. . . goin' faster than a roller coaster.
Yes, today is the 50th Anniversary of the "day the music died," as Don Maclean eloquently put it. Around 1 AM on February 3, 1959, a plane crash took the lives of Buddy Holly, Richie Valens, and the Big Bopper.
Obviously, I wasn't alive back then, but I did grow up listening to the music of Buddy Holly. My parents had a record (side note: actual question from a student today: "What are those big black things, like a CD, but older, that had music on them?") of all his hits, and I loved it. Peggy Sue, True Love Ways, That'll Be the Day, Everyday--I loved the simple, melodic nature of the songs of Buddy Holly and the Crickets. When I was going through a particularly tough period of teenage romantic angst, I would sing Everyday over and over to myself. "Love like yours will surely come my way, a hey, a hey hey." It would definitely work to help me move past the frustration. I even worked his glasses style for a while.
If you've never listened to any Buddy Holly, I encourage you to find some. He was a genius, and only 22 when he died. I remember when I first learned that, and thought of all those great songs on that record, and of how many more he might have written.
Pictured above is the actual album my parents had--Papa Cool, I hope you still have this one!