Sha Na Na Na Yip Yip Mum Mum Get a Job
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
–that rhythm and blues reached a mass white audience simultaneously with the civil rights movement
–that the Beatles, with their vigor, dry wit and flopping hair, evoked maniacal response immediately following the assassination of John Kennedy
–that popular music turned cold and threatening, demanding introverted performance and response, during the Johnson/Vietnam-scarred years–
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. and, now, Sha-Na-Na.
A 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.
The three lead singers slouch on stage in gold lame suits. One spits. The other nine members of the group slide out on their own grease. Elaborate, hooded-eye boredom. D.A. haircuts. Drain-pipe trousers, ending at mid-calf, where the white socks begin. T-shirts, with sleeves rolled up to the shoulder. “De Molay” slapped across one shirt. “Izzy’s Knishes” across another. The rhythm guitarist is bundled up in a black leather jacket with 27 zippers. The microphone is tested: “Tough… Tough… Tough.”
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. In “At The Hop,” everyone twists. 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.
And, of course, the Silhouettes’ “Get A Job.”
Sha na na na
Sha na na na na
Sha na na na
Sha na na na na
Sha na na na
Sha na na na na
Sha na na na
Sha na na na na
Yip yip yip yip
Yip yip yip yip
Mum mum mum mum
Mum mum
Get a job
(Richard Goldstein, in his book The Poetry of Rock has it as Sha da da da. But Sha-Na-Na’s leader, linguistics major Rob Leonard, says Goldstein just doesn’t hear well.)
A group that just six months ago was futzing around as the Kingsmen, Columbia’s 22-year-old answer to Yale’s Whiffenpoof singers. Playing college functions, nearby girls’ schools, daring a little folk, some soft rock.
For their own amusement, the Kingsmen played around with a few raunchy early rock numbers. “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. Rob’s brother, George, a Columbia PhD candidate in English Literature, asked trivia expert Ed Goodgold to look them over.
In April, the Kingsmen drew 1,500 at a Columbia concert of rock classics. In May, 4,500 enthusiasts turned out for a show in front of the college’s Alma Mater statue. 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.
Goodgold, looking for a manager for the group, was elected by them. Sha-Na-Na signed with William Morris as booking agent. In early summer, Sha-Na-Na started rehearsing six hours a day. A hot show-business property, baby. Twelve clean-cut college kids.
David 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. Piano-baritone Joe Witkin, majoring in analytical biology, and on the dean’s list, moved to Brooklyn from Long Island when he was six. All but first tenor Donald York, from Idaho, are from the East Coast urban sprawl.
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