Twelve clean-cut college kids.ĭavid Garrett, first tenor, is majoring in electrical engineering, “due to a masochistic philosophy.” Like lead guitar first tenor Harry Gross majoring in political science at Brooklyn College, and group leader-bass Rob Leonard, majoring in sociology and linguistics, Garret is from Brooklyn. In early summer, Sha-Na-Na started rehearsing six hours a day. Sha-Na-Na signed with William Morris as booking agent. Goodgold, looking for a manager for the group, was elected by them. Even though Columbia, sided by black slums, white slums and the Hudson river, might often as well be in New Jersey for all its impact on the Manhattan mainstream (hence the surprise about, and consequent startled coverage of, the student riots there), word began to seep out about the group now calling itself Sha-Na-Na. In May, 4,500 enthusiasts turned out for a show in front of the college’s Alma Mater statue. In April, the Kingsmen drew 1,500 at a Columbia concert of rock classics. Rob’s brother, George, a Columbia PhD candidate in English Literature, asked trivia expert Ed Goodgold to look them over. “We always liked oldies,” says group leader Rob Leonard, “and sang them on street corners like everyone else in New York City.” Sneaking a few of them into a March concert, they were knocked over by the response. Playing college functions, nearby girls’ schools, daring a little folk, some soft rock.įor their own amusement, the Kingsmen played around with a few raunchy early rock numbers.
But Sha-Na-Na’s leader, linguistics major Rob Leonard, says Goldstein just doesn’t hear well.)Ī group that just six months ago was futzing around as the Kingsmen, Columbia’s 22-year-old answer to Yale’s Whiffenpoof singers. (Richard Goldstein, in his book The Poetry of Rock has it as Sha da da da. For “Tell Laura I Love Her,” hands are clasped in prayer two of the lead singers then raise hands to form a chapel over the third gold lame at the climax, the entire group stretches arms upward to form the tabernacle.Īnd, of course, the Silhouettes’ “Get A Job.” They do “Alley Oop.” “Heartbreak Hotel.” “Why Do Fools Fall In Love.” “Donna.” “Wipe Out.” “Rock and Roll Is Here To Stay.” “Teen Angel.” “Chantilly Lace.” “Little Star.” “Teenager In Love.” “Duke Of Earl.” “Rama Lama Ding Dong.” The entire repertoire is choreographed.
The microphone is tested: “Tough… Tough… Tough.” The rhythm guitarist is bundled up in a black leather jacket with 27 zippers. T-shirts, with sleeves rolled up to the shoulder. Drain-pipe trousers, ending at mid-calf, where the white socks begin. The other nine members of the group slide out on their own grease.
The three lead singers slouch on stage in gold lame suits. and, now, Sha-Na-Na.Ī brilliantly crystallized dream from the past, Sha-Na-Na is eleven undergraduates from Columbia and a twelfth from Brooklyn College, managed, not surprisingly, by the originator of Columbia’s trivia craze. Then there is, maybe yes, more than campy nostalgia in the revival of simplistic rock from groups such as Cat Mother and the All Night News Boys, the Nitty Gritty Dirt Band, the Wild Thing, N.R.B.Q. –that popular music turned cold and threatening, demanding introverted performance and response, during the Johnson/Vietnam-scarred years– –that the Beatles, with their vigor, dry wit and flopping hair, evoked maniacal response immediately following the assassination of John Kennedy –that rhythm and blues reached a mass white audience simultaneously with the civil rights movement If rock and roll is art and, like all art, is a refraction of all the events affecting all of us: and if it follows
0 kommentar(er)
