It is a simple 12-bar blues progression from the era of the most classically pure rock n' roll music. A time before the n' roll disappeared.

But this is no average song from 1958. This was a musical Sputnik.

Let's be deadly serious: The lyrics of this song are better than Bob Dylan. We have here, in ultimately singable rock n' roll word choice, a ground-breaking tale not just about some teenager or some rebel, but about a MUSICAL rebel, a practitioner of the cutting edge science of rock n' roll. This song (single-goddamn-handedly) codified the mythos of overnight, rock n' roll fame resulting from unstoppable passion and talent. Then it actually achieved this revolutionary feat as it sang about it. It is the single greatest called shot since Babe Ruth pointed to center field. It is the single greatest legend of American spiritual actualization told since Whitman chanted "Song of Myself."

The guitar playing on this song was, I'll be plain, genius. It transfigured Jimi Hendrix, made him want to be who he became, and Jimmy Page too, and down the line. But it's not just a history lesson. Listen to those simple, beautiful licks, from the opening on through. Even if we take them for granted as some of the most standard patterns in guitar grammar now, you still have to appreciate the unmistakable combination of finesse and rawness in the take.

The vocal melody is a treasure, blues-tinged where Elvis leaned gospel, surly, dangerous. But also fun, alive, catchy, charismatic.

The chorus is ecstatic. It is the unfettered call and response between one of the best chorus vocals of all time and some of the best guitar fretting of all time, performed (and written) by one guy, a savant, genius, radical inventor of new human consciousness who may have had his personal faults but did nothing less than reveal a new path for our species.

He handed us music as a life choice, a spiritual path, not just a radio noise.