The Rewind Button is a group blogging project instigated by Rachel Tynan. We’re writing our impressions of Rolling Stones top 40 albums of all time every Thursday.

This week: Bob Dylan – Blonde on Blonde

I’m gonna keep this one relatively short.  For I refuse to be caught in a web of Bob Dylan lyrics for he is a spider.  Honestly, sometimes I think the joke is on all the pseudo intellectuals who have flexed their mighty poetry decoder brains to endowing Dylan with genius.  I’m almost certain this amuses the spider.  I spiders web is certainly something to behold.  A work of majesty and beauty.  Something to be admired.  But for the spider, it is all he knows.  He was just born with this ability.  He just goes ahead and spins one if he feels like it.  And it provides a great bounty of insects that couldn’t see through it.

I found Blonde on Blonde to be sometimes amusing, sometimes perplexing, sometimes intriguing but seldom moving. I think this is what prevents me from being a true Dylan fan.  I just don’t find myself moved emotionally by his music. And, as usual, for me it comes down to the vocals.  Dylan has never been known as a great singer and many can get around it. But not me. If a singer does not emote or seem connected to the emotion of the song than how can I connect to it? For some songs it works.  For Rainy Day Women #12 and #35 the delivery is near perfect. Kind of ironic and absurd.  And I like the moment where you can hear Dylan crack up and show a real sense of fun.  The Spider’s vocals also suit “Leopard-Skin Pill-Box Hat” which will always remind me of my dad who loves to play that one.

But on songs like “I Want You” it is almost laughable how insincere it comes across.  If I was a woman on the receiving end of that song I won’t believe it for a second.   “I want you… so bad” umm, no you don’t.  He nearly gets there with “Like a Woman” which has pretty guitar work and a musical arrangement which really assists with the emotional impact.  Hard to impress the ladies when you sing like a Spider.  But spiders like to like alone in the kingdom they’ve spun anyways.

The other bloggers:

http://rebstevenson.com/
http://1throne.com
http://bettylivin.com/
http://www.musicqwest.com/
http://love-as-a-verb.blogspot.com/
http://www.gradstudentbyday.blogspot.com/
http://www.pimplomat.com/
http://reneesw.com/blog/
http://sarabynoe.com/blog/
http://sarahkelsey.posterous.com/

The Rewind Button is a group blogging project instigated by Rachel Tynan. We’re writing our impressions of Rolling Stones top 40 albums of all time every Thursday.

This week: The Clash – London Calling

The Clash is one of the most appropriate band names in history.  There are many aspects of this band that indeed clashed.  There is a rich history of band members getting fired and quitting the band.  They were a punk band that was manufactured, brought together by an empresario who saw growing capitalistic opportunity in the burgeoning british punk scene of the late 70s.  Fronted by Joe Strummer, former hippie who overnight turned on the personality of a no bullshit punk abandoning his former friends.  That seems like bullshit to me.  A political, outspoken band against war whose song “Rock the Casbah” was later used by soliders in the US army whilst dropping bombs during the Gulf War.  There was plenty that clashed about the Clash.  And their sound reflects that.

There is strife and hardship in the album London Calling.  The opening title track just kicks- the guitars pounding out no nonesense quater notes while the bass plays a rallying battle anthem and Joe belts a his own vocal battle cry and declares impending doom.  And then they switch gears in a “Brand New Cadillac” rockabilly track. The lyrics are of love, loss, revolution, identity, war, inequality.

There is nostagic vibe for me with this album.  When I was in high school I went through a heavy ska punk phase listening to the Mighty Mighty Bosstones, Goldfinger, Less Than Jake, Reel Big Fish and many others.  The Specials are probably the band that I listened to that most closely resembles The Clash.  I think the reason I didn’t get into them in high school is the same reason why I’m still not entirely sold on them: Joe Strummer can’t really sing.  To me, it sounds like he’s really straining.  And in the back of my head it makes me uncomfortable.  The songs that are the most musical to my ears are the ones where a horn section adds more melody to balance out where it’s vocally flat.

