(reprinted every year on this day...which means you'd think it'd be better, but eff it.)
Today is The Day the Music Died –
the day Buddy Holly died. No offense to Ritchie Valens, who was young
and did have some great hits, or the Big Bopper who, inexplicably, has a
box set available. I’m assuming there are 60 versions of Chantilly
Lace on there.
Like any kid who grew up loving rock n roll and
then bought a guitar, Buddy is a hero of mine – one of the first rock n
roll guys I fell in love with; was always “my guy.” Amazing songs,
amazing guitar, and looked a little geeky. With his perfect combination
of simple, heartfelt songs mixed with studio experimentation (e.g.
double-tracking vocals, bringing in strings for True Love Ways) it’s a
downright crime we never got to hear more than the first 18 months of
his career before he hit the ground in Clear Lake, Iowa. We can dream
about what he would have done with the Beatles and the millions of other
bands that were a direct result of his records, but of course we’ll
never know. Every coupla years I go through an extended period of
becoming obsessed with Buddy – listening to nothing but him, playing his
songs only and watching The Buddy Holly Story over and over. One
time back in college I had a million pops and then called directory
assistance in Lubbock, TX and tried to get a hold of his parents. I’m
sure had we talked, I would have been amazing. Hmm.
So anyways, raise your glass tonight for Buddy Holly.