Graham Nash, The Crickets and Bobby Vee (third from the left) rock the night away in Clear Lake, Iowa, Feb. 2, 2009, at the "50 Winters Later" event honoring the 50th anniversary of the final Winter Dance Party show for Buddy Holly, Ritchie Valens and the Big Bopper, before the Feb. 3, 1959 plane crash that took their lives. (Craig Moore)

The Day the music died

Buddy Holly was in his prime. He was really on a roll at that point. I’ve always thought — just my own feeling on the thing — is that with “Raining In My Heart” and “It Doesn’t Matter Any More,” those records to me are Buddy Holly sort of becoming what Liberty ended up finding with you, with the strings and the nice pop production with a rock ’n’ roll basis. You were obviously a fan of Buddy Holly and the whole scene as a young guy. I know from many years of listening to you and listening to you now that nothing about your style is affected whatsoever. This is Bobby Vee, this is how you sing [and] this is how you sound. And I’m sure when you were 15 you already sounded like that.

BV: I think I did, yeah.

Did your band do any Buddy Holly songs?

BV: I did. We did, and we did Buddy  Knox songs. I still do. To me, he was one of the great rockabilly guys; you never hear his stuff any more, but he made some great records in Clovis, N.M., and we did Gene Vincent. We did a lot of rock ’n’ roll stuff ’cause that’s what everybody wanted to hear, and people wanted to dance, too. So I would do my hits … I’ve always done  Buddy Holly music.

So the 1959 Winter Dance Party covered the Midwest, too, headed to Fargo …

BV: They were en route to Fargo from Clear Lake; beyond that, on to Sioux City. The show was actually to be in the Moorhead, Minn., Moorhead Armory, [the] Fargo-Moorhead area where I grew up. I heard the announcement about the plane crash at a noon-hour lunch. I had gone home for lunch, and then that was the topic of conversation when I went back.

I was a sophomore in high school. That’s what everybody was talking about, of course, ’cause it was the first major package show to come through the area. So it was exciting. I think it was a Tuesday night, and the radio station had met with The Crickets and The Belmonts. The rest of the guys that came in, the new Crickets, and decided to go on with the show, and they asked — I think once on the radio,we just happened to hear it — for any local talent that would help fill in the evening, and we called them up, and they said come on down and that was it.

Did people come up and say, “You sound just like Buddy Holly?”

BV: No, no one ever said that, and ironically … I’d like to say that it was to honor Buddy Holly I didn’t sing any that night. We just didn’t sing any. I knew them all, but we didn’t sing any of them. I’m a real student of Buddy Holly’s life and his short career; talk about “True Love Ways” … one of the greatest love songs ever written. He co-wrote that song with Norman [Petty], and if you go back and listen to all the Buddy Holly songs that have ever been issued, you can hear him becoming a great writer. It just all happened over a period of about three or four years.

… And a great producer. That was where he was headed. That was my impression.

BV: And producer. Right. The pop stuff — when I signed with Liberty, Snuffy wanted to hear some of my songs, and everything I sang him was a rock ’n’ roll song. He really had the vision; I didn’t have the vision. His vision was Buddy Holly’s vision.

He was a friend of Buddy Holly’s. Snuff had been a disc jockey in Lubbock, Texas. He was friends with The Crickets and Norman, and that’s why we went to Clovis to record. It was more because that was part of his comfort zone. He was just a young producer, and he had spent time in the studio in Clovis, and he thought, well, that’s where you go to make records. You go to Clovis, even though Liberty was in L.A. So that’s where we went.

Snuffy and Buddy Holly’s vision I think were similar. I mean Holly really had a vision of pop music that’s really evident in songs like “Words Of Love” and “Listen To Me” and some of those ballads that he did. He really set the tone for my direction, Johnny Burnette’s direction … I mean Johnny Burnette, my goodness, one of the great rockabilly bands of all time, and here he was reinventing himself as a pop singer.

Did you ever talk to him about that? Or did you ever have any discussions with him about your similar roots and similar direction?

