There was a moment in the mid-1960s when the pop charts were practically littered with the bodies of dead boyfriends. They were the victims of car and motorcycle crashes; driven to their deaths by hotheaded impetuousness or social disapproval. The ultimate dead boyfriend song is The Shangri-Las’ 1964 hit “Leader of the Pack.” It opens with gum-smacking girl badasses dishing about their friend and her guy, Jimmy. It ends with motorcycle tires screeching on pavement as Jimmy careens to his untimely demise. Lead singer Mary Weiss gives away this ending when she sings her first line: “I met him at the candy store.” It’s not the words that tell us things will end badly, it’s Weiss’ voice: pitched halfway between singing and crying, she sounds close to hysterics as she delivers the most melodramatic phrase in pop.
Musical melodramas like “Leader of the Pack,” were common enough that music critics developed a shorthand for them: they called them “death discs,” or, even better, “splatter platters.” Musicians of all genders made these records, which were the musical answer to angsty films like Rebel Without a Cause; and boys and girls alike died in them (see: “Dead Man’s Curve,” “Teen Angel,” etc.) Like Lana Del Ray’s contemporary odes to dying young, they were wildly popular (“Leader of the Pack” knocked the Beatles off the top spot of the Billboard Hot 100) but also openly reviled – especially so, when it came to death discs recorded by girls.
On several occasions, Seventeen magazine (hell-bent on shaping its readers into perfect future wives), condemned death discs. A 1965 editorial made it clear that good Seventeen readers shouldn’t be listening to death discs: “I expect the Johnny Mathis version of ‘Wonderful Wonderful’ to live considerably longer than the Shangri-Las’ gory ditties about motorcycling or hot-rodding death scenes.” That same year, they ran a guest column by none other than Lesley Gore. The “You Don’t Own Me” singer (or, more likely, her publicist,) wrote:
Today, love songs cry out the pain of unrequited love; we hear tales of two young lovers dying, of girls cast aside, and so on… If future historians were to survey our pop market today, they would think our world was filled with despair.
Meanwhile, in a 1965 New York Times article, writer Phyllis Lee Levin tries to stay objective in explaining the popularity of death discs with the teen masses, but reveals her bias by repeatedly calling them “sick songs.” She also writes:
While teenagers twist or moan to the beat of the Beatles, Animals, Zombies, Jerks, Kinks, Larks, Shangri-Las, Beach Boys, Detergents, Four Seasons, Righteous Brothers, and Rolling Stones, their parents are wondering whether they are hearing the sound of music or imitations of the decline of the west.
Here, Levin’s taking a jab both at teenage musical taste, and at the overwrought moral panic that surrounded it. That the Shangri-Las are the only girl band included on her list of luminaries suggests that there was something transgressive about their femininity that warranted their inclusion among the boys.
The Shangri-Las were two sets of sisters from Queens: Mary and Betty Weiss, and Marge and Mary Ann Ganser, and though they weren’t the only girl group to record death discs, they dominated the genre. In some performances, they acted like a tough-talking girl gang, but sometimes they looked and dressed like unremarkable teen girls, walking a line between the exciting and the familiar. Certainly, like many girl groups, the Shangri-Las were a contrivance of the music industry, their image and sound carefully groomed by their producer, George “Shadow” Morton. But their work as singers and performers was what made the group click with young audiences. Listening to the Shangri-Las’ music let their fans rebel vicariously, while their image showed that girls were complex – never neatly “good” or “bad.” Furthermore, songs like “Leader of the Pack” reframe typical romantic narratives. As Susan Douglas and others have written, it’s the boys in girl group death discs who are objects of desire; and that desire is as much for the kind of freedom and mobility these boys represented, as it is for heterosexual romance. Maybe a girl wanted a boyfriend like Jimmy; or maybe what she really wanted was Jimmy’s motorcycle.
Given that the majority of 1960s girl group singers were women of color, it’s notable that most of the groups who released death discs were white. Musicologist Jacqueline Warwick argues that the Shangri-Las’ whiteness granted them more flexibility to play with a “bad girl” image than black groups like the Shirelles, or even the Ronettes, whose vampy image represented a different kind of bad girl. While girl groups of color certainly sang about taboo topics (as in The Shirelles’ “Will You Love Me Tomorrow,” which depicts anxiety over sex) and bad boys (like in The Crystals’ “He’s a Rebel”), there are few death discs by women of color; and few songs by black girl groups reach “Leader of the Pack’s” melodramatic extremes. The pressure to appear respectable was, and remains, stronger for women of color; for girl group singers, there were personal and professional risks in adopting a bad girl persona.
