Spring Break
El día en que la música murió
Stephen Ortiz
Issue date: 2/5/09 Section: Focus
This past Monday, Feb. 3, marked the 50th anniversary of the Day The Music Died. For those who aren't music history savvy, it was the day Buddy Holly, J.P. "The Big Bopper" Richardson and Ritchie Valens died in a small plane crash in Iowa at the ages of 22, 28 and 17 respectively.
To this day, the music industry honors what can arguably be called the greatest tragedy in rock 'n' roll history, but what I've come to notice in recent years is that the singer and guitarist Valens and his importance to music is hardly ever mentioned. RollingStone.com has run a headline that reads "Not Fade Away: Remembering Buddy Holly on the 50th Anniversary of His Death." The story mentions Valens just three times, two of which don't even count.
Despite a recording career that lasted just eight months, Valens cemented his spot in the rock pantheon with his most influential hit, a Mexican folk song adaptation called "La Bamba." With that one song, Valens broke the boundaries for Latinos and rock music worldwide. "La Bamba" was the first U.S. pop chart hit sung entirely in Spanish, and without it, we would not have had the groundwork for artists like Carlos Santana, Los Lobos (who performed all the covers of Valens' music for his biopic, "La Bamba"), Los Lonely Boys and Selena (another singer of Mexican descent whose life was tragically cut short).
I am not arguing that Valens was a better musician than Holly or downplaying Holly's legacy - he was certainly a big part of shaping rock as we know it and deserves every bit of the respect that is bestowed on his memory every February. What I am arguing, though, is that it seems mainstream media downplays the influential (albeit brief) legacy Valens left behind.
At 17 years old, Valens (born Richard Steven Valenzuela, but was renamed by the record company to appeal to the white listeners) had all three of the singles released while he was alive crack the top 50 on the U.S. charts, including the No. 2 spot for his ballad, "Donna." He was selling out shows with his energy that got him labeled "The Little Richard of the Valley." He was just a kid from a poor family in Pacoima, Calif. And he got through the racial tensions of the time period and made music that everyone wanted to hear.
His story was incredible. I just hope that in the future, it'll be honored as such.
To this day, the music industry honors what can arguably be called the greatest tragedy in rock 'n' roll history, but what I've come to notice in recent years is that the singer and guitarist Valens and his importance to music is hardly ever mentioned. RollingStone.com has run a headline that reads "Not Fade Away: Remembering Buddy Holly on the 50th Anniversary of His Death." The story mentions Valens just three times, two of which don't even count.
Despite a recording career that lasted just eight months, Valens cemented his spot in the rock pantheon with his most influential hit, a Mexican folk song adaptation called "La Bamba." With that one song, Valens broke the boundaries for Latinos and rock music worldwide. "La Bamba" was the first U.S. pop chart hit sung entirely in Spanish, and without it, we would not have had the groundwork for artists like Carlos Santana, Los Lobos (who performed all the covers of Valens' music for his biopic, "La Bamba"), Los Lonely Boys and Selena (another singer of Mexican descent whose life was tragically cut short).
I am not arguing that Valens was a better musician than Holly or downplaying Holly's legacy - he was certainly a big part of shaping rock as we know it and deserves every bit of the respect that is bestowed on his memory every February. What I am arguing, though, is that it seems mainstream media downplays the influential (albeit brief) legacy Valens left behind.
At 17 years old, Valens (born Richard Steven Valenzuela, but was renamed by the record company to appeal to the white listeners) had all three of the singles released while he was alive crack the top 50 on the U.S. charts, including the No. 2 spot for his ballad, "Donna." He was selling out shows with his energy that got him labeled "The Little Richard of the Valley." He was just a kid from a poor family in Pacoima, Calif. And he got through the racial tensions of the time period and made music that everyone wanted to hear.
His story was incredible. I just hope that in the future, it'll be honored as such.
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