Musical genius wrote songs in his head

Songwriter, producer responsible for success of ’60s group Shangri-las

George (Shadow) Morton, a songwriter and producer who for a brief, luminous period in the 1960s poured the discontents of adolescence into original hit songs, including Leader of the Pack and Remember, died Thursday in Laguna Beach, Calif. He was 71.

The cause was cancer, said Amy Krakow, a family friend.

By all accounts possessed of a brazen, naive genius — he played no instrument, could not read music and wrote his songs in his head — Morton was almost singlehandedly responsible for the wild success of the ShangriLas, the New York girl group he introduced and propelled to international stardom.

The group had its first hit in 1964 with Remember, recorded more or less on a dare in a session frantically pulled together by Morton, who had never written a song before.

The result, with lyrics and music conceived by Morton in what he later said was about 22 minutes, was released on the Red Bird label and reached No. 5 on the Billboard singles chart.

The song was followed later that year by Leader of the Pack, written with Ellie Greenwich and Jeff Barry. The song, which reached No. 1, has been covered by artists as diverse as Bette Midler, Twisted Sister and Alvin and the Chipmunks.

Morton also wrote Give Him a Great Big Kiss and I Can Never Go Home Anymore, which became hits for the Shangri-Las in 1965. But in the years that followed, he largely abandoned his songwriting career, partly because he cared little for the music business and partly, he later said in interviews, because of the rigours of battling alcoholism.

As a producer, Morton was best known for Janis Ian’s hit single Society’s Child, recorded in 1965 when she was 14; several albums by the psychedelic rock group Vanilla Fudge; and Too Much Too Soon (1974), by the protopunk New York Dolls.

George Francis Morton was born in Brooklyn on Sept. 3, 1941. When he was about 14, his family moved to Hicksville, on Long Island. which his parents thought would provide a wholesome atmosphere.

Scarcely into their suburban idyll, the Mortons discovered that the parents of every budding juvenile delinquent in the city had had the same idea.

In high school, Morton formed a doo-wop group. But, leaving school before graduating, he found himself at loose ends.

In 1964 he paid a call on Greenwich, an acquaintance from Long Island musical circles. She had hit the big time — working for the producer-songwriters Jerry Leiber and Mike Stoller in the Brill Building, Manhattan’s vaunted hive of composers and lyricists. Also in the office that day, working quietly at the piano, was Barry, Greenwich’s husband and collaborator.

As Morton rose to leave, Barry turned to him. “Just what is it you do for a living?” he asked.

“I’m a songwriter — like you,” Morton replied, with full Brooklyn braggadocio. “What kind of songs?” “Hit songs.” “Why don’t you bring me one?” Barry said, with audible skepticism.

Morton phoned a friend who had a basement recording studio. He phoned another friend, who had a four-piece band. He phoned a third, who knew some high school girls from Queens who sang locally as the ShangriLas .

With these elements in place, Morton, on his way to the recording session, realized he lacked one thing: a song. Pulling his car over on a stretch of Long Island road, he wrote Remember.

Morton’s marriage to Lois Berman ended in divorce. His survivors include three daughters, Stacey Morton, Danielle Morton and Keli Morton Gerrits; a sister, Geraldine; and three grandchildren.

In later years, Morton, had a second career as a designer of golf clubs.

He never abandoned songwriting. At his death, Krakow said, Morton had more than 300 songs to his credit, most unrecorded.