Death discs are often about class anxiety. In a perceptive piece, Lynn Stuart Parramore argues that Lana Del Ray’s dalliances with death implicitly critique American capitalism; 1960s death discs sometimes offer social critique as well, protesting the rigidity of middle-class gender roles. “Leader of the Pack” stages a conflicts between middle-class white girls, their working-class boyfriends, and outraged parents. Jimmy dies because the girl’s parents force a breakup because he’s “bad,” “bad” implying that he’s from a different social world. “Condition Red” (1968), by Memphis-based girl group The Goodees, tells the same story, but in real time instead of past tense, giving it a greater sense of urgency. The Goodees warn: “Mommy and Daddy don’t approve of you and me getting too tight.” When the girl tries to convince her guy to keep seeing her in secret, he drives off enraged; and the unthinkable happens. Sirens blare as our heroine sings: “Condition Red: I’ll never see you again.” The delightfully excessive use of sound effects – sirens, crashes – make the deaths and injustice in these songs seem visceral.
The Shangri-Las’ “Give Us Your Blessings” (1965) departs from the good girl/bad boy narrative. It opens with the sound of a crash (Crashing thunder? Crashing cars? Spoiler: it’s cars), followed by a refrain: “Mary run, run, run; Jimmy run, run, run.” What are Mary and Jimmy on the run from? TYRANNICAL PARENTS, of course; parents who refuse when Mary and Jimmy plead: “Give us your blessings, please don’t make us run away! Give us your blessings, say you’ll be there on our wedding day.” They do run away, and things end badly: “As they drove off, they were crying and nobody knows for sure if that is why they didn’t see the sign that read ‘detour.’” Cue crash.
“Give Us Your Blessings” raises questions about sexuality and respectability. Something about Jimmy and Mary’s relationship disturbs their parents, but it’s unclear what: Is it simply moving too fast? Could Mary be knocked up? Could this be an interracial romance? It’s open to speculation. Whatever it is, when Mary and Jimmy die, mom and dad (and by extension, the social expectations they uphold) are squarely to blame. Death, here, is the ultimate act of rebellion: it lets Mary and Jimmy stay together, in spite of tyrannical forces that would keep them apart.
Not every death disc is so redemptive. In “Terry,” (1964) by British singer Twinkle, Terry dies when he blasts off on his motorbike in a rage, because, Twinkle admits, “We had a quarrel, I was untrue on the night he died.” Later, she bemoans her life choices: “Now it’s too late to tell this boy how great he was. Please wait at the gate of heaven for, me, Terry.” Death sends a different message here: not one about the injustice of middle-class social expectations, but one about the consequences of promiscuity.
The Shangri-Las’ “I Can Never Go Home Anymore,” also veers into warning territory. It’s the world’s most overwrought cautionary tale: girl meets boy; they fall in love; mom’s not buying it. When the girl inevitably runs away with the boy, her mother just up and dies of a broken heart: “She grew so lonely in the end, angels picked her for a friend.” Don’t run away with a boy – it will kill your mother. I adore this song for the high camp factor, but also because, if you can get past that, and past the conservative teen behavior-policing, here’s a pop song that elevates bonds between women more highly than a heterosexual romance.
By the late 1960s, death disc tropes were so deeply embedded in the public imagination that, in 1967 songwriter Lori Burton masterminded a fake girl group called The Whyte Boots, who released a single single: “Nightmare.” Given that most death discs are already practically parodies of themselves, I can’t decide if “Nightmare” is a parody or a tribute. After an opening instrumental riff that sounds lifted from a Western gunfight scene, a lurid tale unfolds: a girl gets unwittingly drawn into a fight with another girl (over a guy, natch), that turns into a battle to the death. Cue sirens, and the most mournful refrain you’ve ever heard: “She didn’t want to fight.”
“Nightmare,” parody or no, encapsulates everything that draws me to death discs. It’s their sheer excess: their cinematic sound, their overwrought vocals, and the near absurdity of the stories they tell. They take common experiences – like being a disaffected teenager – and heighten them, transforming them into the most important conflict in the world. And when they offer warnings, they’re so heavy-handed about it that they make those warnings – and the social hierarchies they would preserve – seem ridiculous. These are anthems for every teenager who never asked to be born.
