How Doo Wop Saved Me

by editor Michele Catalano

I’ve been listening to a lot of doo wop lately. You might be able to read a lot into that; I’ve been feeling down lately, and the music is a comfort to me. But the truth is, it’s just good music. 

Doo wop is Sunday evenings when I’m about 10 years old, WCBS-FM playing on the stereo in the kitchen (my dad built speakers into the kitchen walls) while we have our snack of waffles and ice cream before watching The Wonderful World of Disney. I can hear it now, maybe it’s “Maybe” by the Chantels or the Flamingos with “I Only Have Eyes for You.” It feels good, it feels warm. Our kitchen is a place of comfort, and I feel loved.

It’s summer nights, the outdoor stereo playing “Earth Angel” or “In the Still of the Night” while my parents slow-dance out on the deck. It’s the gatherings at the firehouse club every Friday night, the jukebox blaring “Chapel of Love,” as the kids run loose around the firetrucks while the adults drink beer and Brandy Alexanders and give us quarters to feed the jukebox.

Or I’m 14, and I’ve started experiencing panic attacks, especially at night. So I ie in bed, with the radio tuned to WCBS, and lull myself into a sense of comfort by deep breathing in time to “Duke of Earl.”

I learned about love from doo wop songs. I learned how love could be all-consuming, how you could pine and yearn and want and need all at once; yet love could also cause pain and sorrow. As much as I loved the songs about falling in love and getting married and living happily ever after, I preferred the songs of yearning, of pleading someone to fall in love with you, or the songs in which love failed and the singer is in mourning.

I never let go of doo wop, even as I got older and my musical taste evolved into Led Zeppelin and Grateful Dead. I’d hear the strains of “Blue Moon” coming from the living room stereo as I sat in my room doing homework, and I would know that all was right in the world, that if I stepped outside my room and peaked at my parents, they would be dancing to “Earth Angel.” But most of the time I would stay at my desk and just picture the scene, rather than ruin their reverie. It was enough to hear the music, to feel that comfort and warmth making its way into my room, carrying with it my parents’ happiness.

It wasn’t always the radio that brought doo wop into the house. We had a stack of 45s as tall as fifth-grade me, and Mom would let me pop the yellow center into each 45 as we went through the stack. There was Elvis, and there was the Beatles, but mostly there was doo wop; the Chantels, the Five Satins, the Penguins, they were all there. Mom would spin them for us on the wooden stereo cabinet that doubled as a liquor cabinet. I’d listen to her sing, admire how she knew all the words to every song, how her voice carried through the house on waves of happiness and contentment. 

Those were the most special times for me, watching my mother handle her records with care. She taught me how to hold a record, how to put the needle down, and, most importantly, how to engage with the music she chose for us.

When I listen now—and I’ve been on quite a binge as of late—it’s about more than comfort. I enjoy the simplicity of the music; there’s nothing complicated about it, nothing controversial, nothing hidden. It is exactly what it presents itself to be—music for the masses, if the masses were open to just chilling and vibing with songs of love and romance and heartbreak.

My mother, who is 87, has been dumping some of her belongings on my sisters and me. She would prefer to give them away now, rather than leave it up to us to figure out what to do with everything when the time comes. So I’ve been going through her CDs (she streams now) and taking bunches of them home with me a couple of times a week. 

Yesterday, I took three different doo wop collections, and I listened to them all. The music filled the house with things I needed; comfort, warmth, love. Those baritone voices resonated within my living room, making me think of Sunday nights and waffles and ice cream and the love of my parents. And I think that’s where most of my love of doo wop comes from. It reminds me of being wrapped in love; of winter nights huddled under a blanket while my dad stokes the fireplace as “Earth Angel” plays in the background; of summer days running through the sprinkler and laughing while singing “Get a Job”; of nights lying in my bed with my little radio, Harry Harrison, or whichever deejay was on duty, lulling me to sleep with “In the Still of the Night.” I’ve managed to use the music to recreate that childhood sensation of thinking everything is right in the world.

The world is falling apart, our country is devolving into authoritarianism, there’s a homegrown Gestapo in the streets, and things are bleak. I’ve been searching for a way to keep my mental bearings, to stay sane and grounded while everything is in upheaval around me. And I found it in this music. I’ve found a way to sit back, let my mind drift from the worries of the day, and feel enveloped in love and good feelings.

It’s time for some waffles and ice cream and doo wop.