That said, overall, I do like this album.  I certainly prefer it to last week’s Exile.  There is a lot of variety from track to track and it glues together well.  London Calling was the album made just after they parted ways with their manager and really came together to pour their passion into something.  It has a magic quality.  That of four guys who don’t really see eye to eye and are different in so many ways, but are able to agree on giving their all to clashing together on this mosaic of an album.

The other bloggers:

http://rebstevenson.com/
http://1throne.com
http://bettylivin.com/
http://www.musicqwest.com/
http://love-as-a-verb.blogspot.com/
http://www.gradstudentbyday.blogspot.com/
http://www.pimplomat.com/
http://reneesw.com/blog/
http://sarabynoe.com/blog/
http://sarahkelsey.posterous.com/

The Rewind Button is a group blogging project instigated by Rachel Tynan. We’re writing our impressions of Rolling Stones top 40 albums of all time every Thursday.

This week: The Rolling Stones – Exile on Main Street

I don’t like the Rolling Stones.  There I said it.  I know it might be blasphemy within the brotherhood of musicians.  Alas, it is true and I feel better having said it.  It’s not that I have any strong dislike for the band.  I don’t put them in the Nickelback column.  I’m just indifferent.  I’ve never bought a Rolling Stones album, I’ve never played a Rolling Stones cover, I’ve never considered going to a concert and I’ve never done any moves like Jagger onstage.  The empirical evidence can only lead to the conclusion: Me no like Stones.

And that said, I don’t really dig this album.  I tried to focus in adorned in headphones but I quickly found myself watching the Blue Jays game simultaneously.  In general, I just don’t find the music engaging.  I find that they rely a little too heavily on bluesy conventions – chord structure, instrumentation, riffing style.  No innovation jumps out to attract my attention.  I don’t feel any of those “ooh” moments that draw me in- be it a lyric a harmony or interesting modulation.  And Mick’s voice doesn’t do it for me.  Exile just kind of plowed on by, like a freight train in motion.  Each car with its own contents sprayed with canned colours but blurring together as it rambled on making it hard to remember each track with so many cars strung together.

The best songs on the album are the ones that sound more acoustic or live in the room- “Sweet Virgina” and “Sweet Black Angel”.  The sweet ones.

Don’t get me wrong, I do understand why The Rolling Stones are a great band.  They definitely feel the rock n roll spirit.  The players play with passion and Mick has the magic.  This album creates a good atmosphere for a party or bar or backdoor BBQ.  They’re just not my cup of tea.  Or pint of beer, if you will.  You know, some people love their hoppy beers and some like a darker, full-bodied beer.  I find the Stones too hoppy.

The other bloggers:

http://rebstevenson.com/
http://1throne.com
http://bettylivin.com/
http://www.musicqwest.com/
http://love-as-a-verb.blogspot.com/
http://www.gradstudentbyday.blogspot.com/
http://www.pimplomat.com/
http://reneesw.com/blog/
http://sarabynoe.com/blog/
http://sarahkelsey.posterous.com/

The Rewind Button is a group blogging project instigated by Rachel Tynan. We’re writing our impressions of Rolling Stones top 40 albums of all time every Thursday.

Today:  Marvin Gaye’s “What’s Goin’ On”

Having portrayed Phil Ochs, one of the figureheads of the protest music genre, I learned a fair bit about albums and songs of the era that were known for speaking out against injustice.  Marvin Gaye’s “What’s Goin’ On” came up in many articles.  Motown produced an incredible number of hits throughout the 60s but few talked politics.

What I like about “What’s Goin’ On” is how cinematic it is.  It sounds like a soundtrack to me.  The title track and opening track begins with a soundscape, a party, people coming together.  People asking questions.  It keeps a very consistent sound throughout.  Very atmospheric and spatial.  Lots of reverb and auxiliary percussion.  It closes strong with my personal favorite track of the album “Inner City Blues”.  He speaks of the physical and spiritual trauma of war, the impact we have on future generations and financial inequality.  I love the line “natural fact is: I can’t pay my taxes”.

