Buddy Holly...
Well… a tragedy. Working in the music industry as one does inevitably requires one to bid farewell to colleagues at a terribly young age. It seemed as if a new tragedy struck every week: Jimi Hendrix, John Lennon, Janis Joplin, Jim Morrison, Slappy Tavestock.
Who?
Slappy Tavestock. One of the great studio cleaners, just remarkable with a squeegee and a bottle of windex, the man was a marvel. But Buddy Holly struck one exceptionally forcefully because he was such a gentleman. It didn’t matter who he encountered, he treated everyone with respect and a very tangible warmth. He just loved humanity and he was a very dear man to everyone he met.
Can you recall where you were when you heard the news?
I was cleaning a studio somewhere and the producer announced it over the sound system. And then they played That’ll be The Day and all present shed a tear I don’t mind telling you. So poignant. That’ll be the day when I die. And it was the day he died. I wept for the entire song and then they played Peggy Sue and the mood was broken somewhat.
Why?
Well, my mother had a miniature poodle named Peggy Sue who lost its eye-sight in its dotage so in her final years she was completely blind, poor thing. She would try and go out into the garden using the doggy door our groundskeeper installed but it couldn’t see, so she resorted to violently thrusting her head against flat surfaces in the vain hope she would find the door by chance. One minute I was recalling working with Holly in the studio and the next moment I was vividly remembering Peggy Sue headbutting the upright piano in a futile attempt to exit the building. It did rather spoil the mood.
A tragedy.
Well, the ageing process is a sobering thing to witness in humanity but when it occurs to a small dog who is regularly shaved in order to resemble an assemblage of cloud formations, it takes on a somewhat comic tone if I’m honest.
I meant Buddy Holly.
Oh, I see… yes, a tragedy. As you say.
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