MARK HUGHES COBB: Should 'Patsy' run always? You'd be crazy not to try

Would Theatre Tuscaloosa fall to pieces if it didn't perform “Always … Patsy Cline”? They’d have to be crazy. Crazy for not tryin’. Crazy for not letting folks commence to cryin’. And cuh-razy for losin’ revenue.

Here's the thing about shows that come back, stories that get retold, movies that get remade: The reasons don't begin and end with box office, but yeah, kind of, in the sense that money comes from people, people who love those tales, and want them again. 

If people didn't buy it, they wouldn't come.

Patsy-love ain't faded, not after seven lonely days, not even after the almost 60 years since her plane crash. When that contralto breaks on “Cah-ryin' on his pillow/Maybe he’s crying fo-or me,” or "See the pyramids a-ah-long the Nile," face it, she's got you.

Patsy represented one of those rare intersections where Dad's country, crooner, and gospel tastes intersected with mine (see also Lyle Lovett, Ray Charles and Willie Nelson). I also retain deep love in my heart for the ferocious Club Wig cover of “I Fall to Pieces,” in which one of my oldest and dearest pals, mighty drummaster-singer-songwriter Ken Adams, leaps out full James Brown: “I fall to piece-y!”

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Part of the ongoing draw stems from far-too-early death, at age 30, in the accident that also took Hawkshaw Hawkins and Cowboy Copas. It's bittersweet, the rocker-in-an-air-crash fable, where the star never grows old, never fails (we listen with new reverence, or perhaps only listen to their best, in retrospect), never winds up a resident artist in Branson ... does not fade away.

The antecedent happened Feb. 3, 1959, when a chartered Beechcraft Bonanza took off from Clear Lake Iowa, but failed to fly very far. The day the music died took Buddy Holly, J.P. “The Big Bopper” Richardson, Ritchie Valens, and pilot Roger Peterson.

Air crashes also took Jim Reeves, in 1964; Otis Redding, with members of his band The Bar-Kays (Ronnie Caldwell, Phalon Jones, Jimmie King, Carl Caldwell) in '67; Jim Croce and his main-man guitarist Maury Muehleisen in ‘73; members of Lynyrd Skynyrd (Ronnie Van Zant, Steve Gaines, Cassie Gaines) in '77; Randy Rhoads in '82; Ricky Nelson in '85; Dean Paul Martin in '87; Stevie Ray Vaughan (helicopter, not plane) in '90; John Denver in '97; Aaliyah Dana Haughton in 2001; Dolores Janney "Jenni" Rivera Saavedra in 2012, and others whose names didn't top charts, but were still artists touring relentlessly to scrape by, because everyone wants music free.

You could cast back to Glenn Miller in '44, but because swing bandleaders are generally born looking 55, his passing at 40 might not seem quite as youthfully poignant.

But give the man props: "In the Mood," "Moonlight Serenade," "Pennsylvania 6-5000," "Chattanooga Choo Choo," "A String of Pearls," "At Last," "(I've Got a Gal In) Kalamazoo," "American Patrol," "Tuxedo Junction," "Elmer's Tune," "Little Brown Jug" and "Anvil Chorus" were among his 16 number one hits, and 69 top 10s, which nearly tops the Beatles and Elvis Presley combined, with 33 and 38 top 10s, respectively. Louis Armstrong carried around, on tour, tapes of Glenn Miller, right beside his Tchaikovsky and Jelly Roll Morton. Frank Sinatra, Mel Torme, you name it, they paid homage to Miller and his sound.

Kind of like Buddy, Glenn's cranked 'em out fast, over a mere four-year span, from '38 to '42, when he fronted Glenn Miller and His Orchestra, helping launch fellow legends such as Jack Teagarden, Harry James and Tommy Dorsey.

In '42, he was 38; the Navy considered him too old for active duty, so Miller wrote to Army Brig. Gen. Charles Young. Leaving behind his civilian orchestra, he kissed goodbye about $20,000 per week, equivalent to $317,000 in 21st century dollars.

That's what we all make per week, and would gladly give up for service, right?

Ranked captain, transferred to the Army Air Force, Miller led the 15-piece Rhythmaires out of Montgomery's Maxwell Field, playing gigs in service clubs and rec halls. He formed a marching band, performed a popular weekly radio show, and then, promoted to major, carried his 50-piece Army Air Force Band to England for a series of 800 shows.