BV: Not really. Actually, we recorded some of the same songs. Snuffy would find a song, and there were several of them … actually I shared my first session with Johnny Burnette. We went in and split the session. He did two songs, and I did two songs. I did “What Do You Want” and “My Love Loves Me,” the Sonny Curtis song, and he did “Dreamin’” and “Cincinnati Fireball.”

Well, that was a moment in time that sort of changed things! Having those two records come out of the same three hours. My goodness.

BV: No kidding.

I really like “What Do You Want.” I told you the other day that I hadn’t heard it for years and had completely forgotten what it was like. That’s a really good record. It absolutely had the hallmark of everything that was to follow.

BV: Oh thanks. It’s a good record, yeah. It certainly did. That set the table.

What all did you do at Clovis?

BV: Actually, the first session that I did for Liberty, they flew me out to L.A. to record “What Do You Want.” The next session we did was in Clovis.

The deal that I had was for an album. Snuffy had this idea that he wanted to make a rock ’n’ roll album, and he wanted to make a pop album at the same time. I thought it was a great idea. He said we’ll put all the rock ’n’ roll tunes on one side, and we’ll cut ’em in Clovis, and we’ll go to L.A. and do some ballads, and that’ll be the string side, and love songs and all that — sounded alright to me.

So we went down to Clovis, and we recorded I think it was actually seven songs. We did a version of “That’ll Be The Day,” and we did “Susie-Q.” We did “Bye Bye Love.” We did a version of “White Silver Sands,” “Wishing” — Norman said, “Here’s one of Buddy’s songs that we haven’t done anything with,” and that just knocked me out. So we recorded “Wishing.”

There’s something I’m leaving out, but that was it, and then we went out to Los Angeles and started recording what became my very first album, Bobby Vee Sings Your Favorites. And Norman had written these wonderful liner notes for this project, and we got done with the six songs out in L.A., and the sessions had gone so well and everyone was so excited, Snuff said, “Let’s do some more.” Snuffy wasn’t very happy with the sound of the records that we did in Clovis, so we did six more songs, and we never used the Clovis stuff. It never came out.

It was a better experience for me, you  know, being a huge Buddy Holly fan, than it was for him, apparently — at odds with Norman somehow. So we had these liner notes that Norman Petty had written, but everything was changing, so we had his liner notes on the back of the album and ended up with an album of ballads from the ’50s, and “Devil Or Angel” came off of that.

So where did  those Clovis sessions go?

BV: Well, nowhere. They sat around. I had a 7 1/2 IPS reel, and there was a master copy I think just stayed in Clovis. I just got it a few years ago, just picked it up. I ended up leasing that material and other stuff to K-Tel, and they put out a package Bobby Vee & The Shadows, The Early Rockin’ Years. My brother died in 1997, and it came out before that, probably 1996.

That was really fun for me ’cause Bill played on that. It’s 24 tracks, all just rockin’ ’50s stuff. It’s very garage-band-y, a beautiful package, great liner notes. Steve Wilson was with K-Tel at the time overseeing the project. It was a lot of fun to put together, and as far as I was concerned, it was a showcase for my brother. The last session we did as a band was at a studio in Wisconsin. It was an album that I produced with the band, and there’s some really nice instrumentals that Bill and I wrote together. (This incredible CD is available from Rockhouse Productions, www.rockhouseproductions.com)

In listening to The Early Rockin’ Years, I’m wondering, did Liberty not hear this material?

BV: The only thing we used during that time period was “Laurie,” which was the B-side of “One Last Kiss.” They got caught up with the whole enmeshment with The Ventures. They didn’t know what to do with The Shadows, basically, and we had signed two different contracts.

This was probably before you even knew about the British Shadows in ’59?

BV: They were The Drifters at that time. Then they changed their name. I saw them play in Minneapolis. They opened the show. It was Frankie Avalon and a bunch of rock ’n’ rollers that came through Minneapolis. Cliff Richard & The Shadows opened the show, and Cliff Richard came out in a white suit, and he stood at the wing, and he did about five spins. He was on the other side of the stage, and it was one of the most rockin’ shows, and we walked out of there saying, “Well, better think of another name for the band.”

