***Once Again, When Bop-Bop Bopped In The Doo Wop Night- When Teen Angst Rules The Airwaves
A while back I got caught up, and caught up bad, caught up like in some ragamuffin boyhood corner boy dream sequence forced to live over again forever say ages twelve to sixteen, those hard teen angst, teen alienation dark nights, hell just say teen and let that stand for itself, in the girl group doo wop night (or that is what I prefer to call it anyway, the doo wop part can stand in any case) and mentioned that I had a hard time, a really hard time, relating to girl groups. No, not that they could not doo wop with the guys, Christ, half, more than half the time, they were better than the guys. Think of those great Shirelles numbers, stuff like Baby, It’s Youof blessed memory and total recall lyrics remembrance (unlike a lot of other stuff today, for example, where did I put my glasses) that came exploding off the charts.
No, my problem, my mostly girl-less teenage alienation, teen angst, teen guy couldn’t figure out girls problem, was the lyrics of most of the songs. Songs filled with lines about longing for long gone (and never coming back) Eddie, songs about parents forcing young love out the door when it involved the leader of the pack, some easy rider motorcycle hero, or wistfulness about whether true love would survive the night, a night when she, maybe a little drunk, maybe a lot drunk on that cheap rotgut Southern Comfort (no reefer madness then, not in my neighborhood anyway, maybe down the way with the low rider, easy rider motorcycle guys and their red hot mamas though) and let that Eddie go just a little too far, and was worried about tomorrow night (and the talk in the girls’ “lav” come before school Monday morning). Or even such lowly concerns as the fact that one’s boyfriend was back, or that one had reclaimed an old boyfriend and made some other teenage girl miserable, miserable waiting at the midnight phone, still waiting now maybe. You know, girlish concerns, girlish giggle concerns not fit for serious teenage boy angst ears.
Not so though with the doo wop guys, slow, or as what I have in mind here those up-tempo tunes. Here the reverse is true, well, somewhat true. Although many times girl-less I could relate to such lyrical problems as two-timing mamas, fickle girls trying to decide between Johnny and Jimmy, girls, conspiring, yes, conspiring, and I will provide notarized proof upon request, to break up Susie and Bobby so Laura can have a shot at the lad. Such were the treacheries of the teen life, the 1950s teen life American-style (although I suspect, without notarized proof here, that this stuff rings a bell for today’s teen X, Y, Z or whatever nation, via Facebook convenience, they hail from).
That said all that is left is to figure out the stick-outs from that up-tempo doo wop genre , and there were many, some verily classics of the genre of the up-tempo doo wop night: Get A Job (first, ma says it at about twelve or thirteen to help out with household expenses in working poor times, then girlfriend says it at about sixteen or seventeen so you have some dough to spend on her, some drive-in movie, drive-in restaurant, amusement park, carnival dough and extra for those big sad floppy Christmas, birthday and Valentine’s day gifts, jesus, then wife says it at about twenty-five or six, for that little white cottage, complete with picket fence, dog and a stray child or two, okay we get it, yes, get a job): The Silhouettes; Gee (great harmonics, although the lyrics are, ah, gee, a little light), The Crows; Blue Moon(an old time Tin Pan Alley tune that cries out for this treatment, and a big old full moon to croon under), The Marcels; Little Star (wistful, guy version), The Elegants; Step By Step (sensible approach to a relationship, if you can do it, most teens just forget it), The Crests; and,Come Go With Me (yes, please do), The Del-Vikings.
Note: I have to make a special pitch for Why Do Fools Fall In Love?by Frankie Lymon and the Teenagers, the max daddy of the bop-doo wop night and the voice that basically made it all possible for all those groups, all those big city corner boy (and girl) groups, to partake of the rock scene and some fame. When my best elementary school friend, Billie, William James Bradley, king of the neighborhood rock night and a pretty good budding rock singer, first heard this song I thought he was going to go crazy. He had us doo-wopping that thing all one summer when we were hanging out in back of the school. And guess what? That song (and a couple of others) had the girls, a couple at first, then a few more, then a bevy (nice word, right) all coming around and getting all moony and swoony. And kept this writer from being girl-less, for a while anyway. Thanks, Frankie.