Gen. Jimmy Doolittle once said of Miller, "Next to a letter from home, that organization was the greatest morale builder in the European Theater of Operations." Miller, sometimes speaking in German, working with David Niven and Dinah Shore, cut propaganda recordings at EMI digs called, um, let me check this: Abbey Road Studios.

While planning to move the band to Paris, Miller boarded a single-engine UC-64 Norseman, flying from RAF Twinwood Farm, Dec. 15, 1944. His flight disappeared over the English Channel. Miller was posthumously awarded the Bronze Star.

Even before the Internet, conspiracy theories abounded about his death: Assassinated by Nazis. Heart attack in a Paris brothel. Bombed by friendly fire. As has been thoroughly studied, recently as 2017, the plane's wings and carburetor iced over.

Dude was a rock star before rock stars.

But Don McLean didn't test our memories with Miller's death. Whenever worried I'm slipping a gear, I sing all 47 verses of "American Pie," just to check.

Charles Hardin Holley (Decca Records misspelled his name on a 1956 contract), and this is tough to reconcile when you think how much he accomplished, rolling out of Lubbock, Texas, was just 22.

Somewhat like Patsy, Buddy appealed to a broad spectrum, pulling from country, R&B and gospel, writing, singing and playing indelible rockers and ballads from “That’ll Be the Day” to “Peggy Sue,” “Everyday” to “Rave On,” “True Love Ways” to “Raining in My Heart,” “It Doesn’t Matter Anymore” to “Words of Love,” “It’s So Easy” to “Crying, Waiting, Hoping,” “Maybe Baby” to “Not Fade Away.”

He cut three albums, all those songs and more, in just two years. And did it looking like Buddy Holly, ordinary guy.

Now tell me about your work ethic.

Stu Sutcliffe, whose photo shines next to the entry for “mirthful career choices,” suggested his Liverpool bandmates change from Johnny and the Moondogs to Beatals, a pun-tribute to Buddy and his most frequent band, the Crickets. That name held for a few months, until it became Silver Beetles, then Silver Beatles, and finally the Beatles.

The Hollies also named-checked him. Buddy-love has been heard from both Elvii (Presley and Costello), Bob Dylan, the Rolling Stones, Bruce Springsteen, Cat Power, the Flamin' Groovies, Marshall Crenshaw, Linda Ronstadt, Los Lobos, Hot Tuna, Mickey Gilley, Fiona Apple, Justin Townes Earle, Eva Cassidy, Weezer, Mary Chapin Carpenter, the Black Keys, Blondie, and basically any band worth its rock salt.

So why isn’t there an “Always … Buddy” show out? Well, there is, though titled, less punchily, "Buddy: The Buddy Holly Story." One of the original "jukebox musicals," it opened in 1989 at London's Victoria Palace Theatre, and ran more than 12 years, or six times longer than Buddy's actual career. The project was supported by a former Beatal named McCartney, who owns the rights to much of the music.

It's been on Broadway, and seen five U.S. tours. So why not 'round these parts? Birmingham's Virginia Samford Theatre put it on in 2010, and Montgomery's Alabama Shakespeare Festival has staged one of the top Buddy Holly tribute performers, but other than that, I think the most Buddy in these parts is when bands inject "Not Fade Away" juice, late in the set, because it's three chords and a cloud of glorious dust.

Possible reasons "Buddy" is harder to produce: It's large. Where "Always ... Patsy Cline" needs just two actors, one a stellar singer, with a live band, the "Buddy" show requires 20 to 25, and several have to be rock/pop star level, playing Dion DiMucci, Valens, Richardson, various Crickets and so on. Actor-singer-musicians: Triple casting threats.

Plus, with that McCartney guy, who knows what the rights cost?

"Always ... Patsy Cline," which Theatre Tuscaloosa brings back this weekend, for its fifth production since 1999, works. It's comfort food. It's warm and kind, a bit melancholy, of course, but rollicking, raucous and tender.

I'm pretty much willing to lay down money that what many audiences  – by which I mean people – want to see and hear now is something lovely and thoughtful, maybe not too challenging, heartfelt and straightforward.

Sweet dreams.

Reach Tusk Editor Mark Hughes Cobb at mark.cobb@tuscaloosanews.com, or call 205-722-0201.