Did Liberty end up with the masters to all of these things or did they just disappear?

BV: The masters got burned up. There was a fire. And I had, for example, “Lonely Love,” “Love Must Pass Me By,” “It’s Too Late,” “Remember The Day.” I had acetates on those things and back in the early ’80s, I went into the studio and dumped them down just so that I had them. Then later, when this project came along, we went in and cleaned them up a little bit, but you can still hear clicks and pops in there. But that’s just the way that we retrieved them.

“Laurie” and “It’s Too Late,” especially “Laurie,” sound like [they have] a different bass player, different producer. There are strings on it; it’s completely different than anything else on it.

BV: The only songs the original bass player played on were “Susie Baby” and “Flying High,” the first three actually. There was another instrumental that we didn’t put on here; then Dick Dunkirk came in on bass, and he played on “Love Must Pass Me By,” “It’s Too Late,” and “Laurie.” We took “Laurie” and overdubbed strings on it.

You did that or Liberty did that?

BV: Liberty did it.

So the “Laurie” that’s on here is after Liberty played with it. You say that there is yet another instrumental from the ’59 sessions?

BV: There’s two actually. There’s another version of “Flying High” that we cut at a little studio in Moorhead that I wish I had put on there, ’cause it was the ultimate garage-band sound. Just a real tanky … we had just written the song, and it was like a minute and 20 seconds or something. I didn’t put it on, but I wish I had now because those are the colors. They become the colors — not fun to listen to but good enough to say, “Well, there’s a garage band.”

Yeah but people eat that up. I’m just looking at it from the standpoint of a fan at the time. It almost looks like they thought, well, they’ve got the next generation’s Buddy Holly here, and they’ll go back to Clovis and try and get that magic back out of that studio. But I think the stuff that you guys did in Minneapolis is cooler sounding, and it’s your stuff. You wrote it.

BV: Well thanks, I thought that, too. They’re better sounding records, and they have some spirit to them because they are original.

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Bobby Vee played the Moorhead, Minn., armory with The Shadows following the Feb. 3, 1959 plane crash that killed Buddy Holly, Ritchie Valens and the Big Bopper. (Hoffman Talent Incorporated)

After 50 years in the music business, getting Bobby Vee the credit he is due both as an artist and as a person remains a difficult task.

For one thing, he doesn’t seek that credit, being quite content with the fact that, in his view, he has had a very interesting and sometimes incredible career. And primarily because he is, at heart, a humble person, a family man and rock ’n’ roll fan himself who is thoroughly appreciative of the life and career he has had, beginning publicly on the cold, sorry night of Feb. 3, 1959.

The story of Bobby, brother Bill and their group The Shadows helping to fill the void at the Moorhead, Minn., armory following the sudden death of Buddy Holly, Ritchie Valens and the Big Bopper has been  well-documented.

As Bobby states, it’s a subject that has come up in almost every interview he has ever done. Perhaps the point that is continually missed in such question-and-answer sessions is that quite simply, as one star sadly fell to earth, another thoroughly optimistic and joyful star arose to fill that void and is still with us today.

We are here to celebrate an outrageous  accomplishment in the music business — 50 years of great records, including some of the biggest popular hits of all time and millions of miles on the rock ’n’ roll road making people happy around the world, countless hours given over to talking with fans and posing unselfishly for now-cherished photographs. All of it was done with a perpetual smile and an optimism that is as young and vital in 2009 as it was even before “Suzie Baby” made it onto Soma 1110.