This is GREAT. I’ve had a soft spot in my heart for Teen Death Songs (as I’ve called them) since I read about them in Dave Barry’s Book of Bad Songs as a kid and that Shangri-Las song is probably my favorite. When they just wail MAMAAAAAAAAAAAA – oh god, the heartbreak. It’s so great.
We always had the local Oldies station on in the car growing up, so I can to this day perform the lyrics, patter, and sound effects of “Leader of the Pack” from memory. And now you tell me there’s a whole genre of close-harmony teenage death ballads? Thank you so much!
oh man, I was about to make a comment that was basically this word for word. About to send this article to my mom.
This is fantastic. I’m so glad you wrote it, because I’ve been vaguely troubled by death discs my entire life and you’ve just lifted the veil of mystery.
And can we talk about how amazing Lesley Gore’s ‘You Don’t Own Me’ is??
Lately I have been in awe of Lesley Gore’s unapologetic I’m-sowing-my-oats defiance. Girl is RADICAL. Why should she date just one guy when she can date a few?: http://youtu.be/UsfHKzcNbJs
Lesley Gore is SO GREAT. Also, I once drunkenly karaoked “You Don’t Own Me” to a boy I had a crush on. A truly winning moment.
Pure sass. I LOVE it.
Or ladies!
When I was in middle school I was in an all-girls choir and had to perform a choreographed routine along with this song. I… am sure it was humiliating and dorky but I actually still love this song. (Plus, the choir director let us watch “First Wives Club” in class)
#nerdalert
(*screech* lookout!lookout!lookout!lookout!!! *crash*)
I asked my dad when I was a kid and he was playing this song in the car, “Was there a point when people took these Dead Teenager songs seriously?” And he said, “Absolutely not, they were always hilarious.” I have no idea if this is true or revisionist history, but I do suspect that actual Live Teenagers were getting off on stuff like this mostly because of the ridiculous reactions of the adults.
If you watch the video of “Leader of the Pack” above, you can hear the laughter of the audience. I also remember it being on the compilation Goofy Greats that we owned in the early 90s, so I think your guess may be correct.
It definitely undercuts the tragedy when the Leader jounces in, and instead of a smoldering rebel angel you get a scowling thirty-something galoot.
Fun fact: The galoot in that video is ROBERT GOULET!!!! So part of the audience laughter is probably because the leader of the pack is…Robert Goulet. But, yeah, I don’t think the amazing ridiculousness/camp factor of these songs was lost on people, even in the 60s.
Also, though, I wonder if the seriousness had to do with gender as well? Were girl group death discs funny and male singer’s taken more seriously? I have a hard time envisioning anyone suggesting a campy performance of “Teen Angel” or “Tell Laura I Love Her,” but maybe I’m wrong.
or it’s funny when men die doing something reckless but the women tend to die because men are bad drivers?
This is so great! If I had known in high school there was such a thing as researching and writing about girl groups for a living, I would probably have a very different life.
I’ve always been fascinated by the teenage tragedy songs of the 60s, and this piece was just delightful. I never thought that there might be a difference in the view from critics at the time of death songs sung by girls or boys.
The connection with Lana del Rey is so interesting and now seems obvious. I will have to read that piece on her.
‘While teenagers twist or moan to the beat of the Beatles, Animals, Zombies, Jerks, Kinks, Larks, Shangri-Las, Beach Boys, Detergents, Four Seasons, Righteous Brothers, and Rolling Stones, their parents are wondering whether they are hearing the sound of music or imitations of the decline of the west’.
Okay so I’ve now got to google the Larks and The Detergents, because those are terrible band names and I don’t believe that Phyllis Lee Levin didn’t just make them the hell up.
LOVE this – 60’s girl groups are the jam, and The Shangri-Las have some seriously catchy melodramatic death jingles.
“I expect the Johnny Mathis version of ‘Wonderful Wonderful’ to live considerably longer than the Shangri-Las’ gory ditties about motorcycling or hot-rodding death scenes.”
X-Files fans can appreciate the endless, recursive ironic loops involved in this statement. The rest of you, just — take my word for it.
I’ve always thought Barbara Allen was the original teen-love-death song.
YES! For sure.
SO MANY of the traditional ballads are teen death love songs. Or songs about how you’re going to get robbed and murdered. Or songs about premarital sex. I wonder if parents in the 1800s were writing editorials decrying the downfall of youthful morals thanks to Francis Child.
