A raucous beat heaving patent leather feet into discotheques from sea to shining sea: Whisky A-Go-Go, California Frisky A-Go-Go, Texas Bin-Note A-Go-Go, New York Parents barely survived Pat Boone’s white bucks and Johnnie Ray’s histrionics when four Liverpool blokes took Ed Sullivan’s stage last year in high-heeled boots, shrinking suits, and sufficient hair to stuff an easy chair. “I Want to Hold Your Hand” To distinguish themselves from the Fab Four, the butch bluesy Rolling Stones are the band “parents love to hate.” Mick’s thick lips suggest how his nights are spent. “(I Can’t Get No) Satisfaction” Teens rarely touch one another while dancing, nor do they gaze into each other’s eyes. Yet psychiatrists and sociologists view the orgiastic gyrations with horrification. “Sick sex turned into a spectator sport.”
