Quote

As I watched him on the stage, my hands were clinched in fists of rage. No angel born in hell, could break that Satan's spell.

Don McLean

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Don McLean
Age: 79
Born: 1945
Born: October 2
Composer
Guitarist
Singer
Singer-Songwriter
Songwriter
New Rochelle
New York
Donald McLean III
Stage
Spells
Break
Watched
Born
Satan
Art
Rage
Hands
Entertainment
Angel
Media
Spell
Hell
Fists

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I am what I do, and that's partly why I don't want to give up singing. But when I can't sing well, I will.
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Faces come and faces go in circular rotation.But something yearns within to grow beyond infatuation.
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And as the players tried to take the field, the Marching Band refused to yield.
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I feel like a spinning top or a DreidelThe spinning don't stop when you leave the cradleYou just slow downRound and around this world you goSpinning through the lives of the people you knowWe all slow down.
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In the autumn of 1970 I had a job singing in the school system, playing my guitar in classrooms.
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I'm glad that my music has helped other people as it's helped me. It makes me glad that I did what I did with my life.
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I'd listen to all the stuff that was going on around me and drift off into my fantasies about it. My fantasies have fuelled all the songs I've ever written.
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But I knew - in the old days, if a song was a good song, I don't care if it was 'Yellow Submarine' or, you know, or 'The Times They Are a-Changin' or 'Don't Be Cruel', you knew it, you know? You heard that song, and you were talking about it, and you knew it.
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That's the hard thing - getting started. You get started for a long time until you finally get to this point where people call you an icon or whatever they call you. It's nice. Suddenly the audience is with you more and they help you along and it's not so much that you have to do everything.
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Jack be nimble, Jack be quick, Jack sat on a candle stick, cause fire is the devil's only friend.
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Helter skelter in a summer swelter.
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In a sense, 'American Pie' was a very despairing song but it can also be seen as very hopeful.
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Each thread of life that you leave, will spin around your deeds and dictate your needs.
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Hills of forest green where the mountains touch the sky, a dream come true, I'll live there til I die.
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Some believe in Jesus, they don't act like they do. Some believe in Mohammed, I don't believe that's true. Cause they do believe in money, and gold is what it's for, all the gold can't buy no peace of mind in a world that don't believe in nothing anymore.
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How did the land of Jefferson, how did the land of King, become the land of hamburgers and raisins that can sing? Roosevelt was cripple, Lincoln was a geek, they'd never get elected, their clothes were never chic.
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Something touched me deep inside The day the music died.
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Drove my chevy to the levee but the levee was dry.
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Do you believe in rock 'n roll? Can music save your mortal soul?
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Starry Starry night Paint your palette blue and gray Look out on a summer's day With eyes that know the darkness in my soul Shadows on the hills Sketch the trees and the daffodils Catch the breeze and the winter chills In colors on the snowy linen land.
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