The Voice
"Young at Heart" -- Frank Sinatra
There was a time -- gosh it was 60 years ago... In the 1950s, Frank Sinatra was the hippest white man in the universe. The skinny, swaggering body. Fedora hats, dark suits and neckties, a handkerchief in his jacket pocket, a huge orchestra backing The Voice. And has anyone ever smoked cigarette with such style? Dean Martin came close, but ultimately you have to give it up to Sinatra.
I became a Sinatra fan in young adulthood. Prior to that I was all about rock n' roll. Frank Sinatra was an old person's star, someone my grandparents liked. He was pre-rock. He sang love songs. When did he start out? The '40s? He might as well have been Lawrence Welk.
But in the late '80s I was trying to become an adult, to broaden my appreciation of music, art, literature -- the unending spectrum of fine arts. I remember listening to George Micheal's brilliant pop album, Faith, and the retro, big band track, "Kissing a Fool." Maybe there was something to that old sound, I thought. Then around '89 or '90 I saw Harry Connick, Jr. on late night TV shows and I loved him. The double breasted jackets, the stylish big bands. My hair at the time was long, a wedge falling over left eye but I started going for the elegant, slicked back look worn by guys like Desi Arnaz. I bought Connick's "We Are in Love" cassette tape. I didn't even know that songs like "A Nightingale Sang on Berkeley Square" and "Stars Fell on Alabama" were standards. I just knew I loved it.
So in the same way the Rolling Stones led me to Solomon Burke, Bo Didley, Muddy Waters (et. al), Harry Connick, Jr. led me to the one who taught him, The Man, The Chairman of the Board, the greatest singer in the world.
I learned about rock n' roll from the public library in my hometown of Jett, Kan. (pop. 3,000), checking out record albums by Cream, Hendrix, The Who, Zeppelin. The copy of Sinatra's Come Fly With Me, I ignored. In the early 90s, after I'd heard Paul Schaeffer and the World's Most Dangerous Band play the song on Letterman, I bought a cassette of Sinatra's Come Fly With Me. It blew me away. There were three or four tapes I listened to constantly in those days -- Let Love Rule by Lenny Kravits, Armed Forces by Elvis Costello, Pleased to Meet Me by the Replacements and Come Fly With Me by Francis Albert Sinatra.
I thought Sinatra's versions of "Moonlight in Vermont and "Sentimental Journey" were the original versions but I later learned that Sinatra, like Presley later, had a knack for interpreting someone's else's song like he was born to sing it. Sinatra had a respect for composers and lyricists -- Jerome Kern, George and Ira Gershwin, Hoagy Carmichael, Rodgers and Hamerstein, Johnny Mercer and he tried to put across the mood he felt they wanted to create.
That whole era, the Sands in Las Vegas, the roulette wheel, the Rat Pack intrigued me. On weekends when I'd get with my own rat pack of buddies, doing some hard whisky-soaked drinking, I called our little gang the Rat Pack. Years later when I saw that East Coast-Let's-Go-to-Vegas comedy (Vince Vaughn's first big role) Swingers, I knew that sizzlin, stylin' Sinatra-Dean Martin style had resonated with my generation, that the style had outlived the pop summit who had popularized it. Oh and what about all those jazz bands springing up in the late '90s? Big Bad Voodoo Daddy, Cherry Poppin' Daddies. Gen X, with the grunge and swing, turned out pretty damn cool.
I think 25-30 year-olds, each going through the own early-menopausal-like fading youth crisis could identify with these middle aged guys -- Frank, Dino, Sammy, Lawford, Joey Bishop and all staying up all night, shooting dice, screwin' like there was no consequence and refusing to let go, holding tight to youth with all their might.
I feel I should acknowledge Sinatra was not the nicest person. He left his first wife, Nancy, for a torrid affair with the sexy Ava Gardner that would go south and send Frank into a lonely suicidal spiral that taught him to sing torch songs like "In the Wee Small Hours of the Morning" and "One for the Road." He bullied and beat up people he didn't like (or had people beat them up for him). He used and abused the many women in his life. Like John Lennon, who wrote about world peace in "Imagine," he was a mean, violent drunk and as we all know he hung out with mobsters, you know guys who killed people for a living.
They say you can separate the artist from the man but I don't think it's that easy. People are complicated and there had to be something deep in the recesses of Frank Sinatra's soul that could give way to such tender ballads and good-natured swingin' songs with such upper echelon showbiz prowess.
The other side of Sinatra was a man who gave generously to charities and was outspoken in his support for Civil Rights way back when Jim Crow was rock solid entrenched in the culture.
Sinatra, no matter how flawed of a man he was, matters. He brought style and pizazz like we may ever see again. He turned me on to Nat King Cole, Andy Williams, Bobby Darin and so much cocktail lounge music like you hear in the early episodes of Mad Men when the new Kennedy '60s decade was flying high.
I'd say my love of the Great American Songbook rivals my love for rock n' roll. Actually I think they complement each other. I'm happy for Michael Buble. I love seeing Lady Gaga singing standards (although I also like "Born This Way.") I love the way Sinatra wore his hat.
And thank God, Tony Bennett lives.
There's one more person born Dec. 12 whom I'd be remiss not to mention. My beautiful daughter, Gabby, turns 11 today. Yup, she shares a birthday with ol' Frank. And she's growing up to be an incredible, loving, intelligent woman. Like her brother, her mother -- such a light in my world.
I love you, princess.
Now for my favorite Sinatra song.
"That's Life" -- Frank Sinatra