What I don’t like about the album is that in between the strong bookends is a whole lotta sameness.  What Gaye gains in continuity he loses in variety.  I find that the tunes and grooves blend a little too much together for my taste.  The tempos and instrumentation don’t deviate all that much for the duration of the record.  Also the production, to my ears, lacks presence.  I know, in part, this is due to the technology and the esthetic of the time.  But there is so much reverb on the vocals and other instruments (like the Anchorman jazz flute) that it loses some intimacy that I think could serve some of his lyrics.

But when it does work, it really works.  That final groove is so infectious that even if you weren’t on his wavelength you’d probably still join the protest for the party alone.  And this is why I believe it made the all time list.  You see, guys like Marvin Gaye made protest and politics hip.  A key ingredient to “Make (you) wanna holler and throw up both (your) hands”.  It’s what was happenin’ brother in the civil rights and anti-war groovement of the 1960s.

For More:

http://rebstevenson.com/
http://1throne.com
http://bettylivin.com/
http://www.musicqwest.com/
http://love-as-a-verb.blogspot.com/
http://www.gradstudentbyday.blogspot.com/
http://www.pimplomat.com/
http://reneesw.com/blog/
http://sarabynoe.com/blog/
http://sarahkelsey.posterous.com/

The Rewind Button is a group blogging project instigated by Rachel Tynan. As part of her New Years’ Resolutions for 2012, she set out to listen to Rolling Stone’s top 50 albums of all time. I thought it would be fun if a group of bloggers listened to the same albums at the same time, then posted their reactions.

“Ah! Can we have that? Can you do it like that?”

Notice how the album cover of Rubber Soul is askew.  Apparently, this came to be when the photographer was showing the boys a slide show to demo how the album cover might look.  As McCartney describes on the Anthology, one of the slides slipped and excitedly he exclaimed “Ah! Can we have that? Can you do it like that?”  I think this moment symbolizes Rubber Soul/Revovler era of happy accidents and experimentation. Rubber Soul, the boys are branching out and trying some new things.  While I do think Revolver is a far superior album and more evolved in this time of experimentation, Rubber Soul has a lot of good things going for it.

First of all, it is a very singable album.  There is a whole lotta vocal action on this recording.  There are “oohs and ahh and la, la, las” on nearly every track.  And I do believe I have performed at least half this album live in one context or another.  There are plenty of hooky and memorable tunes here.  “Drive My Car” is a classic, rockin’ kickstarter to the album, “Norwegian Wood” is a solo acoustic favorite to play, then we have Paul’s smooth, foray into swooning the french girls in “Michelle”.  You can really hear their admiration for Motown in songs like “The Word”.

The album title comes for overhearing a musician describing their British version of soul as “plastic soul, man.  plastic soul”.   It’s really a testament to their sense of humor and humility to embrace the criticism and create their own pun on the dig and use it as their album title.

The best song for me on the album is Lennon’s “In My Life”.  It is heartfelt and timeless.  Something everyone can relate to.  The Beatles truly were ahead of their time.  How could John Lennon have had such foresight to write a song perfectly suited to create hundred YouTube video montages?

Here is the best one:

In My Life

For More:

http://rebstevenson.com/
http://1throne.com
http://bettylivin.com/
http://www.musicqwest.com/
http://love-as-a-verb.blogspot.com/
http://www.gradstudentbyday.blogspot.com/
http://www.pimplomat.com/
http://reneesw.com/blog/
http://sarabynoe.com/blog/
http://sarahkelsey.posterous.com/

I don’t belong to the cult of Dylan.  I’ve always viewed the phenomenon of Dylan to be a little bit of an emperor’s new clothes scenario.  For every fan who really dug Dylan’s music, there were 10 more who were too afraid too admit that they didn’t get it and bought the record anyway for fear of seeming unhip.  I went to a concert in 2005.  Most of the audience gave a standing ovation after every single song.  Even when it was clear Dylan couldn’t care less about connecting with the crowd or singing his legendary lyrics in a way that was remotely intelligible.

