The song starts with an echoing minor key piano chord. Then three women in subdued voices with strong Long Island accents have a conversation over the sound of melancholy humming.
“Is she really going out with him?”
“I don’t know. There she is, let’s ask her.”
Thus begins the melodramatic story of Jimmy and Betty in “Leader of the Pack,” one of the most famous songs of the 1960s. In a high-pitched wail over a backdrop of heavily reverbed drums, Mary Weiss tells the tragic tale of her doomed love affair with a biker, complete with racing engine and screeching brakes sound effects. Forget girl group odes to soldier boys; the Shangri-Las sang the praises of the bad boy.
Loving bad boys made the Shangri-Las bad girls. They dressed the part: tight pants, black leather boots, heavy eye makeup. The Shangri-Las featured not one but two pairs of sisters: Mary and Betty Weiss and twins Marge and Mary Ann Ganser. They met at Andrew Jackson High School in Queens, New York. They were white working class women who grew up singing in church. Their tough girl look reflected their urban street roots. At a time when the Beatles were still wearing mod matching suits, girl groups such as the Shangri-Las and the Ronettes were rebelling against respectable fashion, lifestyle, and politics.
“Leader” and “Remember (Walking in the Sand),” the Shangri-Las’ other iconic smash hit, offer over the top productions by the infamous Shadow Morton. These are not showcases of great singing or profound lyrics. They are more like miniature B movies, glorious in their unrepentant cheese and teenage angst. Bands like the Shangri-Las made young women everywhere feel like this was something they could do: sing straight from their hearts with a group of their literal or symbolic sisters. RIP Mary Weiss.
Populism 