As I zoomed onto the flyover, the night lights shone bright and yellow on the roads ahead. I was not in the best of moods – my parents were still against me getting married to my girl and that was creating enough heartache for all concerned, my parents, her parents, and most of all, us. Though I usually took all this in my stride and still carry on with life, that day I was very despondent.
And when going home, I wanted loud music. I didn’t even notice what was playing (It was a Beatles), but simply pressed the button my phone to send the volume racing upto the maximum limit. As I was riding down the flyover negotiating my favorite curve in the whole city, Don Mclean’s deep voice flowed into my ears.
A long long time ago
I can still remember
How that music used to make me smile.
And I knew that if I had my chance
That I could make those people dance
And, maybe, they’d be happy for a while.
I was just about to give an earful to the motorist behind me who was honking his horn incessantly, but the voice made me stop short of doing that. A smile broke into the serious countenance that I had been having the whole day and I just waved the guy through.
So bye-bye miss American pie.
Drove my chevy to the levee,
But the levee was dry.
And them good old boys were drinkin’ whiskey and rye
Singin’, this’ll be the day that I die.
“this’ll be the day that I die.
My heart soared. This was one amazing song, a song that has been interpreted in hundreds of ways and still there is no consensus on what every line meant. The tune is so cheerful it completely belies the sadness with which the singer bemoans the death of rock and roll. Thankfully I was not much of a lyrics guy, I concentrate more on the tune of a song than the lyrics. The tune sets up my mood, a ritual for the dead sung in a peppy way would any day make me happy.
Well, I know that you’re in love with him
‘cause I saw you dancin’ in the gym.
You both kicked off your shoes.
Man, I dig those rhythm and blues.
I raced not wanting to race at all. Paradoxical, but it explains the ambivalence of my heart at that time, part of it wanted me to speed up, feel the cool night wind embrace my body, part of me wanted to take it slow, enjoy the moment, prolong it, and enjoy it further, not reach home soon and prematurely end the thrill that I felt. As I went past a group of people who were fighting on the road, for reasons I didn’t care to know about, I smiled a wry smile. How stupid they were, how lucky I was.
I was a lonely teenage broncin’ buck
With a pink carnation and a pickup truck,
But I knew I was out of luck
The day the music died
The world seemed to consist of only me, my bike, the night, and the music. Everything else ceased to exist, or simply didn’t matter at all. Cars flashed their headlights at my rear view mirrors and I gladly moved aside to let them pass, bikes crisscrossed the empty night lanes, there was even an odd runner or two puffing and panting along. I did not hear any sound other than that coming out of my earphones. I felt like a rider in this ghost town that I frequently dreamt of, where everything was muted, and no person, animal, or thing, ever made a sound. The absence of external audio interference made the song that much more powerful in bringing me out of dejection than it already was proving to be.
Now for ten years we’ve been on our own
And moss grows fat on a rollin’ stone,
But that’s not how it used to be.
When the jester sang for the king and queen,
In a coat he borrowed from James dean
And a voice that came from you and me,
I did not take the usual route, not today, it isn’t meant to be. Taking a left from the main road, I took a road parallel to the one I was already on. I couldn’t help shaking my head from left to right, at times even raising my left hand and drawing imaginary music notes in the air, assuming the role of a music instructor to myself. And yes, all this did attract attention on the roads, but did I care? There were people who laughed pointing fingers at me, those who had quizzical expressions on their faces (they obviously thought I had pulled a plug somewhere), and those behind me who blared their horns furiously very sure that all these actions of mine are definitely slowing me, and in the process, them, down.
Oh, and while the king was looking down,
The jester stole his thorny crown.
The courtroom was adjourned;
No verdict was returned.
And while Lennon read a book of Marx,
The quartet practiced in the park,
And we sang dirges in the dark
The day the music died
I looked up and saw the half moon, remember what I told her in the evening, ‘I can see half your face already out here. Once I see you fully, I’ll blow you a kiss, promise to catch that from there.’ I mentally blew her a kiss and smiled at the moon, which slowly (and it seemed to me shyly) hid behind the grey clouds. I looked back on to the roads in time to catch sight of a drunken man swaggering on the road just ahead of me. Swerving on time, I didn’t even look back.
We were singing,
“ bye-bye miss American pie.”
Drove my chevy to the levee,
But the levee was dry.
Them good old boys were drinkin’
whiskey and rye
And singin’, this’ll be the day that I die.
“this’ll be the day that I die.”
The cymbals clashed and the drums thudded, the piano was being worked over time. Don was lamenting the death of the most popular form of music and inadvertently, was cheering me up too. As the jazz went on and on, it seemed to lift my spirits up along with it. Smiling at people who shook at their fist at me, complaining about my slow speed, I strafed to the side of the road, using my right hand to grandly wave them past.
Now the half-time air was sweet perfume
While the sergeants played a marching tune.
We all got up to dance,
Oh, but we never got the chance!
`cause the players tried to take the field;
The marching band refused to yield.
Do you recall what was revealed
The day the music died?
I recalled everything, the days we spent together, the nights at the stroll, the noons at the movies, and I did do a dance. My upper body moved from left to right, my head completing its movements.
I met a girl who sang the bluesAnd I asked her for some happy news,But she just smiled and turned away.I went down to the sacred storeWhere I’d heard the music years before,But the man there said the music wouldn’t play.
And in the streets: the children screamed,
The lovers cried, and the poets dreamed.
But not a word was spoken;
The church bells all were broken.
And the three men I admire most:
The father, son, and the holy ghost,
They caught the last train for the coast
The day the music died.
The accompaniments except the piano, stopped. The Don softened and slowed down his voice. As he continued his lamentation of rock and roll, her absence in my life hit me. The night seemed long and lonely, with only the half moon to offer some solace. A drop of tear trickled down my cheek.
And they were singing,
"bye-bye, miss american pie.
"Drove my chevy to the levee,
But the levee was dry.
And them good old boys were drinkin’ whiskey and rye
Singin’, "this’ll be the day that I die.
"this’ll be the day that I die.
"They were singing,
"bye-bye, miss american pie.
"Drove my chevy to the levee,
But the levee was dry.
Them good old boys were drinkin’ whiskey and rye
Singin’, "this’ll be the day that I die."
I brought my bike to a stop as the chorus ended, not only because the song ended, but also because I had reached home – This was the longest I had ever taken to reach home from office.
