The Queens, New York group assembled in 1963 with Mary, her sister Betty and two other sisters, Marge and Mary Ann Ganser. The Shangri-Las rejected the standard "girl group" attire of the day, ditching skirts for black leather pants. They came up with a stage show that trotted out popular songs like the Chantels' "Maybe" and the Isley Brothers' "Shout"; a few unsuccessful singles followed before Shadow Morton entered the picture.
Morton guided the Shangri-Las rise to their brief but unforgettable chart run from 1964-1966. But saying that he "created" the Shangri-Las is a bit like saying George Martin "created" the Beatles.
By 1968, when the Shangri-Las split up, Weiss noted that the vibe turned from "all about music" to "all about litigation." A reunion in the '70s fizzled. It took until 2017 for Weiss to release a solo album, Dangerous Game, backed by the Reigning Sound. It's good yet hardly a revelation.
But what amazing, cinematic records the Shangri-Las made! Here's my Top Five (three of the five were cut in 1964):
5. "Leader of the Pack": Teen angst from those tough and tender girls, as narrator Mary faces pressure from her parents to ditch her motorcycle boyfriend while her fellow Shangri-Las call out the grownups' double speak: "What do mean when you say that he 'came from the wrong side of town'?" It's over the top and just on the good side of hysteria but so much more cutting than other teen tragedy songs like J. Frank Wilson's "Last Kiss" and Ray Peterson's awful "Tell Laura I Love Her." The difference is Mary Weiss, who possesses a hip believability that the others lack.
4. "I Can Never Go Home Anymore" (1965): A haunting track with the singer showing compassion and love for her mother while defying mom's view that she's "too young" to fall in love. Weiss' character moves out of the house but quickly realizes that the family bond is the priority at that point: "and you know something funny? I forgot about that boy right away." By the end of the song, it's too late--the singer suffers deep regret when the mother-daughter relationship is never repaired.
3. "Give Him a Great Big Kiss": Street swagger and some hilarious lyrics, starting with "when I say I'm in love, you'd best believe I'm in love, L-U-V." And then the Q (for Queens) and A: "What color are his eyes?" "I don't know--he's always wearing shades." "Is he tall?" "Well, I gotta look up" and more: "Big bulky sweater, to match his eyes/dirty fingernails/oh boy what a prize!" The Shangri-Las were good-bad but not evil and it became a favorite cover version when New York Dolls brought "Kiss" to the proto-punk style they were developing.
2. "Past, Present and Future" (1966): A devastating account of getting burned by a lover, set to piano chords informed by Beethoven (some say Debussy). Weiss was 17 when she cut this, detached but somehow warm when she accepts a new person's request for a date but follows with a harrowing line: "Don't try to touch me, 'cause that will never...happen...again." In real life, the singer said the song was not about an abusive relationship, so we can assume it was less dramatic--an icy sadness and severe disappointment. Another incredible record for me; just a month ago I was playing it on "repeat," seven or eight times. It's a poised, entrancing performance, so far beyond Mary Weiss' years.
1. "Remember (Walkin' In the Sand)": Another shattered romance, with the main character uncertain of what will happen in her life, as her former partner might just as well be a ghost. The sound effects of seagulls over handclaps every eight beats plus fingersnaps and dramatic low notes on the piano transforms the track into a gloomy dream, a unique stroke of recordmaking genius. The backup singing by the other gals is beyond skillful. Some YouTube comments say that a young Billy Joel is playing the piano part but he's not on the finished record, just the demo. Virtually every remake of "Remember" I've heard is a misfire, especially the overwrought versions by Aerosmith and the live track with Jeff Beck and singer Imelda May. This edgy, eerie feeling created by Morton and nailed by Weiss makes the Shangri-Las' original the only one worth celebrating--because it's clearly a masterpiece.
I'm leaving out other fine songs, like "The Train from Kansas City" (covered by Neko Case) and "Out In the Streets" (covered by Blondie)--both were penned by Jeff Barry and Ellie Greenwich, the team that also co-authored "Leader of the Pack" with Morton. Another story, another time.
Perhaps the most worthwhile Shangri-Las CD anthology is called Myrmidons of Melodrama, which is a largely inaccurate title. But use it to reacquaint yourself with these records as my descriptions don't do them justice. Throughout, Weiss is an emotionally advanced performer--a sort of nuanced actor whose work is just as rich as that from the many giants of the 1960s.
Mary Weiss' most perfect moments will remain frozen in time for me, as they're in a special place. And that's called glad.