Quote

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.

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
Song
Stuff
Fuelled
Around
Drift
Ever
Fantasies
Going
Fantasy
Songs
Listen
Written

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I had asthma when I was a kid, asthma so bad that it would turn into pneumonia and I almost died several times. Nobody knew why back then, but now it's obvious.
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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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When people ask me what 'American Pie' means, I tell them it means I don't ever have to work again if I don't want to.
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A long long time ago, I can still remember how that music use to make me smile.
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I met a girl who sang the blues and I asked her for some happy news, but she just smiled and turned away. And the three men I admire most, The Father, Son, and the Holy Ghost, They caught the last train to the coast The day the music died.
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I don't relate to what's left of the music business. There doesn't seem to be any point to it anymore. The business that I grew up in and loved, we made records a different way - there were record companies, there were stores where you could buy albums.
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Do you believe in rock 'n roll? Can music save your mortal soul?
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And as the players tried to take the field, the Marching Band refused to yield.
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Faces come and faces go in circular rotation.But something yearns within to grow beyond infatuation.
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Something touched me deep inside The day the music died.
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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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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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The kids today all seem to think they should be stars, but I wasn't brought up that way.
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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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Each thread of life that you leave, will spin around your deeds and dictate your needs.
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Work my hands in the soil, what's the pay for all the toil? Dust for blood, dust for blood, dust for blood.
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Helter skelter in a summer swelter.
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Every pulse of your heartbeat is one liquid moment that flows through the veins of your being. Like a river of life flowing on since creation, approaching the sea with each new generation.
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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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Every thread of creation is held in position by still other strands of things living. In an earthly tapestry hung from the skyline of smoldering cities so gray and so vulgar, as not to be satisfied with their own negativity, but needing to touch all the living as well.
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