There is plenty on this album I don’t get, I must admit.  But it is also somehow still very captivating.  My favorite folk songwriter, Phil Ochs, said that Dylan had “produced the most important and revolutionary album ever made” when it came out in ’65.  In an interviews disc I heard Phil say,  “I put on Highway 61 and I laughed and said it’s so ridiculous. It’s impossibly good, it just can’t be that good. How can a human mind do this?”

Ochs loves Dylan

And putting myself back in that scene, I think I can understand why he felt this way.  Many writers, Phil included, had limited themselves by adhering too strictly to the folk tradition.  Whether it be instrumentation, structure or subject matter.  Highway 61 is completely irreverent of any of the aforementioned.  Totally cocky and unapologetic.  At this point, Dylan couldn’t care less about alienating his folk audience.

And he did.  But gained many more followers as a result.  This was Dylan’s first full electric album.  He had just come back from his well documented tour of England and had grown very resentful of what he was expected to be.

Allegedly written, as Dylan describes, as a “long piece of vomit”, the opening song “Like a Rolling Stone” is certainly one of Dylan’s all-time classics really embracing uncertainty and the changing of the guard.  My favorite song on the album is “Ballad of a Thin Man” for its truly bizarre imagery.  What’s kind of funny to me, though, is that it is written as a mockery of those on the outside of the counterculture, the journalists, the older generation who don’t get what it’s all about.  But I, actually, find myself sympathizing with Mr. Jones because I often find Dylan too pretentious.  My favorite lyric comes from “Tombstone Blues” which is “the sun’s not yellow, it’s chicken”.  This was the era of free-association for Dylan.  Sometimes he’s said it was as if a ghost was writing the songs on his behalf.

Bobby! Try "it's chicken"

The band sound is instantly recognizably 60s.  Especially that organ.  It sounds like a live happening.  Like Dylan gathered up some guys to play a one-time only concert on a flat bed truck rolling down highway 61.  It really works to support the attitude of his vocal delivery.  Though, I really would have appreciated hitting the breaks to take a moment to tune the electric guitar on “Queen Jane Approximately”.  Seriously.  Did anyone else catch this?  It’s brutal.  Perhaps this is what the “approximately” part was all about.

In closing, I still don’t really know if I’d call myself a Dylan fan.  But I do find it a very fascinating record and one that can stir up plenty of conversation over the interpretation of his lyrics.  Were they deep insights?  Or was Dylan putting us on like the Emperor, or Mr. Jones and inviting us to make fools of ourselves acting like we really get it?  If a copy of Highway 61 survives the extinction of humankind and later some aliens stumble upon it, would 11mins of “Desolation Row” provide more clues or red herrings to what we were really like?

Check these other blogs for more on Highway 61 and the Rewind Button Blogs:

http://rebstevenson.com/

http://1throne.com

http://bettylivin.com/
http://www.musicqwest.com/
http://love-as-a-verb.blogspot.com/
http://www.gradstudentbyday.blogspot.com/
http://www.pimplomat.com/
http://reneesw.com/blog/
http://sarabynoe.com/blog/
http://sarahkelsey.posterous.com/

But Revolver is the best Beatles album!  If my ship was sinking and I knew I was to be stranded on a deserted island (with a record player, amp and speakers) I would reach for Revolver and a raft.  In that order.

Yes, I love this album.  And have many memories associated with it.  Kind of amazing considering it was released 15 years before I was born.  I remember doing visual art inspired by “Eleanor Rigby”- a literal interpretation of a woman with face kept inside a jar.  I recall singing “Good Day Sunshine” walking home from a kiss from my girlfriend in grade 9.  And drifting asleep to the sounds of “Tomorrow Never Knows” after coming home from a long day at high school.

Some people simplify the Beatles stylistically in two eras – pre-drug and post-drug.  If this is true, let’s say that Revolver is the gateway.  Their songs are tight, catchy and exciting as on their previous album, Rubber Soul, with songs like “Taxman” and “Got to Get You Into My Life”.   But the dark, sophisticated, all-string arra

ngement for “Eleanor Rigby” and the experimental, psychedelic “Tomorrow Never Knows” are most definitely breaking new ground.  “Here, There and Everywhere” is one of my favorite songs on the record.  I always forget how beautiful it is until it’s playing.

