"Playing An Unwinnable Game..."

"The fortune teller told me my love with you was through
I hope her reading was wrong
I hope she was wrong cause you've been gone too long
Come home. . ."

Grief is often accompanied by an odd self-awareness. "What a cliche reaction," you might think as you sniffle into your fourth wad of tissue. "How dumb of me to care this much." Other times, your feelings completely blot out all reason until they are all you have. The Shangri-Las' music seems to appeal to either situation. On one hand the girl group, who rose to fame on hits such as "Leader of the Pack", performed some of the most truly melancholy pop music of the '60s.

On the other hand, they were really just a bunch of teenagers from Queens who were making it all up as they went, thrilled simply to be in the public eye -- their tuff-girl posturing and winsome attempts at high drama were eerily successful at keeping them there for a time. They weren't particularly well-equipped to handle the rigors of fame or the cultivation of public personae, however, and ultimately ended up being a pretty tragic team. It may have been woven into the very fabric of their destiny -- Wikipedia claims that "Initially, the girls performed without a name. But when they signed their first deal, they began calling themselves the Shangri-Las, after a Queens restaurant."


There were four of them, but often only three performing at a given time. Washed up by 1968, receiving negligible royalties, the girls went their separate ways. One of the twins, Mary Ann Ganser, died two years later. The other La's went off and made regular livings for themselves, as if all their colossal fame and fortune had merely been the daydreams of four giddy high school kids.


In some ways their music strikes me as amusing because of its melodramatic affectations. Their whole act was a little like kids playing dress-up, trying on adult clothes and feelings. In another way it strikes me as genuinely haunting and sad, especially knowing what realities these sirens would soon be facing in the not-so-distant future.

The Three of Swords articulates that harsh awakening, the sudden and intolerable realization that proves you're playing an unwinnable game -- at least by your previous standards. Ignorance is bliss, they say; it would probably make more sense if the heart in Pamela Coleman-Smith's card was a brain instead, impaled upon the Swords' unrelenting wisdom, but that might be too colorful an image to deal with over a cup of tea. When reality in all its vastness imposes upon your naively limited expectations, what is there to do but grieve? Whether you know what comes next or need time to absorb the shock, it's important to face these new truths, not hide from them. Otherwise you could wind up deep in denial, singing the same old song for an unnecessarily long time. [Via]

I hope her reading was wrong
I hope she was wrong cause you've been gone too long
Come home.

Previously On Arcanalogue: The Three of Swords