The Genius of Buddy Holly: A Tribute
All new musical forms seem to bring along with them a bohemian ideology; a sense that by playing the new stuff the artist not only breaks new ground but also creates a new identity – a necessarily rebellious one – that makes him credibly marginal vis a vis the mainstream culture, particularly in the eyes of teen malcontents seeking their own turf but requiring an icon to do their bidding.
The interesting thing about new forms of music is that they are seldom created by rebels. Perhaps that is because the words rebel and genius are in some sense contradictory. Genius is arguably defined as a set of talents and perceptions derived not from a staunchly anti-social personality or singular mindset, but from a fluid, integrative character impervious to the constraints of form, structure, age and mores. Nowhere was that more evident than in the case of Buddy Holly.
By now everyone knows his story: his early exposure to pop standards as a child reared in a musical family, followed by an unlikely gig on TV with pal Bob Montgomery which started off bluegrass then veered increasingly toward a new hybrid style called rock-a-billy – Buddy initially called it “western bop.” Then there was the tour with Elvis Presley, which convinced Buddy that this new upbeat combination of the blues and country and western could reach people on a level more visceral than any other type of music at the time. Perhaps Buddy also understood that because of its hybrid roots it had more expansive potential as well. Then there were Buddy’s first recordings; several of which were rejected by record companies until they got wind of songs like Oh Boy and Not Fade Away. Then of course came a slew of hits, most written and produced by Holly himself (occasionally under the formal name Charles Harden Holly).
The journey of Buddy Holly could have been predictable in the aftermath of his early success. Fame typically goes to the heads of young stars and the temptation back then to lose one’s self in light of the mass exposure provided by portable gadgets like the transistor radio and a fairly new medium known as television must have been irresistible. The biopics on Elvis, Jerry Lee Lewis and Johnny Cash testify to the notion that stardom is a close cousin of self-destruction. Not so for Buddy.
Buddy Holly often wrote songs for important people in his life. Peggy Sue was written for the bride-to-be of one of his band mates, Buddy composed True Love Ways as a valentine to own wife, Elena. Yet one song, You’re so Square, not attributed to anyone (because it was actually written by Lieber and Stoller) could have been written for Buddy himself. Buddy was a square. Sure he bounced around on stage, twirled his guitar, stuttered like mad, wore ghastly white socks that underscored his ironic, appealing awkwardness and borrowed some emotional vocal tricks from singer Johnny Ray. Yet for Buddy it was all about performance. His life was anything but out of control. He was a bit of a flake, as one might expect of a genius. For example he proposed marriage to Elena on their first date and insisted on wearing his glasses on stage and even during head shots for albums.
To truly appreciate Buddy’s casual nature one has to understand that wearing glasses was a sign of weakness back in 1958. There was a tendency to refer bespectacled people as “four eyes.” Kids with glasses were often teased cruelly and consequently were extremely reluctant to wear them even to read, let alone perform in front of thousands of people. It was practically a tautology in the entertainment business that performers had to be attractive. Buddy on the other hand didn’t seem to care and was probably somewhat amused that thick eyeglasses became a kind of iconic symbol of stardom as a result of his fame – which is why a large pair of tribute glasses appears at the site where his plane crashed in ’59 in Iowa.
It is well known that after seeing Buddy perform in England John Lennon decided not only that it was okay to wear glasses while performing, but that it was the utmost in chic. Since Buddy was one of the first rock performers to visit England, that was significant, but not because it turned British kids onto the new music. They had been listening to the new music for years through records brought over by American soldiers stationed in the UK during and after World War II. Mick Jagger, Keith Richard, Eric Clapton, Paul, John and George knew full well what Eddie Cochrane, Gene Vincent and Elvis sounded like. Yet the modesty that typifies Brits might have prevented them from pursuing their dreams had it not been for the realization that came with seeing a not-so-attractive, gawky, bespectacled man come over and play his own mesmerizingly varied music, ranging from the jungle feel of Peggy Sue, Rock-My-Baby and Cryin’ Waitin’ Hopin (the last of which this writer would maintain is the best rock song ever written) to dreamy, Everly-esque tunes like Words of Love, Wishin’ and What to Do.
