Oh What She Does To Me

“Don’t Worry Baby,” The Beach Boys

Brian Wilson penned this 1964 tune to answer last week’s girl-go-get-him cut for the ages, “Be My Baby.”  Strangely though, rich yet worried, “Don’t Worry Baby” has little of the simmering aggression that characterized the song for which it was inspired.  Instead, it is reticent and passive, reluctant and even humbled at times, all while tendering a provocative take on the expected sugary ballad.  

“Don’t Worry Baby” captures both the contents that haunted many teen boys’ thoughts—racing cars, the pressures of fitting in with the cool crowd, learning how to be a man in the 1960s—and the kind of love that can withstand it all.  With refreshing honesty, the boy confides: “I guess I should’ve kept my mouth shut when I started to brag about my car | But I can’t back down now because I pushed the other guys too far.”  This act of confessing to his girlfriend cleanses the boy of his fears.  For every pain the boy must endure, the antidote is his sweetheart.  With each problem he encounters, she is there; Wilson spills, “And she says don’t worry baby…Everything will turn out alright.” 

Mike Love often sang the high parts, but here Wilson’s own falsetto is lead, winding above the lush harmonies.  From the outset, even the most troubled lyrics are juxtaposed by a sunny surf-sound accompaniment.  This can serve to undermine the seriousness of the subject matter after the first listen.  However, after more dedicated plays of this track, the contrast between form and content is revealed to delectably heighten the tension within the song.

In the lyrics, a boy speaks plainly to his girlfriend.  In “Be My Baby” there was a girl (Ronnie Bennett) singing to a boy, and she wanted him to be hers.  Here, the gender of the singer changes, but not that of “Baby.”  Even though the male is the voice of the recording, the girl seems to be the one who is in control, the one who the song is about.  The title, “Don’t Worry Baby,” is reflexive, for it is the boy who is “Baby,” not the girl he is singing to—it is she in whom he seeks solace.  Significantly, though, the boy already has won the girl; he is not in the heat of pursuit as in “Be My Baby.”  Or, as was the case in “Be My Baby,” perhaps he was the one who was pursued?

Listen to the Girl as She Takes on Half the World

For the launch of Song and Why, a special double-post:


“Be My Baby,” The Ronettes

“Just Like Honey,” The Jesus And Mary Chain

Although the Ronettes were a trio, producer Phil Spector chose front girl, Ronnie Bennett, to sing both lead and backing vocals on the group’s biggest hit, 1963’s “Be My Baby.”  This made for a brilliant record that is, at times, almost arrestingly full.  When it seems as though there couldn’t be room for more sound, yet another instrument is introduced.  For once, too much is just enough, and the sonic overload does not overwhelm the lovingly simple wordplay—it attends to it beautifully.  One of the most precious aspects of “Be My Baby” is the innocence of love’s first blush that blooms through, something that was playing out during recording sessions in the studio as much as it was when the song was on the turntable at countless dances in local high schools.  Did I mention that Ronnie Bennett became Ronnie Spector?

Take that unforgettable “Be My Baby” beat, add a healthy dose of feedback, and it could become a mess, but with the guidance of the Jesus and Mary Chain, it is a rebirth.  From the opening thuds of (Primal Scream leader) Bobby Gillespie’s drum, everything old is new.  William Reid’s guitar fuzzes over the familiar rhythm, joined by his brother, Jim’s, wistful serenade.  “Just Like Honey” is from the Mary Chain’s must-own debut album, Psychocandy, released in 1985 when the band’s initial shows were legendary three-song sets that collapsed into violence—none of which is present on this pensive track.  Instead, the Jesus and Mary Chain are much wearier and wiser, acquiescing to “listen to the girl as she takes on half the world.”  For, achingly, Jim Reid confesses, “walking back to you is the hardest thing that I can do.”

Both songs are about love that is just beyond one’s reach.  However, in a very important way, “Be My Baby” is subversive and sly—this is bad-girl music that sounds like something far more pretty and sweet—whereas “Just Like Honey” deals with the same subject matter with even greater ambivalence and lyrical economy. “Be My Baby” begins conventionally regarding the man’s role: if the girl were able to land her new boy, she’d make him “so proud of me.”  As the Wall of Sound plows on, this woman’s entreaties grow, becoming more and more insistent; they, like the castanets that punctuate them, will not be ignored: “Be my baby now!”  In contrast, “Just Like Honey” features a guy who knows his music and is pining for a chick who is a real tall order.  The tune ends at a dreamy impasse, drifting into a world where there is only a guitar-drenched shimmer of hope for love fulfilled.