Lesley
Gore’s fame swelled like a bubblegum bubble in
1963 with her first single, “It’s My Party.”
The song floated to the top of the charts within two weeks of
its release, and the 16-year-old was an instant sensation.
In
her interview
with AfterEllen.com, Gore said that the first time she heard
herself on the radio was while driving to school one morning,
just seven days after recording the soon-to-be smash hit with
legendary producer Quincy Jones. It had been rushed out to radio
stations when Mercury Records learned that a rival producer,
Phil Spector, was planning on recording a version of the song
with the Crystals. Spector was the mastermind of the era’s
orchestrally rich Wall of Sound arrangements, and maybe his
version would have been more full-bodied. But Jones’ rendition
hit the airwaves first.
It
was sung by a perky-voiced teenager and set in the crisp, bright
style popular at the time. And popular it was. Overnight the
“sweetie pie from Tenafly” had people camping outside
her house, eager to catch a glimpse of the Jersey girl who made
it big. It was nothing she had imagined the day she went to
her regular voice lesson and instead recorded demos with the
piano player.
The
song was included later that year on an album with a gimmick:
all of its songs reference crying. “It’s My Party,”
the album’s title track, features the word “cry”
four times in a single round of its chorus. It’s a narrative
of teen jealousy: ”Nobody knows where my Johnny has gone
/ but Judy left the same time / Why was he holding her hand
/ when he's supposed to be mine?” The album also contains
a tear-soaked answer song, “Judy’s Turn to Cry.”
Other tracks include “Misty,” “Just Let Me
Cry,” “Cry Me a River,” “Cry and You
Cry Alone,” and the dubious “No More Tears Left
to Cry.”
Beneath
the sobs and the wounded persona was a bold emerging
star. Born in Brooklyn, Gore enjoyed a modest upbringing in
Tenafly. At the time of her breakout success, she sported a
bouffant and was still baby-faced. But the material she, with
Jones’ counsel, chose to record was outspoken for its
time. Gore chalked her boldness up to more than the brattiness
some critics accused her of, telling People Online Magazine
that the early material she chose reflected a teenager’s
search for independence: “Probably the little middle class
white rebel in me was trying desperately to get out.”
The
teenager proved to be plucky, not bratty. In 1964 she recorded
“You Don’t Own Me,” a song with ample chutzpah:
“Just let me be myself / That’s all I ask of you…
/ You don’t own me / Don’t try to change me in any
way / I'm free and I love to be free / To live my life the way
I want / To say and do whatever I please.” The lyrics
resonated with her even though she was just 17.
Gore first heard the song performed by its two male composers
at a hotel in the Catskills. She instantly knew she had to record
it, and within days she had done just that. Through the years
“You Don’t Own Me” has become a feminist anthem,
and it’s a longtime favorite at gay pride celebrations.
It held the second place on the pop charts, the number one spot
being held for seven weeks by the Beatles’ “I Want
to Hold Your Hand.”
There
was always more to this quintessential star of sixties girl-pop.