A while back I got caught up, and caught up bad, caught up like in some ragamuffin boyhood corner boy dream sequence forced to live over again forever say ages twelve to sixteen, those hard teen angst, teen alienation dark nights, hell just say teen and let that stand for itself, in the girl group doo wop night (or that is what I prefer to call it anyway, the doo wop part can stand in any case) and mentioned that I had a hard time, a really hard time, relating to girl groups. No, not that they could not doo wop with the guys, Christ, half, more than half the time, they were better than the guys. Think of those great Shirelles numbers, stuff like Baby, It’s Youof blessed memory and total recall lyrics remembrance (unlike a lot of other stuff today, for example, where did I put my glasses) that came exploding off the charts.
No, my problem, my mostly girl-less teenage alienation, teen angst, teen guy couldn’t figure out girls problem, was the lyrics of most of the songs. Songs filled with lines about longing for long gone (and never coming back) Eddie, songs about parents forcing young love out the door when it involved the leader of the pack, some easy rider motorcycle hero, or wistfulness about whether true love would survive the night, a night when she, maybe a little drunk, maybe a lot drunk on that cheap rotgut Southern Comfort (no reefer madness then, not in my neighborhood anyway, maybe down the way with the low rider, easy rider motorcycle guys and their red hot mamas though) and let that Eddie go just a little too far, and was worried about tomorrow night (and the talk in the girls’ “lav” come before school Monday morning). Or even such lowly concerns as the fact that one’s boyfriend was back, or that one had reclaimed an old boyfriend and made some other teenage girl miserable, miserable waiting at the midnight phone, still waiting now maybe. You know, girlish concerns, girlish giggle concerns not fit for serious teenage boy angst ears.
Not so though with the doo wop guys, slow, or as what I have in mind here those up-tempo tunes. Here the reverse is true, well, somewhat true. Although many times girl-less I could relate to such lyrical problems as two-timing mamas, fickle girls trying to decide between Johnny and Jimmy, girls, conspiring, yes, conspiring, and I will provide notarized proof upon request, to break up Susie and Bobby so Laura can have a shot at the lad. Such were the treacheries of the teen life, the 1950s teen life American-style (although I suspect, without notarized proof here, that this stuff rings a bell for today’s teen X, Y, Z or whatever nation, via Facebook convenience, they hail from).
That said all that is left is to figure out the stick-outs from that up-tempo doo wop genre , and there were many, some verily classics of the genre of the up-tempo doo wop night: Get A Job (first, ma says it at about twelve or thirteen to help out with household expenses in working poor times, then girlfriend says it at about sixteen or seventeen so you have some dough to spend on her, some drive-in movie, drive-in restaurant, amusement park, carnival dough and extra for those big sad floppy Christmas, birthday and Valentine’s day gifts, jesus, then wife says it at about twenty-five or six, for that little white cottage, complete with picket fence, dog and a stray child or two, okay we get it, yes, get a job): The Silhouettes; Gee (great harmonics, although the lyrics are, ah, gee, a little light), The Crows; Blue Moon(an old time Tin Pan Alley tune that cries out for this treatment, and a big old full moon to croon under), The Marcels; Little Star (wistful, guy version), The Elegants; Step By Step (sensible approach to a relationship, if you can do it, most teens just forget it), The Crests; and,Come Go With Me (yes, please do), The Del-Vikings.
Note: I have to make a special pitch for Why Do Fools Fall In Love?by Frankie Lymon and the Teenagers, the max daddy of the bop-doo wop night and the voice that basically made it all possible for all those groups, all those big city corner boy (and girl) groups, to partake of the rock scene and some fame. When my best elementary school friend, Billie, William James Bradley, king of the neighborhood rock night and a pretty good budding rock singer, first heard this song I thought he was going to go crazy. He had us doo-wopping that thing all one summer when we were hanging out in back of the school. And guess what? That song (and a couple of others) had the girls, a couple at first, then a few more, then a bevy (nice word, right) all coming around and getting all moony and swoony. And kept this writer from being girl-less, for a while anyway. Thanks, Frankie.
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