The meaning of American Pie in words and images in case you’ve missed it the first 500 times you’ve heard it.
The creator, lonestarsound, notes in 2007:
This is a revision to previously posted videos. I was fortunate enough to go to the Surf Ballroom in Clear Lake IA and speak firsthand with many who were there including Tommy Allsup who flipped the coin with Ritchie Valens. This version corrects some factual errors and includes new footage from the SURF.
Interesting enough but this video also strikes a lot of chords with me as I watch it.
In a strange series of events not worth contemplating at this late date, I was present at a number of the scenes alluded to and, if I wasn’t present, was keenly and sharply aware of others as they occurred. In a pool of nostalgia, I recall mostly — on just a cursory viewing — the time spent with Janis and that day at Altamont at the butt end of the 60s.
And then there was The Family Dog and Fillmore West before there was a Fillmore East.
And before that, I was a paperboy.
And after that, I slow danced in the gym with this and that wallflower and the six-inch ruler. Pony skirts and petticoats.
And I had a white sport coat and a pink carnation and white bucks. And the bag you patted them with.
And I drove the old Hudson to the levee of the Sacramento River with my pals and a case of the cheapest green beer you could cadge from a hobo down by Skid Row.
And I had a bit part in Richard II and was rehearsing the assassination scene in the mockup of the Globe Theater in Davis, California when the phone rang backstage and somebody told me the President has been assassinated in Dallas.
And decades later was working on a film with John Lennon when John was assassinated.
And decades before that there were the pre-LSD years spent with the Free Speech Movement at Sproul Hall and later the Vietnam Day Committee.
And then there was People’s Park and the street riots with shotguns and the National Guard and the tear gas from the helicopters.
And then the Altamont concert with the Angels and the beatings and the clubbings with the pool cues and then the flashed gun and then the knife.
And then the long walk out into the night with the bonfires on the crests of the Altamont hills looking like some strange throwback to the marches of the middle ages at night with strange gawky creatures dancing like shadows in front of the fires…
And then that was the end of my Sixties. It was, after all, December of 1969.
They say that if you remember the Sixties you weren’t there. My curse is that I was there and I remember everything.