Leader of the Pack is such a jam! and ok, songs about dead girlfriends, but “One Last Kiss” is a SUPER CREEPY one (apparently Pearl Jam covered it, I’m going to have to listen to that when I get home), and also the one I think of when listening to ’59 Sound.
But really, more songs need the VROOM VROOM sound affect as accompaniment.
My local radio station plays the Pearl Jam cover of “One Last Kiss” all the time, and I melodramatically rock out to it in my car every time.
Jay and the Americans did the original, I believe.
Wikipedia says J. Frank Wilson and the Cavaliers (that just rolls right off the tongue!) did the big hit version. But they do both start with J and Jay and the Americans had Come a Little Bit Closer as a hit that same year. Which means they were on the same Top 10 billboard CD I had back in the day. I believe it was the green one. (I was really into oldies as a kid)
Yes! You are correct about J Frank Wilson and the Cavaliers. Jay and the Americans did another awfully creepy semi-hit around the same time called “She Cried”, though, which I recommend to anyone who enjoys the 2:46′ drama of the jukebox era.
I now understand MST3K’s “Where, oh werewolf” so much better.
Hi, best friend. I came here only to post this: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8xvhn122ygc
YESS! I have a whole playlist on spotify that’s nothing but dead teenager songs. It’s called Dead Teenager Songs.
Some of them are completely balls out insane. Girlfriends killed by sharks. Songs based entirely around answering machines. Necrophilia (although to be fair, that is in a song parodying dead teenager songs).
Please, please, please make this publicly available.
Yes, I will totally listen to this too!
I think it is available? How do I like…link it places?
I’ve always liked to think that Laura of “Tell Laura I Love Her” sabotaged Tommy’s car to get rid of him and his clingy, stupid, wedding ring pushing ways, and now he and his stupid deathless love haunt her forever. Teenage death disc or secret murder ballad? YOU TELL ME.
I was just about to post about Laura! This is my mom’s favorite of the teenage death discs; she used to sing it in the most melodramatic fashion possible. I thought she was exaggerating until I heard it once myself. So great.
Fascinating!
A favorite car CD of my mom and I is: Remember! The Great Hits From the Girl Groups. It is the sun, moon and stars.
I always loved the fact that “My Boyfriend’s Back” is immediately followed by “Chains”. As 13 year old, it sent shivers down my spine to imagine that multiple women have experienced extremely dramatic situations where multiple men pursue them and they sic the boyfriend on the one that’s a creep and tell the other one, “so sorry, I’d totally do you but I’m so so so in love! Bummer!” It’s all I ever dreamed of. Remember, in My Boyfriend’s Back she’s totally caught onto negging:
“He went away and you hung around
And bothered me every night
And when I wouldn’t go out with you
You said things that weren’t very nice”
And on top of that the other girls are in the back singing backup. What a dream. A stable of men to dismiss and torture and allow to pine and 3 devoted friends to sing things like, “YEAH” or “do-woo-wop-woo”.
It also has leader of the pack and oh my god, the lookoutlookoutlookout is perfect.
OH MY GOD! My boyfriend and I were already planning on going as undead 60s pop song teens for Halloween this year, largely inspired by Leader of the Pack/Condition Red (for him) and Last Kiss for me. What a fortuitous (and well done) article!
OOOOH OOOH WOW! Hello, this is Highly Relevant To My Interests. I am suffering from the dread fall plague and spending my time at home sick this very week compiling a list of Teenage Death Songs for a few friends’ seasonal enjoyment. Anyone wishing for a copy, DO reply and I will gladly link you to the Dropbox! 🙂 I could go ON about the lurid pleasures of the late ’50s/early ’60s jukebox.
Just in case you happen to see this, I would love a link to your death-disk dropbox!
These stuck around into the stoner rock era, too; for the exemplar of the genre, I recommend “D.O.A.” by Texas band Bloodrock.
“The pressure to appear respectable was, and remains, stronger for women of color; for girl group singers, there were personal and professional risks in adopting a bad girl persona.”
Also the whole “he stepped out of line in a very minor way AND NOW HE’S DEAAAAD” narrative might’ve seemed less like melodramatic, cathartic fun to an African American girl.
Lovely article, I’m going off now to consume all these songs like a big pie.
I think it is available? How do I like…link it places?
This was a fabulous and fascinating read! And it brought pangs of nostalgia from my childhood when my mother would get cassettes of oldies with fill-ups at our local gas station, and my sister, brother, and I would use them for melodramatic karaoke in our living room. Leader of the Pack was definitely our favorite. 😀 😀 😀