Obviously, I need to better understand his early days with Harry James, Tommy Dorsey or his Columbia Records period in the 1940s. I can't say I'm crazy about what I've heard, which is only a couple of dozen songs. Compare the 1945 Columbia version of "Saturday Night (Is the Loneliest Night of the Week)" to the version he cut in 1959 at Capitol; the difference is stunning. Sinatra is so polite on the initial version that his "week" sounds like "wee," as the last sound seems to fall off the recording register. "The Coffee Song" (Columbia, 1946) is similar in its tentative approach, miles behind the bang-up ending on the 1961 Reprise version. This is Sinatra swagger!
The version of "Let It Snow! Let It Snow! Let It Snow!" that occasionally makes it to Christmas stations (it was taped in November of 1950) paves the way for FS's really joyful singing that hit its stride upon signing with Capitol Records in 1953. "Let It Snow!," on Christmas Songs by Sinatra (Columbia, collected 1994) features wonderful interplay with the backup singers the B. Swanson Quartet, while Sinatra also throws in a few ad-libs slightly off-mic; it's a technique somewhat akin to the off-mic yelling that shows up on some of the most exciting R&B and pre-rock records that was noticeable with Louis Jordan and others in the 1940s and continued to "Louie Louie" and beyond.
It's wonderful that my mother kept playing Sinatra records in the house when I was a youngster, even if I complained. It took some time, but I finally began to appreciate what a commanding vocalist he was--the Sam Cooke or Aretha Franklin of Mom's generation. As mentioned elsewhere, I took Mom to Sinatra's 1982 Detroit concert in really adverse, snowy conditions. We left something like four hours early (it normally takes only 30 minutes to drive to Big D from where I grew up), so we got there and had a lot of time to visit, which is a bittersweet memory now.
The Chairman of the Board might have been phoning it in at that time, but I wouldn't have known. I loved the 15-song show and at least picked up on a decent shred of Sinatra's power and mystique. It's said that when he recorded with Count Basie's band in the early '60s, all the musicians--players aren't exactly known for showing up on time--were better than punctual; they were there early, bringing their spouses and taking lots of photos. That's the kind of respect Sinatra attracted.
I also recall Sinatra on the Jerry Lewis Telethon in 1976 and wrote about it as a 21 year old columnist at my Texas town's newspaper (The Seguin Gazette-Enterprise). In one of my better early observations--to go along with many stupid ones--I wrote something like, "It's more important to judge someone's talent not by what has withered away, but how much is left."
And Sinatra had lots left in the tank after there was a consensus that he should give it up.
"I Loved Her" (from 1981 's She Shot Me Down) is tender, broken, wistful singing like I'd never heard before. In an more innovative era for Sinatra, he touched that lonely feeling so well on the torch song triumph In the Wee Small Hours (1955), one of the earliest "concept" albums in popular music. Unfortunately, few remember that jazz pianist Mary Lou Williams' cut a brilliant batch of astrological songs (Zodiac Suite, for Asch Records, reissued on Smithsonian Folkways), ten years before that. As late as 1980, Sinatra still approached albums as an art form, as his 1980 triple set Trilogy: Past, Present & Future was divided into classic, contemporary and "futuresque" LPs, so we got "It Had to Be You" on the same album with "Theme from New York, New York," George Harrison's "Something" and a bit of social commentary titled "World War None!" At age 65, that was an ambitious move.
Sinatra took a lot of ribbing for the nonsense lyrics that ended his chart-topping 1966 pop hit "Strangers In the Night." I even saw this on a fridge magnet:
"To do is to be" --Nietzsche
"To be is to do" --Kant
"Do-be-do-be-do" --Sinatra
Worth hearing, if only for a laugh: Sinatra making "Ol' MacDonald" (added to Sinatra's Swingin' Session, originally issued in 1961) into a sexy song; bringing out more humor in "Mrs. Robinson" than Paul Simon ever thought possible (from My Way, 1969); turning "Satisfy Me One More Time" (from 1974's Some Nice Things I've Missed) into a randy romp. Interestingly enough, I bought it at some place in Warren, MI as a used LP; that place also sold old Playboy magazines.
Here are five cream of the crop, A-Number One Frank Sinatra performances, in my estimation, that barely scratch the surface of what he had to offer. Ignore them at your own peril:
"A Day In the Life of a Fool" (from My Way, 1969): Over a subdued Latin beat, Sinatra gently evokes one of his most yearning, nuanced performances of the '60s. Haunting without melodrama, where less is more.
"It Was a Very Good Year" (from September of My Years, recorded 1965): A staggering, beautiful bit of introspection, and quite an arrangement from Gordon Jenkins which alternates between wistful and powerful.
"I Get a Kick Out of You" (recorded 1956): Rendering Cole Porter with incredible timing. When Sinatra sings, "flying too high with some gal in the sky/is my idea of...nothin' to do," the pause is everything, as he communicates boredom without ever making the listener feel that way.
"One for My Baby (and One for the Road)" from Sinatra Sings for Only the Lonely (1958): His greatest saloon song, where he talks the bartender's ear off and still sounds polite ("And Joe, I know you're gettin' kinda anxious to close") and articulate while his wounded and delicate vocalizing balances those qualities with a skill that few singers could match. Johnny Mercer must have smiled big time when he heard this reading.
One of the most incredible interpretations I've ever heard is Sinatra's "Night and Day" (from 1962's Sinatra & Strings, Reprise). He recorded it for Capitol in 1956 as a typical, finger snapping rendition, nicely done. But almost five years later to the day, in November 1961, he cut it at Reprise (the company he founded, or co-founded) and this version is a revelation. It is positively dreamy and there's a special rhythm that occurs when the D sound that ends "and" and starts "day" are combined. His breath control still defies gravity at that point, and his shading on the word "silence" is one of the most sublime moments in American music. Let me know some of your faves.
I thank my Mom Shirley for hipping me to Sinatra long before I was actually mature enough to appreciate him. Whether near or far, I love you, Mom. And if you happen to
see Frank...