Costello played tribute to Hendrix on what was his first, and nearly last, appearance on "SNL." Originally the Sex Pistols had been booked for that 1977 show, but visa complications stepped in to spare us, and 23-year-old The Other Elvis was booked to play from his debut disc, the lean, snarky "My Aim is True."

Much like earlier Elvis, young Other Elvis was a punk. Rocker, that is. Anti-authoritarian forked-tongue-in-cheek style. He'd seen Hendrix's Lulu, and paid tribute. About 10 seconds into "Less Than Zero," he stopped The Attractions and said “I’m sorry, ladies and gentlemen, there’s no reason to do this song here" — obliquely referring to that song's origins as a slam on a British politician that few, if any of us colonists would know — then launched into the furious "Radio Radio," a scathing critique of homogenization within corporate media.

Hmm. Wonder why powers-that-be didn't dig that one?

"Radio Radio" grew from an earlier composition called "Radio Soul" which took a bit more of an optimistic tack, that our internal radios beat anything off the air, Other Elvis once said, describing it as shameless riff off the lush romanticism of this Jersey kid's second album "The Wild, The Innocent, and the E Street Shuffle":

"When I was sitting at home in England in 1975, in the thrall of Bruce Springsteen, he sort of made it feel like a big dream in America where a radio was playing and it was always the perfect song. And even though there's sadness in the song, I wanted to believe that somewhere it was like that and it wasn't like it was in the suburbs, where you couldn't hear any music you liked half the time. So that was a wishful song."

Then the BBC tried to censor the Sex Pistols' "God Save the Queen," for what, being offensive to the inbred unemployed? They could have just dumped it in a bin for being a pseudo-punk piece o' pap from a fabricated fashion group with less credibility than the Archies. But Elvis took umbrage, and rewrote his earlier wishful piece into a slam at corporate media.

Michaels cooled down, and Elvis was re-invited in 1989. Ten years on, during the "SNL" 25th anniversary special, as the Beastie Boys began their hit "Sabotage," a guitar-bearing Elvis busted in, said his 1977 line again, and tore into "Radio Radio."

The Replacements got banned from "SNL" in 1986 for, reportedly, being drunk, which is kind of like banning Dolly for being curvy. It was another replacement gig, ironically, this time for the Pointer Sisters. It's kind of hard to imagine two groups with less in common, unless you know of the infamous show where young Bruce and his fledgling E Street Band were hired to open for Canadian pop chanteuse Anne Murray.

The raggedy rockers from Minneapolis were clambering toward commercial breakthrough — critics and other music geeks were already on board — largely based on lead singer and chief songwriter Paul Westerberg's work, which added melodic lyricism to kick and conflagration.

In the blooming years of MTV, the 'Mats (from affectionate nickname the Placemats) had taken a hard stance against videos. Warner Brothers tried to talk them out of it: “Tell you what,” said Westerberg, “you get us on 'Hee-Haw' and I’ll lip-synch to 'Waitress in the Sky.' ”

The fellas might have been a bit nervous, guzzling vodka backstage with host Harry Dean Stanton. They roared into "Bastards of Young," a lament and a scream: "The ones who love us best are the ones we’ll lay to rest/And visit their graves on holidays at best/The ones who love us least are the ones we’ll die to please/If it’s any consolation, I don’t begin to understand them."

A bit more sophisticated than pins, buttons and sneers, yes? But Michaels took umbrage as Westerberg kinda-sorta said something toward lead guitarist Bob Stinson that may have included a certain F-based no-no word.

Westerberg came back in '93 with a band — Michaels didn't recognize him — and played more straightforward, a tight "Knockin' on Mine" from his "14 Songs" solo debut, then a 'Mats favorite, "Can't Hardly Wait." There's a pair of caesura built in — Get it? You have to hardly wait for the song to restart — during the second of which his drummer Josh Freese calls out, for whatever reasons, "Burt Reynolds!" It cracks Westerberg up, but he falls right back in. So no ban, although the host — checking notes — Charlton Freaking Heston kinda-sorta forgets the singer-songwriter's name at the end, looking visibly embarrassed.

While Chuck's back is turned, Westerberg appears to spit in his hand, and then thrust it out for a shake. There may be another wait.

Reach Tusk Editor Mark Hughes Cobb at mark.cobb@tuscaloosanews.com, or call 205-722-0201.

This article originally appeared on The Tuscaloosa News: Banned bands on the run from TV producers | MARK HUGHES COBB