It’s the opening that sets up a story for him to delve into. Some of the most fascinating passages of the documentary are about the artistic muse enabling McLean to conceive this epic magnum opus. It tears down any mythic illusions we might have. As McLean puts it, He died thanks to some dirty laundry. Holly wanted to forgo the bus and take a plane in order to get some laundry done. Their version of that tragic night rings with the banality of youth. McLean was able to travel to the Newport Folk Festival in 1969 - rubbed shoulders with some of his heroes like The Everly Brothers - men who knew Buddy Holly firsthand. The latter actually gave him his first major break and became a kind of mentor. One could say he came of age during the ’60s following the social-minded folk traditions of Woody Guthrie and Pete Seeger. The death of Holly and his compatriots on that icy Iowa night was second only to the loss of Mclean’s own father, leaving an indelible impact on his young life. This is where McLean’s musical education began as he bought records and procured his first guitar. In the first of many worthy trivia points, we learn “The Sacred Store” out of “American Pie” was a real place on the corner of Main Street and New Rochelle called The House of Music. It was during these very same days as a young boy with a paper route, he came to admire the likes of Bo Didley, Gene Vincent, and, of course, Buddy Holly. He had a belief in God, a belief in the church, and a belief in his government. He was white, middle class, and life was simpler in the ’50s. It’s apropos if rather staid, to start with McLean’s own beginnings in New Rochelle, New York. I didn’t want them to bury this song too. So watching The Day The Music Died, I was wary. It’s no doubt part of the reason audiences are still enamored with it. It felt like it was ripe with a kind of 20th-century mythology. Over time I became aware of the significance of “The Day The Music Died” even as I became increasingly more fascinated by McLean’s overt and sometimes seemingly esoteric references scattered throughout the lyrics. It’s 8 and a half minutes of bewitching poetry played to a great rock and roll beat, and from the first time I heard it on the radio, it’s stayed with me. This is hardly a minority opinion, but I heartily appreciate “American Pie.” I’m protective of it.
The Day the Music Died: The Story of Don McLean’s American Pie is something I felt compelled to search out even as I remained fairly guarded about what it had to offer.
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