From that point forward, Bobby Vee’s records blazed a musical trail through the lives of every baby boomer and pop-music fan since and have become an undeniable part of  the very fabric of American pop culture of the ’60s. Perhaps because of the misguided opinions of so-called rock ’n’ roll purists who can’t see beyond 1957, the monumental discography of popular hits from 1959-1964 in particular get short shrift and are discounted. This not only bypasses Bobby Vee but also Gene Pitney, Rick Nelson, Del Shannon and Paul Anka, the 15-year-old Canadian who wrote and produced his own records and was savvy enough to hold onto his publishing.

My first contact with Bobby Vee was through the mail in the mid-’80s, when I was preparing to be the remote broadcast DJ at a vintage car/rock ’n’ roll show in Decatur, Ill. I wrote to Bobby’s agent for some promotional material, and while speaking to his representative on the phone, I broke out into “Run To Him” for no particular reason.

The agent laughed, we talked and the call was done. When the package came, there was a color 8×10 photo autographed “To Craig, the guy who knows the words to Run To Him.” I would imagine several billion people know those words and have probably made it known to Bobby and his associates ad nauseum, but there was that friendly acknowledgement, totally unnecessary and quite welcome.

Weeks later, at the event itself, as the on-air person I had the prerequisite backstage pass and made my way to the dressing room where I met Bobby and Del Shannon. In 1978, Shannon had actually taken my two little kids on a ferris-wheel ride at  the fair in Keokuk, Iowa. He had come to the club my band where was playing the night before, sat in with us and spent hours telling great stories.

Here we were eight years later, and as Del realized he knew me, any rock ’n’ roll star pretensions fell off of him like an old coat, and he was again the nicest guy you could ever hope he might be. He and Bobby  posed for pictures, did long, friendly interviews on the air and signed every album I could carry. Not only did Bobby & The Vees do my request, “Please Don’t Ask About Barbara,” but he dedicated it to me from the stage! I still clearly remember buying that single with the picture sleeve at the A&P grocery store record rack in 1962, so this dedication was a very big deal to me!

That was also the first time I saw Bobby arrive at an after-show gathering and sit until the wee hours posing for pictures, signing autographs and having casual, unhurried conversations with everyone who approached him until everyone had their autograph, their pictures and their stories before leaving.

Since then I have had the pleasure of crossing paths with Bobby & The Vees (Tommy Vee, Jeff Vee, Jeff Olson, Ar J. Stevens) at the Iowa Rock ‘N Roll Music Association Hall Of Fame induction in 2004 and most recently, and most pointedly, at the astounding week of shows known as “50 Winters Later” at the Surf Ballroom in Clear lake, Iowa, Jan. 28 through Feb. 2. Six days of rock ’n’ roll concerts and events, tears and joy, culminating with an all-star revue on the 50th Anniversary of the Winter Dance Party final show for Buddy Holly, Ritchie Valens and the Big Bopper. Despite being under the weather on the night of the PBS filming, that Bobby Vee optimism, professionalism and perpetual smile, born of 50 years of rockin’ and rollin’ and lovin’ it, won the day yet again.

Even though there was an emotional presentation made Feb. 2 to Bobby Vee by Terry Stewart of the Rock And Roll Hall Of Fame and Jeff Nicholas of the Surf Ballroom, I still don’t think most people quite got just how significant this date in rock ’n’ roll history was — not only as it pertains to the loss of Buddy Holly but to the ongoing health and happiness of rock ’n’ roll and pop music that also began on that day all those years ago by virtue of the music, personality and sheer unrelenting optimism of one man — Bobby Vee.

He has had associations and friendships over the years with everyone from The  Crickets to Dick Clark, Bob Dylan, Paul McCartney, Tim Rice and countless  legendary songwriters and performers and  an enviable circle of very special people, not to mention literally millions of fans around the world, sustained over decades in a notoriously very fickle business.

In this conversation, Bobby discusses his incredible 50-year career, recording details and candid vignettes that will entertain record collectors, musicians and fans alike, and gives us an insight into pending new releases of rare material and even a possible new direction for Bobby Vee on stage.

The key word in this story is “fun.” Fasten your seat belts, turn the Wayback machine to 1959, and hold on!