Revolver, to me, is the best of the Beatles.  Despite the strings, the sitars, backwards guitar riffs and lava lamp finale it still manages to sound like a band.  The album is with peppered with little imperfections which they embrace. The opening of the album sets this tone with the studio sounds, a count in and hacking cough before breaking into the groovy bass and tight guitar shots of Taxman.

The LP cover design really captures how I feel about the two complimentary dimensions of the album. On the front- an intriguing artistic collage, including ink portraits, cartoons figures, photos with lots of personality.  Plenty of complimentary and contrasting ideas overlapping to take in.  And on the back – a candid shot of the John, Ringo, George and Paul in a studio setting engaging with each other.  A reminder that it’s “just four guys” in a studio doing what they love and that’s all.

Photo on the reverse of Revolver

Check these other blogs for more on Revolver and the Rewind Button Blogs:

http://rebstevenson.com/
http://bettylivin.com/
http://www.musicqwest.com/
http://love-as-a-verb.blogspot.com/
http://www.gradstudentbyday.blogspot.com/
http://www.pimplomat.com/
http://reneesw.com/blog/
http://sarabynoe.com/blog/
http://sarahkelsey.posterous.com/

The Rewind Button is a group blogging project instigated by Rachel Tynan.  As part of her New Years’ Resolutions for 2012, she set out to listen to Rolling Stone’s top 50 albums of all time.  My sister, Reb Stevenson, thought it would be fun if a group of bloggers listened to the same albums at the same time, then posted their reactions.

This week is Pet Sounds, the Beach Boys (1966)

Everybody can remember a few records from their childhood they put a loving scratch in.  Those dirty, uncoordinated mini fingers trying to put the needle back in place over and over again.

One such record for mini me was the 45 of “Surfin’ USA”.  I surely aided that poor vinyl’s aging process.  I loved that song.  I couldn’t articulate why.  It was natural.  It wasn’t because my friends or MTV told me it was cool.  I just liked it.

Being a big fan of music from the 50s and 60s, I am, of course, aware of the influence of the Beach Boys.  My band, the Human Statues, even recently incorporated “Don’t Worry Baby” into our set.  But I’ve never really sat down and gave my proper attention to “Pet Sounds” widely heralded as one of the most influential pop albums of the 60s.

When I think of the Beach Boys, I generally think of layers and layers of vocal harmonies and a single layer of lyrical depth.  Which, in the case of Pet Sounds, isn’t entirely accurate.  Though the poetry might not be the subject of an English lit class, the way the lyrics contrast and compliment the melodies is where a certain amount of Brian Wilson’s genius lies.  I’m partial to those deceptively happy songs that disguise bitterness and hurt.  I always think of the Everly Brothers’ “Bye, Bye Love” as a good example:

“Bye bye love, bye bye happiness

Hello loneliness, I think i’m gonna cry

Bye bye love,  Bye bye sweet caress

Hello emptiness, I feel like i could die

Goodbye, my love, Goodbye”

All to a rhythm and melody so peppy, the whole family sings along.

Pet Sounds has plenty of examples of this.  Think of the boundlessly optimistic sounding “Wouldn’t it be Nice” evocative of a road trip along route 66 in the summer or ’59 with the top down.  It makes me feel happy to hear it.  And yet, the song is actually about being UNhappy.  The singer is revealing all that he doesn’t have in his life that could make him happy.  The bridge gets a little more direct.

“You know it seems the more we talk about it

It only makes it worse to live without it

But let’s talk about it”

Yes, Pet Sounds does indeed talk about it.  It really is the voice of the young men who were teens 1950s America with such promise for the future.  While the influence and sound of that California/American dream is ever present, the lyrics reveal the hard realities and upheaval of the 1960s.  Identity crisis, longing, and loss are the most prevalent themes lyrically coming from a man feeling like he “just wasn’t made for these times”.  Underscored with uplifting arrangements like a veneer- an America trying to save face.  It’s a young man trying to enjoy a hot dog, staring out over Santa Monica’s shimmering ocean, attempting not to think of his peers further beyond in the rain and mud of a Vietnamese jungle.

