The Day the Music Died

I love music. All kinds of music. If you grabbed the ipod that I just got for Christmas you would probably be stunned at the variety of stuff that is on there. A little country, lots of showtunes, power ballads from the 80's, some early 90's alternative, a little rap, and of course the oldies but goodies.

You see, my dad loves music. He has so much Christmas music he has to put all the other stuff away just to make room for it during the holidays. He started sharing this love of music with me at a very young age. There are countless home videos of me standing on a table belting out whatever record was playing in the background. Though I credit him with exposing me to all types of music, I have to give special credit for my love of the oldies to him. Elvis, The Beach Boys, Ricky Nelson, Patsy Cline, these are just a few of the artists my dad helped me fall in love with. When I was younger he signed me up for a Time Life series that ranges from 1954-1968, with countless "extras" in-between. I still have all of them. I love to get in my car and crank up the local oldies station and sing along.

This week I will do just that. Because this week music fans everywhere will stop to remember the day the music died. Fifty years ago on February 2, 1959 a plane went down in Clear Lake, Iowa carrying three of music's legends. Only they weren't legends at the time. Back then they were just a few young guys trying to get their start in the world of rock-n-roll. They were certainly on their way. Buddy Holly, Ritchie Valens, and J.P. "the Big Bopper" Richardson each put their own mark on the music industry. Because of the crash, they were forever immortalized and now serve as the benchmark for what music was in America before the British invasion. In 1971, Don McLean wrote the song American Pie, dubbing the event the day the music died. It has been known as that ever since.

This year in Clear Lake people will flock to the Surf Ballroom, where the three played their last show. Fifty years after the fact, the Rock-n-Roll Hall of Fame is designating the Surf Ballroom as it's ninth national landmark. Amazingly it is still the same place it was back in 1959, and young artists still come there to play and sign the wall behind the stage where so many have come before them. I wish I could be there to see it. Maybe I'll get there someday. In the meantime I will continue to pass the love of music that my dad gave me, onto my kids. Then maybe when they are all grown up they can look back and smile at their crazy mommy who sang showtunes and oldies on the way to school. That'll be the day.

* I temporarily added some music on the sidebar... Hope everyone enjoys it.