The soon-to-be Beatles and Stones found it somewhat incredible as well as inspiring that such a plain looking fellow had enough emotional depth to write sweet music and rock-the-joint tunes in nearly equal proportion. They might have said to themselves something that has been said more recently about the great conductor Michael Tilson Thomas… the man has no barriers! The Beatles in particular saw themselves as Holly-ites. It is well known that their band’s name is a tribute to Buddy’s – the Crickets. Beyond that, once past their Hamburg days, the Beatles seemed to figure out that the music was not about rebellion. Like Buddy, they simply envisioned the possibilities. If not for that legacy of inventiveness – the one handed down through Holly songs likeTrue Love Ways, Heartbeat and I’m Gonna Love You Too (the latter of which begins with a chorus reminiscent of The Beatles’ masterpiece, Day in the Life) it is unlikely the Beatles would have developed such range, that sweet songs like Yesterday, If I Fell in Love with You and raucous compositions like I Feel Fine and Back in the USSR (which has the same rhythmic feel as Holly’s Down the Line) could have been penned by one and the same songwriting team.
Something similar could be said about the Rolling Stones, who, despite their abject loyalty to the music and raunchy life style exemplified by the old Delta blues, could not shake off the Holly influence. Mick Jagger initially developed his reputation as a badass singer by covering Holly’s Not Fade Away.
So Buddy set the tone, arguably not just for music forms, but for the desire to make rock music evolve and extend to adult tastes. As far as this writer is aware Buddy Holly has never been referred to as the king of rock n’ roll. Yet it was Buddy, not Elvis, Little Richard or Roy Orbison who decided the new music could be hard driving and thematically singular yet also orchestral and symphonic. His compositions, including the use of string sections and broad orchestral arrangements provided a format later seen in the work of ELO , Queen and other bands.
Thus it was Holly’s expansive character, not his rebellious sneer that gave rise to modern rock. Drums, guitar, strings, sax, soft, loud, percussive, melodic – none of it mattered to Buddy. Neither did race. While Elvis is often depicted as the historical bridge between black and white music Buddy Holly was the first white singer to tour the black theaters in Harlem, amidst considerable praise from the crowd at the Apollo. Since there was a kind of black-chic among white musicians at the time, Buddy could have easily separated himself from the pack by announcing to the rock world that he was now playing the real music, as conceived by blacks in traditional R&B style – Imagine the street cred!
He did not, nor did he dismiss what was called white music, jazz or sentimental love songs because for him the point was simply to create. The fervent and direct connection between his soul and his ear was nonmalleable. The post-Holden Caulfield catch words of the day: Identity, rebellion anger, teen anxst had no place in Buddy’s heart. That is not surprising because a true genius is a conduit, not tied to anything but the creative impulse. He is addicted to taking chances for the love of music, unbound by criticism, form or even the opinions of the fan base. In that sense it is not surprising that critic Bruce Elder once referred to Buddy as the single most influential creative force in the history of early rock and roll, that Rolling Stone Magazine placed him 13th among the greatest 50 rock performers of all time, or that he was in the first group of inductees into the Rock n Roll Hall of Fame in 1986.
The fact that so many and varied performers could incorporate Buddy’s music into their own musical style is testimony to his artistic depth. Like Dylan, who blended folk and rock, The Beatles who integrated classical, folk rock and skiffle, the Stones, who amalgamated the blues, rock and pop, and even Miles Davis who tried (albeit in vain) to create a fusion between rock and jazz, Buddy Holly had that most precious of artistic gifts – plasticity, borne out of an intrinsic sense of modesty that put music first, image second. The difference between Buddy and the rest of the aforementioned ground-breakers is that Buddy did it first and in an agonizingly short period of time.
For that reason this writer would respectfully disagree with the poll in Rolling Stone. Buddy Holly is not the 13th greatest performer in rock history. He is more important than that. He was the unmatched template for all that was to come. He might have been the best (and most certainly the most sincere) singer, a truly fine guitar player, the second most prolific composer (behind Lennon and McCartney), as well as the most original producer and conductor in the history of rock n roll. Just where does that put him in the pantheon of music legends? Perhaps a statement made about Sigmund Freud by one of his successors is applicable, to wit…If we can see further than the master, it is only because we are able to stand on his shoulders.
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