It took Don McLean about seven years to become a so-called overnight success, thanks to the largely autobiographical loss-of-innocence and Buddy-Holly-inspired song "American Pie," which took over the airwaves in 1972.

In the more than three decades since McLean was first anointed with that unwelcome title, he has consistently found a place for himself in the music industry - from his lesser hit "Vincent," a paean to Vincent Van Gogh, to his cover of Roy Orbison's "Crying," to the countless versions of his songs that others have performed.

Tomorrow evening McLean comes to the Cap Center to benefit Concerts for the Cause, the annual series of concerts offered to raise money and awareness for Child and Family Services of New Hampshire. Opening for McLean will be Kimberly Dahme, formerly of the band Boston.

McLean is also touring in support of his new album, Addicted to Black - which he says may be his last - a somber collection of songs centered on aging and loss.

McLean, now 54, grew up in a comfortably middle class family in New Rochelle, N.Y., and from earliest childhood he was obsessed with music, listening to the radio as well as his father's collection of old 78-rpm records. Asthma kept him home from school frequently, and his days at home deepened his musical passion and, more than likely, the strong sense of self that has sustained him in a fickle entertainment industry. Life on a tough swim team - he was an admittedly second-string swimmer with a tough coach from West Point - intensified his drive as well as his ability to control his breathing and his asthma. Folk group The Weavers served as his strongest inspiration, and over time, McLean began writing and performing. In 1969, his first album Tapestry was quietly well-received. His 1971 album American Pie - with a title track that ran over eight minutes and was the longest best-selling record in history - fundamentally changed his life and helped usher in the era of the singer-songwriter.

You've been successful for 40 years in an industry that is increasingly fickle and youth-conscious. How have you sustained your career and integrity?

I've always told myself this was better than (earning) wages - I've always been able to be my own boss, and things are my responsibility. When things haven't always gone well, it's because of choices I shouldn't have made or should have made. I've had the chance to make what I could of myself. And I've never really had bad years - there have been years quieter than others, but quiet but busy.

You grew up a huge fan of the American folk tradition, and even worked with one of The Weavers early in your career. How did that influence who you became as a songwriter and performer?

For me the Weavers embraced a mix of things: authenticity, commerciality, and some form of morality. I never found that in any other group. That commercialism was vital - they had some important things to say but were not shy about making what they had to say appealing and listenable. So I never approached things from the point of view that I wanted to be all precious and esoteric and write things that nobody could really make any sense of.

You've carried that overnight success label for decades, although you were working in small folk clubs, earning New York State Arts Grants and working for environmental causes way before "American Pie" hit. Did the years before "Pie" help sustain you after the onslaught of attention?

Well, Tapestry had been doing well, and I was going along slowly but surely, and really American Pie nearly killed my career. All the critics came out and said I could never possibly top that song - it turned out to a very painful period. At that time, I found a better reception for my music in the first years after that overseas - they were able to still look at me as an artist and not this phenomenon. As for the song - well I created it, so I asked for it. And as time goes on, it gets recorded over and over and I am lucky enough to own my publishing and it's beautiful - it's this small empire that I created accidentally.

You had serious asthma as a child. What role did that play in who you turned into as a person and as an artist?

In some ways the asthma was such a personal struggle - like confined to my room, in the hospital with pneumonia, struggling sometimes literally to stay alive. I mean, my family was there, but in the end it was kind of a battle between me and the disease. It also gave me a respect for the body and its processes, so I try to take decent care. I mean, I'm not Felix Unger, but I don't smoke, drink to excess, and I don't medicate every time there's a pain.

Is there much music out there that compels you now?

No. Music is supposed to be blends, harmonies, textures. You need melody, and nobody wants to do that now - there's no melodies, no quality to the singing, it's every guy out there blathering out some bull with an empty bunch of chords. It's anti-music. And there's people - I am not going to be specific - who are somehow thought to be all authentic because they've been to prison or have been drug addicts. And the music is crap.

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