There really is a sense of changing times in Pet Sounds.  It seems like we’re often wondering and waiting for something.  “Wouldn’t it be Nice”,  “I’m Waiting for the Day”,  “I Know There’s an Answer” but “God Only Knows”.

It sounds like we’re waiting for the future to get better.  A future more like the past.

When I hear the opening riff of the album, I think of an ice cream truck rolling down a sunny street.  I wish I could hop aboard to take a lift into the past too.  And, in a way, I do.  I get to “go away for a while” to a time that sometimes I think I was made for

For more on Pet Sounds and other treats:

http://rebstevenson.com/

http://bettylivin.com/
http://www.musicqwest.com/
http://love-as-a-verb.blogspot.com/
http://www.gradstudentbyday.blogspot.com/
http://www.pimplomat.com/
http://reneesw.com/blog/
http://sarabynoe.com/blog/
http://sarahkelsey.posterous.com/

Today is another busy day in the studio working on the new Human Statues album. It’s sounding really good. As I have a moment sit as Jeff records an acoustic track, I realize today is the anniversary of Buddy Holly’s untimely passing.
I already posted this article last March but in light of today being THE “day the music died” I thought it was worthy of a re-post.
I’ll be reprising the role of Buddy this summer in Vancouver’s Stanley Theatre.

Toronto Star‘s travel section:

In America, remembering the Day the Music Died

by Reb Stevenson

CLEAR LAKE, IOWA—On an autumn afternoon, a young man enters a dense cornfield. He’s tall, slender and wears horn-rimmed black glasses.

It’s not just any field: on Feb. 3, 1959, a plane crashed here, killing rock n’ roll stars Buddy Holly, Ritchie Valens and The Big Bopper.

He stops at a guitar-shaped monument. Apart from the strong breeze that rustles the crispy stalks, it’s eerily silent.

Under normal circumstances, this creepy scene would prompt me to dial the ghostbusters. But I have some mitigating information: the man isn’t Buddy Holly’s spectre but my own brother, Zachary Stevenson.

Zach, a musician and actor, has played the optically challenged legend five times, including the lead in last summer’s sold-out Vancouver production of “The Buddy Holly Story.” With 260 shows down, he decided a three-state research trip was overdue.

So here we are, standing where it ended for Holly, who was just 23 years old on “the day the music died.”

Where it all began, however, is a whole 1,000 miles south.

Holly was born in Lubbock, Texas, in 1936, forming the band The Crickets in his teens.

Zach and I made the rounds: we drove past Lubbock High, stopped in at a radio station where Holly hosted a show and Zach laid a guitar pick on Holly’s grave.

But, honestly, none of that stuff gave me a true understanding of why this short-lived musician is considered a rock ’n’ roll luminary.

The answer came in the guitar-shaped gallery of The Buddy Holly Center: I learned that both The Beatles and The Rolling Stones revered Holly in their infancy.

“Buddy still appeals to people of all ages on many different levels,” says curator Jacqueline Bober.

Plenty of memorabilia resides there, including his bedroom furniture, his last Fender guitar and — most heartbreaking of all — the signature glasses that were plucked from the cornfield.

Lubbock had its limitations, and so The Crickets found a recording studio 100 miles away in Clovis, N.M. Since that state is an hour behind Texas, the boys would gun it to see if they could pull in at the same time they’d left.

When we joined a guided tour at Nor Va Jak studios in Clovis, Zach and I exchanged a wide-eyed look that silently communicated the delicate sentiment: “Holy crap, this place is freaking awesome!”

Most impressive: A living piece of Buddy Holly history on hand. His name is David Bigham and he sang backup on four tracks, including “It’s So Easy.”

