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Long, Long Time Ago.

Today's the sixtieth anniversary of the death of Buddy Holly; a man who was impossibly talented and who died stupidly young.

Everything about the circumstances that led to his death were tragic. He was only twenty-two and had been married to his wife - who was expecting and miscarried soon after the accident - for just six months. He shouldn't really have even been on the Winter Dance Party Tour; he only did it because money was tight and royalties were allegedly being held back by his producer, and he needed to support his new family with something. He shouldn't have been on that flight; he was just trying to escape bleak conditions in the tour bus for a day. A string of small, yet unfortunate decisions brought a promising life to such an abrupt end that could have so easily been avoided; such is the benefit of hindsight.

I've often wondered what Buddy would have gone onto do if circumstances had been different. His career barely scraped two years and in that time he was extraordinarily prolific, so one can only imagine the material he would have come up with more time; he'd already pretty much ripped up the rulebook. His producer Norman Petty admittedly played a huge part in developing his sound, but he was working with an artist of huge versatility and with an innate knack for coming up with song after memorable song; that's why so much of the stuff he wrote in next-to-no time is still on people's minds to this day.

I count myself lucky I got to play him on tour for so long and never took the luxury of the experience lightly. I also never grew tired of the music, despite playing it so regularly; it was an honour really. But I would have rather have not done it if it would have meant we could have had him longer; Nick Berry's got nothing on him, honest.

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