Don McLean

by Frank M. Roberts

August 2015

You blew it. You could have had a slice of pie -- actually you could have had the whole - "American Pie," but somebody beat you to it. That's what you get for being a slacker. Too late, too bad. Some moneyed cool cat spent his kid's allowance. He bought the original lyrics to the Don McLean song for an 'un-paltry' $1.2 million.

A lot of money -- yes, but another moneyed gent purchased Bob Dylan's original musical manuscript of, "Like A Rolling Stone" for (gulp!) 2 million buckaroos.

I have something I consider even more valuable, a personally autographed copy of "Memphis Blues," handed to me by its composer - the father of the blues (also composer of the famed "St. Louis Blues") W. C. Handy. I'm 86 now. I was 14 or 15 at the time. In a future column I will write more about him. Right now, topic number one is (fanfare please) Don McLean.

His sort-of classic song is filled with mysterious meanings which he doesn't talk much about.

The Pie piece is interesting because it tells of the death of some rock 'n roll icons. Some consider the song to be a farewell to the American dream. Want a sort-of complex exclamation? British music critic, Alexis Petridis is glad to oblige: "American Pie," he wrote, "is the accessible farewell to the Fifties and Sixties."

If you say so, Alexis. He also says that the song's chorus, "is so good, it lets you wallow in the confusion and wistfulness of that moment, and be comforted at the same time." El-deepo, sir, but the composer's explanation is less romantic, and/or less confusing. It's practical - downright capitalistic, comrade.

McLean told Rolling Stone, "I'm going to be 70 this year. I have two children and a wife. I want to get the best deal that I can for them. It's time." All right - bless you Don. The composer told People Magazine, "there is no poetry and very little romance in anything anymore, so it is really like the last phase of "American Pie." (The entire song is yours for the push of a button. Call up, "Morning Mix.")

The most important part of the song, an explanation we can all understand, has to do with the death of Buddy Holly and some musical friends, Richie Valens, and J. P. Richardson, known as "The Big Bopper." The 'Bop man was - the victim of fate. Waylon Jennings gave up his seat to him.

They were part of a tour called, "Winter Dance Party," and were ready to take off from Clear Lake, IA. Two things worked against them: The weather was bad, and the 'pilot' was not certified to fly. Shortly after take-off the plane, which was named "American Pie," (in case you wondered) crashed. All were killed. Look at the ages: Holly was 22, Valens only 17.

Thirteen years after that tragedy, McLean wrote his 81/2 minute song. As he duly noted, it was about, "the day the music died."

As a baby of the swing era, I can't help comparing it with the day swing music died - the death of Glenn Miller, whose plane also took off in bad weather.

McLean admitted that he purposely penned 'complex' lyrics - lyrics open to individual interpretation. He noted that the song was, "an indescribable photograph of America that I tried to capture in words and music."

He admitted, "I wanted to make a whole series of complex statements. The lyrics had to do with the state of society at the time."

At this time, I quote advice he offered budding songwriters: "I would say (to them) to immerse yourself in beautiful music and beautiful lyrics and think about every word you say in a song."

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A couple musical quotes of interest: "Rock 'n roll is just a passing fad." That was Mitch Miller. And, dig this from Frank Sinatra: "Rock 'n roll: The most brutal, ugly, desperate, vicious form of expression it has been my misfortune to hear." Hey, Ole Blue Eyes was a toughie so, who's to argue?

Along that line, a famous rock star was asked if he could read music. "Yeah," he said, "but not enough to hurt my singing." Me? When I hear some of those rock groups, I clap -- both of my hands over my ears."

Still on the subject of music - this fascinated me: When George Lucas was mixing the "American Graffiti" soundtrack, he numbered the reels of film starting with an 'R' and numbered the dialog starting with a 'D'. Sound designer, Walter Murch asked Lucas for reel 2, dialog 2 by saying "R2D2." Lucas liked the way that sounded so much he integrated that into another project he was working on. You can take it from there. Speaking of the 'Graffiti' flick, one of its stars, upon retirement, lived about five miles from my house. I had the pleasure of visiting Wolfman Jack several times.

And, here I go again - some time in the future I will write more about the affable deejay.

And, a music fact. What separates "60 Minutes" from every other TV show? No theme song/music. I guess that would be a non-music fact.

A more lurid music item concerns the man many - myself included - consider one of the best ballad singers of all time. The lurid mag, Confidential, reported this and, unfortunately, it turned out to be true: Dick Haymes brutally beat his then-wife, Rita Hayworth during the entire two years of their marriage.

Those two years, the mag reported, "were a non-stop nightmare for Rita." During World War II she was a troops favorite pin-up girl. Confidential added, that "Haymes brutally beat her on many occasions," adding, "she was subjected to countless cruel beatings." It was said that the singer's "favorite form of assault was to grab Rita by her world-famed tresses and slam her head against a wall until her senses reeled."

Still more: Later, Confidential published photographs showing her children (Rebecca and Yasmin) playing in garbage at the dingy rooming house where she left them. It reminded readers that while Hayworth's children lived in poverty, Haymes had tipped a doorman five dollars to watch his dog. If Fido was doing his duty, he would have taken a chunk out of Mr. Haymes, maybe turning him into a tenor.

I have to add that even though Confidential made lots of folks unhappy, most of its revelations were proven to be truthful. I know. I had a story in National Tattler, a 'lesser' publication that was owned by Confidential. I can tell you this - they paid handsomely, one of the reasons they got so many exclusives - and they did thoroughly investigate their stories.

They dropped the ball several times but, heck, so did the New York Times. A P.S. - Fred Otash, a former vice squad cop was the magazine's chief investigator. One of his revelations led to a California inquiry into improper behavior by private eyes.

He was the one who first revealed the story of Frank Sinatra and Joe DiMaggio trying to beat up one of my good friends, the jazz pianist, Hal Schaeffer, who I wrote about in an earlier story. It was called, "The Wrong Door Raid," because the singer and ballplayer broke down - yes - the wrong door. (Check an earlier story).

Oh, heck! Have a cheerful week.