Buddy Holly

I've been listening to a lot of Buddy Holly over the past few days and if the experience has taught me any one thing, it's that there is no time. Sure, the records were made fifty years ago, on primitive technology, but they're still as current as any roots release. The passage of the decades has done nothing to age them.
Holly blended folk, country, rhythm & blues and rock into a new sound that was as unique as it was his very own. Lots of people have tried over the years but nobody else has been able to do what he did.
When I told her what I'd been listening to, a friend refered to the music as oldies but I challenged her on that one. An oldie is a forgotten song that pops up out of nowhere, causing you to remember -- usually with a touch of embarassment -- what you were doing when you last heard it. Then you wish it would go away again. Hall & Oates records are oldies. Paul Revere and the Raiders are oldies. As wonderful as it was on first hearing, Love's music is oldies also. Buddy Holly, though, is eternal. His songs have never been away, have never been out of the world's consciousness.
He sells so well in England that Paul McCartney bought his publishing company just to get his hands on those copyrights. All over Europe and America, his music is continually reissued -- a new package was just released this month -- and he has never been out of print.
Both bar bands and big stars still play his songs and, my guess is, they always will.
Check him out if he's new to you. You'll be glad you did.
If you're going to give him a listen, though, you ought to be aware that there are really two Buddy Hollys: the one who recorded for Decca and the one who recorded for Brunswick.
The Decca records, his earliest, were made in Nashville, overseen by house producer Owen Bradley who, frankly, did not get this eightteen year old kid from Texas who had the unmitigated gall to try to tell him how his records should sound. Refusing to let the kid use his own band, Bradley brought in session musicians and put Holly's songs through the early fifties Nashville country sound machine and Holly was almost suffocated by the restrictions on his creativity. After Decca dropped him, he began recording with his band, the Crickets, in Clovis, New Mexico, in an Norman Petty's independent studio. He had total control over these records and instantly came into his own as a creative artist. He was nineteen at the time. Petty sold the masters to Brunswick Records, where Holly and the Crickets piled up a string of hits that continued even after Holly's death at the age of twenty-two in a plane crash. If you want to see the difference control, creativity and taste makes, Holly's first hit, "That'll be the Day" was cut twice, once for Decca and later, the nhit version, for Brunswick. Both versions are in print. Seek them out and listen to the difference. You'll be amazed.
I've been listening to Buddy Holly all my life and will probably continue to do so. I recommend you do, too.