Listening to your latest CD again and again (I Wouldn’t Change A Thing) the song called “Whatever Happened To Peggy Sue” being such an integral part of it, also brings to mind the question for people who might not know: Whatever happened to Bobby Vee? You’ve been out playing all along.

Bobby Vee: (Laughs) Yeah, it’s what happens to me and you; that’s what’s so clever about that song. I guess our fondest thoughts are that we’re all still out playing, and she’s still being sweet and cute, and whenever we’re down in her area she always shows up. She’s a friend I’ve known since 1960, so those kinds of friends, The Crickets, who have been an integral part of my friendship circle, are alive and well.

So what records were you listening to in your early days, before you actually cut “Susie Baby,” before you became the guy on the records?

BV: Well, I was really influenced by the area that I grew up in, in Fargo, N.D., and at that time, they were playing Peggy Lee and Frank Sinatra, big-band stuff, Johnny Ray, Frankie Laine … I loved that stuff.

I loved country music. I’m old enough to remember a time before rock ’n’ roll, and I was listening to Hank Williams. I remember when I was 7 or 8 years old calling the radio station and asked them to play “Kaw-Liga.” That’s a great pop thing — it’s a great song, it’s a great lyric, it’s a great story. “Settin’ The Woods On Fire,” a lot of the old Hank Williams stuff. Went to the shows, [and] my brother Bill was five years older than me, but he would take me to the shows. I saw a lot of people — never saw Hank Williams, but I saw Johnny Cash a couple of times, Marty Robbins a few times, Jimmy Newman, Ernest Tubb and that’s the stuff I loved. I didn’t get to see Johnny Horton, but he was another one of my favorites. That was the rockin’ part of country that really appealed to me.

The Honky Tonk Man … I was 12 or 13 when he got killed, and I was a paper boy, picking up the papers one morning and reading that he’d been killed, and I cried.

BV: Oh, I know. It was a sad day. I think it was 1960. He had so many great records, [with] Floyd Tillman and all the people that  worked with him; it was a pretty unusual record sound that he came up with. And The Louvin Brothers … I used to love those guys, and all that great old hillbilly stuff.

So what did The Shadows do at their gigs? Bobby Vee And The Shadows in ’58?

BV: Bill and I sang together a lot. We’d do some Everly Brothers and Elvis Presley … Buddy Knox was the first rock ’n’ roller to travel through our part of the country,  and so I saw him around the time of “Party Doll.” He was out touring with that. Jimmy Bowen was with him, and Don Lenier on lead guitar, and what was the drummer’s name? Dave Axel or something like that. I think that’s who played on the record, but Dickie Do came out, Dickie Do & The Don’ts, and he was playing drums with him.

It was, you know, for living in Fargo, I mean everything was so inaccessible for rock ’n’ roll, and all of a sudden, they were playing in my neighborhood and packin’ ’em in. I saw Ronnie Self. I don’t know if you remember his records? “Bop A-Lena” … good record, good writer. [He] wrote for Brenda Lee. He came through one time, and he played with a band called the Minnesota Wood Choppers, and I could tell … I mean I was so young, but I could tell, and I thought, “He’s not having any fun at all.” He was supposed to do two sets, and the band … they were kind of a polka band. He only did the one show. But I saw Gene Vincent five times in 1958, and that was an amazing thing. I saw him in Fargo I think three times and at Moorhead a couple of times, and Fargo being a good, big town, he was just out doing business.

So these were the days when The Surf and places like that were the better places to play.

BV: Absolutely, right, and that’s … you know it’s special for me when I go back to Clear Lake, Iowa, and play The Surf Ballroom. Nowadays they’ve turned it back  into the original ballroom; they’ve cleaned  the walls off, and you’ve got the waves and the palm trees. And there’s a few places like that around. We were talking about it, that Perry, Iowa, thing I did; that was a place I’d never played before, and I thought I had played every ballroom in the Midwest. It’s all farm country, pick-up trucks and combines and rock and roll! That’s the Midwest, and I’ve always loved that part of it.

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