Rama lama ding dong3/25/2023 ![]() ![]() ![]() Perkins II died in February 2014 at the age of 75. Marshall Sewell died of esophageal cancer on Jat the age of 75. Songwriter George Jones died of cancer on Septemat age 71. That group released an album, The Reynolds Brothers, featuring songs written by James and fellow Edsels member George Jones. In addition, James Reynolds performs with his five sons Jeff, Baron, Patrick, Chris and Carlisle (as the Reynolds Brothers). It is the official goal song of German soccer club VfL Wolfsburg. The song eventually became popular throughout the US, peaking at number 21 on the Billboard Hot 100 chart. It did not become popular until 1961, after a disc jockey in New York City began to play it as a segue from the Marcels' doo-wop version of " Blue Moon". The song was recorded in 1957 and released, under the erroneous title "Lama Rama Ding Dong", in 1958. Today the group is known almost exclusively for "Rama Lama Ding Dong", written by lead singer George "Wydell" Jones Jr. The Edsels were one of the few doo-wop groups to sign with a major record label, as most groups of that era found success with small independent labels before their national hit "Rama Lama Ding Dong", songs like "What Brought Us Together", "Bone Shaker Joe" and "Do You Love Me" helped the group land a major recording contract with Capitol Records in 1961. They recorded over 25 songs and had multiple performances on Dick Clark's American Bandstand. The name of the group was originally The Essos, after the oil company, but was changed to match the new Ford automobile, the Edsel. The Edsels were an American doo-wop group active during the late 1950s and early 1960s. Sutton’s work has been featured in various publications and nominated for Best Small Fictions and Best of the Net, and was a Wigleaf Top 50 longlist selection.Dub Records, Twin Records, Roulette Records, Tammy Records, Capitol Records Sutton Strother (she/her|they/them) is a writer and English composition instructor living in Queens, NY. You don’t have to wonder whether it’s for you. If you happen to notice that the car’s black body gleams too brightly under the moonless sky, or if nothing beats beneath the Rock Star’s chest when you lay your head against it, or if for just a moment you think I have loosed a devil on the world and who can say what happens now, the road stretches out into a yawning dark that whispers a new song. ![]() You follow, of course you do, out into the street where his Cadillac waits, climb in on the passenger’s side, slide across the seat to cozy up. He crooks a finger under your chin and speaks right into your brain: Come along, little darlin. It’s all the wrong thing to want, but you’ve never felt heat like his voice buzzing through the wickedest parts of you. His gold chains are sleazy, too, and his open shirt, and his spindly arms and legs, and the sagging pot belly, and the cigarette smell that overlays him like dust in a forgotten tomb. His hair is dyed two shades too dark, which makes him look a little sleazy. He coaxes you into a sloppy slow dance as he sings along to his own music in an off-key slur. On the album cover the Rock Star reaches out, so you take his hand and pull him free, out of the picture and into the rose glow of your bedroom. ![]()
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