Bigham quit two weeks after Holly died, returning to the studio as a volunteer 31 years later.

“The moment I walked through that door, it was like I had left the night before. Everything was the same,” says Bigham, now 73.

Indeed, Nor Va Jak is a time capsule. Given the original equipment, the Baldwin piano and the celesta you hear in “Everyday,” you’d think Buddy had just popped out for a pee break.

If you’ve listened to “That’ll Be The Day,” “Peggy Sue,” or “Maybe Baby,” then you’ve already heard this space. A dozen Buddy Holly hits came out of Clovis, where producer Norman Petty added his own unique flair to the songs.

One day, Holly’s drummer, Jerry Allison, was absent-mindedly slapping a rhythm on his knee.

Petty’s response: “Let me put a mic on that.”

The midwest was a far cry from the heat of New Mexico and Texas, particularly in February, 1959. The tour bus for the Winter Dance Party kept breaking down and one musician even got frostbite because the heating system was kaput.

Holly snapped, booking a charter flight directly following the show at Clear Lake’s Surf Ballroom.

As for the outcome of that decision — well, a sad pall still hangs over Clear Lake. In a shop on the main street, we find framed photos of the wreckage for sale, bodies and all. I’m happy to report that Zach isn’t enough of a crazed fan to buy one.

He is, however, keen to see the Surf Ballroom. On that fateful night, parents got in free and hovered at the back, keeping a watchful eye on the 1,100 youngsters in attendance (who knew how this new rock ’n’ roll stuff might corrupt innocent little Bobby or Susie?).

We can envision the scene perfectly because the ballroom has practically been embalmed. The South Seas theme, the booths, a machine that projects clouds on the navy blue ceiling — it has all endured.

“It’s a bucket list item for a lot of people,” says spokesperson Laurie Lietz. “Especially for people who were teenagers in that era — the crash was a real turning point for them. It’s not uncommon to see a tear shed here.”

Despite its tragic association, The Surf is an active music venue. On a lark, we see former Guns n’ Roses guitarist Slash play there (now there’s someone for Bobby and Susie’s parents to fret about).

But before that, Zach asks if he can jump onstage with his guitar and play a few Buddy Holly tunes.

“Of course!” says Lietz.

You’d think that, for someone who has performed for thousands, playing in an empty ballroom would be no biggie. But today’s rendition of “That’ll Be The Day” is more emotionally charged than most. Because, in his heart, Zach is playing to one very significant spectator — and I don’t mean me.

Reb Stevenson is a Toronto-based writer. Read her blog at www.rebstevenson.com. Her trip was partially subsidized by Texas Tourism. For a video of Reb’s trip, go to www.thestar.com/travel

JUST THE FACTS

SLEEPING: In Lubbock, stay in the 1950’s room at The Woodrow House B&B (2629 19th Street; 806-793-3330; www.woodrowhouse.com; $99-139 per night). In Clear Lake and Clovis, you’re looking at chain motels. The upshot: you can buy more rare Buddy Holly memorabilia on eBay with the money you save.

THE MUSEUM: The Buddy Holly Center in Lubbock, Texas is open Tuesday to Sunday (806-775-3560; www.buddyhollycenter.org; admission $5).

THE STUDIO: Nor Va Jak Studio in Clovis, New Mexico is open Monday to Saturday by appointment only (contact Kenneth Broad (ksbroad@yucca.net or 575-760-2157; admission by donation).

THE VENUE: The Surf Ballroom and Museum in Clear Lake, Iowa is open year-round Monday to Friday ( www.surfballroom.com or call 641-357-6151; admission by donation).

THE CRASH SITE: Free maps to the crash site are available at The Surf Ballroom.

Thank you to all who bought a copy of my disc “Smashed Hits” last year which includes covers of Buddy Holly, Jerry Lee Lewis and Hank Williams. I was able to sell enough to make a $2000 donation to MSF (Doctors Without Borders) this year.
I’ll be selling copies again this Spring when I take “Hank Williams: The Show He Never Gave” to Saskatoon!

Making my contribution